But those who were closest merely smiled at him, nodded, and finished their butchery. He reckoned there were at least fifty of them.
He also realized belatedly that they weren’t human but Sefry.
The folk of Gobelin Court had finally weighed in on a side, it seemed.
Aspar paused, gaping, wondering how long it had been since anyone had witnessed anything remotely like what he was seeing. He’d thought he was numb, but now he understood he wasn’t so much numb as insane.
He could see them because they had flattened the forest for half a league in every direction. The Briar King was a hulking mass roughly sembling human shape, albeit with the antlers of a buck, but all and all he was less human in appearance than he had been before.
The apparition was locked in combat with the woorm, which coiled about him like a blacksnake around a mouse. The king, in turn, had both titanic hands gripped about the monster’s neck.
As Aspar watched, a stream of green venom spewed from the great serpent’s mouth, not just vapor but a viscous liquor that spattered upon the forest lord and began to smoke, burning great holes in him. The stuff of the king shifted to fill those gaps.
He didn’t see Fend. The saddle was empty, and a quick scan of the forest showed nothing, though a little farther off a battle was raging between the praifecs men and some other force. He couldn’t make out much of that.
A rush of pain and fever from his leg reminded Aspar that he might lose consciousness at any time. If he had anything to do here, he’d better do it now.
And he certainly had something to do. He wasn’t going to think about it anymore; there was no riddle here.
He knew which side he was on.
He carefully opened the case and brought forth the black arrow. Its head glittered like the heart of a lightning stroke.
The praifec had said the arrow could be used seven times. It had been used five times already when Aspar had received it. He’d shot it once to kill an utin and save Winna’s life.
That left one.
He set the shaft to his string and sighted, feeling the wind, watching the curl of vapors around the combatants, willing his shaking muscles to quell so his mind could tell them what to do.
One deep breath, two, three, and then he felt the shot and released the string. He watched the flash of light grow tiny and vanish at the base of the woorm’s skull.
Aspar caught himself holding his breath.
He didn’t have long to wait. The woorm shrilled an awful stone-shattering scream, and its body twisted as it arched back, vomiting venom. The Briar King grabbed it by the tail and unwound it and hurled it into the forest. Part of the king’s arm tore loose and went with the monster, and he staggered as great chunks of his body sloughed away. He gripped a tree to steady himself but continued to melt.
“Grim,” Aspar muttered, and closed his eyes. He sank down next to the spruce he’d used for support, watching the great coils of the woorm heave up into sight and subside behind the trees. With each heartbeat the sounds of its thrashing diminished.
He couldn’t see the Briar King anymore at all.
Exhaustion flooded through him, and relief. That, at least, was done.
He knew he ought to try to set the bone in his leg, but he’d have to rest first. He drew out his water flask and had a drink. His food was back with Ogre’s tack, but he didn’t have much of an appetite, anyway. Still, he probably needed to eat…
His head snapped up, and he realized he’d dozed off.
The Briar King was watching him.
He was only about twice the size of a man now, and his face was almost human, albeit covered in light brown fur. His leaf-green eyes were alert, and Aspar thought he saw the faintest of smiles on the forest lord’s lips.
“I guess I did the right thing, yah?” Aspar said.
He had never heard the Briar King speak, and he didn’t now. But the creature stepped closer, and suddenly Aspar felt bathed in life. He smelled oak, apple blossoms, the salt of the sea, the musk of a rutting elk. He felt larger, as if the land were his skin and the trees were the hairs upon it, and it filled him with a joy he had never quite known, except perhaps when he was young, running through the forest naked, climbing oaks for the sheer love of them.
“I never knew—” he began.
And with the suddenness of a bone snapping, it all ended. The bliss went out of him like blood from a severed vein as the Briar King’s eyes grew wide and his mouth opened in a soundless scream.
There, on his breast, something glittered like the heart of a lightning bolt…
The king locked eyes with him, and Aspar felt something prickle through his body. Then the form that stood before him simply fell apart, collapsing into a pile of leaves and dead birds.
Aspar’s chest heaved as he tried to draw a breath, but the scent of autumn choked him, and he clapped his hands to his ears, trying to shut out the deep keening that shuddered through the earth and trees as with a single voice the wild things of the world understood that their sovereign was gone.
Like lightning flashing before him, he saw forests crumbling into dust, great grassy plains putrefying, leagues of bones bleaching beneath a demon sun.
“No,” he gasped, finally managing to breathe.
“Oh, I think yes,” a familiar voice countered.
A few kingsyards behind where the Briar King had stood was Fend, with a bow in one hand and an evil grin on his lips. He was dressed in weird armor, but the helm was off. His mouth was smeared with dark blood, and he had a light in his eyes that was crazy even for him.
Aspar fumbled for his dirk; he didn’t have his ax or any more arrows.
“Well,” Fend said, “that’s that. You killed my woorm, but that’s not all bad. You know what happens when you drink the fresh blood of a woorm?”
“Why don’t you tell me, you piece of sceat.”
“Come, Aspar,” Fend said. “Don’t be so angry. I’m grateful to you. I was supposed to drink the blood, you know. The problem was how to get to it once the beast had served its purpose. And you solved that problem rather neatly. Even better, you gave me the one thing I needed to slay His Majesty Stickerweed.”
“No,” Aspar said. “The arrow could only be used seven times.”
Fend waved a finger.
“Tsk. It’s not like you to believe in the phay stories, Aspar. Who told you it could only be used seven times? Our old friend the praifec? Tell me, if someone could make a weapon this strong, why would they limit its use?”
He walked over to the pile of rot that was all that remained of the Briar King and lifted the arrow out.
“No,” he said. “This will be useful for some time to come, I think. You still have the case, I imagine. Ah, there it is.”
“Yah. Come and get it.”
“Killed Ashern, did you? These Mamres monks are always a little too confident in their speed and strength. Makes them forget that skill—and in your case simple hardheadedness—can go quite a long way.”
He fitted the arrow to his string.
“I shouldn’t think this will hurt much, considering,” Fend said. “That’s fine with me. You took my eye, but I consider the debt paid now. I’m sorry you can’t die fighting, but it would take too long for you to heal, and you’d continue to be a nuisance. But I can let you stand, if you’d like, so you can die on your feet at least.”
Aspar stared at him for a moment, then propped his makeshift crutch under his arm and pushed himself painfully up.
“Just tell me one thing,” he said, “before you kill me. Why Qerla?”
Fend grinned. “Really? Not ‘Why kill the Briar King’ or even ‘What’s this all about’? You’re still on the Qerla thing? But that was so long ago.”
“That’s it. That’s all I want to know.”
“I didn’t want to kill her, you know,” Fend said. “She was a friend of mine once. But I thought—we thought—she was going to tell you.”