The Drowning City - Amanda Downum [76]
“No, but perhaps it can ease the pain of some of the victims’ families.” He raised a hand when Jabbor would have replied. “If you wish to continue this conversation, Mr. Lhun, you’re welcome to bring it before the council. We certainly have matters we’d like to discuss with you. But today, sentence has been passed and will be carried out.”
The soldiers tightened their circle around the Tigers, weapons steady. Faraj signaled the executioner and the man drew his sword. A kris-blade, long and waving; patterns rippled like water along the steel.
The swordsman stood behind the first prisoner, aimed the sword at the valley above the man’s collarbone. Down through the lung, into the heart—it would be a clean kill, at least, if done properly. The watchers held their breath.
Faraj lowered his hand, and the swordsman thrust. The prisoner gasped and shuddered but didn’t scream. A bubble of blood burst on his lips. The executioner twisted the blade and tugged it free. The man wavered on his knees for several heartbeats, crimson spilling in waves down his chest, then toppled over. Blood washed over the dais, seeping between the stones.
The swordsman wiped the blade with a cloth, but rust-colored stains clung in the patterned grooves. He moved behind Yuen and raised the sword again.
And fell with an arrow sprouting from his chest.
Someone screamed and the crowd scattered. Shots cracked from a rooftop and Asheris seized Faraj, hauling him off the dais. A wall of shimmering air enveloped them. Isyllt ducked against a tree trunk, dodging fleeing spectators. Arrows rained with the bullets, but more accurately. A councillor fell in front of her, a feathered shaft through his throat.
One of the soldiers beside Jabbor fell too, his face shattered by a bullet. Another stabbed at Jabbor, but the Lhun woman gutted him before the stroke could land. Cursing, the Tigers fought their way free and ducked behind a row of hedges.
Isyllt crouched, ready to run toward them, but movement on the dais distracted her. Yuen Xian had slipped her bonds and claimed the executioner’s sword. She freed her clansman, then turned on Asheris and Faraj. His shield would stop bullets and arrows, but could it turn a blade?
Run, Isyllt told herself, run. But she kept watching. Even if she shouted, she doubted he’d hear her over the chaos. Yuen raised the sword.
And screamed as flames encased her. The sword fell with a shower of sparks as she stumbled back and dropped to the blood-drenched stone, trying to roll out the flames.
But an instant’s distraction was enough to cost Asheris his shield. Another pistol fired and he fell.
And Isyllt, cursing herself for a fool, bolted toward him, ducking behind the edge of the dais. Faraj crouched with his back to the stone, face drained ashen.
Isyllt grabbed Asheris’s arm, hauled him into the dubious cover. Blood stained his left shoulder, spreading around the hole in his coat. Sweat glistened on his brow and his breath came short and sharp.
“Don’t—” he whispered as she tugged torn cloth aside.
“Damn it, let me see.” Not the heart, at least. She laid her hand on his shoulder, searching for death-echoes in the wound. Not that she could do a damned thing if it was mortal—
She sucked in a breath and watched as the misshapen copper ball melted and oozed out of the wound. His diamond pulsed and sparked in time with his pulse, but her own magic was silent. He carried no trace of death in his flesh.
“What are you?”
He only shook his head, that hollow look in his eyes again. Faraj frowned and grabbed at her arm, but Isyllt pulled free and ran. Gunsmoke hung in the air, along with the reek of blood and death. She glanced up, glimpsed crouching figures on the nearest rooftop before a bullet struck the path in front of her, kicking up dust and shards of gravel. She dove sideways, scrambling across the grass, nearly tripping over the dead councillor as she regained the shelter of the tree.
Jabbor and his Tigers were still pinned down across the path.