exception.’
Dubro stared at the ground, fumbling with his hands in evident distress.
‘In the rain I cannot see the sun – how shall I know when to return?’
Guard and smith stared at the steely-grey sky, both knowing it would not clear
before nightfall. Then, with a loud sigh, the Hell Hound walked to the ropes,
selected and untied one, which dropped Dubro’s ‘father’ into the mud.
‘Take him and begone!’
Dubro shouldered the dead man, walking to Illyra who waited at the edge of the
execution grounds.
‘He’s – he’s -‘ she gasped in growing hysteria.
‘Dead since sunrise.’
‘He’s covered with filth. He reeks. His face …’
‘You wanted another for the sacrifice.’
‘But not like that!’
‘It is the way of men who have been hung.’
They walked back towards the charnel-house where Sanctuary’s undertakers and
embalmers held sway. There, for five copper coins, they found a man to prepare
the body. For another coin he would have rented them a cart and his son as a
digger to take the unfortunate ex-thief to the common field outside the Gate of
Triumph for proper burial. Illyra and Dubro made a great show of grief, however,
and insisted that they would bury their father with their own hands. Wrapped in
a nearly clean shroud, the old man was bound to a plank. Illyra held the foot
end, Dubro the other. They made their way back to the bazaar.
‘Do we take the body to the temple for the exchange?’ he asked as they pushed
aside their chairs to make room for the plank.
Illyra stared at him, not realizing at first that his faith in her had made the