Children of the Blood (47 page)

Authors: Michelle Sagara West

BOOK: Children of the Blood

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Well you might.

At last the grave was complete.
Gervin, I cannot gather flowers here, nor cause them to grow. I have done what is within my power to do. My thanks; you have served my lady well, and I shall remember.

He bowed again, and that bow released him.

“Sargoth.”

“I might have guessed that I would find you here; I did not expect to find you doing this. You still retain the capacity to surprise me. It is—refreshing.”

“I see you escaped the Enemy’s wrath.”

“As did you. And which of the two is more unexpected?”

“Which of the two would be more hoped for?”

A dry chuckle.

“Come, Stefanos. I did what I had to do; the voice of Malthan is strong.”

“As, it seems, are his First and Second.”

“Indeed. But come. This place does not suit me. It is too—”

Stefanos knew well what Sargoth referred to; the light shed by the Lernari well was painful.

“Perhaps. But I have lived centuries with it; I would leave it as it is for the while.”

“And I, First among us, would not make Algrak’s mistake. If you wish to converse here, without seeing to the wound of the Enemy, I shall continue to do so. I was merely making my preferences known.”

“Then come, I would not keep you in a setting that caused you discomfort. My home, at this time, is empty. I believe I can call my slaves home, but not until tomorrow, or perhaps a few days hence; their supplies will last them at least that long.”

“You were prepared, then.”

“Sargoth, I am always prepared.”

“Yes. You did not seem surprised to see us. Even I, in your position, would have felt so. It troubles me, Stefanos. I can only think of one way—”

“Leave it, Second of Malthan. I will not speak of it.” He began to lead the way out of the garden, walking both because it was natural and because it would irritate Sargoth. The Second of Malthan made no comment.

“But tell me, Sargoth. Why have you returned?”

“As always, because I am curious.”

“Oh?”

“I wish to know what you will do now.”

“As I have always done.”

“Stefanos, you have not always mimicked a human life. I recall well the times that you led us in—”

“It was long ago. I have no desire to return to it.”

“No, Stefanos? From what I have seen this night, there is now nothing to hold you to it. ”

Stefanos stopped moving abruptly.

“Explain.”

“From what I can gather, it was the Lernari woman who held your interest.”

The First Servant was completely silent.

After a moment, Sargoth continued.

“She is dead. The weak-blood, the boy, may have survived.”

Stefanos did not hear the rest of Sargoth’s words. He did not move, did not turn, did not blink.

Dead?

The words ate into him. Something began to build, a cry, perhaps a scream—but the Second of the Sundered was with him, and he was First. He wanted to run, then, to escape the full import of what had been said. But he was First Servant.

And with Sara gone, that was all he was.

Curtly, tightly, he said, “I see.”

And the night took him, transforming the solid to the ethereal.

He could not surrender to his pain in Sargoth’s presence, and so he surrendered the mortal plane for a time. Slowly but surely he willed himself into immortal regions, to find privacy, to find a space to let go of his emotion before it consumed him.

And Sargoth stood alone in the maze of the castle’s garden, laughing with the voice of his God.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

First BenBella Books Edition April 2006