Kitiara was speechless. Her eyes were glazed as she struggled to fathom the fact that El-Navar was a panther shape-shifter. That explained the strange dichotomy between his behavior in the daytime and at night.
"El-Navar," Ursa continued, "got so worked up that, before our eyes, he transformed himself and attacked Beck,
clawed and devoured him. It was incredible. I have never seen anything the like. It was over before we could think what to do. I'm not sure we could have done anything, even if we had tried."
Ursa paused now, his voice choking. "The funny thing is," he added after a time, "the spell on the chest was broken. Whatever the magic was, it was linked to Beck's life. With Beck dead, the spell ended. We were able to get inside the chest, grab the silver and gold, and get away from that nightmarish scene as quickly as possible."
Kitiara was silent, thinking. Now she understood. "And El-Navar?"
Ursa whirled angrily on her. "Forget El-Navar," he said to her, glaring. "El-Navar ran off. We caught up to him. By the time we did, he was… human again. Don't be worrying about El-Navar. You're behaving like a lovesick cow."
"It has nothing to do with love," Kit declared vehemently, standing up so that she was face to face with Ursa.
He met her eyes. She didn't flinch. After a moment, he stepped back and sat down wearily. "El-Navar is fine," he told her more calmly. "They are waiting, miles from here. None of them wanted to take the chance of coming back to the rendezvous."
"Terrific," Kitiara snorted, sitting down again. "So I'm the only one who still considers me part of the group."
"I came back," said Ursa deliberately. He raised his eyes to meet hers, and she nodded her gratitude.
There was a moment of silence. They were surrounded by blackness and looked at each other across the small fire.
"Still," he added meaningfully, "it's bad business. Nobody told us to kill Beck. Sir Gwathmey will have a price on our heads, and I'm not sure how Lord Mantilla will take the news. If he's smart, he'll say and do nothing. He detests the Gwathmey bloodline. But the whole episode may, eventually, lead back to him. And what El-Navar did may point to a Karnuthian among us, and mark any in his company."
"So?" asked Kitiara.
"So," responded Ursa, "I'm sure the best thing for us to do would be to split up for a while, get far away from this part of the world, and lay low. Let some time pass. See what happens."
Kitiara thought about that. "All right," she agreed. "Give me my share. I was only planning to join up for this one job, anyway."
"You don't understand," said Ursa, standing up and moving toward his horse, fiddling with the saddle and reins. He turned to look at her. "You were never one of us. We only used you to make the plan easier, to free up Radisson to help us with the main attack. You're not getting any share."
"What?" Kit leaped to her feet and lunged toward him, pulling her knife. But Ursa moved even more quickly and grabbed her wrist. He bent it backward until the knife was next to her face. With his other arm, he slapped her hard across the face. He jerked the knife out of her hand and pushed her away.
"They wouldn't let me give you a share," he said, half-apologetically. "Even if I wanted to."
The look on Kitiara's face was pure fury. She made another move in Ursa's direction, but he waved the knife in front of her, and she backed off.
"At least I came back," he declared between clenched teeth. "I came back to see if you were all right. The others wanted to ride on."
"Thanks for nothing," Kit said, spitting the words. She looked around for another weapon, something she could grab and throw, anything, but it was a standoff.
Ursa watched her for several seconds, until he was convinced that she had no recourse. Then he turned toward his horse, unstrapped a long bundle wrapped in scrim cloth, and tossed it on the ground at her feet.
"What's that?" she asked contemptuously, barely looking at it.
"Open it," he said.
Cautiously, Kit stooped down and worked the strings and wrapping, revealing a scabbard bound in tooled leather. She unbladed a short sword: bone grip, etched, thick blade, the hilt and pommel ornamented with tiny, brilliant stones. It was as magnificent a sword as she had ever beheld.
"It's yours," said Ursa. "It's worth as much as a good horse."
"Why me?" Kit asked suspiciously, handling it.
"Beck's sword," Ursa said matter-of-factly. "Obviously of personal significance, maybe a gift of heritage. The only thing we would dare do with it is bury it. You can take it back to Solace, which is far enough away. You're the last one to figure in on this mission. Nobody knows you were with us. You're safe-but I'd keep it wrapped and out of sight for a long while yet."
Ursa waited for her response. Kit gazed with satisfaction at the sword in her hand, but when she looked back up at Ursa her eyes were hard and uncompromising.
'You had to come back here anyway, to bury Beck," Kit said accusingly.
Ursa's face looked stubborn. "Maybe," he said. He waited, but when Kit said nothing else, he started to mount. The minute his back was turned, Ursa knew he had made a mistake.
The mercenary felt a sharp tip cut into his back. Blood trickled from the wound.
"Not so fast," Kitiara said with a hiss.
He turned around slowly, the sword in Kitiara's hands prodding him. Now the sword tip moved up to chest level and again nicked his skin.
"Thanks for the sword," Kitiara said. "Now I want my fair share."
"Don't be crazy," Ursa said tersely.
Kit gave the tip of the sword a little nudge, opening up another small wound. "I don't have it with me," Ursa said through gritted teeth.
"Then let's go get it," Kit insisted.
"They'll never give it you," warned Ursa. "They'd kill you, and they'd let me be killed by you, if need be, without a second thought."
"Too bad for you," said Kitiara. She gave the sword another push, and Ursa's blood flowed freely. Yet as Kit did so, the mercenary astonished her by reaching over with amazing speed and grabbing her sword by the blade. She hadn't noticed before-idiot 1-but his hand was gloved in heavy leather. And though the sword cut sharply into the hide, Ursa was able to grip the sword firmly and push it away before Kit could react.
Then, her attention diverted, Ursa kicked upward, catching Kit fully in the groin. As she buckled, he kicked even higher with the other leg and caught her in the chin. She felt a snap and collapsed, bobbling the sword. Ursa gave Kit one more vicious kick in the side before she lost consciousness.
Ursa stood over her, quickly bandaging his hand in some cloth torn from his tunic. The wrapped hand looked blood-soaked, but in reality the cut was not very deep or painful, and Ursa knew it would heal. The look on his face was more of anger than anything else. His eyes were cold and unforgiving.
He picked up Beck's sword and, with some difficulty, wrapped it up again in its elaborate covering. Kitiara was motionless.
Ursa shuffled toward his horse and rose stiffly into the saddle. He was about to stick Beck's sword back into its niche in his pack, when he glanced again toward Kitiara and had a change of mind.