Page 65 of Swordheart #1

“You!” said Nolan. “You’re here? How the devil are you here ?”

“Mostly luck,” admitted Halla. “Or, since it was paladins, maybe grace. Zale? Was that grace?”

“I’m willing to call it grace,” said Zale, who was standing behind her in the doorway to the dining room. “Whether divine or simply human kindness, which is its own form of grace. Hello, Sarkis.”

Halla stepped sideways until she was standing in the portion of the kitchen that adjoined the dining room.

She was carrying a cloak slung over one shoulder, hanging down past her hips, and limping a little.

The notion that she might have been injured sent mingled rage and shame slamming through his veins.

“Are you hurt?” he said.

“Just saddle sore,” she admitted, not meeting his eyes. “We rode very fast. Or what felt like very fast, anyway.”

It was terribly stupid, he realized, to be trying to work out if she was furious at him based on how she was looking at him when there was a murderer directly behind him and a corpse sitting at the table. Nevertheless, the fact that she wouldn’t make eye contact seemed like the worst of signs.

“Well,” she said. “You murdered Bartholomew, then?”

“I had no choice,” said Nolan. “He was the wielder and refused to give up the sword. I knew he always intended to double-cross me.”

“He was the one who sent the footpads in Archon’s Glory,” said Sarkis.

“Ah. Yes. And left me to Alver’s tender mercies. Still, I’m sorry he’s dead.” She sighed. “I suppose it is you I must negotiate with, then.”

“What?” said Nolan.

“I will buy the sword from you,” said Halla, in a clear voice. “I never meant to cast it aside, but I realize that things have become muddled.” She looked at Zale. “How much is my inheritance worth?”

Zale wiggled their hand back and forth. “My inventory is nothing like complete. Based on what I have catalogued so far, I would say at least fifty-three hundred, give or take, including the house. The outlying lands are not included.”

The realization of what Halla was doing sent Sarkis a step forward, hands outstretched. “Halla! No!”

“Fifty-three hundred, then,” said Halla, ignoring him. “There may be more in the outlying lands, but I have recently learned that they were mortgaged without my permission, so I can’t speak to their value. Will that be acceptable?”

“Halla, you can’t do this!”

A small, unworthy part of Sarkis was overcome with relief. She did not hate him. Indeed, she had chased down his captors and was offering everything that she had to get him back.

A much larger part was screaming that yes, she was giving up everything she had—her home, her newly acquired fortune, the future dowries for her nieces that Sarkis had not even met—to buy him back from the scholar.

“Halla,” he said, trying to sound calm. “I’m not worth this. Don’t do this.”

“You’re my friend,” said Halla, not looking at him. Sarkis did not know whether to crow with joy or writhe in shame.

His captor snorted. “Don’t be stupid. A relic of the Sainted Smith is beyond any price.”

“Are you certain?” said Halla.

“Very certain. Quit wasting my time, woman.”

Halla nodded. “I was afraid of that,” she said, a bit sadly. “I really hoped you’d be reasonable.”

She pushed her cloak back and swung the crossbow she’d been concealing up to aim at Nolan.

Oh great god, she’s going to shoot at him. Sarkis didn’t know whether to be amazed, horrified, or both. Can she hit him? Did Zale teach her enough?

Zale was leaning against the doorframe with a polite, interested expression on their face. This did not fill Sarkis with confidence.

Nolan, meanwhile, stared at the bolt, then back at her. “You won’t kill me,” he said.

“I won’t?” said Halla. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re not a killer,” said Nolan, although he sounded a bit doubtful.

“Well, obviously not yet, ” said Halla. “But I can start with you, and then I will be. I think that’s how this works, isn’t it?”

Nolan started to back up. Halla made an apologetic sound. “Please don’t move. I’ve never shot at anything but trees, you see, and while my aim’s not bad for an amateur, if you move, I don’t really know where I’ll hit you. It could be anywhere. And then what if it wasn’t fatal?”

“I don’t want it to be fatal!” yelled Nolan.

“Oh, but you do,” said Halla. “You really, really do. Because if I hit you somewhere that doesn’t kill you, but it just hurts a whole lot, then I’ll have to finish you off, right?

