Free Empire of Bones by N. D. Wilson Page B

with his fingers.”
    “If execution is deemed necessary,” Rupert said slowly, “I shall be the one to carry out the sentence, though the accused shall choose the mode.”
    Flint jerked in his chair and tried to stand, but Niffy sent him shrinking back down.
    “I have the right to see!” Flint squealed. “Let me see my accusers!”
    Niffy looked at Rupert. Rupert nodded. Then the monk tugged off the blindfold and tossed it into the fireplace behind him.
    Flint already looked like a ghost. Moisture hung beneath his nose and in the corners of his wild eyes. He took in the room quickly, and Cyrus saw surprise flash across the man’s face when he looked at the Captain and again when he saw Gil.
    Cyrus understood. Gil should have been off in some sort of secret prison. Of course, maybe that was what this broken-down camp had become.
    “Cyrus Smith,” Rupert said, “did you see who shot Keeper Eric Romegas at the Archer Motel?”
    Cyrus coughed. Every pair of eyes focused on him, none more intently than Flint’s.
    “He did,” Cyrus said, pointing at the bound man. “And he shot at me.”
    “Eric defied the Brendan’s own orders,” Flint pleaded. “He turned on me. He almost killed me. But I never tried to kill you, lad. Never. I only meant to hobble you. We were supposed to bring you in.”
    “Diana Boone,” Rupert said, “did you see who shot and wounded your brother, Keeper Jeb Boone?”
    Diana exhaled slowly, and then nodded. “He did. Twice. Once when Jeb was running, and again when he was on the ground.”
    Rupert stared at Flint, who was squirming in his chair.
    “Keeper Flint Montrose,” Rupert said, “I am the Blood Avenger, bound by my duty to avenge my fallen brothers and sisters, bound to mete out earthly justice upon thieves, murderers, and beyond all else, traitors. Do you deny these charges?”
    “You can’t do this,” Flint said, his voice cracking with panic. “You can’t.”
    “John,” Rupert said, “will you lend me your blade?”
    Captain John Smith stepped forward, drawing his sword as he did. He extended the hilt to Rupert, and Cyrus stared at the bright braided steel, traced with the scales of a dragon.
    “Lean him back into the fireplace,” Llewellyn said. “I don’t want blood on the floor.”
    Flint’s face hardened; then he spat on the floor at Rupert’s feet. “You wouldn’t dare.”
    Niffy jerked Flint’s head back and leaned the chair into the fireplace. The man’s jaw clenched. The lump in his throat bobbed and danced.
    Rupert Greeves stepped over Flint, extending the blade with one hand until the steel hovered just above his throat. Cyrus swallowed hard. He had felt that edge against his own neck before. He’d even used it to part the Captain’s last steel chain. It was beyond sharp.
    “Rupe?” Antigone tried to push forward, but Diana pulled her back. “Rupert!” she shouted. “You’re not really going to?”
    Rupert raised the sword.
    “Brendan’s orders,” Flint said suddenly. “Smiths were to be brought to him! Anyone aiding them was to die. Brendan’s orders.”
    The sword hung in the air, ready to fall.
    “To what end?” Rupert asked. “Why should Bellamy Cook collect the Smiths instead of leaving them for Radu Bey? Why anger the transmortals now after all the groveling he’s done?”
    “Skelton,” Flint said. “William Skelton. He hid things. He stole things. And he left them to those Smith brats.”
    “Gold?” Rupert asked. “Money? What things doesBellamy want? What’s in Skelton’s estate that’s worth enough for this Brendan to defy Radu Bey?”
    Flint twisted, gargled a laugh, and then spat again, this time on the hearth.
    “You don’t know anything, do you, mate? Bellamy doesn’t work for Radu Bey. He answers only to Phoenix. Radu and his primeval beasties can tear the world down, for all Bellamy cares. Phoenix means for them to. They’ll do the heavy lifting. They’ll till the nations under and set the world