by Rod Fisher
* * * *
Krel was loath to face Stet-Arnak empty handed. Nightfall had made their search futile. He organized his men for a rotation of patrols through the night, then returned to the inn. As he expected, the Dag was apoplectic with rage. He shoved his face, flushed and veined with anger, into Krel's and dressed him down for incompetence. Krel stood stoically, taking a stinging backhand on the cheek without changing expression or revealing his contempt for the priest.
"Does anyone know who the man was, or why he tried to rescue the girl?"
"I know him only as a fisherman, Lordship. My patrol stopped him on the lane south. He was carrying supplies for the repair of a boat he said was damaged by beaching."
"Send a patrol to check that out."
"Tonight?"
"Now!" Stet-Arnak snarled the order.
Krel went to the balcony and dispatched three of his troop. The fire-gutted stable steamed in the torchlight. He returned to the priest. "Who put out the fire, Excellency?"
"The villagers...but now that toothless scum downstairs wants me to pay for it. How do you like that?"
"We did not set the fire."
"Of course not. He is an idiot. If he brings it up again I will make his cursed tongue match his teeth, eh?" The priest laughed at his own cleverness and his humor improved."At least we have the girl, Krel...and tomorrow we will catch the fisherman. His skin, peeled and tanned, will make a holy asafetida bag...a wedding present for my lovely. Since this stranger is apparently a friend of hers, she should find such a gift very endearing, wouldn't you say?"
"Yes, Lordship."
"Bring the girl out. She must be hungry and perhaps more tractable by now."
Krel tried the door. "She has the door blocked, Excellency."
"So...she still wants to play games. Let her starve a little longer. By morning she will change her attitude."