The Born Queen - J. Gregory Keyes [91]
“Do you really think that sober, Berimund will remember his pledge, much less carry it out?”
“He won’t be sober until midday,” she answered. “And yes, I think he will.” She turned and gripped Alis’ hand. “Be very careful. One misstep here—”
“It might not even take that,” Alis said. “Marcomir is said to have vicious moods. So you be careful, too.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE WOOTHSHAER
ASPAR WOKE with sunlight on his face. He stretched, rolled, and bumped up against something warm.
Winna.
She was still asleep, her face glowing like a saint’s in the golden light. He remembered her as a little girl back in Colbaely, full of fire and mischief. He remembered the shock of understanding that he loved her when he thought he couldn’t love anyone.
His eyes traced down to her rounded belly. Gently, he stroked his fingers along it.
What’s in there? he wondered.
He hadn’t given much thought to being a father. Qerla hadn’t been able to bear his children; men and Sefry were too different for that. After she’d died, he’d never mont to marry again. And since this thing with Winna had begun, he’d been mostly thinking about keeping them alive.
But a child, a boy or girl, part him, part Winna…
He tightened his heart. There was no use thinking like that. Whatever Winna was carrying, it wasn’t going to be Mannish.
Should he tell her what he feared? Could he?
It seemed the geos was powerful and canny enough to protect its purpose. Could he jump off a cliff or slit his own throat? Provoke a fight with Emfrith and then lose it?
Probably not. But the thing about a geos, at least he had always heard, was that when its conditions were fulfilled, it was unmade. So when they reached the Briar King’s valley, he would be free of it, free to act as he wanted. The witch obviously thought that would be too late, but the witch couldn’t know everything.
He just had to keep his head and do what he could do. Test the geos until he found its weakness.
He rose carefully, afraid to wake her.
The sun was higher than he liked. He itched to be gone, keeping Fend as far behind him as he could, but this might be the last good sleep she got for a long time.
He found Emfrith in the inner yard, talking with some of his men. He looked up as Aspar descended the stair.
“Morning, holter,” Emfrith said. His tone sounded a bit strained, and Aspar reckoned he knew why.
“Morning,” Aspar replied.
“The Woothshaer chasing you wasn’t hard to find,” he said. “My man Arn spotted it upriver, near Slif Owys but moving this way. They’ll be here by tomorrow.”
“We’d better get moving, then,” Aspar said.
“I think we’ll fight them here,” Emfrith said.
“Werlic?” Aspar said. “Fine, then; you do that. The three of us will be on our way.”
“No, that I can’t let you do,” Emfrith said apologetically.
Aspar’s hand went to the feyknife, but he let it drop and balled his fists instead. “First your bloody father, now you,” he snapped. “What’s wrong with you people?”
“We’re just people who do what needs to be done,” Emfrith said. “My family guards this march, and I’m not going to let motley monsters and Sefry come strutting in unchallenged.”
“Yah, werlic. But what’s that to do with us?”
“If I let you go, they’ll just follow you. If you’re here, they’ll be forced to fight, and we’ll slaughter them at our walls.”
“Didn’t you learn anything from your little brawl with the woorm?” Aspar asked.
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Quite a bit. And more since, as we’ve had occasion to kill a greffyn. They’re tough, I’ll grant you, but they can die. And there aren’t so many of them in the band coming here.”
“You’ve got only fifty men,” Aspar pointed out. “They may not be many, but they can do fifty men.”
“I’ve sent for more from my father, and I’ve alerted Celly Guest—that’s the other fort I mentioned, about three leagues north. We’ll have more than fifty.”
“Maunt, maunt,” Aspar said, almost begging. “This is a bad mistake.”
Was that the geos talking?
No, this was stupid.
“I’d rather have your help than lock you up,” Emfrith said, “but we’ll do it any way we have to.” He