And I don’t have any idea how to do that, so I’ll just be stabbing you in random places with a knife until I hit a good one. ”

Nolan’s jaw dropped.

The great god have mercy. She’s found a way to weaponize ignorance.

“I’ll feel very bad about it,” Halla assured the scholar, gesturing with the crossbow. Every time the tip of the bolt moved a quarter inch, both Nolan and Sarkis flinched. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. That’s why it would be best if you held very still, I think?”

“Servant!” said Nolan. “Servant, defend me!”

Sarkis winced. He had known all along that he was going to have to get involved. The magic of the sword left him no choice. “Halla,” he said, “I’m afraid if you try to kill him, you’ll have to go through me. I’m forced to defend him as long as I’m alive.”

“You can’t fight it?” she asked. “Not even a little?”

I’m trying. I’m trying.

He tried to set his feet. Compulsion dragged him forward anyway, one step at a time.

“Please,” he said. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He dragged his sword out of the sheath as if it were made of mud.

“Quit talking!” shouted Nolan. “Kill her!”

“I will do nothing of the sort!” Sarkis shouted back. And to Halla, his voice cracking with strain, “Please. This isn’t safe.”

She took a step back. She didn’t look frightened, just thoughtful.

Oh great god, don’t let her trust me. Please don’t let her think that I’ll pull off some miracle.

“I thought you were used to betraying people,” Halla said.

The cut went deeper than a physical wound. He’d honestly rather that she shot him.

Still …

“I deserved that.”

“You did.” She took another few steps back, putting the kitchen table between them. A kitchen was a very stupid place to have a battle, but apparently this was where they were going to have it.

“I’m sorry,” Sarkis said. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but I kept thinking we had to sort the inheritance first because if you were angry and wanted nothing to do with me, you’d sheathe the sword and then I couldn’t protect you and then…

” He raised his free hand, let it drop. “That doesn’t matter now.

I’m begging you. Please run away or back away or drop the crossbow, or something.

If I have to kill you defending this bastard… ”

He trailed off. He didn’t know how to finish.

It will destroy me. It will gut me. Every time someone draws the sword, I will look for you, and when you aren’t there, I will remember that you’re gone and that I failed you twice over and I will pray for the great god to grant me a quick death.

The words choked him. He stared into Halla’s gray eyes and hoped that she understood a little of what he could not say.

She shoved the kitchen table at him with her free hand. He caught it, set it down. The magic wanted to flip it over, slam her against the wall, defend the wielder at all costs.

She’s no threat, he pleaded with the sword. She won’t shoot. Let her go. This isn’t a danger I need to defend against. Please.

Halla feinted to the right, swung the crossbow up over his left shoulder. It was so transparent that he wanted to scream. The magic wouldn’t let him ignore it. It wanted him to strike out with his sword, but Sarkis would be damned to the great god’s lowest hell before he did that.

He shoved the table instead. The edge struck her stomach, driving the air out of her. Halla grunted. The big gray eyes that lifted to his were full of surprise—and pain.

“Stop dancing!” screamed Nolan. “Finish her off!”

Sarkis felt something snap inside his head.

He could not kill his wielder. He had to defend his wielder against all threats.

His wielder would make him kill the woman he loved.

I will kill him, thought Sarkis. I will destroy him. I will pull him apart, joint by joint, bone by bone. I will carve him up into a thousand pieces to make the dying last.

I will hurt him until he hurts like I hurt.

The magic pounded in his temples like blood.

He had never hated a wielder like this before. He had loathed them and he had held them in contempt, but even the one who cut out Sarkis’s tongue had, perhaps, been no more than he deserved.

Halla did not deserve it.

The magic would never let him kill his wielder. That was the one power that it had, above all other. He would throw his own body between Nolan and any threat. He had no choice.

I will kill him. I will end him. I will find a way to destroy him.

I am the greatest threat.

The magic wavered.

He had only a moment, but a moment was all that he needed.

Sarkis flipped his sword around, set the point under his sternum, and threw himself at the ground.