A/n: This chapter was inspired by one of my readers. After "A Wayside Misadventure" went up last month, treehugger00 and I were going back and forth about the idea of traveling to Erizad. Maybe it's just me, but I still wouldn't want to go there—not even if all expenses were paid! But during the conversation, I realized it might be a good idea to explore that. As I thought it over, a secondary plot took shape, and the ideas turned into the chapter you're about to read.

It just goes to show what's so great about writing stories on this platform: By conversing with your readers, you breathe life into your story that you might not otherwise.

By the way: This chapter was a BEAST to write. Aside from it being pretty long (6,200 words!), it was a slow effort from start to finish. Not only is the story getting even darker—as if bleeding from the nose and mouth weren't grim enough—but this chapter was just difficult to write. I outlined it three times, and each effort disappointed me. In the end, I wrote it off the cuff, letting the characters and their situations play out as I typed, and that made for some very tough scenes to write.

One other thing: Graphic content warning.

It was moments before sunrise as the Mareshah took his stand behind the jail.

The blast of a horn rang throughout the crowded courtyard, and the birds scattered into the sky. A dozen archers flanked the Mareshah on both sides. All wore gold-fringed blue uniforms like the Mareshah's, and each man held a bow and arrow and waited for an order.

A barred metal door creaked open to their right, and another dozen soldiers filed into the courtyard as the crowd's shouting rose to a roar. Each pair held a white-robed prisoner at bay—one soldier holding the criminal's hands behind his back, the other guarding him with a dagger to the neck. The prisoners' hands were clasped behind their backs, their heads covered in sackcloth. As they filed along the wall behind the jail, the soldiers loosed the manacles and stepped away from the wall.

Reza clopped a boot on the ground, and the soldiers stood at attention. All was quiet, save for the snapping flames of the torches. "The accused are standing before us today with full knowledge of their crimes. This assembly is not a trial; no further guilt needs to be proven. However, as this assembly is not privy to the nature of the crimes, I will state the record of their charges."

There was a pause. A prisoner muttered a curse in Erizadi, but Reza kept his gaze. "These men have been charged with the following crimes: casting adulterous glances at women who are not their wives, sharing a dining table with women and animals, openly criticizing the Sarazen in the presence of witnesses, and—worst of all—defaming the name of Aslan by calling him a 'lion.' In the presence all who are gathered here, that all may fear to repeat these crimes, I hereby sentence the prisoners to death."

The crowd erupted in chaos and clamor. Men and beasts roared for blood to spill. Women and children wept. Friends and family shouted in protest, threatening to bowl over the guards who held them back. Reza lifted his hand to silence the crowd, but a wave of noise was the reply. With a weary look, he drew in a deep breath.

"PRESENT ARMS!"

In unison, like a finely tuned orchestra, the men withdrew an arrow.

"PREPARE ARMS!"

Like a troupe of dancers in the ballet, the men lifted their arms in perfect synchrony.

"May Aslan smile on us again," said Reza softly. With that, he strung his bow and aimed its arrowhead at the chest of a bald man. The prisoners stared blankly, some drawing in frantic breaths, others standing numbly against the wall.

"RELEASE ARMS!"

And Reza's arrow was the first to fly.

The prisoner crumpled like a beaten pillow and tumbled to the street. The others toppled beside him as arrows plunged like knives into melons. The crowd erupted into chanting and sobbing as puddles of blood blossomed on the sett stones, but Reza ignored the noise. With a huff, he pulled an arrow out of the man he felled, and he turned to the crowd, lifting the dripping flint into the torchlight.

"See to it that none of you repeat the fate of these men. As grim as the scene may be to you, the judgment of Aslan will be far worse if we neglect our duties. It is I and my men who stand between you and the annihilation of our city. Therefore, I implore you all: Children, heed your parents. Men, love your wives. Women, submit to your husbands. Beasts, follow your masters. It is not just for your sake, but for the sake of Erizad. Remember that it is not just your lives, but your nation—a nation of laws and the fear of Aslan—that will forever be at stake."

