Page 53 of Swordheart
Halla sighed internally. Even if she’d dyed her hair black, she wasn’t going to get any taller and she would probably go to her grave pink and rather flushed.
“She could put an arrow into the eye of a wolf at fifty yards away.”
Halla made a mental note to take up archery.
“She ran her farm like a warlord’s camp.”
“Efficiently?” hazarded Halla.
“Ruthlessly,” said Sarkis.
“Mmm.” Halla had helped run a farm once. It had not been ruthless. It had been haphazard and everything had always seemed to be on the edge of collapsing and there was always some chore that needed doing. It had seemed like that was just the way that farms were, but perhaps it had simply been that she wasn’t very good at it.
Oh, why do I even care if he thinks I’m useless? He’s not really a man, he’s an enchanted sword. And I doubt he’d be unkind even so. He’s been…well, mostly pleasant this whole time. Even if he does still grab my arm when he isn’t thinking about it.
Certainly it had nothing to do with the moment where she’d laid her hand against his bare chest, feeling the contrast between the solid muscle and the slick silver scars. His heartbeat under her hand had meant nothing. He was her guard, not her husband.
The thought came unbidden that he would have made a far better husband than her late, not-much-missed spouse.
His wife must have left him for some reason. Such a paragon of virtue wouldn’t have just gotten tired of him, would she?
Halla eyed the breadth of Sarkis’s shoulders and the heavy muscle of his arms and thought she probably wouldn’t get tired of that in a hurry.
Even the thought astonished her.I’m turning into a dirty old woman in my old age. For all the good it does me…
Well, at least she knew the way to Amalcross. That had to be worth something. She steered Sarkis away from the main entrance, full of drovers and livestock, to one of the smaller side roads. Unlike Rutger’s Howe, Amalcross did not have city walls.
Her uncle’s old friend lived in a tall, narrow house on the west side of the town. It was large, but much like Silas’s, it was stuffed full of artifacts. She remembered it being a dusty, cluttered place, the two times that she had visited.
People gave Sarkis puzzled looks as they walked down the street. It wasn’t the sort of town where you saw a hulking warrior with a sword, even one who was wearing a cloak and trying to look inconspicuous.
The fact that she was carrying a second, even larger sword over her back probably didn’t help.
Sarkis, for his part, could feel eyes on them as they crossed to stand in front of the door that Halla indicated. They didn’t feel hostile, just curious, but the skin on the back of his neck prickled nonetheless.
The tightly packed buildings in the south made for much easier ambushes. There was no earthly reason to think anyone would want to ambush Halla, but he took a step back and half turned, just in case he had to turn and defend against attack.
Halla, oblivious, knocked on the door… and waited… and knocked…
“Coming…” called a voice finally. “I’m coming!”
The door opened and a reedy older man stood in the hallway, blinking up at them.
“Bartholomew!”
For a moment he looked completely baffled, then his gaze sharpened and he said, “Halla? Silas’s Halla?”
“It’s me.”
“I… yes, yes, so it is.” The man ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up in irregular spikes. “I… oh dear. Yes. Come in?”
Halla began to follow him, but Sarkis stepped in her path. He paused for a moment on the threshold to let his eyes adjust to the gloom, then nodded to Halla.
She gave him a bemused look. He suspected she was wondering why he was acting as if there might be attackers inside the house.
Truth was, he wasn’t sure. Something made his nerves itch. Probably it was nothing—a trick of rooms and angles reminding him of some other, long ago place.
Maybe it was just that people you knew were always the most likely to be hostile.
