The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [27]
Obediently, Anshar stepped to the Sefry’s side. Pavel did, too, but Anshar thought he saw hesitation there.
Meanwhile, Fend drew his blade across his palm. Blood welled from the line, and Anshar was half-surprised to see it was red as that of any human.
He glanced at the two of them. “Well?” he said. “She’ll want more than this.”
Anshar nodded and drew his own blade, and so did Brother Pavel. Anshar was cutting his palm when he caught a peculiar motion from the corner of his eye.
Brother Pavel still stood there, his knife across his palm, but he was jerking oddly. Fend was facing him, holding his hand to Pavel’s head, as if to hold him up . . .
No. Fend had just thrust a knife through Brother Pavel’s left eye. Now he removed it and wiped it on Pavel’s habit. The monk continued to stand there, twitching, the remaining eye fixed on his half-cut palm.
“A lot more blood,” Fend amplified. He gave Pavel a push, and the monk toppled facefirst into the pool. Then the Sefry looked up at Anshar. He felt a chill, but stood his ground.
“You aren’t worried you might be next?” Fend asked.
“No,” Anshar said. “If my fratrex sent me here as a sacrifice, a sacrifice I’ll be.”
Fend’s lips twisted in a grudging smile. “You Churchmen,” he said. “You have such belief, such loyalty.”
“You don’t serve the Church?” Anshar asked, surprised.
Fend just snorted and shook his head. Then he sang something in a peculiar language Anshar had never heard.
Something moved in the trees. He didn’t actually see the motion, but he felt and heard it. He had the impression of vast, scaly coils dragging themselves through the forest and contracting around the pool like a great Waurm of legend. Soon, he knew, it would poke its head through the tree trunks and open its vast, toothy mouth.
But what did step from the trees was very different from what his impressions had led him to imagine.
Her skin was whiter than milk or moonlight, and her hair floated about her like black smoke. He tried to avert his eyes because she was naked, and he knew he shouldn’t gaze upon her, but he couldn’t help it.
She was so slim, so exquisitely delicate, that he first thought she was a child. But then his eyes were drawn to the small cups of her breasts and the pale blue nipples that tipped them. To his surprise he saw she had four more, smaller nipples arranged down her belly, like on a cat, and he suddenly understood that she was Sefry.
She smiled, and to his shame, he felt a surge of lust equaled only by his terror. She lifted a hand toward them, palm up, beckoning, and he took a step forward.
Fend stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“She’s not calling you,” he said, pointing to the pool.
Pavel suddenly gathered his arms and legs beneath him and pushed himself clumsily to his feet. He turned to face them.
“Why have you come, Fend?” Pavel croaked.
“I’ve come to speak to the Sarnwood Witch,” Fend replied.
“You’ve found her,” Pavel said.
“Really? I’d always heard that the Witch was a terrible ogress, a giant, a thoroughly ugly creature.”
“I have many appearances,” Pavel’s corpse said. “And there are many foolish stories told of me besides.” The woman cocked her head. “You killed the Dare princesses,” she said. “I smell it on you. But there were three daughters. Why didn’t you kill the third?”
Fend chuckled. “I thought my sacrifice entitled me to have my questions answered.”
“Your sacrifice only ensures that I won’t slay you without hearing what you have to say. From here on out, you’ll have to stay in my good graces if you want anything more than that.”
“Ah,” Fend said. “Very well. The third daughter—I believe her name was Anne—was not present at Cal Azroth. Unknown to us, she was sent away.”
“Yes,” the corpse said. “I see. Others found her in Vitellia, but they failed to kill her.”
“So she’s still alive?” Fend asked.
“Was that one of your questions?”
“Yes, but it sounds as if it’s someone else’s problem now.”
“Earth and sky are being bent to find her,” Pavel said. “She must die.”
“Yes, well, I know that,” Fend replied.