The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [222]
“No,” Aspar said. “The arrow could only be used seven times.”
Fend waved a finger.
“Tsk. It’s not like you to believe in the phay stories, Aspar. Who told you it could only be used seven times? Our old friend the praifec? Tell me, if someone could make a weapon this strong, why would they limit its use?”
He walked over to the pile of rot that was all that remained of the Briar King and lifted the arrow out.
“No,” he said. “This will be useful for some time to come, I think. You still have the case, I imagine. Ah, there it is.”
“Yah. Come and get it.”
“Killed Ashern, did you? These Mamres monks are always a little too confident in their speed and strength. Makes them forget that skill—and in your case simple hardheadedness—can go quite a long way.”
He fitted the arrow to his string.
“I shouldn’t think this will hurt much, considering,” Fend said. “That’s fine with me. You took my eye, but I consider the debt paid now. I’m sorry you can’t die fighting, but it would take too long for you to heal, and you’d continue to be a nuisance. But I can let you stand, if you’d like, so you can die on your feet at least.”
Aspar stared at him for a moment, then propped his makeshift crutch under his arm and pushed himself painfully up.
“Just tell me one thing,” he said, “before you kill me. Why Qerla?”
Fend grinned. “Really? Not ‘Why kill the Briar King’ or even ‘What’s this all about’? You’re still on the Qerla thing? But that was so long ago.”
“That’s it. That’s all I want to know.”
“I didn’t want to kill her, you know,” Fend said. “She was a friend of mine once. But I thought—we thought—she was going to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“The big Sefry secret, you dolt.”
“What the sceat are you talking about?”
Fend laughed. “Living with us all those years, and you never guessed? I suppose that’s fair. Even some of the Sefry don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?”
“What we are,” Fend said. “We’re Skasloi, Aspar. We’re what remains of the Skasloi.”
“But—”
“Ah, no, sorry. I’ve answered your question. That’s all you get.”
He raised the bow, and Aspar tensed himself for one last try. The dirk wasn’t balanced for throwing, but—
Did he hear hoofbeats? He had a sudden image of Ogre come back from the dead and nearly laughed.
Fend’s eyes narrowed, then widened in shock as an arrow struck his breastplate, followed quickly by another in the knee joint. Aspar turned to find there was indeed a horse thundering up behind him, but it wasn’t Ogre; it was a dappled gray he’d never seen before.
The rider he recognized by her pale skin, black bangs, and almond violet eyes. She had a bow and shot it again, this time at Fend’s head. But he twisted aside, and the arrow missed. The horse thuttered to a stop, and she leapt off, slinging her bow on her shoulder.
“Come on,” she commanded. “Mount.”
“Fend—”
“No, look,” she said. “There’s more. Get on!”
She had to swing the broken leg over for him; the pain was so acute, he nearly fainted. But he saw what she meant: Several armored figures were coming to Fend’s aid. Fend himself was rising, fitting the deadly arrow to his string.
Leshya whirled her mount, and they were running. Aspar meant to take her bow and have a parting shot at Fend, but a hard bounce struck pain through him like a sledgehammer, and he sank away from the world.
Anne blinked in astonishment as the Sefry went down on their knees before her.
“I thought Mother Uun said that Sefry wouldn’t fight,” Austra said.
Anne nodded and squeezed her friend’s hand.
“Which one of you leads?” she asked.
A black-eyed fellow with pale yellow hair and silvery mail dipped his head.
“I am captain of this troop, Your Majesty.”
“What is your name, sir?”
“Cauth Versial, Highness,” he replied.
“Rise, Cauth Versial,” Anne said.
He did so.
“Did Mother Uun send you?” she asked at last.
“She told us what the Kept promised you.”
“But that was only moments ago,” Anne protested. “How could she know? How could you arrive so quickly?”
“We were waiting, Majesty. Mother Uun foresaw this possibility.