The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [9]
When his head cleared, Neil found someone kneeling over him. He levered himself up with a snarl, and the man leapt back, gabbling in a foreign tongue. To his surprise, Neil found that his limbs were free.
As the red haze parted, he realized that the man kneeling over him had been the Vitellian, Cazio. The swordsman was standing at a respectful distance now, his odd light weapon held in a relaxed ward.
“Hush, knight,” a nearby voice said. “You’re with friends now.”
Neil pushed himself up and turned to regard a man of early middle years with a sun-browned face and close-cropped dark hair plentiful with silver. Another shake of his head and he recognized Aspar White, the king’s holter. Just beyond were the younger Stephen Darige and the honey-haired Winna Rufoote, both crouching and alert in the bloodied snow.
“Best keep your head down,” Aspar said. “There’s another nest of archers out that way.” He gestured with his chin.
“I thought you were all dead,” Neil said.
“Yah,” Aspar said. “We thought you were, too.”
“Anne is where?” Cazio demanded in his heavy Vitellian accent.
“You didn’t see?” Neil asked accusingly. “You were riding right next to her.”
“Yes,” Cazio said, concentrating on trying to get his words right. “Austra riding a little behind, with Stephen. Arrows started, yes, and then, ah, eponiros come up road with, ah, long haso—”
“The lancers, yes,” Neil said. Archers had appeared all along their flanks, and then a wedge of horsemen, charging down the road. The cavalry from Dunmrogh hadn’t had time to form up well but had met them, anyway.
Neil had killed three of the riders personally but had found himself pushed farther and farther away from Anne. When he’d returned to the scene, he’d discovered nothing but the dead and no sign whatever of the heir to the throne of Crotheny.
“Was trick,” Cazio said. “Came, ah, aurseto, struck me here.” He indicated his head, which was sticky with blood.
“I don’t know that word,” Neil said.
“Aurseto,” Cazio repeated. “Like, ah, water, air—”
“Invisible,” Stephen interrupted. The novice priest turned to Cazio. “Uno viro aurseto?”
“Yes,” Cazio said, nodding vigorously. “Like cloud, color of snow, on epo, same—”
“A horse and rider the color of the snow?” Neil asked incredulously.
“Yes,” Cazio confirmed. “Guarding Anne, I hear noise behind me—”
“And he hit you in the back of the head.”
“Yes,” Cazio said, his face falling.
“I don’t believe you,” Neil snapped. He hadn’t entirely approved of this fellow since he had helped persuade Anne to leave Neil to his death back in Vitellio. True, Cazio had saved Anne’s life on several occasions, but his motives seemed to be mostly salacious. Neil knew for a fact that such motives were untrustworthy and subject to violent change. He was a braggart, too, and though he was an effective enough street brawler—phenomenal, in fact—he hadn’t the slightest sense of war discipline.
More than all that, Neil had learned to his chagrin that few people in the world were what they seemed.
Something dangerous glinted in Cazio’s eyes, and he stood straighter, then put his palm on the hilt of his sword. Neil took a deep breath and dropped his hand toward Draug.
“Believe him,” Aspar grunted.
“Asp? You?” Winna said.
“Werlic. There were three of ’em, at least. Why do you think I didn’t make it back to warn you about the ambush? They aren’t invisible, not exactly, but it’s as the lad said. They’re like smoke, and you can see through ’em. If you know where to look, you can tell they’re there, but if you don’t, they can give you quite a surprise.
“The other thing is, if you kill ’em, they come solid again, them and their mounts, even if the mounts aren’t scratched. Near as I can tell—their trick aside—they’re just men.”
Stephen frowned. “That reminds me of—I read about a faneway once…” He scratched his jaw, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“More churchmen,” Aspar grunted. “Just what we need.”
Cazio was still tense, focused on Neil, hand on the hilt of his