The girl didn't move.
Evanlyn stood stock still, knowing she must not move, must not cringe or flinch or blink while the terrifying weapon hissed past, barely a hair's breadth from her face and body. Any one of those blows would cut her in half, she realised. Yet she forced herself to show no fear. Her heart thudded and her pulse raced with it but she hid it deep inside her. She wondered vaguely how Horace had stood up to such an ordeal without fear and then it dawned on her. He hadn't. But he had controlled the fear because that was his way of having revenge on the posturing, leaping, stupid man now in front of her.
And she determined she would have the same revenge. Logic told her that this display of Hassaun's was all for show. They had stated several times that Halt would be the first to die. Therefore all this slashing and cutting was simply to frighten her. At the same time, she realised, the slightest mistake on Hassaun's part would be fatal. If rage or frustration threw him off balance so that he missed a stroke by as little as half a centimetre, she would be dead.
But she stood, eyes open but deliberately unfocused as the razor-sharp blade, nearly a metre and a half long, hissed and whooshed around her face and neck and body.
And finally, it was Hassaun who was defeated. He stepped back, lowering the sword. His body gleamed with perspiration. His eyes above the mask showed his utter bewilderment. And the crowd was silent.
Then one voice, from somewhere in the middle, called out.
'Release her!'
And another joined in, and another. Until a growing section of the crowd were echoing the sentiment. Mostly they were Arridi. But Yusal's eyes narrowed in rage as he saw several of his own men raising their hands and calling for Evanlyn's release.
Furious, he stepped forward, drawing his own sword to emphasise his words.
'That's enough!' he shouted. 'Enough!'
The cries for Evanlyn's release died away as Yusal's bleak eyes swept the crowd. Behind him, Halt realised that this was a moment of maximum danger for Evanlyn.
Yusal might well choose to make a swift end of her here and now to still the chance of any further protest on her behalf. He would have to take the focus away from her and concentrate Yusal's anger on himself. Forcing a tone of utter boredom and disdain into his voice, he stepped forward, calling loudly to the Tualaghi leader:
'Yusal, this is getting very boring. Can we get on with it, please?'
Yusal rounded on him, Evanlyn forgotten. This was the man his soldiers hated, he knew. This was the way to recover control of the situation. Nobody would call for Halt's release. He pointed his sword now at the grey-bearded, shaggy-haired figure.
'Kill him!' he ordered Hassaun. 'Kill him now!'
Two of his men dragged Halt to the edge of the platform while a third brought the execution block forward. This was a tapered timber block about a metre high, designed so that a kneeling victim could be forced to lean their upper body against the tapered, sloping edge, thus providing resistance to the blow from the executioner's sword. He placed it in position while Halt was forced to his knees by the other two. They shoved him hard up against the block, looping his bound arms over it to hold him in position. Halt glanced round, saw Gilan's horrified expression. He smiled grimly.
'Will's taking his time,' he said. 'I'll give him a piece of my mind over this.'
'Silence!' screamed Yusal, his voice breaking into a higher pitch with the vehemence of his cry. 'Force him round!' he added in a more controlled voice to one of his men. The Tualaghi grabbed Halt's head in both his hands and turned it so that he was facing forward.
Halt found himself scanning the faces before him – faces in the crowd. They were silent now and unmoving. But there was no pity evident there – just the morbid fascination of those looking into the eyes of a man who is about to die. Then he stopped at one face that seemed vaguely familiar. The man met his gaze and nodded slowly. Halt racked his brain and realised he had seen the man before – he had been one of the Arridi troopers turned loose by Yusal to die in the desert. He was sure of it!
There was a vast collective sigh from the crowd as Hassaun stepped forward, advanced his right foot and took the huge sword up and back, high over his right shoulder.
There was a pause. Then Halt heard a hiss as something passed through the air at great speed. It was vaguely familiar, he thought. In a strangely detached way, he decided it must be the sound of the sword flashing down to end his life.
He'd often wondered how it would happen and what it would feel like. In less than a second, he thought, he'd know.
Chapter 45
Suspicion turned to certainty in the eyes of Talish, the Tualaghi thief, as he glanced up and saw Will hanging from the watchtower framework, his longbow and quiver slung over one shoulder.
The Tualaghi didn't recognise the young man but he recognised the weapons. He had seen bows like that before, when he and his friends had charged the Arridi camp site.
'He's one of the foreigners!' he yelled, drawing his sword. 'Get him!'
His two henchmen moved forward with him, their own swords ringing clear of their scabbards. Aloom stepped clear of the wall, discarding his cloak and drawing his own weapon to bar their way.
'Keep going, Will!' he called. 'I'll take care of them!'
But there were three of them, all seasoned fighters, and they crowded upon him, swords flashing, rising and failing as they attacked. Aloom gave ground stubbornly before them but he was fighting a losing battle. He set his back to the stones of the wall and desperately parried the storm of blows that rained upon him. Inevitably, one of the swords broke through his defence and he was cut badly on the upper part of his sword arm. Then another stroke slashed across his thigh and he stumbled, recovering just in time to avoid a horizontal slash at his throat.
Hanging awkwardly above him, there was no way Will could unsling his bow in time to help. Even if he could have done so, he couldn't have shot, hanging by his arms. Yet he could see his friend would be dead within a few seconds. Aloom's parries were growing clumsy and awkward now and he was cut again, this time across the forehead so that blood ran into his eyes, half blinding him.
From the square, Will heard the crowd's chanting grow louder and louder, faster and faster.
Hassaun! Hassaun! Hassaun! Hassaun!
The cry came from hundreds of throats and rolled across the town like thunder, waking echoes in the gullies and mountains around them.
Will hesitated for a second. Aloom would die if he didn't help him. But the chanting of the crowd told him that events in the square were building to a climax. Halt needed him…
But Aloom was here and now, and fighting desperately to save him. There was no question about what he should do. Measuring the distance, he released his grip and let himself drop to the uneven battle below him.
He landed feet first on the shoulders of the Tualaghi leader. The man gave a cry of shock and pain and crumpled beneath the force of Will's body dropping on him from four metres above. Will heard the snap of bones breaking somewhere, then a sickening thud as the bandit's head slammed into the hard, rocky ground. Will rolled forward to cushion the shock of landing, although the greater part of the force of his fall had been broken by the Tualaghi's body.