Sythius watched Godric, but didn’t follow at first. Instead, he walked in the opposite direction, past
the body of Uncle Scratch, and dipped down into an alcove set into the wall on
his left, which led to the back exit of a smithy.
He stood up again holding
a bundle in his arms. Godric looked mildly curious for a moment, and then the
moon hit the bundle from the right angle and he could see what his big new
friend was carrying: a person.
It was a boy, younger
than Godric but not by much, with a tumble of brown hair and an extremely pale
face. Sythius held the boy out to Godric. “Matron help.” he asked. “Breath ... slow. Won’t live long.”
Godric approached. He
looked at the boy’s face, then put a hand over his mouth. “Saints be damned,”
he murmured slowly, then flinched like he thought someone might reprimand him.
“It’s bleeding William. He ... he botched a kill? A kid?” He looked at Sythius again. “So let me
get this straight: not only did you kill a master assassin, but you broke his
perfect kill streak? You’re a fucking wizard! You know that?”
Sythius glanced
disdainfully at Scratch. “Master.” He scoffed. “Peacock is ... big.
Impressive. Lion's jaws ... still break neck.”
It was Godric’s turn to
stare. Then he tossed his head back and laughed, loud and full. “I take it
back! You’re plenty bright enough, you are. I think I like you. Well, then.
Questions of whether Scratch is a — peacock notwithstanding, we’d better
get this one home. The matron should be able to help him. If she can’t, then she’ll
find someone who can. Can you run, big guy?”
Sythius frowned, then
shrugged.
“Hm. You can prob’ly run
faster than me,” Godric mused, eyeing the giant’s legs. Each looked as thick as
Godric’s waist. Granted, they were covered in thick furs, like the rest of the
man, but still. This was no ruff-shirted nobleman with powder in his breeches.
He’d probably killed the
bear he was wearing.
* * *
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