for sophistication he used a trick which Alyssa had taught him, sending a brief but blinding pain into the eyes of Cloot’s tormentor. The guard halted with a look of shock, before screaming and falling to the ground.
Tor drew level with the prisoner.
Thank you for staying, Torkyn.
The voice in his head was full of pain and there was no time for pleasantries. The confused guard was climbing to his feet and Tor knew he could not risk a second spike of magic so close on the last. Inquisitors were always around and may suspect something even if they could not detect it.
Then a new voice spoke.
‘Good people, please, hush yourselves. Corlin, would you be so kind as to ask your brave guards here to desist from injuring their prisoner further. I’m sure he has no plans to leave just at the moment.’
The last comment drew titters from the immediate onlookers. Tor studied the man who was now arguing with the head guard. He seemed at ease in front of all the people; almost amused, in fact, by his own participation in the show.
Corlin did not share his good humour.
‘This is not your business, Cyrus, nor your jurisdiction, I might add. I’m acting on behalf of the good people of Hatten.’
‘That’s Prime Cyrus to you and your fearless guards, Corlin, and by the looks of the prisoner I’m certain his punishment is complete. Do tell me again what it is he is accused of?’ The Prime’s voice dripped dangerously with sarcasm.
Corlin was angry at the breach in protocol but the man before him outranked him. He took a breath and faced the people, speaking theatrically, hoping to resurrect some of the previous enthusiasm.
‘He stands accused of peeping during the ladies’ session at the baths this morning.’
It suddenly sounded ridiculous. The crime considered heinous several hours ago, when several of the wives of the town’s most prominent and wealthy citizens had levelled the accusation, now seemed petty.
The Prime was a tall, broad-shouldered man with thick, dark hair and a closely cropped beard. He wore no badge of office and was dressed in simple dark breeches and white shirt. His voice was clear and deep and his grey eyes had a sparkling quality, as though in perpetual merriment, which he demonstrated fully now by lifting his head and laughing. In fact he roared, and many in the crowd joined in. Even Tor, relieved at finding himself forgotten in the scene, found himself grinning.
‘Ha! The rich and pampered ladies who frequent the baths should be secretly delighted that anyoneshould want to peep at their ample backsides and thunderous thighs.’
By now it seemed that everyone but Corlin and his sidekicks had dissolved into laughter. Tor noted, however, that the Prime’s eyes were no longer smiling when they returned to rest on the cripple’s tormentors. And his voice was as cold as a winter’s stream.
‘Release this wretch, Corlin, and go and find some bigger game to amuse your apes with. This man’s punishment—just or unjust—is complete.’
‘Says who?’ snapped Corlin, who thought he had been in charge of proceedings.
‘Says I!’ The Prime’s eyes were glittering dangerously dark now. ‘Release him immediately on my order. Call off the thugs who masquerade here as men of the military and don’t even think of reaching for your sword. Your head will be rolling in this very gutter before it is out of its sheath.’
Corlin hissed a threat. ‘I will live to see you regret this, Prime. Another stage, another day, and don’t be too sure it won’t be your own head the dogs fight over.’
He turned swiftly, drew a large knife and cut the bonds on Cloot’s hands and feet. His final act was to scowl meaningfully at the hushed crowd before pushing past, his helpers falling in step behind him.
The people who, minutes earlier, had been crying for blood now saw the cripple for what he was. They began to drift away, embarrassed.
‘I’d be obliged if you told me who you are and what you were
Tor drew level with the prisoner.
Thank you for staying, Torkyn.
The voice in his head was full of pain and there was no time for pleasantries. The confused guard was climbing to his feet and Tor knew he could not risk a second spike of magic so close on the last. Inquisitors were always around and may suspect something even if they could not detect it.
Then a new voice spoke.
‘Good people, please, hush yourselves. Corlin, would you be so kind as to ask your brave guards here to desist from injuring their prisoner further. I’m sure he has no plans to leave just at the moment.’
The last comment drew titters from the immediate onlookers. Tor studied the man who was now arguing with the head guard. He seemed at ease in front of all the people; almost amused, in fact, by his own participation in the show.
Corlin did not share his good humour.
‘This is not your business, Cyrus, nor your jurisdiction, I might add. I’m acting on behalf of the good people of Hatten.’
‘That’s Prime Cyrus to you and your fearless guards, Corlin, and by the looks of the prisoner I’m certain his punishment is complete. Do tell me again what it is he is accused of?’ The Prime’s voice dripped dangerously with sarcasm.
Corlin was angry at the breach in protocol but the man before him outranked him. He took a breath and faced the people, speaking theatrically, hoping to resurrect some of the previous enthusiasm.
‘He stands accused of peeping during the ladies’ session at the baths this morning.’
It suddenly sounded ridiculous. The crime considered heinous several hours ago, when several of the wives of the town’s most prominent and wealthy citizens had levelled the accusation, now seemed petty.
The Prime was a tall, broad-shouldered man with thick, dark hair and a closely cropped beard. He wore no badge of office and was dressed in simple dark breeches and white shirt. His voice was clear and deep and his grey eyes had a sparkling quality, as though in perpetual merriment, which he demonstrated fully now by lifting his head and laughing. In fact he roared, and many in the crowd joined in. Even Tor, relieved at finding himself forgotten in the scene, found himself grinning.
‘Ha! The rich and pampered ladies who frequent the baths should be secretly delighted that anyoneshould want to peep at their ample backsides and thunderous thighs.’
By now it seemed that everyone but Corlin and his sidekicks had dissolved into laughter. Tor noted, however, that the Prime’s eyes were no longer smiling when they returned to rest on the cripple’s tormentors. And his voice was as cold as a winter’s stream.
‘Release this wretch, Corlin, and go and find some bigger game to amuse your apes with. This man’s punishment—just or unjust—is complete.’
‘Says who?’ snapped Corlin, who thought he had been in charge of proceedings.
‘Says I!’ The Prime’s eyes were glittering dangerously dark now. ‘Release him immediately on my order. Call off the thugs who masquerade here as men of the military and don’t even think of reaching for your sword. Your head will be rolling in this very gutter before it is out of its sheath.’
Corlin hissed a threat. ‘I will live to see you regret this, Prime. Another stage, another day, and don’t be too sure it won’t be your own head the dogs fight over.’
He turned swiftly, drew a large knife and cut the bonds on Cloot’s hands and feet. His final act was to scowl meaningfully at the hushed crowd before pushing past, his helpers falling in step behind him.
The people who, minutes earlier, had been crying for blood now saw the cripple for what he was. They began to drift away, embarrassed.
‘I’d be obliged if you told me who you are and what you were
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