12
“The man who pulls a bow better than you will inherit your domains, Young Lord.” The eyes of the prophetess wandered wildly below a wrinkled, sweaty brow.
Scowling Tiger frowned at her. Twenty years old, he had just inherited two prefectures upon the death of his father, Stretching Tiger. Already the new Prefect was having problems. The Caven Hills peasants had murdered seven tax collectors in the last two weeks. Impotent to stop them, he had asked Smoking Arrow for help; the Emperor hadn't yet responded to his request. Now, this seeress tells me lies, Scowling Tiger thought, determined to hold onto everything bequeathed him.
Then, as though of its own volition, his sword was out and swinging.
The head of the prophetess bounced once on the table before falling to the floor, and her
