The Dead God's Due (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 1) by Matt Gilbert Read Free Book Online Page A

him feel unclean. He would
not say such a thing to Yazid when he told him of the lesson,
though. That would surely earn him a cuff to the head and a
pronouncement that men should be judged by their deeds. Still, he
could not help but think it.
    His gut rumbled more warnings,
the sort a warrior learned to heed if he wanted to survive.
Something was not right, something other than the company of
barbarians. Ahmed went over things in his head, trying to isolate
the problem, as the man on the platform began to take prisoners from
the cage. One, a woman, wept pitifully, trying to cover her breasts
and crotch in shame, but the man would have none of it. He forced
her arms and legs apart and clamped the chains upon her to keep her
that way. A man chained beside her turned his head away and wept.
    Why would an army surrender, if
it would not spare the women and children such treatment? It made no
sense. A man would fight to the death to stop such a thing. And what
sort of people would treat a conquered foe as such? The pale
barbarians were cruel, indeed. But perhaps the brown men were cruel,
too, and this was revenge? Ahmed had heard of barbarian tribes that
practiced cannibalism. Could that explain this?
    His stomach twisted in knots as
he tried to fit the pieces together. He scanned the crowd again,
searching for something in their eyes, but it was of no use. It was
like trying to read the faces of dogs. The pale barbarians remained
inscrutable as they waited for the man on the platform, each wearing
the same ubiquitous, cryptic face.
    No, Ahmed corrected himself.
There was one that did not confuse him, one near the back of the
crowd, hiding his eyes beneath a hood and his face beneath a mask of
brown hair, a large man, broad of shoulder and gut, though older,
perhaps forty or fifty. That one’s intentions were as clear as
any Xanthian’s might have been: he was here to do battle. His
eyes, a bizarre shade of green, blazed with purpose, and there was,
Ahmed could tell, a sword beneath his cloak.
    Now that Ahmed had seen him, he
saw the other, too, a small, wiry barbarian with dirty yellow hair
standing beside the larger man. Like his companion, he was older,
but healthy enough. He, too, was here to do battle it seemed, though
perhaps of a different sort. His eyes spoke less of rage than of
pain and sorrow.
    Ahmed nudged his horse forward,
moving toward them. The crowd parted before him, most barely
acknowledging his presence, though a few looked up at him with fear,
loathing, or perhaps both. It would be safer to stand at the
periphery if things turned violent, he thought. With any luck, he
could eavesdrop on the barbarians, and perhaps make sense of things.
    “Ladies and gentlemen!”
the man on the podium cried. He indicated one of the chained
prisoners. “For our first sale today, I have a man of
approximately twenty years. He is healthy and strong. What am I
bid?”
    The large barbarian shook his
head and spat on the ground. He glanced up at Ahmed as the horse
settled in behind them, but either didn’t realize or didn’t
care that Ahmed was listening. “That rat bastard. No mercy in
him. We should stick a sword in his gut and treat his people to the
same.”
    The skinny barbarian shook his
head and sighed. “It wouldn’t make a difference, Marcus.
It’s so much bigger than the traders. It’s a political
problem. It will take a political solution.”
    “Interdiction, that will
change things. Kill the traders. Hit the ships before they pull in.
They’ll blame pirates.”
    “It’s not that
simple. It would take years of working with the powers that be.”
    “My way would take
weeks.”
    Ahmed could resist no longer.
He had to understand. “You,” he called to the yellow
haired barbarian. “I do not understand this. Tell me of the
war where you captured these brown men.”
    The barbarian looked up at
Ahmed, shaking his head in amusement. “It is always war with
you Xanthians,” he chuckled. “And my name is