The Thin Executioner. Даррен Шэн

you wouldn’t!” Bastina lost her temper with her foolish friend. “You’d be crushed in the first round, humiliated in front of the whole city. You’re not a warrior, Jebel, and even Sabbah Eid couldn’t turn you into…”

      Jebel’s head shot up and Bastina winced. She smiled shakily. “What I mean–”

      “Sabbah Eid,” Jebel interrupted, his brown eyes lighting up.

      “No,” Bastina groaned. “Don’t even think–”

      “Sabbah Eid!” Jebel exclaimed and leapt to his feet. “Bas, you’re wonderful!” He bent and kissed her forehead, then ran off before she could say anything else, leaving her to sit in the dust, cursing herself for the suicidal notion which she had inadvertently placed in Jebel’s dizzy head.

      THREE

      The high maid Debbat Alg was watering flowers in one of her father’s gardens. Debbat enjoyed gardening. It was her only pastime, apart from looking beautiful. Her servants did most of the hard work – sowing, seeding, digging – but Debbat often watered and pruned in the spring and summer evenings.

      She was examining a cluster of pink roses near a wall when somebody hissed overhead. Looking up, she was astonished to spot skinny Jebel Rum in a tree, grinning down at her like a cat.

      “What do you think you’re doing?” Debbat shouted, taking a step back.

      “Quiet!” Jebel pleaded. “I need to talk with you. I have a favour to ask.”

      Debbat’s eyes narrowed. “You disappeared swiftly this morning,” she chuckled wickedly.

      Jebel pretended he hadn’t heard. “I need your help.”

      “With what?” Debbat snorted. “Getting down out of that tree?”

      “No. I want to quest, but I need permission. Your father–”

      “Wait a minute,” Debbat interrupted. “You want to quest?”

      “Yes.”

      “Quest where? For what?”

      Jebel paused for effect, then said, “To Tubaygat, to petition Sabbah Eid.”

      Debbat’s jaw dropped. “You’re mad!” she squealed.

      “I’m going to become the new executioner,” Jebel said. “I can’t win the mukhayret as I am, so I’m going to quest. I’ll work my way north to Tubaygat, ask Sabbah Eid to give me inhuman strength and make me invincible, then return. Nobody can stop me winning then.”

      “Indeed not,” Debbat said mockingly. “Nobody could stop you becoming high lord either, if you had a mind to.”

      “But I don’t,” Jebel said. “I’ll swear to that if your father will hear my request. That’s one of the reasons I don’t want to ask my own father, so there can be no trouble between our families.”

      “The other reason being he wouldn’t let you go.” Debbat laughed. “It’s been a hundred years since anybody completed a quest to Tubaygat. Dozens of our finest warriors have died trying, or returned defeated and shamed. What makes you think you’ll fare any better?”

      “I’ve nothing to lose,” Jebel said softly. “I’m shamed anyway if I stay.”

      Debbat started to dismiss him. He was a silly boy and he was wasting her time. But then she saw his look of glum determination and stopped. She was sure he’d fail, but in the unlikely event that he did return triumphant, he would be the most revered man in Abu Aineh. He would become the executioner and claim her as his wife. Her mother had taught her never to offend those you might one day be at the mercy of.

      “What makes you think my father will hear your request?” she asked.

      “You’re his favourite daughter,” Jebel said. “He’ll listen if you enter a plea on my behalf.”

      “Why should I? I’d have to vouch for you. I’d be discredited if you failed.”

      “No,” Jebel said. “I’ll quest in your name. If I die, you’ll be honoured. If I fail and survive, I give my word that I’ll never come back.”

      Debbat was excited. No one had ever quested in her name. Her friends would be jealous when they found out, even if the quester was only pathetic Jebel Rum.

      “Very well,” Debbat said. “I’ll ask him. I’ll wait until he’s eaten — he’s always in a good mood then. Return tonight and bring your slave.”

      “What slave?” Jebel frowned.

      Debbat gave him a withering look. “You can’t face Sabbah Eid without a slave, or have you forgotten? Maybe I–”

      “Of course,” Jebel interrupted. “I’ll sort that out, then return… when? Eight of the clock?”

      “Make it nine.” Debbat turned back to her roses.

      Jebel hung in the tree a few more moments, watching Debbat’s bare shoulders and the curve of her neck. He let himself dream of a future where he won the mukhayret, claimed Debbat Alg and became executioner. Then he shook his head and slid down the tree. He had to find a slave, but it wouldn’t be easy. To complete his quest, he would need to kill the person who came with him. He had no idea how he could convince a man to let himself be sacrificed by Jebel to the fire god, Sabbah Eid.

      FOUR

      Fruth was a town for slaves in the north-east of Wadi, separated from the rest of the city by a tall, thick fence. The town had been built to cut down on running costs, which had been crippling the lords and ladies of Wadi. In the past, slaves lived with their owners, who had to feed and clothe them. But as the slaves bred and the conquering Um Aineh added more to their stock every year, it reached a point where the um Wadi could not afford to support them all. More than one rich family had ended up destituting itself in a desperate attempt to run a large household of hungry slaves.

      Fruth was the answer, a town of cheap, poorly built houses where the slaves could live when they were not hard at work. Some slaves were required by their masters and mistresses at all times, and were kept close at hand, but most were only of use in normal working hours. At the end of each shift, those slaves were sent back to Fruth, where they enjoyed a certain degree of freedom.

      Every family in Wadi supplied small amounts of food and drink to Fruth by way of a tax, and the slaves were left to fight among themselves to decide how these provisions were distributed. The strong thrived and were of more use to their masters since they were healthy and relatively content. The weak… well, the nations of Makhras were better off without them, and such slaves could be easily replaced. Abu Rashrasha and Abu Kheshabah were broken, defeated countries and regiments were regularly sent there on slaving raids for fresh supplies.

      Fruth was always crowded in the evening, as the bulk of the workers made their way home. The narrow streets were packed tight with slaves drinking, eating, dancing, praying, arguing, fighting. Hordes of dirty children ran wild. Emaciated, exhausted women washed clothes by the wells and hung them up to dry from ropes overhead. Men with cracked hands and creaking backs chewed tobacco and sipped weak wine. Skinned animals roasted on spits.

      When Jebel entered Fruth, the guards on the gate paid him no attention. Many um Wadi slipped into Fruth at night with a few silver swagah in their pockets, to go in search of girls and other entertainment.

      Jebel had been to Fruth on school trips, but only during the day when it was quieter. He was disgusted by the press of filthy bodies, the noise, the dirt, the stench. Each street had a large, shared toilet pit. Every few minutes slaves lifted their dresses or dropped their trousers and squatted over a pit in plain view of all passers-by. To Jebel, they were worse than animals.

      Jebel spent half an hour stumbling through the jostling streets, his nerves shredding with the passing minutes. Everything had happened too quickly. He hadn’t had time