“The thing is dead. Jaxart—will you cleanse the ship?”
Jaxart paused before he turned to obey. “How did you know it was dead?”
Carse said, “I killed it.”
The men stared up at him as though he were something more than human. The awed muttering went around—“He slew the Serpent!”
With another man Jaxart returned to the cabin and brought the body out. No word was spoken. A wide lane was cleared to the lee rail and the black, shrouded thing was carried along it, faceless, formless, hidden in its robe and cowl, symbol even in death of infinite evil.
Again Carse fought down that cold repellent fear and the touch of strange anger. He forced himself to watch.
The splash it made as it fell was shockingly loud in the stillness. Ripples spread in little lines of fire and died away.
Then men began to talk again. They began to shout up to Ywain, taunting her. Someone yelled for her blood and there would have been a stampede up the ladder but that Carse threatened them with his long blade.
“No! She’s our hostage and worth her weight in gold.” He did not specify how but he knew the argument would satisfy them for a while. And much as he hated Ywain he somehow did not want to see her torn to pieces by this pack of wild beasts.
He steered their thoughts to another subject.