‘Gone, but then you knew that.’
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‘Yes, come to think of it someone did mention that to me. I was distressed to hear of it, of course. Well, is no one going to offer breakfast? It’s a long walk from Kasyra.’
‘Who is this . . . this popinjay?’ asked Miriel.
‘Oh yes, do introduce us, Angel, there’s a good fellow.’
‘This is Senta, one of the hired killers sent to murder your father.’
‘Delicately put,’ said Senta. ‘But it should be pointed out that I am not a bowman, nor am I the kind of assassin who kills from hiding. I am a swordsman, lady, probably the best in the land.’
Miriel’s fingers closed around the hilt of her sword, but Angel caught her arm. ‘He may be conceited, and self-obsessed, but he is quite right,’ said Angel, his eyes holding to Senta’s gaze. ‘He is a fine bladesman. So let us stay calm, eh? Prepare some food, Miriel.’
‘For him? No!’
‘Trust me,’ he said softly, ‘and do as I say.’
Miriel looked into his flint-coloured eyes. ‘Is this what you want?’
‘Yes,’ he said simply.
Her hands were trembling as she carved the cold meat. She felt confused, uncertain. Angel’s strength was prodigious, and she knew he was no coward. So why was he pandering to this man? Was he frightened?
The two men were sitting at the table when she returned. Senta stood as she entered. ‘You really are a vision!’ he said. Her reply was short and obscene. Senta’s eyes widened. ‘Such language from a lady?’
Furious and embarrassed, Miriel laid down the tray of food and bit back an angry retort.
‘Seen anything of Morak?’ asked Angel, breaking the bread and passing a section to Senta.
‘Not yet – but I sent him a message. He’s got Belash with him, did you know?’
‘It doesn’t surprise me. What does is that you and Morak do not travel together,’ said Angel. ‘You are two of a kind -the same easy smiles, the same sly wit.’
‘And there the resemblance ends,’ said Senta. ‘His heart
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is rotten, Angel, and his desires are vile. It hurts me that you would link us so.’ He glanced at Miriel. ‘This is very fine bread. My compliments.’
Miriel ignored him, but he seemed not to notice. ‘Lovely area this,’ he went on. ‘Close to the sea, and not yet plagued by people and their filth. One day I must find myself such a home in the mountains.’ He looked around him. ‘Well-built, too. A lot of love and effort.’ His eyes were drawn to the weapons on the wall. ‘That’s Kreeg’s crossbow, isn’t it? Well, well! His whore was missing him in Kasyra. Something tells me he won’t be going back to her.’
‘He was like you,’ said Miriel softly. ‘He thought it would be easy, but when you face Waylander the only easy part is the dying.’
Senta laughed. ‘Everyone dies, beauty. Everyone. And if he is useful with a sword it might be me.’
Now it was Angel who chuckled. ‘You are a strange man, Senta. What on earth makes you think Waylander will face you blade to blade? You won’t even see him. All you’ll feel is the bolt that cleaves into your heart. And you won’t feel that for very long.’
‘Well, that wouldn’t be very sporting, would it?’ countered Senta, his smile fading.
‘I don’t think he regards this as sport,’ said Angel.
‘How disappointing. Perhaps I misjudged him. From all I’ve heard he doesn’t seem to be a coward.’ He shrugged. ‘But then these stories do tend to become exaggerated, don’t they?’
‘You have a curious sense of what denotes cowardice,’ said Miriel. ‘When a snake comes into the house a man does not lie down on his belly to fight it fang to fang. He just stamps on its head, then throws the useless carcass out into the night. One does not deal with vermin in the way one deals with men!’
Senta clapped his hands, slowly and theatrically, but anger showed in his blue eyes.
‘Finish your breakfast,’ said Angel softly.
‘And then I am to leave, I suppose?’ Senta responded,