“Was he persuaded by her?” the other asked quickly. His sharp-featured face looked troubled. “Did he listen to her?”
“He will ask the council to allow her to speak in her defense. He will ask that she be allowed to confront her accusers. We will have to produce the witnesses we claim we have. Unfortunate, but it can be done.”
The Seraphic stepped away, shaking his head. “I don’t like this. Aislinne Kray is dangerous. It would be better if we simply killed her.”
“Would it?” The ragpicker frowned. “I notice you haven’t done so before this. What makes it any wiser to kill her now?”
“We have her charged with a crime and imprisoned. It would be a simple matter to arrange her death. Suicide. Guilt and the ensuing depression over her betrayal led her to take her life, we would say.” He shrugged. “Pogue would be upset, but he would get over it. He doesn’t love her all that much.”
The ragpicker shook his head. Idiot. He loves her more than you think. “It creates problems we don’t need. It would be easier if everyone simply forgot about this woman.
It would be better if they had their attention focused elsewhere.”
The Seraphic looked at him with renewed interest. “You have something in mind?”
The ragpicker paused, thinking how best to word what he wanted to say so as not to alert the man to what was coming. It was time to end this charade, but he wanted things to go smoothly.
“I think we need to consider moving ahead more quickly with our plan for you to take control of your followers—as well as those who might be persuaded to become your followers. A demonstration of your strength is needed. An example must be made. The woman is an obstacle that needs removing, but first you need for all the people of Glensk Wood to recognize that you are the proper person to lead them. That as Seraphic of the Children of the Hawk, you are the logical choice—not Pogue Kray.”
Skeal Eile nodded eagerly. “I agree. But the people will not choose me over Pogue.
They accept me as leader of the sect, but not of the entire village. How am I to change that?”
“Can you not simply persuade them?” The ragpicker’s voice was sly and insinuating.
“Can you not use your oratorical skills and your nascent magic? How can you lead if you cannot command?”
The Seraphic flushed. “This is your idea,” he said petulantly. “Instead of questioning my abilities, shouldn’t you be advising me? You have the experience and the magic. You are the demon!”
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and terror filled his eyes.
“I didn’t mean … I was just making a point that …”
Whatever he intended, it came too late to save him. He must have seen it in the ragpicker’s eyes because he tried to turn and flee. But he was an ordinary man and no more, while the ragpicker was exactly what the other had called him and much too quick to be denied. The demon seized the Seraphic’s wrists and locked his fingers about them.
Skeal Eile’s face twisted in pain, and he struggled desperately to escape, flailing wildly and hauling back with all the strength he could muster to break the ragpicker’s grip. But strength of the sort the ragpicker possessed far surpassed that of the Seraphic, and the latter’s attempts were in vain.
Slowly, inexorably, the ragpicker dragged his prisoner close—so close that they were soon eye-to-eye with almost no distance between them.
“I fear you are losing control of yourself, Skeal Eile,” the ragpicker whispered. “I fear you are incapable of holding your tongue. You seem content to let your emotions rule your common sense, even when you should know better.”
“No, please!” The Seraphic was still fighting, but the fear in his eyes told his captor he was already beaten. “Let me go! I won’t say another word to anyone! I’ll leave! I’ll go away! Far away! You won’t ever see me again!” Tears began streaming down his hatchet face. “I’ll do anything you say! Anything!”
The ragpicker smiled. “All true. Every word of it, Seraphic. Even if not in the way you intended.”
Skeal Eile tried to scream, but the ragpicker’s bony hand flashed to his neck and pressed against a bundle of nerves and muscle buried beneath his skin. There was a sharp pain, and suddenly he could no longer speak. He resumed fighting, but it was a weaker, resigned effort. His spirit was broken, and he saw his own end.
“Hold steady, now,” the ragpicker whispered, eyes bright and predatory as he leaned close. “This will only take a moment.”