“You heard me. This is the only chance you’ll get. Run! If the king decides otherwise, he’ll hunt you down. Run!”
He roared the last word. She stepped back a pace. Rather than running, her eyes blackened and darkness leapt from her feet. The white witches darted aside, crying out in surprise. The dark witch opened her mouth and pointed a hand. A dagger flew into her eye. She screamed. Her hands clawed up around her head without actually touching the hilt.
Despite the injury, the shadows at her hem leapt higher. They shot forward and curled around Herfod’s feet. The cold sank into his bones. He thudded to his knees. He started the chant of cleansing even as his body began to buckle. The same holy words that purified him for induction into the Turamen Order could also destroy a soulless witch. Herfod found this bizarre and darkly amusing, for wasn’t he as soulless as the woman he endeavoured to destroy? And yet the gods had spared him.
Herfod didn’t need to finish the chant. The white witches were on her before then. To a cacophony of angry curses and high-pitched screaming, a pair of blue hands pulled him off the ground and into glowing arms. Dizzy and feeling almost too exhausted to breathe, he realized that Ugoth carried him to safety. The ward had erupted over the king a second time that day, this time to protect him from the shadows of the Great Mother.
Herfod looked back. Soldiers and monks raced toward the screaming mob of witches. “Cleansing!” Herfod shouted, or at least tried to. The word issued as a croak, and so too the ones that followed. “Chant cleansing! She has no soul!”
Ugoth set him down and shouted the message for him. Stumbling, Herfod tried to go back, but Ugoth pulled him to a halt. “You stay here. That attack was meant for you.”
Off balance, Herfod wheeled backward into him. The glow over Ugoth had dwindled. Chilled to his core, Herfod shivered uncontrollably.
“Was it Marun?” Ugoth demanded, glancing down at him.
“No. Just the Ancient Power.”
“Just the Ancient Power! Just?” Ugoth spat. “Hells, man! You have enough enemies to make a god quail.”
“What the hells do you think I was saying earlier about hiding in the monastery!” Herfod screeched, and he really did screech. His lungs had managed to find their strength again.
“Hsst!” Ugoth shushed him. “I’ll leave off. Be calm.”
Samel ran up to them. “Are you well?” he demanded of both.
“I’m fine. His ward over me lit up instantly,” the king said. “I don’t know about him. He can’t stop shaking.”
Even now he supported Herfod to keep him from tumbling. Samel commenced a healing chant and set his hands on the younger man. Oddly, the blue glow started before he’d finished. By the time Samel ended the prayer, the aura was so bright, it burned almost white. The air crackled with power. Samel averted his face from the blinding light. He almost jerked his hands away, but a whisper quivered into him through the veil that separated the mundane world from heaven.
Hold him!
Samel perforce obeyed the unseen god who commanded him.
Ugoth threw up a shielding arm, but kept his other around Herfod. “What are you doing? Where’s all this coming from?” he yelled.
“From the gods!” Samel said. “I am commanded to persist!” Blinking tears from the brightness, he pressed his hands on Herfod with a will. He wasn’t letting go until the god sending the energy was through giving it.
“It’s on me!” Ugoth cried.
Samel squinted at him. Yes, it was. The aura had spread from Herfod and onto Ugoth’s torso. It shot up and down Ugoth’s lengthier frame, and shifted hue to an incandescent white. They were both engulfed, Herfod and his king.
Samel shut his eyes and clung to Herfod’s habit tenaciously. He was the conduit. He must not move. Still, he wasn’t sure he could tolerate more. The energy was crackling over him now. He opened his mouth in what seemed agony.
Gods! Ah, gods! Who looked at him? Who …?
The wings! The wings spread so far!
The flow stopped. He fell to the earth.
“Samel!” Herfod cried. He knelt and pulled the man into his arms. “Samel! Are you well?”
“Oh!” Samel gasped. “Oh!” He gaped about. Soldiers, witches and monks had surrounded them.
“Samel? Why didn’t you let go? You know you should have!”
“It was ecstasy!” Samel said. “I saw a face!”
“Did you?” Herfod said, the relief evident in his voice. “Well. That’s more than I did.” He started suddenly. “Samel! You saw a face? The gods permitted you a face?”
