you. Your people are right here," Jewd said, pointing at the retreating men. "We're all the subjects you have for the time being and you weren't putting us first or even your crown first when you took Freath's life. You've always told us Brennus put the throne before anything. In your situation, he too might have wanted to kill Freath, but search your heart and ask yourself whether he would have." Jewd straightened in the saddle and looked toward where Faris had gone. The men were no longer visible. "But you're still young. Hopefully you've learned an important lesson today. Kilt is true to you and his wrath today was testimony to how badly he wants you to act as the king you must become if you're going to challenge Loethar."
"How, Jewd? With what? Our small army of twenty?"
"Don't judge too hastily. Who knows what can be achieved with the right timing and the right plan? Loethar used cunning to destroy the Denovian Set's rulers. He's now applying that same cunning to re-build the set. You will have to match his cunning."
"What will happen with Freath?"
"Jorn's taking him back down. I think he'll try and leave his body somewhere near to the mountains rather than in the town center. He has to be found, so we might as well choose where."
For the first time since he'd drawn the blade, Leo felt the utter futility of his own actions. "I hadn't thought about all that," he admitted. "Where to leave the body, how it should be found, how the death should be made to appear...it's overwhelming. What do I do now?"
Jewd sighed sadly. "Ride through the storm with Kilt and perhaps say a prayer for Freath's soul. He deserved better."
Roddy was scared. He'd never seen a dead person before. He'd seen his fair share of animals slaughtered but that usually involved a lot of activity and squealing. This man had died silently; he hadn't even seen death coming. Roddy felt frozen to his spot in the tree he'd climbed to get a better view of what was happening between the three people.
His mother would be furious with him. Perhaps she was past angry now and was just scared that he was nowhere to be found. He felt badly about that, especially in the light of already having given her the worst fright in almost burning to death.
He remembered seeing the barn on fire, and running inside for Plod, unprepared for the sheer force of the flames. The heat and the suffocating smoke burned his eyes, forcing him to close them almost immediately. And then he had lost all sense of direction.
Strong hands had grabbed him, he recalled, but within moments he and his would-be rescuer had been engulfed by the flames. Roddy could remember the lick of their heat and the instant, shocking pain as his shirt disintegrated and his skin began to bubble.
His next memory was waking up in his mother's cottage, the youth who had called himself Petor bending over him. Roddy would never forget Petor's smile, filled with warmth and so much affection. Roddy could still feel the tingle of a mighty magic fizzing through his blood, the magic of life over death. The magic of opposites, Roddy thought, for how could Petor give Clovis life and in the same day take it so brutally? Roddy pushed away a tear that had welled.
After he'd been brought back to life, his mother and Aunty Fru had stolen out of the room to fetch water for his parched throat and probably to discuss the event out of earshot. Roddy had seen the man next to him cast him a single glance before he, too, left the room, moving swiftly. Roddy knew where Clovis was headed because he too inexplicably felt the same driving desire. He had slipped from the window soundlessly, and he too had begun following their healer out of the town.
Roddy stared down at Clovis's corpse. He'd lost sight of Petor and the man missing a hand. But he knew he could track them if he moved fast. Digging deep for courage, he lowered himself carefully from the tree before moving to stand over Clovis. He knew he should be revolted by the blood but he was just sorrowful for the death. If he felt revulsion, it was toward himself, for this driving need that he didn't fully understand. Piven - as the man had named him - was the link to what he wanted, what he now