"Master, here are two swords," one of his runner boys gasped, nearly
out of breath as they both bowed low and held the shining blades out to
Habrunt. But he stood a moment, staring down at the dirt before him, as
if he had not heard.
"One will do," Habrunt said finally, as he looked up, and reached for
one of the shining blades.
With the sword in his fist he stood looking down at Nelatha and she
suddenly paused in her terrified protests, looking up at him with
tear-streaked cheeks as she searched his face with glazed eyes, mutely
imploring him to do or say something to save her.
But Habrunt's countenance was terrible to look upon, so stone-faced and
determined was he now.
"Pray, Nelatha," he said only, too afraid of Master Rababull to risk
more open defiance of either his Master or any temple god.
Nelatha nodded again, jerkily, and bowed her head.
Then, as Nelatha prayed in a series of hysterically rising whispers,
Habrunt slowly raised the sword high into the air in front of a numbed
Si'Wren, held it trembling in his great fist, and then brought it down
in a mercifully swift flashing arc.
Nelatha's prayers were suddenly cut short, and a collection of gasps
was heard from the watching crowd. Habrunt held out the sword behind
him without looking, and the visibly shaking runner boy took it back,
dripping with Nelatha's blood.
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