Second Kiss by Robert Priest Page B

off the water. It wasn’t until he was nearly upon them that he noticed the group, and he was shocked when he realized that the hated Montither was among them. What was he doing back in Ulde? This jolt of fear and hatred was for a second mixed with a shred of hope. If Montither had come from the camp, he would surely know whether Saheli was there or not. He doubted that Montither would supply him with an easy answer to this question though, so, because he was on his way there anyways, and would find out for himself soon enough, he decided to give the group a wide berth.
    He had almost slipped past unnoticed, when Gnasher, the black-toothed fellow who always accompanied Montither, suddenly looked up. He caught Xemion’s eye and grinned menacingly. “Why, look. It’s the great swordsman.” He laughed, causing his jaw to vibrate up and down as though it were quickly gnashing at something.
    Xemion nodded in greeting.
    â€œAnd how are you today, my friend?” Gnasher asked with mock politeness as the others began to close in around him. Gnasher clapped Xemion forcefully on the back. Montither was standing back a bit, leaning against the portal, his eyes spilling sheer static black hatred.
    â€œI’m in a hurry,” Xemion replied angrily, yanking his shoulder away.
    â€œOh, no you’re not.” Gnasher had a hint of evil mischief in his eyes.
    â€œOh, yes I am,” Xemion replied, trying to brush his way through them.
    Suddenly, Montither let loose an insane-sounding growl and dashed straight at Xemion, launching his fist into his right cheek, knocking him to the ground. Xemion leapt back to his feet as quickly as he could, but he was reeling and off-balance. Before he could raise his fists to defend himself, Montither struck again. Xemion hit the ground a second time and Montither began kicking him. He caught him on the hip where the painted sword hung. If he had been enraged before, the sight of the object that had so humiliated him was like oil on the fire. Montither flew into a frenzy of kicks and then he ripped the sword away from Xemion and tried to break it over his knee. But the sword was not the least bit brittle. It bent and easily absorbed the force.
    â€œWhat of your oath?” Xemion managed to scream from the ground, where he was doubled over into a protective ball. Shrill laughter rose from the crowd.
    â€œWho are you calling an Oath?” Gnasher mocked. He turned to the others, snickering. He went to kick Xemion in the head, but Montither stopped him.
    â€œNo, he’s right.” he growled suddenly withdrawing, holding his fists at his side, still clenched. There was complete silence. “I swore an oath of alliance.” There was a sinister undertone in Montither’s finely accented though somewhat slurred words. The thugs, knowing that look, knowing the changeability of his moods, looked on with anticipation. “Now get up!”
    Xemion rose painfully to his feet, wary in case he had to defend against another flurry of kicks or punches.
    â€œHold out your hand and I will return your sword to you,” Montither ordered with only the slightest suggestion of a sadistic smile. When Xemion refused, Montither nodded and someone grabbed Xemion from behind. He struggled with all the strength of his rage and indignation, but they were many more than he and all his strength could not tear him free. He jerked his face around toward Montither and sneered. “I’m not afraid of you.”
    â€œHold out your hand,” Montither demanded. Xemion could smell the stench of vomit and wine on Montither’s breath. He tried to resist. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist tight, but other fingers pried at it and opened it against his will and held it there, bare beneath Montither’s vengeful glare.
    â€œNow let me return your sword to you.” Montither raised the painted sword and brought it down as hard as he could across Xemion’s