There was a pause. An orderly blew into the horn again, and men and beasts dispersed while the loved ones gathered in tears and sobs to prepare the dead for the furnace.

Reza's back was turned by the time he dared to let out a pent-up breath. Every execution had become more difficult than the last. He wondered why the wall behind the jail wasn't stained, as twelve executions had taken place in the last week. What is to be done? he thought. Every warning or prophecy from the Sarazen seemed to have no effect, and every execution seemed to be followed by a fresh wave of rebellion.

Reza's stomach fell as he caught a tawny blur out of the corner of his eye. The cheetah Moro trotted up to him, and Reza felt his anger rise in his chest. The cat had never put on any face other than a dull, emotionless stare, and whenever he spoke in his lazy voice, Reza had to hold back a careless word.

The cheetah deigned to stare at the Mareshah before turning to behold the shrouded bodies of the men. "Well," said Moro in a breath. "I suppose we wouldn't want to execute prisoners after we've had our breakfast."

Reza glared at him. "Did you have something of import to say?"

"Only that an herbalist has arrived at the house. Is it the doctor who keeps wasting your money with useless remedies?"

Reza gritted his teeth and whipped out a cord from his belt. Moro's head tilted to the side as the leather slapped his face.

"If you wish to not feel that again, you will tell me what demon has possessed you to speak so crudely."

Moro's bored eyes began to narrow. A drop of blood oozed down his cheek. "Against my will, I was removed from my post in the Sarazen's army, and now I am forced to read bedtime stories to a pair of young children."

"Faraji received the same duties when I rescued him. It will be no different for you."

Moro sniffed and wiped his paw across his face, smearing the drop of blood across his fur. "Well, then...mehan...am I to accompany you to the house?"

"Have you anything better to do than learn my family's protocols?"

Moro stared dully at him. "No."

"Then I suggest you do exactly that. When you are in Omar's presence, you will speak with an ounce of respect, or I will use this with greater force. Let's go."

With that, Reza turned on his heel and strode away, and Moro rolled his eyes and followed him out of the courtyard.

The man knelt and laid a hand on the boy's forehead. "He seems better," he said. "But whether it was the medicine, or the illness running its course, I cannot say."

Omar Faroush rose onto his feet and turned to face the family. Navid stood at the end, his eyes wide and afraid, while Nazira laid a hand on Reza's shoulder. Moro sat on his haunches and licked his paw without a care.

Reza stopped aiming his angry glare at the cat and turned to Omar. For a moment, the Mareshah studied the man's face. "Is there something more we should know?"

Omar hesitated. "I have procured a remedy from a doctor in Archenland. It is a mixture of various extracts from the most potent flowers known to man and beast. From what he has told me, men with similar diseases have responded well to the treatment. Some have even recovered."

Reza let out a long-held breath.

"I know, mehan: It is yet another unconventional means, and I would hate to raise your hopes again."

"That's not what I meant." He ran a hand through his short black hair. "You know I would do anything for Rafik. I would lay down my life for him, if only that would heal him. But the situation has become more complicated than you know. As of last week, the Lord of Narnia has tied my hands. For reasons beyond our comprehension, Aslan wants to be the one to heal Rafik, but instead of delivering the medicine to us, he has sent Faraji to fetch it."

Omar's face fell. "Your cheetah is traveling to Narnia, without so much as an army to protect him?" Anger flashed across his face, though it was not at the Mareshah. "Forgive me. Had I known what was happening, I never would have suggested this treatment."

He reached into his coat and laid a sack of tea bags on the dresser. "Then the only thing we can do is keep your son comfortable. The yarrow tea must be taken as often as he is awake; the rest of the time, he must have cold cloths and baths as often as possible. If there is any improvement or deterioration in his condition, send Moro immediately."

"I would—" Reza stared at the cheetah, who kept grooming himself. "If he would do his job for which I reward him so handsomely."

At that, Moro lowered his paw and turned his head upward. He glared, as if he had been waylaid from an errand of great importance, and with a weighty sigh, he turned to Omar. "Should there be any change in Rafik's condition, I will pay you a visit."

