Page 51 of Swordheart
Sarkis would have muttered something about decadent southern gods, but it didn’t seem like the right time.
The priest narrowed his eyes. He did not look pleased. “Well? What are you doing? Why would you hide from a priest?”
Sarkis opened his mouth to say something—he wasn’t sure what—but Halla elbowed him in the ribs and stepped forward. “We are very sorry, your Grace,” she said. “We didn’t realize that you were of the Mother. We were attacked by bandits yesterday along this road, you see, and when we heard the horses…” She shrugged, looking sheepish. “I’m afraid my nerves are still unsettled. I thought someone was coming to attack me.”
The priest’s eyes narrowed even further, turning into chilly slits. “Bandits?”
“I don’t know that they wereorganizedbandits,” said Halla. “A man and a woman, and they seemed a bit desperate. My—husband—stood them off.”
Sarkis was faintly surprised at his sudden promotion to husband. He hoped the priest didn’t notice the very slight pause when Halla spoke.
“Obviously if we’d known you were priests of the Mother, we wouldn’t have hidden,” Halla continued. “I mean, you can’t really hide from the Mother, can you? And everyone knows the good work that you do, rooting out evil. Which, incidentally, if you wanted to root some out, those bandits could probably stand to be—”
“The Mother does not concern herself withpettycriminals.”
“Yes, of course,” said Halla, immediately casting her eyes to the roadway. “I’m sorry. I’m not presuming to tell you the Mother’s business, of course. But that’s why we were hiding. It’s my nerves. It runs in the family, you see. Mother’s nerves were—nottheMother, I meanmymother—I mean, not that the Mother isn’teveryone’smother, obviously—”
The armored man made a swift ritual gesture at that, and the priest followed suit, looking faintly annoyed.
“—but my mother, the human one, she had terrible nerves. Why, a thunderstorm left her completely deranged. She’d take to her bed for days and call for brandy. And cauliflower. I mean, I don’t know why she wanted cauliflower, I’ve never thought cauliflower was a particularly soothing vegetable, but it certainly made my mother happier, so we’d cook it up whenever the weather started to turn. Do you have any cauliflower?”
Sarkis did not know whether to laugh, put his hand over his eyes, or draw his sword and kill the two men while they were distracted. He was fairly certain he could get the priest, but the mounted guard might be more difficult. The man had a sword and a horse. There were solutions to both, of course, but Sarkishated killing horses. There was even a chance the man might run off down the roadway for help, and then they’d be right back to hiding in ditches.
He wasn’t sure if Halla was defusing the situation or making it worse, but she had her hand tucked in his elbow and was digging her nails into his forearm, so he let her go on and didn’t try to break in.
“Why would priests of the Mother carry cauliflower?” asked the priest, sounding exasperated.
“Well, you never know your luck. I mean, my mother carried it, so I thought maybe since the Mother is everyone’s mother—”
The two men grimly made the ritual gesture again.
“—maybe She knew you’d be here and She’d send you with cauliflower. But I don’t expect that!” Halla raised her free hand in front of her. “I’m certainly not important enough to merit the Mother’s attention! Or Her vegetables.”
The priest looked away, clearly disgusted. His gaze settled on Sarkis.
“Can your husband not speak for himself?”
“I can,” said Sarkis.
“Then why don’t you?”
“My wife talks enough for both of us.”
The mounted man snickered. The priest shook his head, turning back to his horse. “I will pray for you.”
“I would appreciate that,” said Sarkis, deadpan. The mounted man put his hand over his mouth.
“The blessings of the Mother upon you,” said the priest, climbing into the saddle. He did not sound as if he meant it.
“Oh, thank you!” said Halla. “That’s better than cauliflower!”
“Wife,” said Sarkis, putting his arm around her, “quit your nattering about vegetables. These are busy men, and we have detained them too long with your foolishness.”
The glance she shot him indicated that Sarkis was going to pay for that later, but he didn’t mind.
The priest kicked his horse forward again. It was the limping one, Sarkis saw, and the few minutes standing around had stiffened its legs. He wanted to pull the man from the saddle and thrash him for mistreating his beast, but Halla was stiff as a board under his arm.
She waved as they left, beaming. Sarkis was rather impressed at how genuine the smile looked, when she had been leaving bloody little half-moons in his skin not two minutes past.
