Page 11 of Swordheart
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know who they are?”
Understanding dawned in Sarkis’s eyes and he looked down hurriedly. “Apologies, lady.”
“It’s fine. It was Great-Uncle Silas who took me in.” She sat down on the bed. “And really, Silas wasn’tthatwealthy. But it would be enough, if the clerks could get it to my nieces, that it would help. They’d have dowries. Good ones. They could marry who they wanted instead of who agreed to take them.”
Sarkis folded his arms. His upper arms were bare and tattooed in dark blue. He wore leather forearm guards and leather gauntlets. He scowled again. “You’ve no male kin to ride to your aid?”
Halla snorted. “My niece Erris would ride to my aid in a heartbeat,ifshe could afford a horse, andifI had any way to get a message to her.”
She expected some kind of sarcastic rejoinder to that, but Sarkis nodded. “A strong shieldmaid is the equal of any man in combat. Certainly equal to an old woman and a man with clammy hands. Have these jackals any guardsmen in their train?”
“I think you’re missing a critical point here,” said Halla, rubbing her face. “I mean, yes, they’ve got one. Malva won’t travel without a guard in case of brigands. His name’s Roderick.”
“Will Lady Erris be able to dispatch this Roderick?”
“I—no, we’re not—” She set the sword across her knees and put her head in her hands.
My great-uncle died three days ago. His wretched family descended on me a week ago. I vowed to kill myself this morning. And I have just drawn a magic sword with a man inside and now I am discussing whether my fifteen-year-old niece can slaughter Aunt Malva’s guardsman.
What in the name of all the gods is going on?
“She’s fifteen,” said Halla, since Sarkis seemed to be waiting for an answer.
Sarkis frowned. “How much sword training has she had?”
“She’s a farmer! She’s a very fierce farmer, but she can’t—Roderick’s an ex-mercenary. I mean, I don’t know anything about how he fights. Just that I have to warn the servant girls before they come to visit, because he’s got wandering hands.”
“Oh,” said Sarkis, his lips thinning with disgust. “One ofthosemen. Your niece will do the world a favor removing him.”
“My niece is a farmer! And she isn’there.”
“I will undertake her training, then,” said Sarkis, nodding as if something important had been decided.
“Fine! I’ll write a note saying that the sword goes to her! Then can youpleasekill me so she has a chance to inherit you?”
“Most certainly not!” He looked deeply offended. Halla dug her fingers into her scalp in frustration.
“Then Alver’s going to marry me and when his wretched aunt kills me off, he’ll be your next owner!”
“I shallnotbe wielded by a man with clammy hands!”
“Keep your voice down!”
“Oh. Of course. Apologies, my lady.” He lowered his voice. “I will not allow you to kill yourself, however. Certainly not with my blade!”
“Oh!” Halla had a sudden thought. “Would you feel it? I mean, if I did that on your sword? Would it hurt?”
“It would hurtyou.”
“Well, obviously. But I mean, would you be able to tell it had happened?”
“You would have to draw the sword in order to kill yourself on it. I would be standing right here. I believe that I would notice, yes.”
“Arrgh.” She wrung her hands.
“And you are my wielder,” said Sarkis. “I am bound to protect you. If I tried to kill you, I would be forced to leap between your neck and my own blade.”
