Page 174 of Swordheart
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.
CHAPTER 57
Halla’s first thought was, Oh, I guess that’s what they mean by falling on your sword.
Her second thought was,Dammit,and then her thoughts dissolved into a wordless scream of horror.
“Sarkis!” She dropped to her knees, the crossbow held out awkwardly to one side. Shooting him or herself wouldn’t help. “Sarkis, you idiot, you didn’t have to do that!Why did you do that?!”
He was on his knees, both hands grasped around the hilt of the sword. A foot of steel protruded from his back, slicked with red.
“… had to…” he rasped. Blood coated his lips and began to run over his chin. “… couldn’t… couldn’t let you… get hurt…”
“I wasn’t going to get hurt!” She wanted to scream. Possibly shewasscreaming. She was furious and horrified and if she let either emotion slip for even a second, guilt was going to rush in and swamp her.
With agonizing slowness, he unlocked his fingers from the hilt. He put his hand against her cheek and wiped the tears away with a bloody thumb.
She clasped his hand with hers. “You wouldn’t have hurt me.”
“Couldn’t take… the chance…” he said. “Not… not with…you…” and then he died.
She stared at her fingers, watching the blood turn into a faint blue iridescence, and then it was gone.
Nolan stared at the place where Sarkis had been. The hilt of the sword in his hand met the scabbard with a soft, finaldick.
Halla stood up. She had not dropped the crossbow. It seemed very important that she had not dropped the crossbow.
“I’m very angry,” she said to Nolan. Her voice was quiet. Her siblings, had any of them been alive, would have recognized that voice and run for the door.
The scholar, foolishly, did not pay attention.
“How did he do that?” breathed Nolan. “Did the Saint not prevent the swords from suicide? Why would she not? Was it too difficult, or—”
Halla shot him, inexpertly, in the leg.
Nolan screamed and fell down, clutching his thigh. Blood bloomed through the cloth around the bolt. He rolled back and forth, shrieking.
Zale started forward. Halla handed the crossbow to the priest, her face still extremely calm.
“Give me the sword,” she said to Nolan.
“Ahh! No!No!I can’t—not the sword, not one of the Saint’s relics—”
“I’d rather not torture you,” said Halla. “I’m not really a person who does that. But you’ve killed Bartholomew and kidnapped my friend and I think I could probably figure out how to be that sort of person very quickly.”
She reached over and plucked a knife from the kitchen table. Nolan’s breath came in gasps as he clutched his leg, staring at her.
“Well, it actually helps that he killed Bartholomew,” said Zale thoughtfully. “We’ll just say that we came in and found that, and it’ll be the word of a priest against him. Honestly, this will make it much easier.”
Nolan’s eyes got huge.
“On balance,” said Halla thoughtfully, “I think I’d rather kill you. Then I don’t have to be the sort of person who tortures people. And I don’t think I’ll feel guilty about it, either.”
