But by then, of course, it was far too late.

They dragged Barat thrashing and roaring into a nearby copse, and there they took their time beating him to death. It was close enough for the sounds to carry solid, meaty thwacks, like a butcher chopping joints apart; high, awful shrieks that very shortly broke down into pleading and gurgling moans; finally a silence that was worse than either, as the sounds of the beating went on. Gerin had seen more than his fair share of brutality, out on the marsh and in the streets of Trelayne both; but even for him, the killing seemed to take forever.

Elsewhere on the coffle, less hardened men and these included earlier victims of Barat s thuggish bullying bowed their heads and stared at the ground they sat upon. One or two crammed fingers to their mouths like women, and choked back vomit. Gerin made it halfway to a sneering disdain before he realized he, too, was trembling with reaction.

Or, he told himself a little giddily, just coming down with Tigeth s Hoiran-cursed fucking cold.

Presently, the noises stopped and the march-masters emerged from the trees, trading guffaws, grinning like well-fed wolves. They carried their clubs at rakish shoulder arms. One of them swung his manacle cutters idly to and fro in the other hand, slashing at the knee-high grass. The implement s pincer end was dipped with blood, bright where the midday sun caught it as it swung.

And later, the unspoken knowledge settled among the silent captives, also grinning, like some new, skull-headed companion on the coffle the understanding that it could have been any one of them in Barat s place.

Yeah, and speaking of that, Gerin told them grimly, when Tigeth had quieted under the gaunt man s admonition. You think that s the only empty set of cuffs you re going to see on this chain? Every day we don t make the market in Yhelteth is coins dripping through these fucks fingers. You think they ll stop or slow down for anyone who can t hack the heat once we start across the scrub?