Samel smiled deliriously. “I saw an angel! An angel! He was beautiful!”
His expression wondrous, Ugoth knelt next to them. “What did the angel look like?”
Samel frowned, but not because His Majesty’s golden hair stood on end. “I …! He …! Well, it’s odd, really.”
“What’s odd?” Herfod pressed. His short curls stood on end in any case. Not much change there.
“He looked a lot like you and Vik,” Samel said. “More like Vik. Only better. I think.”
Herfod gaped down at him. “Like Vik?” he repeated.
“Yes.” Suddenly, Samel found himself in Ugoth’s arms.
“Where are you going?” the king shouted at Herfod.
“I’m going to see Vik!” Herfod’s stunned voice—it cracked twice—called back. “That’s enough training for today!”
Ugoth stared blankly after him; then he glanced at the place the dark witch had been. Several monks stood watch over an incinerating column of blue. Ugoth blinked at what might have been a clawed hand darting out of it. He looked down at Brother Samel. “Samel, I need to go after him.”
He set the man on the ground and rushed off. Samel wasn’t offended, merely knelt on the earth and began to pray in gratitude.
Ugoth caught up with Herfod quickly. “Hold up, now! Why are you in such a rush to see Vik over this? It’s just coincidence.”
“Is it? He was once painted as an angel guarding the gates of hell,” Herfod said. And some time in the distant past, Marun had seen a blue-haired entity that had borne Vik’s face. “Is it all coincidence?” he muttered. “Can it be?”
“Herfod! Samel said the angel looked somewhat like you, too. Think, man! You and Vik are beautiful. You can hardly think an angel would look ugly. It’s coincidence.”
Herfod stumbled to a halt. “You think? It’s just coincidence?”
“Has Vik ever done anything strange or powerful before?” Ugoth said. “No! He’s less mysterious than you are.”
“I’d still like to see him to be sure,” he said, the awe still in his eyes. “He was my guardian angel for most of my life, Ugoth. Is it really only coincidence?”
And there was this image of the blue-haired entity, an image Marun had insisted lay locked inside his slave’s mind. Could it have been of this angel?
“Perhaps it’s time you started praying for guidance,” Ugoth suggested. “You have no idea what you are or why you are. Don’t you think the gods will give you answers?” Herfod gaped at him, still numb. Ugoth pulled him forward. They walked slowly toward the encampment. “What about this white glow? Why do you think the angel sent that?”
“I have no idea. It didn’t seem to be all for me. I felt you were being looked at as well. I felt that you caused some of the interest.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because …! Because you were touching me! I don’t know! You were engulfed, too. What did you sense?”
“I was trying not to pass out from the ecstasy,” Ugoth retorted, turning a bit red. “Pray, Herfod! Ask!”
“They don’t make sense when they answer,” Herfod said, his words now whispered.
“What?” Ugoth glared at him. “You said you never prayed for guidance.”
“I did try a few times. But I get too many voices answering at once. And the answers never make sense.”
“Such as?”
“Such as …! Such as telling me to come back. How’s that? Such as shouting at me to go to the hells. Such as asking me where I’ve been and where I am now. Am I a phantasm? What’s it like being dead? How does the universe really work?” He glowered at the king. “Does it make sense to you?”
Ugoth shook his head. “No. Why would they ask you?”
“I have no idea!” Herfod screamed.
“Herfod!” They were amongst the tents and soldiers, the men observing in fascination. “Take it easy. I’ll send for Vik.” Ugoth dragged the slighter man away from the staring witnesses.
“The worst of it is the immense surprise,” Herfod whispered. “Always the surprise! They always seem so surprised!”
“It’s all right. Don’t worry about it,” Ugoth muttered. Why were the men staring at him like that? Some were actually grinning.
“And then the next time I try, it’s more questions. Where are you? Where are you hiding? Where are you? Who’s protecting you? Let me do it. Why won’t you let me? Why—?”
“Herfod!” Ugoth hissed. “Shut up! Forget about the praying, then.”
“And the threats!”
“Threats?” Ugoth repeated. “The gods threaten you?”
