|
 |
 |
 |
|||
 The
Stoneholding - page
36own weapon, now reduced to a mere hilt. Shards of the blade lay strewn across the chamber. The big man's knees buckled and he slumped dazed to the floor. The trickle of blood from the wound in his side now became a flood. Frysan sprang forward with his knife. "No, Guardsman, stay your hand. I'll not pass from this world in a welter of needless slaughter. Leave the man be! He's dying, as am I -- Come, help me to my bed." The King's voice slurred like that of a drunk man, weaker now and cracking with strain, as he too sank to the floor, letting his sword fall with a clatter. Queen Asturia rushed to her husband's side, but by the time Frysan laid
him on his mattress the King was dead. |
||||
 |
 |
 |