Page 173 of Swordheart
“Please,” he said. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
He dragged his sword out of the sheath as if it were made of mud.
“Quit talking!” shouted Nolan. “Kill her!”
“I will do nothing of the sort!” Sarkis shouted back. And to Halla, his voice cracking with strain, “Please. This isn’t safe.”
She took a step back. She didn’t look frightened, just thoughtful.
Oh great god, don’t let her trust me. Please don’t let her think that I’ll pull off some miracle.
“I thought you were used to betraying people,” Halla said.
The cut went deeper than a physical wound. He’d honestly rather that she shot him.
Still…
“I deserved that.”
“You did.” She took another few steps back, putting the kitchen table between them. A kitchen was a very stupid place to have a battle, but apparently this was where they were going to have it.
“I’m sorry,” Sarkis said. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but I kept thinking we had to sort the inheritance first because if you were angry and wanted nothing to do with me, you’d sheathe thesword and then I couldn’t protect you and then…” He raised his free hand, let it drop. “That doesn’t matter now. I’m begging you. Please run away or back away or drop the crossbow, orsomething.If I have to kill you defending this bastard…”
He trailed off. He didn’t know how to finish.
It will destroy me. It will gut me. Every time someone draws the sword, I will look for you, and when you aren’t there, I will remember that you’re gone and that I failed you twice over and I will pray for the great god to grant me a quick death.
The words choked him. He stared into Halla’s gray eyes and hoped that she understood a little of what he could not say.
She shoved the kitchen table at him with her free hand. He caught it, set it down. The magic wanted to flip it over, slam her against the wall, defend the wielder at all costs.
She’s no threat,he pleaded with the sword.She won’t shoot. Let her go. This isn’t a danger I need to defend against. Please.
Halla feinted to the right, swung the crossbow up over his left shoulder. It was so transparent that he wanted to scream. The magic wouldn’t let him ignore it. It wanted him to strike out with his sword, but Sarkis would be damned to the great god’s lowest hell before he did that.
He shoved the table instead. The edge struck her stomach, driving the air out of her. Halla grunted. The big gray eyes that lifted to his were full of surprise—and pain.
“Stop dancing!” screamed Nolan. “Finish her off!”
Sarkis felt something snap inside his head.
He could not kill his wielder. He had to defend his wielder against all threats.
His wielder would make him kill the woman he loved.
I will kill him,thought Sarkis.I will destroy him. I will pull him apart, joint by joint, bone by bone. I will carve him up into a thousand pieces to make the dying last.
I will hurt him until he hurts like I hurt.
The magic pounded in his temples like blood.
He had never hated a wielder like this before. He had loathed them and he had held them in contempt, but even the one who cut out Sarkis’s tongue had, perhaps, been no more than he deserved.
Halla did not deserve it.
The magic would never let him kill his wielder. That was the one power that it had, above all other. He would throw his own body between Nolan and any threat. He had no choice.
I will kill him. I will end him. I will find a way to destroy him.
