Ursa spun and grabbed her by the shoulder. "He's a shape-shifter, you idiot! Don't you know anything about Karnuthians? Why they're never seen in these parts? They can turn into blood-crazed panthers—can and do, especially at night. That is their essence and their true nature. They can't swim, are terrified of water, and never cross the oceans. But El-Navar was captured in his native land and freighted by ship across the great waters. On the continent he escaped from his handlers, and I met up with him. Most of the time he can manage when he turns into a panther. He is a good comrade. But sometimes it just happens. He changes into his beast form, and . . ."
Kitiara was speechless. Her eyes were glazed as she struggled to fathom the fact that ElNavar 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
