Liquid tickled through Achan's beard and dripped from his chin. Sweat? Tears? Blood? He didn't know. He only knew he was going to die. Sir Gavin!
He looked out at the field of faces, scanning for red Old Kingsguard cloaks. But of course they wouldn't wear them if trying to infiltrate this crowd.
Achan's temple prickled. Vrell Sparrow.
Achan opened to the boy, thankful his rescue had come.
Achan. Are you well? Sparrow asked. What is happening?
Achan swung and reached again to the left. How could Sparrow not see? Where are you?
Sir Gavin made me wait with the horses.
Achan's fingers slipped over the chain and the cuff wedged back into the top of his hand. He gritted his teeth. Blazes, Sparrow. Wait with the horses, then, and keep out of my head.
You sound weak. Are you hurt?
Achan grunted and swung right. You could say that.
What can I do?
Sit and wait like you were told! Achan closed his mind to the boy, enraged his rescue hadn't come after all. His lungs were on fire. He could barely breathe. Where was Sir Gavin?
Achan's temple's pricked again.
Vrell Sparrow.
He managed to grip the chain above the cuff on his left hand, but his sweaty fingers slid down and he had to grip it again and again. He started to swing like a pendulum, side to side, until his left-hand grip was firm and secure. He ignored the searing pain from where the cuff cut into the skin on his right hand.
Sir Gavin! Where are you?
Straight out in front, lad. Do your best to hold tight.
Achan almost laughed. Holding tight wasn't the problem. He was holding quite tightly at the moment.
He squinted to locate Sir Gavin but failed. The wind picked up, tickling the hairs on Achan's legs and chilling his sweaty body. He swung toward the right spike. The chain drooped a bit. He jerked the chain, causing the large black ring to inch up the spike. In the same motion he crawled his fingers along the chain to keep it tight when he swung back. If he could climb off the top of this thing…
When he swung right again, he slid that ring up higher. It caught on a knot in the wood. His arms were crooked now, the right higher than the left.
He jerked the left chain up, twisting the excess around his hand to shorten it before he swung back. The higher he managed to raise the rings, the closer his arms were to the spikes-and the less he felt his arms would be ripped out.
He stopped, tried to catch his breath, but could hardly pull air into his lungs. His biceps burned. He wasn't strong enough for this. The chains coiled around his hands, cutting of the blood flow. They looked purple.
"Barthos yarad. Barthos laqach. Barthos dashen."
Dirt joined the wind rising from the platform below. The blowing cloud twisted into a funnel. Gowzals flew into the gale and were swept away, darkening the cloudy haze to black.
The whirlwind lengthened. Lord Falkson's phlegmy chanting droned louder. A gowzal squawked. The crowd grew silent, many of them dropping to their knees.
A form coalesced in the swirling cone. The black wind funnel began to take the shape of a man, five times taller than normal-with a doglike head, long pointed ears, and a shaggy mane. His body consisted of black dirt particles spinning together under invisible skin.
Barthos, god of soil.
The people in the temple fell prostrate. On the platform below, Silvo, Nongo, the guards…even Esek fell to his face.
"Arman, Arman, Arman," Achan whispered between short breaths, staring at the thing. His arms shook, ached, burned. Please. He gasped. "Please."
Sir Gavin Lukos.
Achan's head throbbed from Sparrow's persistent knocks so much he barely heard Sir Gavin's knock over the boy's. Achan opened immediately. Where are you? What do I do?
Remember, lad, he's made of black spirits like the black knights use.
Wonderful. But what do I do?
Barthos is a creature of Gazar, not a god. He has no authority over Arman's children. We cannot kill him with steel, but we can rebuke him.
Scold Barthos? That huge creature? How?
Tell him to leave.
Sir Gavin's voice yelled from the crowd on Achan's left. "Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echad, Arman hu shlosha be-echad. Hatzileni, beshem Caan, ben Arman."
Achan scanned the crowd in that direction but couldn't see him.
The creature too turned toward Sir Gavin's voice, revealing its lupine face. A kuon, the rabid black wolves that were said to be so prevalent in the Cela Mountains. That explained why Barth's crest displayed a kuon.
Achan whimpered, doubting this beast would listen to him. He sucked a short breath between his teeth. "Go away!"
Barthos's neck twisted. Eyes locked onto Achan's, he roared a guttural sound that curled Achan's toes.
The beast swung a clawed paw. Achan moved his legs aside in time. But the ring on the right spike slid loose, jerking Achan's right arm down.
Now he knew why he'd been strung here. He was to be plucked off his chains and devoured by this god of the underworld like a choice morsel.
Achan writhed back and forth, legs swinging, right arm jerking the chain back up the pole. His arms were killing him. His hands were numb. Pain stabbed his temple.
Vrell Sparrow.
Achan screamed. He was going to maim Sparrow if he survived this.
From the crowd behind him, Sir Caleb's voice shouted, "Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echad, Arman hu shlosha be-echad. Hatzileni, beshem Caan, ben Arman."
The kuon tipped his head back and howled like a hundred vultures circling their carrion. It fell to all fours and lumbered under Achan, shaking the platform and spikes with each step.
Inko's voice rose from somewhere on Achan's right. "Hatzileni, beshem Caan, ben Arman."
Barthos spun toward Inko and roared.
Clearly, Achan didn't know how to scold the beast properly. Anyway, what was this doing but whipping the creature into more anger? This wasn't the rescue he had in mind. He realized that if he wanted down, he'd have to do it himself.
The right ring had wedged between two knots close to the spike's point. That drew his legs closer to the right beam. Achan kicked out, trying to hook a leg around the right spike. He missed and fell back, his arms jerking taut.
He grunted and kicked up again. This time he was able to curl his right calf around the spike.
The pressure in his right arm eased immediately. He hung for a moment, took a deep breath, then pulled his other leg over until he managed to wrap it around too. He clutched the spike with both legs and his right arm. He tipped his head back, left arm still stretched to the left spike.
Barthos stalked through the crowd, knocking the spectators aside. Black dirt billowed under his transparent skin.
People screamed. Some sang a warbling song in their foreign tongues. The knights' voices chanted low and steady, their rhythm contradicting Lord Falkson's slurred tones.
Sparrow continued to knock, the little boil.
Achan struggled with his left hand, jerking the chain up the spike inch by inch until at last the ring slipped over the top of the spike and fell.
The weight jerked his left arm, and his body slid down the wood spike. Rough splinters pierced his torso, arm, and thighs. He squeezed, stopping himself from sliding further, and pulled his left arm up to the spike.
He alternated hugging the spike with his arms and twisting his hips then squeezing his legs around the spike and moving his arms. The chains and metal rings still hung from his wrists, but at least his arms were no longer being yanked out. In this way he slowly inched his body around the beam until he was on the outside of it, hunched upon the slope as if riding Scout up a steep hill.