The Barrow (88 page)

Arduin leapt forward and slashed downward for Godewyn's head. Godewyn brought his broadsword up for a parry to sweep the blow aside, and when the two blades connected the sword from the bier shattered into pieces.

They stared at each other and at the broken blade for a split second in shock.

And then Godewyn was springing forward and jamming his own sword up through the gap in Arduin's armor under his left arm, using sheer strength to drive the dull, broad point past his arming doublet and the bit of mail there and then into muscle and tissue and bone and lung, and bodily carrying Arduin backwards in the rush. The broken blade went flying out of Arduin's grasp and blood spat from Arduin's mouth as he was driven right-shoulder-first into the wall, his empty hands clawing at Godewyn's face and neck as they grappled and Godewyn jammed the broadsword in further.

Stjepan lay back on the casket lid, Annwyn lying entwined upon him as her hands and legs stroked his flesh. He was still semi-hard inside her, and she humped her hips against him slowly, luxuriating in the feeling of their sweat-slickened bodies sliding against each other.

“Would that I had been born a woman in a land that loves them,” she whispered softly as she nuzzled into his neck.

“I couldn't agree more,” came a voice from above them.

Stjepan, exhausted, looked up in confusion.

Above them on the lip of the pit Leigh stood casually, looking down on them. Gilgwyr stood behind him and giggled. And several of the
Hathaz-Ghúl
could be seen peering in the archway into the chamber behind them both, tasting the air with their black tongues. Stjepan blanched, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the
Ghúl
.

“That really was
most
entertaining,” Leigh said with a cruel smile.

Arduin, clutching his side, slumped to the ground as Godewyn wrenched his broadsword out from under the knight's armpit, blood splattering everywhere, pouring out from under Arduin's armor onto the ground. An exhausted Godewyn looked down at the dying knight with contempt and elation.

“And you were once crowned a Champion in one of the Great Tournaments?” Godewyn said with a sneer, and spat to the side. “Maybe I'll buy myself a title and a grand estate with the loot from this hole, and enter a tournament or two myself . . .
Lord Godewyn, Champi'n of the Tourney
, how do you like the sound of that, eh?”

He sheathed his broadsword and walked over to the pile of loot by the exit. He reached down and grabbed up a few heavy sacks of coins and hoisted them over his shoulder, and staggered out the entrance without nary a look back.

Arduin's body shook, and he coughed up blood, the viscous stuff flowing from his mouth; he was choking, having trouble breathing, and he knew that he was dying. His eyes rolled up to look at the ceiling as he tried to gasp for breath.

Forgive me, oh my father, I have failed you
, he thought.
Forgive me, oh my king, for I have failed you. Do not forsake me, for I am your loyal vassal.

The masked head of the body looked on impassively.

Godewyn took a couple of heavy, exhausted steps into the shrine of Ishraha, with its demonic statue and warrior bodies resting in alcoves, and he looked up from carrying his heavy burden, and froze.

Several
Hathaz-Ghúl
crouched in the semi-darkness of the guttering lamplight, waiting silently and staring at him.

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Godewyn whined.

The
Ghúl
stirred and moved forward.

And Godewyn screamed.

Annwyn pulled herself off of Stjepan's deflating erection and casually stepped off to the side, and he slid off the iron casket lid and crumpled to the ground, curling to protect himself. She stood imperiously and Gilgwyr licked his lips at the sight of her curvaceous body, her breasts lifted high on her chest as she raised her arms and ran her hands through her golden hair, her body gleaming with sweat in the lamplight.

And then he gasped when his eyes finally registered the headless body that stood in the upright casket behind her.

“The body of Azharad!” he cried. “So it
was
here! But . . . where's his head?”

“Ah, dismembering the body is an old tactic to foil divinations,” Leigh said patiently. “It destroys the totality of the body, the physical self, and thereby makes it invisible to magic scrying and fortune-telling. Usually it is done as a curse on an enemy, but in this case, the
Nymargatia
in his service may have used it to hide his body from those that might have sought him out to destroy him utterly. I do not doubt that his head will be hidden somewhere in the barrow.”

Annwyn laughed. “Did you really not recognize it, hidden in plain sight?” she asked. When the two men glanced at each other in confusion, she laughed again. “Do not worry. I know where it is.”

She started walking up out the pit, and as she reached near the top Gilgwyr reached down and extended a courteous hand to help her out of the pit. She was humming to herself as she picked up her damask robes and casually wrapped them around her body. Stretching and shaking out her muscles, Annwyn made to leave the room, trailing the robe behind her on the ground, and Gilgwyr watched her go with a leer. The
Hathaz-Ghúl
parted for her, recoiling with respect and fear.

Leigh walked down into the pit, and stared haughtily down at Stjepan.

“Well, Magister,” said Stjepan lightly, looking up at him with a crooked smile. “Who would've thought the crazed, evil magician would turn out to be . . . well, a crazed evil magician?”

Leigh kicked him in the stomach and Stjepan curled into a ball, coughing and hacking.

Erim came to, and felt broken grass against her face and hands and pressing against her front and right side. She blinked her eyes open and rolled onto her back. She could barely keep her eyes open, but she knew that she would be seeing stars and storm clouds and night sky if she could but focus properly. She realized slowly that she was lying head-down right next to the steps that led away from the barrow and back down the hillside toward their camp. She could feel the weakness in her body, a deadly fatigue threatening to pull her down into eternal sleep.
By the gods, I can't let that happen again
, she chided herself.
If it does, next time I won't wake up.

Despite the numbness that seemed to envelop her body, she rolled back onto her stomach and started to crawl her way down the hill, grimacing as she went. She thought she could see the dark shape of their camp blurrily in the distance.

Suddenly a badly limping and bloodied Godewyn passed her, half walking, half stumbling down the steps, several large and heavy-looking sacks slung over his shoulders.

“Hey . . . Hey there . . . Godewyn,” she croaked out, her throat parched and unresponsive. “Godewyn!”

Godewyn continued on, without a word or look to acknowledge he'd even heard her, disappearing down the steps toward the camp.

Erim kept crawling through the grass, but faster now.

Annwyn entered the false tomb, and her eyes roamed over the scattered evidence of looting and a fight. She frowned and grew tense when she saw that the body was no longer on the low rock-and-stone bier, but relaxed again when her eyes fell on the masked head of Azharad lying by itself in the far corner.

Her view of the other corner was blocked by several
Ghúl
, perched on the bier or crouching next to it. As she moved forward, she saw past them and stopped, frozen: the
Ghúl
were watching her dying brother with rapt fascination.

Arduin coughed blood, and struggled, his body shaking, his wide, wild eyes taking in his unnatural audience with fear and confusion. He weakly held up the handle and shard of a broken sword as a last line of defense against the
Ghúl
. And then Arduin saw her, and he opened his mouth, and blood spilt out to drip from his chin onto his breastplate.

Annwyn walked slowly to him, the
Ghúl
parting before her. Her mind was a blank for a moment, as it registered what she was seeing, and then her head started to fill with all the things she'd ever wanted to say to him:
I love you. I hate you. You should have truly loved me. You have no idea who I am. I was nothing to you. You should have stopped them. Why didn't you stop them? You killed him. You deserve this. You deserve worse.
Her face went through a variety of emotions: sorrow, disdain, delight, pity. Then she crouched down next to him, and cradled his head briefly before kissing him on his forehead.