White Wolf by David Gemmell

save two black-garbed officers of the Watch who ran forward, sabers in their hands. Lantern moved to meet them. He swayed as the first blade lanced for his heart. The soldier stumbled back. Braygan saw that Antol’s knife was now embedded in the man’s throat. And somehow Lantern now had the dying officer’s saber in his hand. He parried a thrust from the second soldier, rolled his blade, then plunged it through the man’s chest. The soldier cried out and staggered back. The saber blade slid clear.
    Lantern stepped back from the man and swung away. Braygan thought he was about to return to where Cethelin lay, but he suddenly spun on his heel, the saber flashing through the air. It took the soldier in the side of the neck, cleaving through skin, tendon, and bone. The young soldier’s head struck the ground while his body stood for several seconds. Braygan saw the right leg twitch and the headless corpse crumple to the earth.
    There was not a sound now from the crowd. Lantern had both sabers in his hands and he walked along the line of waiting men and women. “Well?” he called out. “Are there no more fighting men among you? What about you, Arbiter? Are you ready to die? I have stitched your wounds—now let me give you another. Come to me. Here, I shall make it easy for you.” So saying he plunged both sabers into the ground.
    “You cannot kill all of us!” shouted the Arbiter. “Come on men, let’s take him!”
    He rushed forward with a great shout. Lantern stepped in to meet him. His left hand caught the Arbiter’s knife wrist and twisted it. The Arbiter grunted in pain and dropped the weapon. Lantern moved his foot beneath the falling weapon, flicking it back into the air. He caught it with his left hand, then rammed it through the Arbiter’s right eye socket.
    As the body fell he stepped back and swept up the sabers. “The man was an idiot,” he said. “But he was quite right. I cannot possibly kill you all. Probably no more than ten or twelve of you. Do you wish to draw lots, peasants? Or will you rush me all at once and check the bodies later?”
    No one moved. “What about you?” asked Lantern, pointing the saber at a broad-shouldered young man standing close by. “Shall I spill your guts to the ground next? Well, speak up, worm!” Lantern suddenly moved toward the man. The townsman cried out in fear and forced himself further back into the crowd. “What about you, Councillor?” he raged, making toward Raseev Kalikan. “Are you ready to die for your beloved townsfolk? Or do you think there has been enough entertainment for today?”
    Lantern advanced on the hapless Raseev, who stood blinking in the sunlight. The crowd moved back from the terrified politician.
    “There has been enough . . . bloodshed,” whispered Raseev, as the blood-covered saber touched his chest.
    “Louder! Your miserable flock cannot hear you.”
    “Don’t kill me, Skilgannon!” he pleaded.
    “Ah, so you know me then. No matter. Talk to your flock, Raseev Kalikan, while you still have a tongue to use. You know what to say.”
    “There has been enough bloodshed!” shouted Raseev. “Return to your homes now. Please, my friends. Let us go home. I did not want anyone hurt today. Antol should not have attacked the abbot. He has paid for it with his life. Now let us be civilized and pull back from the brink.”
    “Wise words,” said Skilgannon.
    For a moment the crowd did not move. Skilgannon turned his ice blue gaze upon the nearest man, and he backed away. Others followed his lead, and soon the mob was dispersing. Raseev made to follow them.
    “Not yet, Councillor,” said Skilgannon, the saber blade tapping at Raseev’s shoulder. “Nor you, Captain,” he added, as Seregas backed away. “How long have you known?”
    “Only a few days, General,” said Seregas, smoothly. “I spotted the tattoo when you thrashed the Arbiter.”
    “And you sent word to the east.”
    “Of course. There is three thousand Raq on