The Thin Executioner. Даррен Шэн

has been shamed,” J’An said. “He quests to redeem his honour.”

      “Then I wish you luck,” Tel Hesani said, putting his hands together.

      “He’ll need more than luck,” J’An snorted. “The road to Tubaygat is lined with hardships. Virtually all questers die on the way or return defeated.”

      “I don’t understand,” Tel Hesani said. “Surely you just sail up the as-Sudat to the base of the al-Meata and climb from there?”

      “That wouldn’t be much of a quest,” J’An laughed. “Questers are forbidden the use of any river. They must quest on foot.”

      Tel Hesani smiled wryly. “Your people are cruel, but inventive.”

      “How dare you!” Jebel shouted, unable to restrain himself any longer. “You’ve insulted the Um Aineh! I’ll have you executed!” He tried to get up, but J’An laid a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down.

      “You must learn to control your temper,” J’An said lightly.

      “But he insulted us!”

      “Only a mild insult. And he has a point.”

      “He’s a slave!”

      “Yes. But this is his home. We are guests here. He has the right to voice his opinion in this room. Our laws allow for those few privileges at least.”

      “But he’s a slave,” Jebel said again. “He has no rights.”

      “In my view he does,” J’An said and there was steel in his tone now. “As your elder, I expect you to bow to me on this.”

      Jebel stared sullenly at the older man, then dropped his gaze and placed the palm of his left hand on his forehead. “I beg pardon,” he muttered.

      “Granted,” J’An said, then faced Tel Hesani again. “We’re more inventive than you think. It’s not enough for the quester to make his way to Tubaygat. To petition Sabbah Eid, he must make a human sacrifice. Sometimes a friend will travel with him to offer himself up — the victims are guaranteed an afterlife and a prominent place by the side of their favoured god. But usually it’s a slave.”

      “I see.” Tel Hesani broke off another chunk of bread, smeared it in dripping, then watched the fat drip off the end of the bread. When the last drop had fallen, he brought the bread to his mouth and bit into it. He spoke while chewing. “Your cur has no friends, so he wants to buy a faithful hound of his own.”

      Jebel’s breath caught in his throat. His first impulse was to grab a weapon and strike the slave dead. But there were no knives on the table. As he wildly considered his options – perhaps he could use a pig’s hoof as a makeshift club – J’An said, “Your mouth will get you into trouble one day.”

      Tel Hesani smiled without humour. He rubbed a long, fresh welt on his back. “I’ve lived with trouble a long time now.”

      J’An winced. “I tried again to buy you back,” he said. “I met an Um Saga trader in the al-Breira who was on his way to Wadi. I paid him to bid for you, hoping your master wouldn’t realise I was behind it. But his offer was rejected. He was told that all the swagah in Abu Aineh couldn’t buy you.”

      “Your enemies hate with a vengeance,” Tel Hesani noted drily.

      “They have nothing better to do than hate and scheme,” J’An said bitterly. The table shook from where he gripped it. “You’ll die on the docks soon. Your wife and daughters will be sold to the vilest bordello-keepers in Wadi and your son will perish down the mines in the al-Tawla.”

      “A cheerless prediction,” Tel Hesani said softly. “But true.” He glanced at his family. They were staring at him expressionlessly.

      “I can’t help you,” J’An said. “But I can save Murasa and your children.”

      Tel Hesani’s round eyes narrowed. “You think that you can buy them?”

      “Better. I can free them.”

      Tel Hesani said nothing for a moment, a frown creasing his features. Finally he whispered, “How?”

      “A quester to Tubaygat can’t be denied the services of his chosen slave,” J’An said. “If you agree to travel with Jebel, there’s not a damn thing anyone can do about it. Your wife and children will also be assigned to him. Jebel will grant them their freedom before you leave.”

      Murasa gasped and clutched her husband’s arm. He said nothing, only set his steady gaze on Jebel Rum and observed the boy silently.

      Jebel thought about what J’An Nasrim had said, and how the slave had called him a cur. Then he looked at J’An and said, “I don’t agree to this.”

      “You have no choice,” J’An responded. “You need a slave. I’m offering you Tel Hesani. This is the price of his obedience.”

      “If I set his family free, what’s to stop him killing me in my sleep and slipping away to join them?” Jebel asked.

      “I give you my word that he won’t,” J’An growled.

      Jebel lowered his head and placed his palm on his forehead. “I beg pardon, but your word isn’t enough. I don’t know this slave. I don’t like him. I certainly can’t trust him.”

      “Listen to me, you young–” J’An roared.

      “No,” Tel Hesani cut in. “The boy is right. He must have a real assurance.”

      J’An let out a shaky breath. “Then you accept?” he asked Tel Hesani.

      The slave shrugged. “I have already accepted death. Whether I die on the docks or on a crazy quest is of no consequence. But if I can save my family by going on the quest, then obviously I shall.”

      J’An faced Jebel again. “What assurance will satisfy you?”

      “I don’t know,” Jebel said, head in a spin.

      “How about holding his family here for a year?” suggested J’An.

      “And if Tel Hesani kills me tomorrow, then waits a year to link up with them?”

      J’An cursed. “I’m sorry I ever offered to help. Let’s just forget about–”

      “Wait,” Murasa said, speaking out of turn. All of the men looked at her in surprise. She was studying Jebel. Her eyes were bright green and her cheeks were fiery red. But her lips were pale as ice when she spoke. “Um Aineh have spirit witches, crones who can communicate with the dead, yes?”

      “Yes,” Jebel said.

      “If you accept my husband as your slave and turn us over to your father, he can hold us captive for a year. If you return, you’ll free us. If not, an Um Aineh witch will try to contact your spirit. If my husband served you well, you’ll tell her and we shall be freed. If, on the other hand, my husband betrayed you, or if the witch cannot make contact, we will go to the executioner’s block.”

      “No!” Tel Hesani snapped. “Those witches are fakes. They can’t speak to the dead. They say what the person paying them wants to hear. J’An Nasrim’s enemies will bribe them to say I killed the boy.”

      “Perhaps,” Murasa agreed. “But at least this way we have hope. Also, if the worst comes to the worst, I would rather die cleanly, with my children by my side, than perish slowly and in degrading conditions, cut off from them, alone.”

      Murasa fell silent and Jebel gawped at her. He’d never heard a slave speak with such dignity. He’d never thought a slave could speak in such a way.

      “It’s a fair proposal,” said J’An Nasrim. “I’ll make sure I’m here for the mukhayret. If you don’t return, I’ll try to have a neutral witch appointed. Tel Hesani is a faithful husband and father. If you won’t trust my word, will you trust the bond between a