The Dead God's Due (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 1) by Matt Gilbert

difference, we have to be prepared to
fight. And we’d better be prepared to work with some hard
men.”
    Tyler nodded, clearly
miserable.
    Ahmed scowled down at them. “I
think you are too soft-hearted. Why would you take up the cause for
men who will not fight for themselves?”
    “Could be they didn’t
understand what would happen to them until it was too late,”
Marcus suggested. “Maybe if they had the chance to fight now,
they would.”
    Ahmed raised an eyebrow,
considering. It was possible. “Give me your sword. We will see
who will fight.”
    Marcus sighed and reached
beneath his cloak as Tyler turned a shocked stare toward him. “You
came armed? What the hell did you intend to do here?”
    Marcus handed the blade to
Ahmed. “I don’t know. Something. I hadn’t got that
far yet. But I think he’ll do better at it than I would,
anyway.”
    Ahmed nodded and gave his horse
a kick. The beast reared and gave a loud neigh, and Ahmed joined in
with his own battle cry. The barbarians immediately scattered,
screaming as he and his mount surged forward and leapt onto the
platform, barely missing the slaver.
    Ahmed drew his own blade, and
tossed Marcus’s on the platform before the slaver. Below, the
crowd had stopped screaming and was watching in fascination.
    “Pick it up, dog.”
    The slaver looked back and
forth between the crowd and Ahmed, as if he expected salvation and
was frustrated that it was not forthcoming. “You get down from
here right now!” he cried as he backed away. “This is
against the law! I have rights!”
    Ahmed dismounted, chuckling,
and kicked the blade toward the slaver. “I know my rights. I think you are very confused about yours.”
    The slaver backed up again, and
stood at the edge of the platform. “This is my property! You’re trespassing. That’s against the law!”
    Ahmed laughed out loud. “Ah,
I have heard of your law. I do not believe in your primitive
superstition. It has no power over me.”
    Panicked, the slaver tried to
step back again, felt his foot contact nothing at all, and put it
back on the platform. “You’re crazy!”
    “You’re the crazy
ones, barbarian. Pick it up !”
    “No!” The slaver
kicked the sword back toward Ahmed.
    Ahmed glared at him for a
moment, then nodded. “Take off your clothes.”
    “What--?”
    Ahmed brought the tip of his
sword to the man’s throat. “Take off your clothes. All
of them. Don’t make me tell you again.”
    The slaver stared at Ahmed in
shock for a moment longer, and then, in a sudden burst of energy,
began tearing off his clothes as if they were on fire. Some of the
crowd made catcalls. A bottle came sailing from the crowd, aimed
directly for Ahmed, but he ducked the missile.
    “Will you take the
blade?” Ahmed called, pointing at the thrower. The man spun
and quickly vanished into the crowd without a word. “Coward!
Dog!” Ahmed cried after him, but his taunts were ignored. He
turned back to the slaver. “Against the bar.”
    The slaver, now fully naked,
looked much like his slaves as he tried to cover himself. “Fine!
Just don’t kill me!” The slaver meekly shuffled to the
bar and made no move to resist as Ahmed shackled him, though his
eyes were full of fear and loathing. You should fear me, barbarian dog. I am your better.
    Ahmed turned back to the crowd
and raised his arms in a victory pose. “There is one man who
will not fight!” he shouted. “Two, if you count the
bottle thrower!” He grinned at the crowd. They seemed to be
enjoying the spectacle well enough. Perhaps barbarians were much
like civilized men after all, at least when they were amused. He
bowed with a flourish, then bent to rifle through the slaver's pile
of clothes. He stood again, held up a set of keys for the crowd to
see, then turned to the brown man chained to the bar. “Will
you pick up the sword?”
    The slave looked at him,
confused, terrified. “And fight you?”
    “Aye. To the death. Agree
and I will unchain