Omar glared at him. "I look forward to it."

Reza dismissed Omar with a nod, and the doctor strode out of the room. The cheetah padded across the floor and slipped through the opening in the door. Once they were out of earshot, Reza let out a sigh and lowered himself into a chair next to the bed. He stared for a moment at Rafik, watching the boy's face for any sign of consciousness.

"It is unbearable to even say such things," said Reza. "We could put an end to his suffering; instead, we're forced to reduce it."

After a pause, Navid's face lit up with a smile. "I can buy it, Papa!"

Reza and Nazira swung around to face him.

"I can buy it! Uncle Mansur has plenty of work for me to do."

"No." Reza lifted a hand. "If you want to work more hours in your uncle's shop, then do it for your future. The university will need more students in the studies of Aslan, and the tuition is exorbitant."

"He didn't order me to not buy the medicine, Papa. Please let me work in Uncle Mansur's shop, Papa. I can buy it!"

"If he has ordered me, then he has ordered all of us. We are forbidden to procure the medicine."

"But what about Rafik? Why won't he help him?"

"Am I Aslan, that I can know such things? All we can do is trust Aslan to guide Faraji safely home."

"Why should I? He doesn't help us. He won't even help Rafik."

Anger furrowed Reza's face. "Listen well, Navid: I know you are scared, and I know you hate to see your brother in pain, but while you live under my roof, you will never say anything like that again. Am I understood?"

"Papa, I—"

"Am I understood?"

Navid's mouth trembled open. "…Yes, Papa."

Reza turned away as he heard the door glide open. Moro stood in the doorway, blinking his bored eyes. "Should I join this conversation, as well, mehan?"

"No. This is a private matter...one which you are more than welcome to interrupt."

"I'm honored," said Moro dully. "Your first officer is requesting that you meet him at the jail straight away. There is another execution set to take place before the hour's close."

Reza's eyes narrowed. "Why doesn't Dar handle it himself?"

"Because one of our own citizens has cursed the name of Aslan."

"Is his guilt obvious?"

"Oh, yes. An entire marketplace heard it, as did his family. His parents are protesting the arrest, but his uncle and grandparents are insisting on his punishment."

"Wait." He pushed a hand forward. "Am I to understand that a child uttered these words?"

"Indeed, and shame on the parents for raising him so poorly. A six year old should be above such behavior."

Reza said nothing. He leaned forward in his chair, his fingers fidgeting as he searched for a reply. None came. In his mind, he saw a small boy with an arrow thrust through his chest, his parents kneeling and weeping over the body. The image snatched the breath out of his lungs and weighed on his shoulders so heavily that he feared the chair would give way beneath him.

He pushed himself onto his feet and wandered away from the chair. He ran a finger across his chin, and his eyes kept glancing across the room, as if he were searching for something to say. I can't... His stomach churned at the thought. But as the words flowed through his mind, a wave of peace fell over him. I cannot sanction the execution of a small child...not if I can help it.

"Nazira, tell Dar that the execution has been postponed."

She nodded and strode out of the room.

Moro squinted his eyes, his mouth hanging open. "I thought such matters were beyond the scope of your duties."

Reza squared his shoulders and pulled the door open. "We'll find out soon enough. Come."

The house of the Sarazen was named after the first ruler of Erizad, and the six-story manor was said to be as convoluted as the man himself. Whatever eloquence the man thought he had was lost on the people, as he was famed for saying six hundred ornate words when a simple six would do. Along the exterior, dozens of pillars adorned the balconies and porticos, while wind wandered through a doorless maze of halls that not even the guards could navigate (or so the stories went). Long after he died, the manor and the man became the gossip of the peasants, while its beauty and complexity awed any man who was blessed enough to walk its halls.

