"Since you are here I assume that you agree to my terms," Janosk said in a voice all could hear.

"I do."

"And you will hold me alone accountable for the invasion?"

"I do," Peto replied.

"And you will spare my family and allies? And accept my son's offer to be a vassal to you?"

"I agree."

"Then raise the sword you carry, and end this." With these final words, Janosk knelt for execution.

Peto dismounted. "I'll never understand what made you invade my lands, but we were once allies and can be allies again. Will you pledge to serve me?" he asked, his voice conciliatory.

Janosk slowly shook his head, and in a gesture of trust, removed the cape and handed it to Jorani. As he did, Peto saw the raw pain in his eyes, glimpsed the fresh blood seeping onto his tunic, and understood. With a nod of acknowledgment for his foe's brave move, he raised his sword and slashed sideways through the man's neck.

As the head fell away, the woman behind Janosk fainted. His older daughter threw herself over her father's body and began to scream. The son bore his father's death well, but it was the youngest child that drew Peto's attention. The girl stood trembling at the sight of the blood, then raised her icy blue eyes, looking at him with such intense hate that he wondered if she were some sorcerer able to kill with a glance. Without a word, she turned and walked up the stairs, her step firm, her hands tight fists at her sides.

Peto turned to Shaul and the Kislovan rebel mounted behind him. "Is it the Obour custom to burn their dead?"

The girl who had been weeping raised her head and answered for them. "It is," she said.

"Then take him away and prepare the body as custom demands." He looked at the girl and asked, "Is there any waiting period required?"

"Mo," she said.

"Then let this be over at nightfall," he ordered.