Free Sanctuary by Rowena Cory Daniells Page A

scramble away, but he caught her from behind.
    Dekaitz grabbed her by her hair, pulled her head up and brought his sword to her throat.
    She screamed, infuriated by the injustice of it.
    Then screamed again as Dekaitz was hauled aside, jerking her head and tearing her hair out by the roots. She crawled away, blood trickling down her forehead into her eyes. Stunned, she pressed up against a raised garden bed and turned in time to see Eskarnor run Dekaitz through.
    The man dropped to his knees. Eskarnor grabbed him by his hair and sliced his head clean off. Lifting the severed head by the hair, he turned to display it to the others. ‘This is what happens to those who threaten what’s mine!’
    And he deposited the head on the table. Meanwhile, the screams of the dying and the curses of the fighting men gradually faded.
    Satisfied, Eskarnor returned, lifted Jaraile and took his seat at the high table with her in his lap. He inspected her head. ‘A few patches of torn scalp, that’s all. You’ll be fine.’
    Through her tears and the blood she saw the two Chalcedonian turncoat barons, Ikor and Unaki, take the heads of Barons Dittor and Rantzo. They strode over and deposited them on the table with Dekaitz’s head. These three unfortunate barons had been Nitzane’s firm supporters.
    Ikor and Unaki dropped to their knees to give their oath of loyalty to Eskarnor, buying their place in his ranks with the heads of men they’d sworn to serve alongside.
    She would not trust them. Ever.
    That only left her cousin, Kerminzto. She hoped he’d escaped, hoped Eskarnor would...
    ‘Where is Kerminzto’s body? Bring me his head,’ Eskarnor ordered. As his men searched the dead, Eskarnor gestured to the wine. ‘Pour me a glass.’
    Amazingly, the bottle had not broken during the fighting. She righted a goblet and poured wine for him.
    ‘And one for yourself. I’m not like these Chalcedonian men, who treat their women like slaves,’ Eskarnor said. ‘You’ll drink alongside me and you’ll rule alongside me.’ He bared his teeth in a feral grin. ‘As long as you prove loyal.’
    Terror made Jaraile’s hand shake.
    He steadied the wine bottle and tilted her goblet to her lips. ‘Drink up. You need something for your nerves.’
    She gulped a mouthful, not sure if she could keep it down. It was Dacian, stronger than she was used to. It made her cough and her eyes water.
    He laughed, drained his goblet and called to the servants. ‘Serve up the meal.’
    Meanwhile the heads of three barons sat on the table in front of her. She tried not to look at them.
    ‘No sign of Baron Kerminzto,’ Captain Pataxo reported.
    Jaraile’s heart soured, but she kept her eyes lowered.
    ‘Double the guard on the causeway gate,’ Eskarnor said. ‘I want his head by dawn tomorrow.’
    The meal arrived: rare roast beef, oozing blood.
    Jaraile took one look, lurched to the side and threw up.
    Eskarnor rubbed her back, then gestured to the table. ‘Clear these heads. We are not barbarians. Fix them to the spikes above the causeway gate.’
    ‘I don’t think there are spikes above the gate,’ Pataxo said.
    ‘Then fix some in place. You’d think the Wyrds would have gate spikes.’ Even as he said this, Eskarnor offered her more wine.
    Jaraile gulped a mouthful. Heat raced all the way down to her toes and up again. She pushed the goblet aside. ‘My s-son, are you certain the Wyrds killed him?’
    Eskarnor wiped the tears from her cheeks. ‘I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to distress you. Not when you’re in a delicate condition.’
    He adjusted her on his lap and cut off slivers of meat to tempt her.
    Meanwhile the puddles of blood where the heads had sat congealed. It felt as if she was fifteen again, at the mercy of King Charald. Eskarnor was every bit as much a monster as the king was.
    But she suspected he was smarter.
     
     
    S ORNE WOKE WITH a sword to his throat. Blinking, he made out Baron Kerminzto’s features in the