Page 60 of Swordheart
“What, you’re not going to threaten to put the whole countryside to the torch?”
“Not tonight.”
“That’s a relief.”
After a time, her breathing evened out. Sarkis closed his eyes.
It was a relief that the bed was so small. He could not even fantasize about getting up and joining her in it.
You’re assuming she’d even have you. She’s about to be a very wealthy, very respectable widow, and you’re not even human any longer.All you’ve got to offer is a battered old body covered in scars. No home, no lands, no prospect of either.
Go to sleep, old man. Tomorrow you’ll be back on the road again.
It took him some time to realize that he was dreaming, because the world was not silver. He had dreamed inside the sword for so long that it seemed unnatural to have a dream that did not gleam like oiled steel.
Angharad and the Dervish sat across from him, a study in opposites—Angharad tall and powerful and reserved, the Dervish slim, absurdly handsome, every emotion visible on his angular face.
Sarkis knew on some level that they both must hate him now, but he did not see that in their faces.
“You’re dreaming, boss,” said the Dervish.
“Am I? Yes, of course, I must be.” He nodded. “You aren’t really here.”
“No need to be insulting about it.”
Angharad smiled, trading a look with Sarkis. They were both slower, more ponderous creatures than the Dervish. It would have been easy to resent him, but they both knew better.
“Strange job you have now,” said the Dervish.
“I don’t mind this one.”
Angharad raised an eyebrow. The Dervish snorted. “Be careful,” he started to say, and then the dream changed around them and the table they were sitting at went away, and all three of them were chained to a wall.
This again,thought Sarkis, unsurprised. He knew what came after. He moved his feet and the stalks of moldy straw on the floor rolled under his heels.
“I miss you both,” said Sarkis, looking down the wall where his captains were chained. He would not have said such thingsbefore going into the sword, but since then, he had learned not to waste time.
“I know, boss.”
Angharad nodded. “We miss you, too.”
“No.” Sarkis shook his head. “You hate me. You must hate me by now. I failed you. It was my fault that you’re trapped in the swords. You told me not to do it, Angharad. I didn’t listen.” He lifted his chained hands.
Angharad shrugged.
“Well,” said the Dervish, “I probably do want to bash your head in. But that’s out there.” He gestured with one hand and Sarkis heard the chain clinking.
“Listen,” said Angharad.“She’sout there, too.” She nodded toward the far side of the cell. There was a door, and through the door, Sarkis knew that the sorcerer-smith was waiting for them.
“She’s dead,” said Sarkis. “She’s been dead for centuries.”
“So have we,” said the Dervish. “It doesn’t stop us.”
Angharad shook her head. “It hasn’t stopped,” she told him. “We’re still going.”
“Yes, but…”
The dream began to fray around him. Sarkis tried to cling to it. There was so much more he wanted to say to both of them, so many things he had to apologize for…
