Vile by Keith Crawford

Author:Keith Crawford [Crawford, Keith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little Wonder Books
Published: 2019-11-30T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 43

A spear. The odd stabbing, sword and knife. Beaten with clubs, fallen from horses, fists to the face, and years of mysterious drinking injuries when he was too young for the hangovers to bother him. A gunshot wound was new, but after all this time, one hole felt pretty much the same as another. And nothing could be as bad as that long summer, under the care of soon-to-be-Abbot Bayard, unable to get out of bed or stay awake for long, as he tried to understand how he had survived the fight with the Kindred Prince when everyone else was dead.

Sometimes, looking at his youngest son, Arbalest felt he’d found an old mirror, his youthful image caught looking back. He wanted to warn him how it would be. He wanted to explain. But he remembered enough of his own youth to know it wouldn’t make any difference. He had certainly never listened to the various of his mother’s men that attempted to be a father to him.

Arbalest watched Nathaniel turn his head to nod at Lena and wait until she closed the door behind her. Then Nathaniel stood and let go of Arbalest’s hand.

“Something to say, Father?”

Arbalest could feel fluids drain out of him through the hole in his back. The bandages had formed an uncomfortable knot. He should roll onto his side, but his limbs were heavy and the discomfort less pressing than the weight of his own body.

“Nathaniel, it’s time to show me you can be a leader.”

“Really?” Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “What about Anton? Or Persephone?”

“Failures. It has to be you.”

“You’ve changed your tune from the last time we had this talk. What if I don’t want to?”

Arbalest wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. He tried to look Nathaniel in the eyes but found his head back on the pillow. Nathaniel rifled through the materials on the cabinet.

“Is this what Lena was giving you to make you sleep? Perhaps she didn’t give you enough.”

“There shouldn’t be Shifters on the mountain. If it is a vanguard, you are the only one who can stand against them. You have to stop the Kindred!”

Nathaniel’s blue eyes narrowed to azure slits.

“I don’t have to do anything,” he said, calm as a butcher slaughtering a lamb.

“But I made you for this!”

Nathaniel took the hypodermic needle from the case behind the bowl.

“I made myself. And even if it were true and you did raise me to be some sort of super Kindred fighter, who cares? I certainly don’t.”

Nathaniel refilled the needle with a brown fluid from the medicine chest. He put it to one side on the cabinet, then took Arbalest’s arm and rolled up the sleeve. Arbalest tried to pull away but his fingers barely twitched.

“It was you who contacted Théophile Carada.”

“Of course,” Nathaniel said.

“And you who had Derec Garn meet the Magistrate at Durançon?”

“I suggested it to Anton. He was bound to do something stupid.”

“But you couldn’t possibly know this would happen!”

“You pile up enough barrels of oil, it doesn’t matter how the fire starts.

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