Gregory Keyes - The Blood Knight

“ Lifst ,” he commanded.

Ogre whickered softly, but he obeyed and didn’t follow.

Back at the pool, Aspar unstrung his bow and wrapped it in an oiled beaver skin, tying it taut. He put the sinew in a waxed bag and tightened that, as well. He wrapped up his arrows, especially the arrow, in otter skin and bundled it all to his bow. He checked to make certain he had his dirk and hand-ax, then sat by the pool, breathing deeply, getting himself ready for a long underwater swim.

At his eighth breath, bubbles appeared in the pool, and then the water suddenly began to rise. Aspar watched for a few heartbeats, rooted, but as he understood what was happening, he grabbed his things and darted through the trees to the cliff, where he started climbing as swiftly as he could.

The rock face wasn’t all that difficult, and when the sudden flood slapped against the stone, he was already some four kingsyards up, well above it. But it wasn’t the water he was worried about, so he continued, straining his limbs, practically vaulting from hold to hold.

He heard a low, dull whump, and a moment later a brief shower of water pelted him, though he was already as high as the tops of the lower trees.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the woorm tower up, wreathed in poisonous vapors, eyes glowing like green moons beneath the shadow of the sky.

Some scholars in times past have wondered what need the loon has for feet, legs, or indeed limbs of any sort. They cite as the source of their confusion the fact that the creature spends the vast majority of its time in captivity, carried hither and yon by its keepers. What they fail to see is the humorous side of the VLL’s natural history, to wit, that though it is often a helpless captive, its nature is to be dissatisfied with such humiliation.

Its legs, therefore, exist for the sole purpose of allowing it to walk from one detention to the next…

Despite the stew of anger, fear, and frustration that seethed in Stephen, he had to admit that the Sefry were better hosts than the slinders.

Yes, he and Zemlé were captives in the sense that they weren’t given any choice about where they were going. However, the Sefry handled them gently—royally, even—bearing them on small chairs set atop wooden poles and constraining them with numbers rather than violence. Their path wound deeper into the shadow forest, through fernlike trees and dense vines that drew closer, narrower, darker, until with a start Stephen realized that they had passed into the living stone of the mountain itself without his noticing the transition.

There the journey became more harrowing, and he wished they’d been allowed to walk as the cortege proceeded down a steep, narrow stair. On the left was stone, and to the right there was nothing but a distance their lanterns did not penetrate. Even the rewn had not seemed so vast. Stephen wondered if the mountain was entirely hollow, a brittle shell filled with darkness.

But no, not just darkness; something tugged lightly at the hairs of his arm and neck, and the faintest musical hum vibrated from the stone itself. There was power here, sedos power such as was only hinted at by the faneway he had walked and the others he had known. Even in Dunmrogh, at Khrwbh Khrwkh, where Anne Dare had unleashed the dormant might of an ancient fane, he hadn’t sensed this sort of subtle puissance.

Thankfully, the seemingly bottomless pit finally showed its foundation, and the Sefry took them through a more manageable cavern. It was still grand but low enough that he could make out the glittering stone teeth depending from its ceiling.

“It’s beautiful,” Zemlé murmured, pointing at a column that glowed as if polished in the lamplight. “I’ve never seen stone take such forms. Or is it stone at all?”

“I’ve read of such things,” Stephen said, “and seen them elsewhere. Presson Manteo called the ones that hang ‘drippers’ and the ones that point up ‘drops.’ He thinks they are formed pretty much as icicles are.”

“I see the resemblance,” Zemlé allowed, “but how can stone drip ?”

“Stone has both a liquid and a solid essence,” Stephen explained. “The solid essence is predominant, but under special conditions, beneath the earth, it can become liquid. It is possibly how these caverns were formed. The stone liquefied and flowed away, leaving only space behind it.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I don’t know,” Stephen said. “At the moment, I’m a lot more interested in why we’re being held captive.”

“You’re not captives,” Adhrekh said again. “You are our honored guests.”

“Wonderful,” Stephen said. “Then thank you for the hospitality, and would you please take us back now?”

“You have traveled a great distance, through many hardships, pathikh,” Adhrekh said. “How can we allow you to leave without achieving what you came for?”

“I did not come to find the bloody woorrn ,” Stephen snapped, loudly enough that his voice echoed through the cavern. “I could have met him back at d’Ef if I’d wanted.”

“Yes,” another voice said drily. “You could have. Might have saved us all a lot of trouble, at that.” The voice was somehow familiar.

As Stephen followed the sound, they came to a stop, and his bearers carefully settled the palanquins onto the floor. The stone here looked handworked, and he smelled water.

His gaze fastened on a familiar face, and his heart went jagged in his chest.

“Fend,” he said.

The Sefry smiled. “I’m flattered you remember me,” he said. “Our last meeting was a hectic one, wasn’t it? What with all the arrows and swords, greffyns and Briar Kings. There wasn’t really much time for a proper introduction.”

“You know him?” Zemlé asked.

“In a way,” Stephen said flatly. “I know that he’s a murdering villain, without honor, compassion, or any other admirable quality.”

Fends single eye widened. “How could you know that? Can you pretend to hear my thoughts? You wouldn’t be relying entirely on Aspar’s opinion of me, would you?”

“No,” Stephen said. “I’ve Winna’s opinion, as well. She was your prisoner, you may remember. And I saw with my own eyes what happened in the grove near Cal Azroth. And I saw the bodies of the princesses you murdered there.”

Fend shrugged lightly. “I’ve done things that would seem regrettable, I agree. But I do not regret them because I understand why I did them. When you also understand, I believe you will think better of me.

“I hope so, because I am in your service.” He nodded to Adhrekh. “Thank, you, sir, for your hospitality and your help in finding this place.”

The other Sefry shrugged. “We are only its keepers,” he replied.

Stephen had been so focused on Fends evil face that he hadn’t noticed at first what he was wearing. It was armor of an exceedingly baroque and antique sort, plate and chain chased in a metal that resembled brass. It was the breastplate that really drew Stephen’s attention, depicting as it did a bearded human head adorned with horns. He’d seen a nearly identical engraving when he’d been at d’Ef, searching for clues to the nature of the Briar King. He’d thought at first that it was supposed to represent the king, who was usually depicted with horns. But the caption of the engraving had called it something quite different.

He realized with a chill that without really knowing it, he had taken several steps toward Fend. He stepped back quickly.