Read Online A Strange and Ancient Name by Josepha Sherman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Josepha Sherman
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really believed till then: Death could be the only end to this.
Both saw their chance at the same time. Both struck from where they stood, heads thrown back, swords out-thrust, extensions of their arms. Lightning flashed in a clear sky, twin magics cut the suddenly acrid air, gleaming, blinding—
Both men fell.
Only one regained his feet.
Hauberin stood gasping, at that moment helpless to the slightest attack, mail scorched and torn, mind dazed, able to think only, Serein . . . Is he . . . ? Did I . . . ?
Oh, Powers, no! The prince had meant to kill cleanly, since kill he must, but though his cousin’s body was too broken to survive, somehow, horribly, Serein still breathed . . .
I . . . can’t . . .
There wasn’t any pain in the dying man’s eyes, not even the hatred Hauberin expected. Nothing but mockery burned there, sharp and cruel. As his exhausted cousin stood over him, sick at heart, sword still in shaking hand, Serein laughed faintly. “Do you think yourself rid of me, kinsman?” It was a whisper. “Oh no. You’ve only slain this shell, that’s all.”
“Serein . . .”
“You’re not rid of me.” The soft, mocking voice dragged to a stop. For an instant, Serein’s will faltered, for an instant sheer terror of his approaching death flickered in the sea-green eyes. His eyelids drooped. Hauberin leaned forward warily, sure it was over. Not a breath stirred his cousin’s chest . . .
But all at once Serein was staring up at him again, eyes once more wild with mockery. “Tell me this, dear Hauberin,” he cried out in a voice sharp as iron. “Who was your mother’s father?”
“What—”
“Are my words not plain enough? Where did her magic come from? Who was your mother’s father? Can you name him? No?” Serein’s smile was triumphant. “Then, poor little half-blood, my curse on you! My curse that you know not peace, not sleep, till you learn your mother’s father’s name! My curse on you in the Binding Names of—”
But what terrible forces he might have invoked were silenced by the fall of the sword.
Hauberin straightened slowly, wondering at his numbness: no grief, no joy, nothing . . . He took one determined step away. But then legs still trembling with strain buckled under him, and he fell.
###
The prince hadn’t actually lost consciousness, and the rough, hard stone on which he lay wasn’t particularly comfortable, but for the moment it was enough not to have to move or think, to just let his body regain its strength. But of course after a time Hauberin heard his warriors come climbing up, looking for their prince, and he sighed silently at the thought of having to move.
“Ae, terrible!” he heard them cry from the ledge just over his head. “The two of them fallen!”
“And are they both dead? The last of the royal line—are we left without any prince at all?”
“Not quite,” Hauberin muttered drily, raising himself on one elbow, watching them start. “Your concern for my well-being touches me.”
They jumped lightly down beside him. “Are you hurt, my prince? Are you badly hurt?”
“No.” Weary, yes, weary nigh to death, and with a side that burned like living coals . . . But he wasn’t going to admit it to them. “Only bruised a bit.”
Somehow he struggled to his feet unaided, standing as proudly as he was able, one slender, bedraggled, dark young man amid their sleek golden height. “Come,” the prince said shortly. “There is still work to be done.”
Yes he hesitated for a confused moment.
Serein. He would have to do something about Serein; see to his proper burial. Till then, someone had better cast a Shield around the body. One of the men would have to manage it; right now he didn’t have the strength to spare. Not that he was going to confess that, either. Let them think him ruthless enough not to care what happened to a traitor’s body. Good for the royal image.
It hardly seemed possible, but it was over. Serein was dead, his curse
Both saw their chance at the same time. Both struck from where they stood, heads thrown back, swords out-thrust, extensions of their arms. Lightning flashed in a clear sky, twin magics cut the suddenly acrid air, gleaming, blinding—
Both men fell.
Only one regained his feet.
Hauberin stood gasping, at that moment helpless to the slightest attack, mail scorched and torn, mind dazed, able to think only, Serein . . . Is he . . . ? Did I . . . ?
Oh, Powers, no! The prince had meant to kill cleanly, since kill he must, but though his cousin’s body was too broken to survive, somehow, horribly, Serein still breathed . . .
I . . . can’t . . .
There wasn’t any pain in the dying man’s eyes, not even the hatred Hauberin expected. Nothing but mockery burned there, sharp and cruel. As his exhausted cousin stood over him, sick at heart, sword still in shaking hand, Serein laughed faintly. “Do you think yourself rid of me, kinsman?” It was a whisper. “Oh no. You’ve only slain this shell, that’s all.”
“Serein . . .”
“You’re not rid of me.” The soft, mocking voice dragged to a stop. For an instant, Serein’s will faltered, for an instant sheer terror of his approaching death flickered in the sea-green eyes. His eyelids drooped. Hauberin leaned forward warily, sure it was over. Not a breath stirred his cousin’s chest . . .
But all at once Serein was staring up at him again, eyes once more wild with mockery. “Tell me this, dear Hauberin,” he cried out in a voice sharp as iron. “Who was your mother’s father?”
“What—”
“Are my words not plain enough? Where did her magic come from? Who was your mother’s father? Can you name him? No?” Serein’s smile was triumphant. “Then, poor little half-blood, my curse on you! My curse that you know not peace, not sleep, till you learn your mother’s father’s name! My curse on you in the Binding Names of—”
But what terrible forces he might have invoked were silenced by the fall of the sword.
Hauberin straightened slowly, wondering at his numbness: no grief, no joy, nothing . . . He took one determined step away. But then legs still trembling with strain buckled under him, and he fell.
###
The prince hadn’t actually lost consciousness, and the rough, hard stone on which he lay wasn’t particularly comfortable, but for the moment it was enough not to have to move or think, to just let his body regain its strength. But of course after a time Hauberin heard his warriors come climbing up, looking for their prince, and he sighed silently at the thought of having to move.
“Ae, terrible!” he heard them cry from the ledge just over his head. “The two of them fallen!”
“And are they both dead? The last of the royal line—are we left without any prince at all?”
“Not quite,” Hauberin muttered drily, raising himself on one elbow, watching them start. “Your concern for my well-being touches me.”
They jumped lightly down beside him. “Are you hurt, my prince? Are you badly hurt?”
“No.” Weary, yes, weary nigh to death, and with a side that burned like living coals . . . But he wasn’t going to admit it to them. “Only bruised a bit.”
Somehow he struggled to his feet unaided, standing as proudly as he was able, one slender, bedraggled, dark young man amid their sleek golden height. “Come,” the prince said shortly. “There is still work to be done.”
Yes he hesitated for a confused moment.
Serein. He would have to do something about Serein; see to his proper burial. Till then, someone had better cast a Shield around the body. One of the men would have to manage it; right now he didn’t have the strength to spare. Not that he was going to confess that, either. Let them think him ruthless enough not to care what happened to a traitor’s body. Good for the royal image.
It hardly seemed possible, but it was over. Serein was dead, his curse
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