Like all squad sergeants, the man carried a short and heavy sword at his belt in addition to his assegai. The weapon was more like a large knife than a sword, really. It was primarily a ceremonial blade indicating his rank, which was carried in lieu of the three short javelins carried by front rankers. But most sergeants made sure the blade was kept sharpened in case of need.
This one was no exception. And his reflexes were excellent for such a big man. Almost instantly, he had his short sword drawn and then—thunk!—the heavy blade sheared through flesh and bone. The strike was clean and economical. The sergeant used his blade more like a farmwife chopping vegetables than a giant warrior wielding a sword. The four fingertips, severed at the first joint, simply rolled neatly aside. The wood of the table below was barely nicked.
It was done perfectly. The first offense penalty for publicly insulting an official was to have the entire hand removed at the wrist. Left hand if the man was right-handed, the reverse for left-handers. But the giant noncom had clearly remembered Demansk’s instructions to the two men who were supposed to have done the work.
And, again, his thespianism was excellent also.
“My apologies, sir!” he boomed. “I seem to have missed.”
“No matter, First Spear. That’ll—”
The meaningless phrase which would have followed went unspoken. Demansk was watching Willech carefully, waiting to see if his scheme would work as he’d expected.
It did. Had Willech’s hand been severed at the wrist, the man would probably have been in too much shock to have said much of anything. But simply losing the fingertips, as painful and shocking as it was in its own right, was not actually that serious an injury. Plenty of peasants and artisans suffered as much every year working in the fields and shops—and were back at work, as a rule, within a few days.
Willech was no peasant, but he was tough enough. After gawping for a moment at his severed fingertips and the blood staining the table top, he burst into another stream of profanity. These curses were uttered even more wildly than the first batch, and were only vaguely coherent.
Still, it was clear enough that they were aimed at Demansk. The Triumvir turned his head and gave the two magistrates in the back of the room a cold-eyed gaze. Both men were very pale-faced, now. One looked aside; the other down at his feet. But neither, obviously, was at all inclined to argue the matter.
When Demansk turned back, the huge sergeant was watching him. Demansk nodded slightly and the man went back on stage.
“Outrageous! Insulting the Triumvir again! And a second offense!”
It would all go quickly now, there was no reason to play charades any longer. As much as Demansk detested Willech, he did not enjoy watching this. Not in the least.
“The penalty for which is clear and well known also,” he said firmly. “Attend to it if you would, Sergeant.”
“My pleasure, sir!”
Again, the giant’s hand moved much more quickly than one would expect from a creature his size. He had Willech by the scruff of the tunic again; and, with a short powerful jerk, forced his head down on the table. Willech’s cheek was pressed flat to the wood. His eyes gaped; his mouth worked like a fish.
Finally, at the last instant, Willech understood just how completely he had been manipulated. Demansk could see the comprehension in the Governor’s eyes; see his mouth frantically trying to mouth new and different words.
Too late. The sergeant’s sword came down again, and this was no farmwife’s onion-chopping. The heavy blade missed the sergeant’s own hand holding Willech by not more than half an inch. The giant knew his swordwork. The spinal cord was severed cleanly. It took two more quick blows to remove the head itself, but Willech had died instantly.
Knowing what was coming, Demansk and the other soldiers in the room had stepped aside. So the blood fountaining from Willech’s neck simply gushed onto the carpet—and, with the most energetic first burst, splattered the leggings of the two magistrates standing at the back of the room. One of them simply squawked. The other stared at his bloody legs for a moment before lunging for the door. A moment later, Demansk could hear him vomiting noisily in the corridor beyond.