The End of a Turbulent Priest

Rachel decided that some impulses were worth heeding. Her nails, sharpened into claws, cut open Lefwith's throat. His blood began to pour before he realized it had happened, and he grabbed his neck to try to keep it in. It flowed over his fingers and his habit. Flecks sprayed onto Cador's tunic, and he caught fire, kicking the dying man back and off of the grassy shelf. Just as she'd imagined it, he fell, rolling, without even a man's dying shout. He was the sole spot of color on the dreary beach. With every passing second more of him spilled out, like he was greedy to make himself known. Rachel wondered whether he wanted to deny them the chance to cover up his ****. She knew that it would be impossible. If there was one thing she'd learned from her voyages into the realms beyond thought, it was patience.

"I didn't think you had it in you," Cador said with a laugh, and a lusty look.

She smiled. "You think I'd brook him insulting you? For shame, my prince."

Ughelor's master walked out to the edge of the grass to improve his view of the dead man. "To think I restrained myself all last night. I wanted to smash that Osteler's skull into the table and turn his brains to paste. Is all his family so self possessed?"

"It's the manner of kings," she said.

"I'll have to change that, when I have my day," he said.

"If I allow it."

"A man leads. A woman commands."

"As you say."

"Today's today. I don't know whether those curs can see him from their windows, but they'll notice he's gone soon enough. And I'd bet he told them what he was going to do with us today." He crouched and stabbed Goscled into the dirt beside him.

"One of them might be watching us from a distance," said Rachel, licking the blood from her nails. She looked back toward the forest that surrounded their camp. It was the most natural hiding place if someone had wanted to provide Lefwith with greater protection.

"Then what shall we do?" said Cador like a rolling stone.