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Justin lowered his head. If Martyn wasn't mistaken, the man was struggling to keep his desperation in check. What kind of warrior could cry before his accusers? When Justin lifted his head, his eyes swam in tears. But he held his head steady.

“Then condemn me,” Justin said softly.

“And you realize that condemnation will mean death.” The elder's voice was unsteady.

Justin didn't answer. He wouldn't walk the path that Ciphus set before him, but it was close enough. Ciphus lifted both fists and glared at the man below him.

“Answer me when I speak to you in this holy gathering!” the elder shouted. “Why do you insult the man whom Elyon has made your superior?”

Justin looked at the man but refused to speak.

Ciphus lifted both fists above his head. “Then for treason against the laws of Elyon and his people, I condemn you to death at the hands of your enemies!”

Wails cut the air. Shouts of approval. Cries of outrage. It all blended into a cacophony of confusion that Martyn knew would amount to nothing. There was no prevailing voice. No one would defy the sentence of the Council.

“Take him!” Ciphus shouted at Qurong.

“I will accept him on one condition,” Qurong said. “He will die according to our laws. By the drowning. We will give him back to your God. Back to Elyon, in your lake.”

Ciphus hadn't expected this. If he refused, Martyn had the appropriate contingency plans. The elder conferred with his Council, then turned to give his verdict.

“Agreed. Our Gathering ends tonight. You may deal with him then.”

“No, it should be now, with your cooperation. Let his death be a seal for a truce between our armies. His blood will be on both of our hands.”

Another short conference.

“Then let our peace be sealed with his blood,” Ciphus said.

THOMAS AND Rachelle came into sight of the village at sunset, winded and worn due to lack of sleep. The ride had been filled with long stretches of silence as the two retreated into their own thoughts. There was little to say after they'd exhausted the telling and retelling of Justin's healing touch and his words.
I have too much riding on you. Remember me.
They were the same as the boy's words.

They heard the first sign of trouble when they passed the gates, the unmistakable wail of mourning for the dead.

“Thomas? What is that?”

He urged his horse into a trot, past the main gate. The women were mourning a death. There had been a skirmish, and some of his Guard had been killed. Or there was news of a battle on the western perimeter. Or this was about Justin.

The sky was already dark gray, but the glow of torches cast an orange hue over the lake at the end of the main road. Lawns and doorways were vacant of the loitering so typical on crowded Gathering evenings. There was a man here and a woman there, but they avoided Thomas's eyes and shuffled with distraction.

A sudden cry of horrible agony echoed distant. Thomas's heart rose into his throat.

“Thomas!” Rachelle sounded frantic. She slapped her horse and galloped past him, straight for the lake.

“Rachelle!” He wasn't sure why he called her name. He kicked his horse, and together they thundered down the wide stone causeway that split the village in two.

They saw the crowd before they reached the end of the street. A sea of people stood on the shore with their backs to the village, staring toward the lake.

“You have to stop them!” Rachelle cried. “It's him!”

“Can you see him?”

They both brought their horses to a rearing halt where the road gave way to the beach. She stared over heads, her eyes wide and her face wrinkled with anguish.

Then Thomas saw what she was looking at. A square wooden tower had been erected to their left, by the shore. Beside the tower, a ring of Horde encircled two Scabs. The Council stood on one side; Qurong and Martyn stood on the other. In the center was a post, and on that post hung a man.

Justin.

One of the Scab's arms went back, then swung forward and struck Justin's ribs.
Crack!
One of his ribs broke with the blow. Justin jerked and sagged against the post.

“Stop!” Rachelle's scream ripped through the air. “Stop!” She grunted with a sob, clenched her jaw, and drove her horse into the crowd.

Villagers unprepared for a stamping, barging steed cried out and scrambled back to make way for the large Scab stallion.

“Back! Out of the way,” Thomas yelled. He followed her in.

The Scab hit Justin again, unfazed by the commotion.

“Stop!” Rachelle cried.

The people separated in front of them like falling dominoes. Then they were through. Mikil and Jamous stood with several dozen of the Guard. Another thousand milled on the north side of the lake. The Horde army waited down the shore on the south side. Women and children cried softly, an eerie tone. On the post, Justin's near naked body had stilled.

They hadn't drawn blood. He'd heard of this method of torture employed by the Horde—methodically breaking the bones of a victim without draining any of his life—his blood. They wanted the drowning and the drowning alone to take the man. One look at Justin's swollen body made it clear they'd perfected their torture.

Thomas dropped to the sand and rushed forward. “What's this? Who authorized this?”

“You did,” Mikil said.

Rachelle sobbed and ran for Justin. She fell on her knees, gripped his ankles, and bowed so that her hair touched his lumpy, broken feet.

“Get her off of him!” Ciphus ordered.

Rachelle spun back and pleaded. “Thomas!”

Two of the Guard leaped forward and dragged her back.

She struggled against them furiously. “It's him! It's him, can't you see? It's Elyon!”

“Don't be a fool!” Ciphus snapped. “Keep her back.”

Thomas couldn't pull his eyes from Justin's brutalized body. They'd pulled his arms above his head and strapped them to the top of the post. His face was swollen. Cheekbones broken beneath the skin. His eyes were closed and his head hung limp. How long had they been beating him? It was hard to imagine that he was the boy, grown now into a man, but with a little imagination, Thomas thought he could see the resemblance.

He faced Mikil. “Release him.”

She made no move.

“That's an order. This man isn't who you think. I want him released immediately!”

Mikil blinked. “I thought—”

“She can't release him,” Ciphus said softly. “To do so would defy the order of the Council and Elyon himself.”

