Gregory Keyes - The Blood Knight

She arranged her clothes again and stood, finding the pain in her leg only slightly dulled.

“I’ll take that water now,” she said.

He brought her water and bread, and she had a bit of both. After that she felt better, calmer.

“Wist, where are we?” she asked.

“In the cellar of the beer hall,” he said.

“In Sevoyne?”

“Yes, in Sevoyne.”

“And who knows I’m here?”

“Myself and the captain of the guard. No one else.”

“But others are coming, and they will know where to find us,” she pushed on.

“Yes,” he admitted.

“Yes, Majesty ,” she corrected gently. That simple act helped her find her center.

“Yes, Majesty.”

“There. And who is coming?”

“Penby and his lot were supposed to waylay you in the woods. They should be back by now, but I don’t—I don’t know where they are. Did you kill them?”

“Yes,” she lied. One of them is dead, at least . “Is anyone else meeting them here?”

He cowered a bit more. “I shouldn’t.”

“Answer me.”

“Someone is supposed to meet them, yes. I don’t know a name.”

“When?”

“Soon. I don’t know, but soon. Penby said by this afternoon.”

“Well, then we had better go now,” Anne said, picking up the knife.

His features contorted. “I… Yes. I’m supposed to do that.”

Anne looked him in the eye as hard as she could. She didn’t understand what was going on here. Was the demon, terrible as she was, an ally ? Certainly she had killed one of Anne’s enemies and seemed to have… done something to this one. But if whatever had followed her back from the land of the dead was friendly, why did she fear it so?

And there was still the possibility that this was some sort of a trick Wist was playing on her, though she couldn’t see the point of such a ruse.

“They didn’t tell me who you were,” he began, but stopped.

“If you had known who I was, would you have tried to rape me?” she asked, anger flaring suddenly.

“No, saints no,” he said.

“That doesn’t make it better, you know,” she said. “It still makes you a worm.”

He just nodded at that.

For a moment she wanted to reach into him with her power, the way she had reached into Roderick back in Dunmrogh, the way she had reached into the men at Khrwbh Khrwkh. To hurt him, maybe kill him.

But she rejected that. She needed him right now. But if it turned out to be some strange trick, she wouldn’t have any mercy.

“Very well,” she said. “Help me, Wist, and you may earn my protection. Go against me again and not even the saints can preserve you.”

“How can I serve you, Princess?”

“How do you think? I want to leave here. If the captain of the guard sees us, tell him the plans have changed and you’re supposed to take me someplace else.”

“And where will we go?”

“I’ll tell you that once we’re out of town. Now, bring me my weather cloak.”

“It’s upstairs. I’ll go fetch it.”

“No. We’ll go get it together.”

Nodding, Wist produced a brass key and fitted it into the lock on the door. It creaked open, revealing a narrow stair. He took a candle and started up. Anne followed to where the last stair ran apparently into the ceiling. Wist pushed, and the ceiling lifted into another dark room.

“It’s a storehouse,” he whispered. “Hang on.”

He went over to a wooden crate and reached in. Anne tensed, but what he came out with was nothing other than her cloak. Never taking her eyes off him, she settled it on her shoulders.

“I have to blow out the candle now,” he said, “else someone will see the light when I open the outer door.”

“Do it, then,” Anne said, tensing again.

He brought the candle near his face. In the yellow glow his features looked young and innocent, not the way the face of a rapist ought to look at all. He pursed his lips and blew, and darkness fell. It crawled on Anne’s skin like centipedes as she strained her eyes and ears, her hand on the hilt of Wist’s knife.

She heard a faint creak, then saw a widening sliver of not so black.

“This way,” Wist whispered.

She perceived his silhouette now.

“You go first,” she said, feeling for the door and catching its edge.

“Mind the step,” he whispered. She saw the shadow of his head drop a bit.

She felt for the ground with her foot and found it. Then she stepped into the street.

It was bitterly cold outside. No moon or stars looked down; the only lights were lamps and candles still burning here or there. What time was it? She certainly didn’t know. She didn’t even know how long she had been in this place.

The alcohol was still in her. Rage and panic had cut through it, and now she was starting to feel achy and sick, though the stupid feeling remained. The boldness it had brought was starting to fade, leaving a dull fear.

The shadow that was Wist moved suddenly, and she felt his hand close on her arm. Her other hand tightened on the knife.

“Quiet, Majesty,” he said. “Someone is coming.”

She heard what he meant: the clopping of horses’ hooves.

Wist pulled her against the side of another building, and then slowly they backed along it as the sound grew nearer.

Anne couldn’t see anything, but she felt suddenly as if something were being pressed against her eyes. It wasn’t light but a presence, a weight that seemed to draw everything toward it.

Wist’s grip on her arm was now the most comforting thing in the world.

She heard someone dismount and felt feet strike the earth like sledgehammers. She heard a brief whispering she couldn’t make out, and then the door creaked, sounding very near.

She backed away more quickly, aching to simply turn her back and run. But Wist wouldn’t let her. He was trembling, and his breath seemed incredibly loud, as did her own.

The door clapped shut, and she felt the presence fade.

Now Wist tugged more urgently on her arm, and they did turn their backs. Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and she began to discern vague shapes. They made their way into what looked to be the village center, a broad square surrounded by the looming shadows of multi-storied buildings.

“We have to hurry,” he said. “It won’t be long till they find us gone.”

“Who was that?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I would tell you if I knew. Someone important, the one who hired us, I think. I’ve never met him.”

“Then how do you know—”

“ I don’t know !” he hissed desperately. “They said he would come. They didn’t know what he would look like, but they said he would feel, ah, heavy. I didn’t know what that meant until now. But you see?”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” she said. “I felt it, too.” She gripped his arm. “You could have called out to him. Why didn’t you?”

“No, I couldn’t,” he said miserably. “I wanted to, but I couldn’t. Now, where are we going?”

“Can you find Glenchest?”

“Glenchest? Auy, that’s just down the road.”

“How far on foot?”

“We could be there by midday.”

“Let’s go, then.”

“He’s likely to search that way.”

“Nevertheless.”

In the gray of dawn Wist looked tired, worn beyond his years. His clothes were dirty, and so was he, and it was a pervasive sort of filth. She believed he could be scrubbed for a year and somehow still be unclean.

He seemed dangerous again, too, though in a subdued way, like a vicious dog that had been beaten into lying still for a time. He kept glancing at her in a manner that suggested he was wondering exactly what he was doing and why.