He turned, fingers already tight on the axe handle.
Enzarri and Mushannaf were up and moving, daggers drawn. Enzarri darted around Dasharean and jabbed his gleaming blade down at the still-sitting llaha. With nowhere else to go, Ilaha drove himself back, tipping the chair over. Enzarri ran straight into his flailing feet. As they — and the chair — crashed to the floor, Enzarri’s knife slapped harmlessly against Ilaha’s chest.
But the older ethnarch recovered quickly and — before Ilaha could get a hand on him — raised his dagger again. He seemed to have forgotten Gutha.
With a soft chop like a knife through an apple, the axe severed Enzarri’s arm at the wrist.
The dagger clattered against a table leg. The hand flew into the air then flopped down by another ethnarch’s foot, squirting blood.
Aware that Kalderon and some of the others were also moving, Gutha stepped in front of Ilaha and turned to meet the next attack. Mushannaf was just feet away but Gutha was more concerned about the big bodyguard behind him.
Seemingly unperturbed by Enzarri’s fate, Mushannaf tried to outfox the northerner with a sly slice at his groin. Gutha batted it away with an axe blade, then jabbed the top of the shaft up into the ethnarch’s chin.
Teeth shattered noisily. Mushannaf dropped like a stone.
‘Guards!’ someone shouted. ‘Fetch the guards!’
Gutha wanted a moment to check behind him but the bodyguard wasn’t about to let him have it. Stepping over his fallen master, he pivoted sharply as he swung the sword at his foe’s head.
Gutha centred his weapon and set himself for the impact. He doubted the Saracen would have encountered a war axe. Especially not one with a three-inch elm shaft reinforced by tempered bronze and blades of Noric steel.
The bodyguard’s sword was broad and long and well made, but not well made enough.
As it broke in two, Gutha felt something strike his head. Ignoring it, he took a step to his left and swung low into the defenceless Saracen’s belly, slicing him open from hip to hip. The warrior fell on top of his master, bloody innards sliding out over his tunic.
Gutha looked to his right. Kalderon was struggling with Uruwat while their bodyguards traded sword blows. Gutha only glimpsed them because Enzarri’s bodyguard had just pushed past another of the ethnarchs and was coming at him. Gutha backed towards the door to give himself space to fight.
Ilaha had pushed Enzarri off and was now lashing at him with his feet.
The second bodyguard wasn’t stupid. He kept his distance and used the sword’s range, jabbing at Gutha’s head. Wishing he had his armour on, Gutha was nonetheless unwilling to let the fight drag on, even though he’d just heard the door open at last.
As another straight thrust came at him, he lowered the axe then drove it up, jamming the sword between one blade and the handle. He wrenched both weapons to the right, stepped forward and head-butted the bodyguard.The stunned Saracen dropped his sword and slumped to the floor. As soon as he was down, Kalderon and his bodyguard arrived and stuck their blades into him, one in the gut, another in the throat.
The guards flew into the room, then stopped to survey the carnage.
Ilaha was dragging himself clear of Enzarri, who lay staring at his bleeding stump, long hair plastered to his brow. Mushannaf was rolling around, pawing at his ruined mouth. Uruwat was lying motionless, a gory wound in his neck. His bodyguard was dead too and the man who’d had his guts sliced out of him looked like he’d be joining him soon.
Kalderon and his man stood side by side, blades bloodied, breathing hard.
Ilaha hauled himself to his feet. His unblinking eyes ran over the dead and injured.
One of the ethnarchs put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Lord Ilaha, are you-’
Ilaha appeared not to have noticed him. ‘They … they …’
Mushannaf was groaning, now holding a handful of broken teeth. Enzarri was on his back, still entranced by his mutilated arm.
Ilaha drew his sword.
‘Yes,’ hissed Kalderon. ‘Finish the traitors.’
Yemanek held up his hand. ‘Wait. Perhaps-’
‘Now is not the time for mercy,’ said another of the ethnarchs. ‘You would do the same.’
Ilaha still hadn’t blinked. He extended his arm and put the tip of his sword against Enzarri’s heart.
‘We should question them,’ said Gutha. ‘Identify any other conspirators.’
Ilaha drove the blade in.
As blood coloured his tunic, Enzarri’s head fell back and his body shook. Satisfied that he’d done enough to kill him, Ilaha turned his attention to Mushannaf.
Gutha tried again. ‘Lord Ilaha, we must question him.’
This time, Ilaha struck the heart through the back. He seemed to enjoy skewering Mushannaf and moving the blade around until the ethnarch stopped screaming and trying to reach back and pull out the sword. When it was over, Ilaha retracted the blade, then dropped it.
‘Commander.’
Gutha turned to the guard. ‘What is it?’
‘Sir, there’s a fire in the compound and another in the town. It seems it was done deliberately. Theomestor and Oblachus have gone to investigate.’
Gutha hung his axe from his shoulder and walked over to Ilaha. ‘You must come with me. Somewhere safe.’
Cassius didn’t know why he was arguing. They had halted the cart halfway between the gate and the platform and it was surely only a matter of time before the guards came forward to investigate.
Khalima was in no doubt about the wisdom of the prearranged strategy. ‘We will drop my warriors here, then distract the guards long enough for them to strike.’
‘But the men at the gate simply did as Reyazz told them,’ countered Cassius. ‘These men might cooperate too.’
‘This is no time for half-measures, Roman. All it takes is one troublemaker and we’re finished. We stick to the plan.’
Cassius belatedly realised he was arguing with himself. His protest wasn’t based on logic; just the messy business of killing.
‘Do what you must.’
After a few brief orders, the men dropped quietly to the ground and slipped away into the darkness. Khalima moved up behind Reyazz and said something in his ear. He then waited for the men to get in position before ordering the cart forward.
There were two lanterns: one hanging from the crane, one up on the platform. Cassius saw three guards in front of the covered stone, three more on the ground. One called out as the cart approached. Prompted by Khalima, Reyazz replied. The guards watched warily as the driver reined in.
As Khalima jumped down, the same guard spoke to him. The Saracen laughed and pointed at the sun on his tunic. As the guard peered at it, he swung the lantern at his head, knocking him to the ground.
Dark figures leaped out from behind the crane, the first of them driving a blade into the second guard’s neck. Before the third man could even reach for his sword, he’d been struck too.
Reyazz could no longer contain himself and tried to intervene but Adayyid grabbed him round the neck and used the knife to change his mind.
Cassius heard blow after blow from the Saracens’ blades. He looked up at the platform; the other three guards seemed to have lasted no longer than their compatriots. As he jumped down, Khalima’s men were already dragging the dead men out of the way. Cassius covered his mouth as the tang of freshly spilled blood reached him.
Khalima spoke to Adayyid, who prodded Reyazz along the bench. As soon as the young man’s feet were close enough, Khalima grabbed an ankle and pulled. Reyazz fell five feet straight onto his back. Cassius actually heard the air knocked out of him but Khalima wasn’t finished. He grabbed him round the throat and spat more vicious words into his ear before letting Adayyid pick him up.
‘Don’t worry,’ the Saracen told Cassius. ‘He won’t try anything again.’
Cassius looked back at the gate. None of the guards were on the move.