over his face, holding it as tightly as she could, ignoring his muffled words. Her weeping grew louder in contrast to her lover’s efforts, which began to weaken and finally ceased altogether.
Her weeping was the only sound in the room.
Sulla regarded the woman coolly. He removed the curved knife from his belt and tossed it onto the floor beside her.
“I am offering you your freedom,” he hissed in anticipation. “Take it!”
She looked at him, her eyes uncomprehending.
“You die today, or I will keep you alive for months. I don’t need to tell you what that will mean for you. You are a murderess.”
Slowly it dawned on her what he meant, what he had planned from the very outset of his coup. She took the dagger gingerly in both hands and turned it slowly, fearfully, upon herself.
Sulla watched as she threw herself forward, thinking for a second that she would turn on him. But she fell next to her dead master, and Sulla’s eye shone as he watched her body contort itself in the agony of the wound, but she did not scream.
That was brave of her, he thought, nearly as brave as the girl who had ambushed him some days before, and whom he had shot from his horse. She hadn’t cried out as she had fallen from the cliff’s edge, although he remembered with a slight shudder that his men had not found any trace of her body.
Surely the wolves had taken her.
With a snarl he banished such thoughts. The girl would not spoil his triumph!
Sulla knelt next to the dead Kinshra lord. The signet ring sparkled on his limp hand, tempting him to take it.
“How long have I coveted you!” Sulla said, breaking the finger in order to force the ring from its former owner. Without any delay, he slipped it onto the finger of his right hand. Now he was the lord of the Kinshra.
After a moment more, alone with the two bodies, he called the guard.
“Take them outside for the beasts,” he instructed, “or give them to the starving miners, if necessary!”
The winter had been harder than they had expected, and their slaves would starve for lack of food. This year they needed slaves, for Sulla had grand ambitions, and the miners were worked to death, pulling as much coal from the mountain as they could. Coal, Sulla thought to himself, as he shouted to his men and called a council of senior Kinshra, coal to fuel my war machine.
My war machine! he suddenly thought. He was now the lord of the Kinshra, and he would make certain the world knew it.
FOURTEEN
Theodore had made his report to Sir Amik and master-at-arms Sharpe, answering their questions as accurately as he could and with absolute truth. Even when he admitted to the fear he had experienced he spoke clearly, never seeking an excuse, unafraid to admit to it.
Sharpe knew that other squires might have chosen to disguise their fear, and Theodore’s open honesty drew appreciative nods from both men.
The dwarf was called in after the squire had given his version of events.
Respectfully removing his helm, he began.
“My name is Doric. For many years I have lived away from my kin, in the company of the men south of the mountain. I have known several knights throughout my life. I have trust enough in your order to know that I have nothing to fear by telling the whole truth, in the hope that my tale will help somehow in bringing this monster to a swift end!”
Doric’s telling of their adventure supported Theodore’s version in every way, and the dwarf didn’t hesitate even when revealing the existence of his adamant bars. When he finished speaking, a quiet settled over the four of them.
“So you know the metal well, Doric?” Sharpe asked, breaking the silence.
“Aye!” the dwarf said. “I know it as well as any father can know a son.”
The men glanced furtively at one another, and Doric followed their looks.
Sir Amik noted his sudden unease and sought to calm him.
“Your coming here at this time is surely fated, my aged friend,” he said. “I would have your
Her weeping was the only sound in the room.
Sulla regarded the woman coolly. He removed the curved knife from his belt and tossed it onto the floor beside her.
“I am offering you your freedom,” he hissed in anticipation. “Take it!”
She looked at him, her eyes uncomprehending.
“You die today, or I will keep you alive for months. I don’t need to tell you what that will mean for you. You are a murderess.”
Slowly it dawned on her what he meant, what he had planned from the very outset of his coup. She took the dagger gingerly in both hands and turned it slowly, fearfully, upon herself.
Sulla watched as she threw herself forward, thinking for a second that she would turn on him. But she fell next to her dead master, and Sulla’s eye shone as he watched her body contort itself in the agony of the wound, but she did not scream.
That was brave of her, he thought, nearly as brave as the girl who had ambushed him some days before, and whom he had shot from his horse. She hadn’t cried out as she had fallen from the cliff’s edge, although he remembered with a slight shudder that his men had not found any trace of her body.
Surely the wolves had taken her.
With a snarl he banished such thoughts. The girl would not spoil his triumph!
Sulla knelt next to the dead Kinshra lord. The signet ring sparkled on his limp hand, tempting him to take it.
“How long have I coveted you!” Sulla said, breaking the finger in order to force the ring from its former owner. Without any delay, he slipped it onto the finger of his right hand. Now he was the lord of the Kinshra.
After a moment more, alone with the two bodies, he called the guard.
“Take them outside for the beasts,” he instructed, “or give them to the starving miners, if necessary!”
The winter had been harder than they had expected, and their slaves would starve for lack of food. This year they needed slaves, for Sulla had grand ambitions, and the miners were worked to death, pulling as much coal from the mountain as they could. Coal, Sulla thought to himself, as he shouted to his men and called a council of senior Kinshra, coal to fuel my war machine.
My war machine! he suddenly thought. He was now the lord of the Kinshra, and he would make certain the world knew it.
FOURTEEN
Theodore had made his report to Sir Amik and master-at-arms Sharpe, answering their questions as accurately as he could and with absolute truth. Even when he admitted to the fear he had experienced he spoke clearly, never seeking an excuse, unafraid to admit to it.
Sharpe knew that other squires might have chosen to disguise their fear, and Theodore’s open honesty drew appreciative nods from both men.
The dwarf was called in after the squire had given his version of events.
Respectfully removing his helm, he began.
“My name is Doric. For many years I have lived away from my kin, in the company of the men south of the mountain. I have known several knights throughout my life. I have trust enough in your order to know that I have nothing to fear by telling the whole truth, in the hope that my tale will help somehow in bringing this monster to a swift end!”
Doric’s telling of their adventure supported Theodore’s version in every way, and the dwarf didn’t hesitate even when revealing the existence of his adamant bars. When he finished speaking, a quiet settled over the four of them.
“So you know the metal well, Doric?” Sharpe asked, breaking the silence.
“Aye!” the dwarf said. “I know it as well as any father can know a son.”
The men glanced furtively at one another, and Doric followed their looks.
Sir Amik noted his sudden unease and sought to calm him.
“Your coming here at this time is surely fated, my aged friend,” he said. “I would have your
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