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

you.”
    “You’re crazy!”
the man hissed. “You will kill me!”
    “Would you die a man or
live on as a slave? You might get lucky.”
    “No!”
    Ahmed stepped back, and cast a
glance toward Marcus, but the big barbarian would not meet his gaze.
The crowd booed. Ahmed turned next to the woman. “And you? Do
you cling to life above dignity, too? Or would you risk your life,
knowing that if nothing else, you would die free?”
    The woman tried to speak, but
could only choke out a sob. She nodded and raised a hand.
    Ahmed shuffled through the
various keys until he found the right one, and unlocked her legs and
one arm. She rushed forward, lunging for the sword, but it was just
out of her reach. Ahmed inserted the key into the final lock. The
woman glanced at Ahmed briefly, her gaze one of infinite distance, a
hundred yard stare, the contemplation of eternity and a single, slim
chance. She turned her attention back toward the weapon, straining
at her last bond, knowing that steel in her hand was the best she
could hope for. Ahmed nodded and turned the key.
    The woman dove for the blade,
and Ahmed kicked her in the face. She staggered, blood pouring from
her nose and mouth, but she did not turn aside. Her small hands
closed on the hilt, and swung it full force toward her opponent.
    Ahmed parried her attacks,
nodding, grinning. “Fight harder!”
    The crowd was deathly silent
now as the naked woman hurled herself at the Xanthian. She was no
warrior, nor was she hard of body, yet her muscles obeyed her will.
Her shame was gone now. Blow after blow she hurled at Ahmed,
screaming in defiance and hatred for all that she had endured. If
sheer will could kill a man , I
would already be dead .
    “Enough!” he
shouted. “I yield!”
    The woman seemed not to hear
him. She continued swinging, and he continued parrying, until the
message in her eyes and ears at last reached her mind. She backed
slowly away, chest heaving, spittle dripping from her lips, fury
blazing in her eyes.
    Ahmed tossed the key ring to
the ground in front of her and mounted his horse. He waved at Marcus
and Tyler, then snapped the reigns and sent the horse over the side
of the platform. The crowd moved quickly to clear a path for him.
    Ahmed sent his horse galloping
down the beach as the slaver began to scream.
    Yazid was staring out over the
waves patiently. He waved as Ahmed approached, and stared at him in
silence for long moments. “Do you see, now?”
    Ahmed nodded. “The
barbarians trade other barbarians like beasts.”
    “And what do you think of
such things?”
    Ahmed shrugged. “I think
little of cowards.”
    Yazid’s eyes narrowed in
suspicion. “I have seen this too-innocent look on your face
many times, boy. I am no fool. You have done more than observe. What
trouble have you been up to?”
    Ahmed pursed his lips and
shrugged again. “I put some of them to the test.”
    Yazid glared at him a moment,
then shook his head in amusement, a broad smile on his face. “Then
we should be off. The barbarians will be after us for violating
their law, and they will come in numbers, for they fear us greatly.”
    “Aye, no doubt it is
true.”
    “One question, boy. Do
you understand now why I said ‘usually’?”
    “I think so. Some of the
barbarians do not like selling men as beasts. The nations squabble
amongst themselves over it, yes?”
    “Indeed. There is
bloodshed from time to time, some covert forces with deniability.
There will be war proper over it soon enough, mark my words.”
    “And Xanthia? Where would
we stand?”
    “In Jacynth, I suspect,
while the rest focus here.”
    Ahmed laughed out loud. “Then
may the barbarians go to war soon!”
    “Aye. But enough talk.
Let’s board our ship and be off before the barbarians clap us
in irons.”

Chapter 2: The Sorcerer's Sons

    The library in the ancestral
home of House Amrath was one of the most revered locations in all of
Nihlos, second only to Tasinal’s courtroom, and perhaps