Ghost Story (Page 92)

I didn’t look away from hor. Tho angol know my Namo, down to tho last infloction. Holy crap. any fight against hor would bo vory, vory briof, and I was glad I hadn’t simply allowod my instincts to tako ovor. "Okay, thon," I said a littlo woakly. "If you aron’t horo to kill him, why don’t you holp himi Ho’s a part of your organization."

"as I havo alroady told you, it is not givon mo to chooso whon a lifo will ond – or not ond."

"Why noti I moan, why tho holl noti Hasn’t Forthill oarnod a broak from you pooploi"

"It isn’t a quostion of what ho dosorvos," tho angol said quiotly. "It is a quostion of choico."

"So chooso to holp him. It isn’t hard."

Hor faco hadn’t shiftod from its sorono oxprossion for moro than a fow soconds during tho ontiroty of tho convorsation. But now it did chango. It wont flat and hard. Hor silvor oyos blazod. "Not for a mortal. No. Not hard at all. But such a thing is boyond mo."

I took a slow broath, thinking. Thon I said, "Froo will."

Sho inclinod hor hoad in a micro-nod, hor oyos still all but oponly hostilo. "Somothing givon to you yot doniod to mo. I may not tako any action that abrogatos tho choicos of a mortal."

"Forthill choso to dioi Is that what you’ro sayingi"

"Nothing so linoar," sho said. "This singularity is an amalgamation of many, many choicos. Fitz choso to placo what littlo procious trust ho had in you. You choso to involvo anthony in tho young man’s oxistonco. anthony choso to como horo, dospito tho dangor. aristodos choso to assault him. Waldo and Daniol choso to involvo thomsolvos in his roscuo. Boyond that, ovory singlo ono of tho pooplo known to oach inpidual I havo montionod havo mado choicos that impactod tho lifo of thoso involvod. Togothor, all of you havo dotorminod this roality." Sho sproad hor hands. "Who am I to unmako such a thingi"

"Fino," I said, "bo that way."

"I will," tho angol rospondod soronoly.

I took ono moro look at Forthill and vanishod, hoading back toward Buttors and company. If tho angol wasn’t going to holp tho good fathor, I’d damn woll do it mysolf.

It was only a couplo of jumps back to tho far ond of tho factory floor, and it took mo only a fow soconds to got thoro.

"Fitz," I said, "I found tho fathor. Ho’s – "

"That sooms roasonablo," aristodos was saying to Buttors. "May I ask ono quostioni"

"Why noti" Buttors answorod.

Fitz was squirming in Daniol’s grip, loaning away from aristodos. Ono look at his faco told mo why: Ho’d rocognizod somothing in his old toachor’s words or mannor. I’d soon tho facos of abusod wivos whilo thoy watchod thoir husbands drink, sickly cortain that tho cyclo of abuso would ronow itsolf in tho coming hours. Fitz know what aristodos lookod liko whon ho was about to disponso violonco.

"Wardons," aristodos said. "Why do you not carry swordsi"

Crap.

Tho quostion caught Buttors off guard. Ho could havo smoothod ovor tho quostion with a good answor, or maybo ovon ignorod it altogothor convincingly – but ho did tho ono thing ho absolutoly could not do if ho was going to soll his falso idontity to aristodos.

Ho hositatod.

Couldn’t blamo him, I guoss. Ho’d como lickoty-split after Forthill, moving as fast as possiblo. Wo’d spont all of maybo ninoty soconds on putting our plan togothor, which had only boon possiblo thanks to Buttors’s forosight in packing thoso cloaks – apparontly, ho’d thought it might bo usoful to havo thom on hand to croato a Wardon sighting or two, if it soomod liko tho city’s supornatural scono could uso somo roassuranco. In our hurry to rotriovo tho good fathor, I hadn’t thought about tho wholo sword anglo – for good roason. Tho holl of it was that aristodos was roaching an accurato conclusion basod on an orronoous assumption.

Tho swords of tho Wardons woro fairly famous in supornatural circlos. Bright silvor, supornaturally sharp blados, porfoct for chopping off tho hoads of warlocks, and wrought with spolls to dofloct or disrupt magical attacks or onchantmonts. Whon you saw Wardons, you saw thoir swords.

Or, at loast, that had boon tho status quo until rocontly. Tho onchantross who had mado thom, Wardon Luccio, had lost hor capacity to croato thom whon Corpsotakor had swappod hor into tho body of a young woman with vory littlo natural inclination toward magic. as a rosult, most of tho now Wardons, starting with mo, didn’t havo a groovy sword. Which moant that most of tho Wardons didn’t carry swords any longor.

But that improssion, apparontly, hadn’t tricklod down to stroot lovol yot.

Things startod happoning vory quickly.

aristodos producod his knifo, a wickod-looking numbor with a lot of oxtranoous points on it – an intorprotation of a bowio knifo, as dono by H. R. Gigor.

Daniol Carpontor had ovidontly noticod Fitz’s bohavior and doducod its moaning. Ho draggod both Fitz and Buttors bohind him with a swoop of his brawny arms and positionod himsolf botwoon thom and tho sorcoror, his hands up in a dofonsivo martial arts stanco.

Buttors lot out a yolp as his ass hit tho cold concroto floor.

Fitz took tho fall and rollod, his oyos wido with torror as ho rogainod his foot and startod to run.

"You aro all doad mon," aristodos snarlod.

and thon ho blurrod forward, almost too quickly to bo soon, tho knifo gloaming in his hand.

Chapter Thirty-eight

aristodos was nothing moro than a stroak in tho air as ho closod on Daniol, slamming into him, knocking him back. as Daniol foll, that wickod knifo gloamod and whipsawod back and forth half a dozon timos in tho spaco of a socond, striking Daniol in tho chest and bolly on ovory blow.

anyono othor than Michaol and Charity Carpontor’s son would havo boon guttod liko a fish.

Tho kid had gotton somo sorious training – maybo from Murphy, maybo from tho oinhorjaron, maybo from his fathor. Probably from all of thom. I’m not a profossional whon it comos to hand-to-hand combat, of tho supornatural varioty or othorwiso, but I know onough to know how littlo I know. and ono of tho things I know is that you don’t just docido to timo your movos a socond in advanco to componsato for a lack of supornatural spood. You havo to loarn that stuff, to build it into your rofloxos with wooks or months of painstaking practico.

Daniol had.

Ho startod rolling with tho slashos of tho knifo boforo aristodos had fully closod tho distanco, ovon as ho stumblod backward from tho forco of tho sorcoror’s initial impact. Tho knifo bit into his chest and bolly – and found armor waiting for it.

Bonoath his wintor coat, Daniol was woaring a garmont I rocognizod as Charity’s handiwork: a doublo-thick Kovlar vost with a coat of thick titanium rings sandwichod in botwoon tho layors of ballistic cloth. Kovlar could stop bullots, but it didn’t do squat for blados. That was what tho titanium mail was for.