“You're
killing
Elyon!” Rachelle cried.

“That's absurd. Can Elyon die?”

“Justin, please, I beg you! Please, wake up. Tell them!”

“Shut her up!” Ciphus said. “Gag her!”

Jamous pulled out a strap of leather to gag her, but he glanced up at Thomas and stopped. What had gotten into them all? Jamous would actually consider binding his commander's wife?

“Gag her!”

The lieutenant slipped the leather thong around her mouth and muffled a scream. “Thoma . . . mm! Hmmmm!”

On the post, Justin moaned.

Thomas broke from the shock that had frozen him, jerked out his sword, and leaped for his wife.

Mikil stepped forward, hand raised. “No, Thomas. You can't defy the Council.”

But Thomas hardly heard her. “Let her go! Have you all gone mad?”

She moved into his path to block him. “Please—”

He swung his elbow and struck her jaw. She landed on her seat with a
thump
. Thomas thrust his sword at Jamous's neck. “Untie my wife!”

“Don't be a fool, Thomas.” Mikil spoke in a hurried, hushed tone, ignoring her reddening cheek. “The verdict has been cast. The fate of our people depends on this exchange.”

With those words, Thomas knew what had happened. Johan had double-crossed not only Justin, but him as well. Qurong had exchanged a promise of peace for the life of Justin, and the Council had accepted. Justin's death would satisfy the law requiring death for treason against Elyon and allow a peace to be brokered even without requiring the Horde to bathe.

“It will never work,” Thomas said. “The peace won't last! You think you can trust these Scabs to keep peace? Qurong is Tanis! He's blinded by Teeleh, and he's found a way to kill Elyon!”

“
You
trusted us,” Martyn said.

Thomas held the point of his sword against Jamous's neck. He knew by Martyn's tone that the people didn't know about Thomas and Martyn's agreement to betray Qurong.

“Did you hear me?” Thomas cried to the people. “Qurong is Tanis! This is Teeleh's work, this murder. Open your eyes!”

No one responded. They were deaf and dumb, all of them!

“Please, Thomas,” Mikil pleaded quietly. “There's no way to undo this.”

Rachelle's eyes were wide and screaming at him.
Free me! Don't let them
do this! He's Elyon!

But Thomas knew that if he killed Jamous and freed his wife, he would be forced to defend both of them against the Guard, whose allegiance to Elyon, and by association to the Council, superseded their allegiance to him. If the Council had cast their verdict, there was no way to undo the verdict without killing the lot of them.

Thomas spun around and strode for Justin's sagging body. He couldn't risk Rachelle's life, but neither could he stand by and let them work their treachery.

Is this really Elyon, Thomas? This swollen man who once served under you
and dishonored you by refusing the position Mikil now holds? Elyon?

Rachelle had said so. He would die by her words.

“Stop him,” Ciphus said.

This time a dozen of his Guard stepped forward. His first impulse was to fight, and he instinctively braced for them.

“If you kill one of them in the service of defending the Council's orders, then you and your wife will die with Justin,” Ciphus said.

They had lost their minds over this killing! His eyes ran along the line of villagers who stood behind the Council and Guard. There was a small girl there, staring around her mother, tears running down her cheeks. He recognized her from the Valley of Tuhan. It was Lucy, the one whom Justin had singled out and danced with. The girl's mother was doing her best to keep her own sobs quiet.

“What has happened here?”
he shouted.

“Finish your business,” Ciphus told Qurong.

There was a light of defiance in the Horde leader's eyes. He nodded and his men leaned in to continue the beating.

Thomas tossed down his sword. “At least give me the courtesy of speaking to the general,” he said. “As one warrior to another. My business is still to defend my people, and I demand a council with Martyn.”

Martyn looked at Qurong, who dipped his head.

Thomas turned back to Mikil and indicated Rachelle. “One scratch on her and it will be your neck.” He faced the crowd. “What's wrong with you? This is the kind of celebration you choose to end your Gathering?” Only a few seemed to hear.

Thomas gave Ciphus a parting glare, walked past Martyn, and headed toward the water's edge, away from the execution.

Martyn walked to him. Behind them another bone cracked. Thomas held his jaw firm and looked over the lake water, clear and dark in the early night. The orange flames from a hundred torches shone on the glassy surface.

“This wasn't what we agreed to.” His voice was shaky, far too emotional for a warrior of his stature, but he was having difficulty even breathing past the lump in his throat, much less speaking with authority.

“It was beyond my control,” Martyn said. “I didn't know that the supreme leader would offer Justin's life in exchange for peace. It wasn't our plan.”

“You betray everyone except Tanis?”

Martyn didn't bother responding.
Justin had passed out,
Thomas thought. Hoped. The only sound behind them was the thudding of fists and the snapping of bones. He felt nauseated and frantic, and he spoke quickly.

“I beg you, Johan, listen to me. Your men shot a woman last night. Did you hear about it?”

“I heard something, yes.”

“The woman was Rachelle. Your sister. You may not remember why you should have any allegiance to your own blood, but surely you remember simple facts. She was your
sister
.”

“And?”

“And Justin found her, barely alive, with four arrows in her. He healed her. There's not a scratch on her. He told Rachelle that he has a lot riding on us. These were the same words he spoke to us fifteen years ago. Do you remember? Or has Teeleh completely consumed your mind? How could Justin have known what the boy told us? Unless he
is
the boy. You're about to kill the same boy who led us to this lake fifteen years ago, when you yourself were still a boy!”

“Even if you are right, why should I care?”

“Because he
made
you, you . . . That is your
Maker
back there!”