"The fulfilment of your pledge."
"You have been paid."
The monk waved his hands.
"'Tis not for gold, I have ventured this—"
And he pointed to the crypts below.
She recoiled from him, regarding him with a fixed stare.
"What do you want of me?" she again asked with a look, in which hate and wonder struggled for the mastery.
"The new Conclave will be made up of your creatures. Their choice must fall—on me!"
"On the perjured assassin?" shrieked the woman. "Out of my way! I've done with you!"
The monk stirred not. From his drawn white face two eyes like glowing coals burnt into those of the woman.