over."
A good many stares showing both understanding and hostility turned in Shea's direction.
"Not this man," Mikhail Sergeivich said. "He fought our enemies and broke the spell. I saw him." He looked at Shea. "Where is Rurik Vasilyevich?"
"In our chamber, the last I saw of him."
"Bring him down," Igor ordered.
"May I go up, Your Highness?" Shea spoke low, to keep his voice from shaking with the knowledge of what Chalmers had done. But Harold Shea would not desert him. Neither of them was Igor's man, after all.
Igor considered. "Disarm and bind him," he ordered. "Let neither of them speak or act, and bring them both back."
Mikhail Sergeivich unbuckled Shea's swordbelt and tossed it to a guard. He gestured, and another guard came over, bound Shea's hands with a rawhide thong, and gagged him with another. The two marched him off.
At the door of their chamber Mikhail marched him in, barely two seconds after his, "Open in the prince's name!" Fortunately, the door was not latched.
Chalmers was sitting calmly, but he was obviously shocked at the spectacle of Shea in bonds. "Take them off!" he ordered.
Then he recognized Mikhail Sergeivich, and Prince Igor's device. His shoulders slumped just a trifle.
That was enough to convince Mikhail Sergeivich. He grabbed Chalmers and tied his hands. Being out of rawhide, he took the gag off Shea and used it on Chalmers.
"Just cut that one's throat if he squeaks," Mikhail told the guard.
The augmented party returned to the courtyard, where, in addition to those they'd left, they found the Patriarch and a man who had to be an executioner; he held a huge two-handed sword.
Chalmers and Shea were shoved to the front rank of the prisoners. Mikhail Sergeivich exchanged a few words with Igor.
"Sviatoslav Borisovich," Igor said, "do you know either of these men?"
"No, Your Highness."
"Rurik Vasilyevich, do you know this man?"
The guard removed Chalmers' gag. "No, Your Highness," he practically spat.
"Do you, Egorov Andreivich?"
"No, Your Highness."
"Who told you then, that there was one here who would work with you?"
Sviatoslav was silent.
"Sviatoslav Borisovich, boyar of Seversk," Igor pronounced. "You did not pay the tax due the prince of Seversk. For that, triple taxes will be collected from your estate.
"You caused the death of my steward, and thirteen of my guards. For that you owe a blood price of eighty grivnas for the steward, and forty for each guard. You also owe a blood price for every wounded man.
"Finally, you attempted to slay the prince of Seversk and his family. For this, your estates are forfeit, as is your life, if I see fit to take it.
"I shall not take your life, Sviatoslav Borisovich. Instead, you shall be blinded. Before you are blinded, you will see the deaths of the men you led into treason. That is the last thing you will ever see."
The Patriarch said a prayer for those about to be executed, and two guards flung several bales' worth of straw at the executioner's feet. Fifteen times a man was forced to the straw, and fifteen times the executioner struck. He turned his blade and honed the other edge after the eighth man, but never missed his stroke.
Shea did not enjoy his front-row view of this expertise. The only things he could be grateful for were that this brawl had started well before dinnertime, so he had nothing in his stomach to lose, and that Mikhail Sergeivich was holding him upright. He got one look at Chalmers, obliquely away from him, and did not risk what composure he had left by looking again. He found an angle of the rampart he could focus on, and kept his attention there.
The blinding was worse. The bodies were removed, and the straw swept up and fired, along with some wood. Irons were heated, then taken out—
Shea kept his attention firmly on the rampart. He heard a gasp, then a throat-tearing scream that echoed around the courtyard and died away to whimpering. The smell of burned flesh joined the reek of blood. Mikhail
A good many stares showing both understanding and hostility turned in Shea's direction.
"Not this man," Mikhail Sergeivich said. "He fought our enemies and broke the spell. I saw him." He looked at Shea. "Where is Rurik Vasilyevich?"
"In our chamber, the last I saw of him."
"Bring him down," Igor ordered.
"May I go up, Your Highness?" Shea spoke low, to keep his voice from shaking with the knowledge of what Chalmers had done. But Harold Shea would not desert him. Neither of them was Igor's man, after all.
Igor considered. "Disarm and bind him," he ordered. "Let neither of them speak or act, and bring them both back."
Mikhail Sergeivich unbuckled Shea's swordbelt and tossed it to a guard. He gestured, and another guard came over, bound Shea's hands with a rawhide thong, and gagged him with another. The two marched him off.
At the door of their chamber Mikhail marched him in, barely two seconds after his, "Open in the prince's name!" Fortunately, the door was not latched.
Chalmers was sitting calmly, but he was obviously shocked at the spectacle of Shea in bonds. "Take them off!" he ordered.
Then he recognized Mikhail Sergeivich, and Prince Igor's device. His shoulders slumped just a trifle.
That was enough to convince Mikhail Sergeivich. He grabbed Chalmers and tied his hands. Being out of rawhide, he took the gag off Shea and used it on Chalmers.
"Just cut that one's throat if he squeaks," Mikhail told the guard.
The augmented party returned to the courtyard, where, in addition to those they'd left, they found the Patriarch and a man who had to be an executioner; he held a huge two-handed sword.
Chalmers and Shea were shoved to the front rank of the prisoners. Mikhail Sergeivich exchanged a few words with Igor.
"Sviatoslav Borisovich," Igor said, "do you know either of these men?"
"No, Your Highness."
"Rurik Vasilyevich, do you know this man?"
The guard removed Chalmers' gag. "No, Your Highness," he practically spat.
"Do you, Egorov Andreivich?"
"No, Your Highness."
"Who told you then, that there was one here who would work with you?"
Sviatoslav was silent.
"Sviatoslav Borisovich, boyar of Seversk," Igor pronounced. "You did not pay the tax due the prince of Seversk. For that, triple taxes will be collected from your estate.
"You caused the death of my steward, and thirteen of my guards. For that you owe a blood price of eighty grivnas for the steward, and forty for each guard. You also owe a blood price for every wounded man.
"Finally, you attempted to slay the prince of Seversk and his family. For this, your estates are forfeit, as is your life, if I see fit to take it.
"I shall not take your life, Sviatoslav Borisovich. Instead, you shall be blinded. Before you are blinded, you will see the deaths of the men you led into treason. That is the last thing you will ever see."
The Patriarch said a prayer for those about to be executed, and two guards flung several bales' worth of straw at the executioner's feet. Fifteen times a man was forced to the straw, and fifteen times the executioner struck. He turned his blade and honed the other edge after the eighth man, but never missed his stroke.
Shea did not enjoy his front-row view of this expertise. The only things he could be grateful for were that this brawl had started well before dinnertime, so he had nothing in his stomach to lose, and that Mikhail Sergeivich was holding him upright. He got one look at Chalmers, obliquely away from him, and did not risk what composure he had left by looking again. He found an angle of the rampart he could focus on, and kept his attention there.
The blinding was worse. The bodies were removed, and the straw swept up and fired, along with some wood. Irons were heated, then taken out—
Shea kept his attention firmly on the rampart. He heard a gasp, then a throat-tearing scream that echoed around the courtyard and died away to whimpering. The smell of burned flesh joined the reek of blood. Mikhail
Similar Books