“Some of them.”
Ugoth had to ask. “What sort of threats?”
“I’ll kill you if you say no this time,” Herfod answered. “I’ll kill anyone you say yes to. It’s me and no one else.” Walking rather blindly, he staggered on a stone.
Ugoth caught and steadied him. The king’s attention fixed on the fingers grasping Herfod’s upper arm, grasping and all but crushing. Possession hidden within a protective act. Ugoth loosened his grip. “Gods,” he uttered. Were even they attracted to this single extraordinary man? “Does Samel know? Does Abbot Anselm?”
“No. I never told them. Why do you think I don’t ask for guidance? Some of the gods don’t seem to like me at all.”
“Ah! Gods!” Ugoth whispered. “Hells! Herfod, what you told me doesn’t have much to do with dislike.”
Herfod stared at him, his expression haunted, hunted, despairing. Ugoth, feeling just as haunted, pulled a hand through his hair and finally noticed that it stood on end. He brushed it down, but only created a crackling noise with the motion. The hair continued to imitate a golden halo. Somewhere nearby, several men sniggered. Ugoth glowered, but not at them.
“What the hells are you?” he hissed at his mysterious friend of nearly eight years. No matter how many questions he answered, Herfod always provoked the need to ask more.
“Ugoth! I don’t know!” the conundrum told him again. “But they seem to. Only they don’t tell me. It’s like they want me to stay stupid.”
“Why do they ask where you are? I don’t understand that.”
“I seem to hide from them somehow,” Herfod said. “I slip away, especially when I get nervous about it. There’s always so much yelling and shouting.”
They were getting close to the pavilion now. There was a strong odour of roasting meat hovering in the night air.
“When I stop praying, I feel as if I sink down into a small man again, a simple unimportant man no one needs to scream at. I can feel their attention just slip right over top of me.” Except for one presence, or he thought it was one. Out of necessity, he’d been forced to trust that presence since the beginning. He thought it might be the angel he’d seen during his cleansing eight years ago, possibly the same angel Samel had seen this night.
But during all these years, that presence had never once spoken to him, unlike all the other voices that had demanded attention. Herfod didn’t understand why. To protect him all these years and never speak: why?
“That makes sense, I suppose,” Ugoth said. “You seem to have a knack for disappearing.” He sniffed the air in appreciation. “Supper is ready.”
“I’m not hungry,” Herfod said dolefully.
“You are going to eat,” Ugoth informed him, “even if I have to force food down your throat.”
“Force food down my throat? That’s exactly why Nicky and I ended up in each others arms, you bully.”
“So that was when,” Ugoth said crossly. “I should have known. She was so quiet.”
“Because she saw what you saw this morning. The whatever it is that I have in me.”
“Oh,” Ugoth murmured. “You sank a glow into her?”
“No, just my shaft!”
Ugoth shook his head in disgust and shoved Herfod into the pavilion, where they were forced to discontinue their discussion. Marten waited at the larger table. Supper lay spread on the surface, ready to be served.
“We’ll serve ourselves. Go find Vik,” Ugoth ordered the lad. Looking owlishly at His Majesty’s puffed hair, Marten bowed and walked stiffly out of the tent.
“He doesn’t like my being here,” Herfod said. “I’ve turned your routine upside down. Isn’t he supposed to sleep on the floor in your pavilion?”
“Yes, but not any more.” Ugoth grabbed Herfod suddenly and kissed him.
“Leave off!” Herfod protested. “No spy ward up on the tent.”
“I don’t care.” Ugoth kissed him again. “Tell me how you sank your shaft into Nicky.” He crushed Herfod up against him and kissed his neck.
“Oh!” Herfod hissed. That gods busted chain mail! “I won’t have a shaft if you don’t leave off. The armour!”
Ugoth loosened his grip. “Sorry.”
“Our shadows are on the tent wall, fool!”
Ugoth let him go abruptly. “Well!” he said, pulling his hands through his hair, which at last ceased to stick to his fingers. His face burned bright red. “That’s out in the open now.”
