priest relaxed, then caught a flicker of movement at the comer of his eye. Niko
had pushed away from Seylalha’s tenderness and was staring, with his one
unbandaged eye, off into nothingness. Perhaps he had heard them mention Bandara?
Perhaps-? Molin shook his head, preferring not to think at all about any other
possibility.
The hand that reached out of the darkness to grab Molin’s shoulder had the
strength of an iron trap. It was only by yielding to its force, collapsing and
rolling through the mud, that the priest avoided becoming a prisoner of his
assailant. He scrabbled for balance, tearing a small knife free from the hem of
his priest-robe’s sleeve as he scanned the courtyard for some detectable sound
or movement. Then he saw the silhouette and threw the knife aside; no four
finger blade would deter Tempus for long.
“I’ve taken all I’m going to take of your schemes. Torch.” The mud squished as
the big mercenary took a step forward. He leaned down and hoisted Molin to his
feet by the front of his robe, then pressed him against the damp brick of the
palace wall. “I warned you once-that’s more than you deserve.”
“Warned me of what? Warned me that you’re in over your eyes with capital
politics that have no meaning in this town? You want Sanctuary quiet when your
high-and-mighty usurping friends get here-well, what are you doing about it? You
started off well: you got Roxane’s Nisi globe; drove her into hiding- but you
haven’t done anything since.” Molin’s voice was cracking from the pressure
Tempus put against his breastbone but it could not be said that his courage had