Honey-Fang's Confessor
by D.G.P. Rector When Colm found the King, he was chopping wood, the ferocity of a warrior in each swing of the ax. He made little noise, except grunting from time to time as he wrenched blade from wood. The pile of split logs had grown tall about the stump by the time he finally stopped and deigned to address Colm. “So,” he said. “You’re the strange fish they pulled from the sea. I hear you were the only one to survive that wreck.” Colm bowed his head, not sure how to address this man. He’d spoken with bishops and lords, but never kings. “Your grace, I am honored to meet you. I am called Father Colm. Though God took my companions, He spared me that I might teach you of His love.” The King rested the ax upon his shoulder, his hair and beard damp with sweat. Colm knew he was a man of advanced years, but except for streaks of silver here and there in his mane, it was impossible to tell. His muscles were still hard, the slight softness of his belly a testament to good mead rather than...