Herfod heaved a deep breath and sat in a chair. “It certainly is.” He pulled a lid off a tray. The smell of bear meat assailed his nostrils. The truffles he’d collected were layered around the steaks. Oddly, he wanted to eat now. He was starving. He’d hardly eaten for days. “There’s enough here for Vik,” he said.
“Yes,” Ugoth mumbled.
Herfod looked up. Ugoth was still flustered by his gross blunder. “It’s too late, Ugoth. Sit down. Bear up like the royal prick you are and act disdainful.”
Ugoth’s answering regard was resentful, but after a moment, and after seeing that Herfod was disinclined toward being torched by a glare, he stomped over to a chair and sat. “If anyone whispers roach I’m going to take his head off.”
“Roach!” Herfod whispered.
Ugoth was not amused. He banged the table with his fist. “You bastard! This is your fault! If you hadn’t mentioned Nicky and your shaft up her—!”
“Oh, please!” Herfod cried. “Stop torturing me!”
Ugoth blinked in surprise. “You want her that badly? How did you resist her for so long?”
“Because she needed a friend, Ugoth. Not a lover. She’s had plenty of them and few of the other. Now shut up and eat!”
“You prick!” Ugoth snarled a last insult. “You cocksucking, too noble prick!” This said, he stabbed the meat with his knife and hewed off a slice.
Herfod, his plate already loaded, picked up his fork and forced the food down. After a bit, he didn’t need to force. Ugoth, however, was so embarrassed nothing tasted good. He set his fork down and watched Herfod gloomily.
“What about a huge chant that makes everyone forget what they saw?”
Herfod glanced at him and shook his head in disgust. “Leave off, Your Majesty. They’ll just call me your boy and think no less of you. They know you’ve taken women before. They know you bedded Nicky. I wasn’t there enough for them to say it was a ruse to get at me. Your reputation is safe. You’ll just be a rather more interesting man in their eyes.”
“A perverted one!” Ugoth snarled.
“Perhaps. Or one who takes what he wants, whatever that happens to be. Act like you always do, Ugoth. You terrify most of them in any case. Keep doing it. There’s no one who will call you a roach. They already know you’ll take their heads in an ins
tant.”
“What about the real roaches? They might think they have a chance at me.”
“Oh, you mean like me?” Vik called from the entrance. Ugoth started. Blushing, he scowled at Vik. Vik smiled and strode inward. “That smells good.”
“Get another plate, Marten!” Ugoth snapped. His squire had walked in behind Herfod’s brother.
Vik pulled a truffle off the tray and popped it in his mouth “Delicious. You found them?” he asked his brother.
“Yes. Had help from a boar.”
“Of course.”
Marten laid a plate for him. Shortly, Vik was seated and eating.
“Why did you send for me?” he asked. His tone was slightly impatient.
“I hope we weren’t interrupting anything,” Ugoth said. His tone was frosted with mockery.
“You were,” came a curt answer. “But that’s not a problem. He wasn’t very good. I was thinking of dumping him in any case.”
Yet again, Ugoth flushed. He glanced toward Herfod, who merely smiled at his brother.
“You never stick with anyone for long,” Herfod said.
“I don’t love any of them,” Vik responded flatly. Herfod’s teasing glint faded into seriousness. They both knew whom Vik still loved.
“Samel saw an angel’s face,” Herfod said. Marten rounded the table and poured wine for them all.
Vik sawed at a crisp section of meat. He liked the more charcoaled bits of a roast. “Oh? Really? I thought the gods didn’t show their faces. Isn’t that why they’re referred to as the faceless gods?”
“It is, but this one did show a face.”
“What did he look like?” Vik put the piece of meat in his mouth.
“You,” Herfod said.
Vik choked. Fast-thinking Marten slammed him hard on the back. The meat shot out of Vik’s mouth and landed with a plop in Herfod’s goblet. Herfod fished the morsel out and set it on the side of his plate. “Well,” he said. “That was a good enough answer for me.”
Ugoth grinned. “Told you it was a coincidence.”
Herfod smirked back.
Vik wheezed inward, grabbed his goblet, and drained it. “Oh!” he hissed, thumping the goblet down hard. “That wasn’t funny! I am sick to death of pretending to be the angel!”
Bound in Stone 3 Page 23
