Knight-Commander resumed his post, standing sword drawn behind Herrin. Her
stomach clenched. The plan all along had been to offer blood-price for the
gold, literally sending a boy to the slaughter. And Herrin had not a glimmer of
his danger. She seated herself warily across from the bishop. At close
quarters, the darkness in the man was unmistakable. She distrusted immensely
whatever plan he had in motion.
The bishop focused on Jenna. “My
seminarian tells me you can converse with the dead,” he began.
Herrin had revealed that? Was this the
betrayal Brechia had warned of? She glanced at her brother across the table and
he stared back miserably. I’m sorry , he mouthed silently. No, this was
misplaced trust, not betrayal. Herrin had no concept that a bishop’s robe could
hide a black heart. And now she was expected to negotiate her own brother’s
sacrifice. She had to do something, even something rash. “Milord Bishop,” she
said. “You won’t be leaving here with any gold from the barrow.”
The Lord Bishop flicked a cold eye her
direction. “For a barmaid of no breeding,” he sneered, “you seem very sure of
yourself, young woman.”
A sudden movement startled her. Jenna
turned her head to find Brechia pulling over a chair to join them. “Having a
little chat, are we now?” Brechia drawled. “I’m in for that.”
“I am sure of myself,” Jenna told
the bishop, “because it would be ill if people found out that their favorite
saint was a thief who stole a fortune and bought himself a sainthood... as some
people hereabouts remember. And Milady Warrior of the Barrow”—there, it was out
in the open—”there will be no blood-price paid here tonight because—”
“This better be convincing,” Brachia
commented archly.
“—because you stand within striking
distance of a chance at eternal rest.” It was pure bravado, just talking to
forestall the worst
Brachia’s expression turned unreadable.
“Ah, a revenant in mundane disguise,”
the bishop said, his eyes narrowing to slits. If he was disturbed by a dead
presence at his table, he hid it well. “We have business to discuss. Blood for
gold, that’s the bargain I offer.” He gestured and the Knight-Commander raised
his sword to Herrin’s neck.
No! Jenna pulled the kitchen knife form
her apron and plunged it into the man’s sword arm. With a howl, he dropped the
sword, blood spurting across the tabletop.
The temperature in the room plummeted. And
from the shadowy corners of the common room, figures emerged—warriors in
antiquated armor. They swept across the room and were upon the Knight-Commander
in two blinks. It happened so fast, he couldn’t even scream as his life-force
was drained by the revenants. He dropped to the floor, a withered husk.
No one moved, but the terror in the room
was a palpable thing. “So you want to bargain, Milord Bishop,” Brechia
announced to the stone-quiet room.
“Take them all, take them all,” the man
wheezed, his smug façade finally shattered.
“Oh, we shall,” Brechia smiled. “Starting
with you.”
As the dead pounced again, all Jenna
could think was trust not the dead, trust not the dead over and over. How
could she have been so stupid to start down this path?
A moment later, the bishop was a dry
husk dressed in silken in robes, the suddenly shrunken flesh drawing his face
into an obscene rictus smile. But on his hand, the golden Ring of Office
gleamed brighter than ever. If she squinted just a little, Jenna could see
threads of light stretching from the ring to the revenants, binding them all
together. This was indeed part of the stolen gold.
A chance at eternal rest—that’s what she
had spouted in desperation a moment ago, but it might be truer than she
thought. She reached across the table and slipped the ring from the withered
finger just as Brechia was reaching for it. “By finder’s right, I claim this
ring as my own,” Jenna said quickly.
Brechia gave her an ominous stare.
stomach clenched. The plan all along had been to offer blood-price for the
gold, literally sending a boy to the slaughter. And Herrin had not a glimmer of
his danger. She seated herself warily across from the bishop. At close
quarters, the darkness in the man was unmistakable. She distrusted immensely
whatever plan he had in motion.
The bishop focused on Jenna. “My
seminarian tells me you can converse with the dead,” he began.
Herrin had revealed that? Was this the
betrayal Brechia had warned of? She glanced at her brother across the table and
he stared back miserably. I’m sorry , he mouthed silently. No, this was
misplaced trust, not betrayal. Herrin had no concept that a bishop’s robe could
hide a black heart. And now she was expected to negotiate her own brother’s
sacrifice. She had to do something, even something rash. “Milord Bishop,” she
said. “You won’t be leaving here with any gold from the barrow.”
The Lord Bishop flicked a cold eye her
direction. “For a barmaid of no breeding,” he sneered, “you seem very sure of
yourself, young woman.”
A sudden movement startled her. Jenna
turned her head to find Brechia pulling over a chair to join them. “Having a
little chat, are we now?” Brechia drawled. “I’m in for that.”
“I am sure of myself,” Jenna told
the bishop, “because it would be ill if people found out that their favorite
saint was a thief who stole a fortune and bought himself a sainthood... as some
people hereabouts remember. And Milady Warrior of the Barrow”—there, it was out
in the open—”there will be no blood-price paid here tonight because—”
“This better be convincing,” Brachia
commented archly.
“—because you stand within striking
distance of a chance at eternal rest.” It was pure bravado, just talking to
forestall the worst
Brachia’s expression turned unreadable.
“Ah, a revenant in mundane disguise,”
the bishop said, his eyes narrowing to slits. If he was disturbed by a dead
presence at his table, he hid it well. “We have business to discuss. Blood for
gold, that’s the bargain I offer.” He gestured and the Knight-Commander raised
his sword to Herrin’s neck.
No! Jenna pulled the kitchen knife form
her apron and plunged it into the man’s sword arm. With a howl, he dropped the
sword, blood spurting across the tabletop.
The temperature in the room plummeted. And
from the shadowy corners of the common room, figures emerged—warriors in
antiquated armor. They swept across the room and were upon the Knight-Commander
in two blinks. It happened so fast, he couldn’t even scream as his life-force
was drained by the revenants. He dropped to the floor, a withered husk.
No one moved, but the terror in the room
was a palpable thing. “So you want to bargain, Milord Bishop,” Brechia
announced to the stone-quiet room.
“Take them all, take them all,” the man
wheezed, his smug façade finally shattered.
“Oh, we shall,” Brechia smiled. “Starting
with you.”
As the dead pounced again, all Jenna
could think was trust not the dead, trust not the dead over and over. How
could she have been so stupid to start down this path?
A moment later, the bishop was a dry
husk dressed in silken in robes, the suddenly shrunken flesh drawing his face
into an obscene rictus smile. But on his hand, the golden Ring of Office
gleamed brighter than ever. If she squinted just a little, Jenna could see
threads of light stretching from the ring to the revenants, binding them all
together. This was indeed part of the stolen gold.
A chance at eternal rest—that’s what she
had spouted in desperation a moment ago, but it might be truer than she
thought. She reached across the table and slipped the ring from the withered
finger just as Brechia was reaching for it. “By finder’s right, I claim this
ring as my own,” Jenna said quickly.
Brechia gave her an ominous stare.
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