The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [220]
No. He couldn’t let them have Austra or Anne. He couldn’t think that way.
He deepened and slowed his breathing, willed the muscles he wasn’t using to relax.
Z’Acatto had spoken once or twice of something called chiado sivo, or “entirely sword,” a state of oneness that a true dessrator could enter in which he might accomplish fantastic things. There had been times when Cazio had felt he was almost in that state. He had to let go of winning and losing, of life and death, of fear, and become nothing but motion.
Parry, attack, parry, disengage, breathe, feel the sword as part of his arm, his spine, his heart, his mind…
They can’t hurt me, he thought. There’s nothing here to hurt, just a sword.
And for long, beautiful moment he had it. Perfection. Every move correct, every motion the best. Two more men went down, then another two, and he wasn’t retreating anymore. He controlled the rhythm, the footwork, the floor itself.
For a moment. But recognizing that moment, he lost the detachment he needed to prolong it, and his assault faltered as two men arrived to replace every one he put down. He retreated again, ever more desperate as Robert’s forces began to encircle him.
He realized he’d lost track of the women and hoped against hope that his instant of chiado sivo had given them a chance to escape.
Even you might have been proud of me, z’Acatto, he thought as the corner of his eye warned him of a new fighter, flanking him.
No, not flanking him, flanking Robert’s men.
And not just one man but a horde.
The newcomers were unarmored but fighting with long, wicked knives and firing short, powerful-looking bows. Cazio’s antagonists were all down within a few heartbeats, leaving him gasping, still on guard, wondering if he would be next. Just because they were Robert’s enemies, that didn’t make them Anne’s friends.
But those who were closest merely smiled at him, nodded, and finished their butchery. He reckoned there were at least fifty of them.
He also realized belatedly that they weren’t human but Sefry.
The folk of Gobelin Court had finally weighed in on a side, it seemed.
Aspar paused, gaping, wondering how long it had been since anyone had witnessed anything remotely like what he was seeing. He’d thought he was numb, but now he understood he wasn’t so much numb as insane.
He could see them because they had flattened the forest for half a league in every direction. The Briar King was a hulking mass roughly sembling human shape, albeit with the antlers of a buck, but all and all he was less human in appearance than he had been before.
The apparition was locked in combat with the woorm, which coiled about him like a blacksnake around a mouse. The king, in turn, had both titanic hands gripped about the monster’s neck.
As Aspar watched, a stream of green venom spewed from the great serpent’s mouth, not just vapor but a viscous liquor that spattered upon the forest lord and began to smoke, burning great holes in him. The stuff of the king shifted to fill those gaps.
He didn’t see Fend. The saddle was empty, and a quick scan of the forest showed nothing, though a little farther off a battle was raging between the praifec’s men and some other force. He couldn’t make out much of that.
A rush of pain and fever from his leg reminded Aspar that he might lose consciousness at any time. If he had anything to do here, he’d better do it now.
And he certainly had something to do. He wasn’t going to think about it anymore; there was no riddle here.
He knew which side he was on.
He carefully opened the case and brought forth the black arrow. Its head glittered like the heart of a lightning stroke.
The praifec had said the arrow could be used seven times. It had been used five times already when Aspar had received it. He’d shot it once to kill an utin and