Reza had never been to the house before, as not even a Mareshah could intrude without an invitation. And everywhere he turned, he knew it. At the tops of the white marble walls, proverbs carved in the looping and twisting Erizadi language forever reminded all who passed through the house, "Do as you are told, and you will prosper." Here and there, a painting hung from the wall, with a severe-looking man in black armor thrusting a sword through the bowels of some unfortunate traitor. The man was Aslan, his face hidden in shadow (for legend said that to look upon the Lord of Narnia would mean dying a sudden death).

A three-story arch yawned in the wall; on either end stood two soldiers, both clothed in gold-trimmed blue uniforms. Moro and Reza passed by with the blessing of the guards, and straight ahead, on a carved marble throne in the center of the three-story pillared room, sat a man in flowing white robes—the robes of peace. The Sarazen arose from his throne, and Moro and Reza bent knee and bowed low.

"Arise." The reverberations of the man's voice carried away in the afternoon breeze. On cue, Reza rose first, and Moro followed suit after a long pause and sat on his haunches.

The Sarazen looked like no other man who had been born in Erizad. His skin was fairer, his eyes a lighter hue of brown, and his white hair flowed around a face with a beard that fell to his chest Legend held that the Sarazen was descended from the man Aslan, though no one with an ounce of knowledge believed it. The man Aslan had never married nor fathered a child. But if anyone could have descended from Aslan, it was he, for he bore the strength of a warrior and the gentleness of a father in the same face. And yet, as Reza looked into his eyes, fear gnawed at him all the more.

"Forgive me, mehan," he said, his eyes flicking across the room. "I am not worthy to enter this house, but I bring to you a matter of the utmost importance."

The Sarazen stepped forward and laid a hand on Reza's shoulder. "It would never be undue for you to grace this house," he said. "You have been as good as a hundred sons to me."

Reza let a pause fill the room. It was improper to speak so soon to a sovereign. "Has my Lord been informed of the execution today?"

The man sighed and shook his head. "How tragic, that a small child can say such things. Such words are even more grievous when spoken in the presence of witnesses. I fear for this city, Reza; I fear that more people will be encouraged to speak so irreverently."

Reza nodded. "I've wondered, mehan."

The Sarazen formed a steeple with his fingers. "Is that what troubles you, my son?"

Reza let out a breath. "Mehan, you know that I am not ignorant of the law. I know the penalty for treason is death. But the law forbids us to execute a child. The last Sarazen who did so caused a civil war, and two thousand of his men were among the dead. To prevent such a war from happening again, his successor wrote a decree that no child under the age of twelve was to be executed. In eighty years, Aslan has never punished us for the actions of your ancestor."

"If this were a matter of history, I would agree with you. But here and now, we are facing extraordinary circumstances that demand the execution of this boy. The town of Rasul was nearly destroyed by an outbreak of the Red Death. Unless we obey Aslan's laws with greater care and fervor, what happened in Rasul is just the beginning."

"I read the report, mehan, and I wonder if it was Aslan who brought the Red Death. By all indications, it seemed to be the work of Calormen."

"Mind yourself, Reza. Your words are on the verge of blasphemy. The judgment of Aslan has been carried out in the time and manner Aslan deemed fit; to call it the work of mere mortals will be disastrous."

"Mehan, I have no intention of disobeying Aslan, but I have no intention of putting words in his mouth, either. Until you or your successor overturns that decree, I have no legal grounds for putting this boy to death. If Aslan has not decreed that the boy should die, and if we execute him, anyway, it might invite the judgment of Aslan on us both."

"And if Aslan has decreed it, and we fail to carry out that sentence, the judgment of Aslan will fall on this country."

"It has not fallen upon us in eighty years; we have no reason to think it will now. Mehan, I mean no disrespect, but the reasons you have offered for executing this boy are based on nothing but speculation. We are not prophets; we are lawmakers and soldiers. We write the laws, we enforce them, and we fight to keep them. If Aslan himself wants to execute this boy, or wants to order us to do it, then let him. If not, it would be foolhardy and arrogant for us to do his job."

The Sarazen's frown deepened. A long and heavy breath fell from the old man's lips. "Were you opposing me with greater vigor, I would kill you where you stand," he said. "But, as I understand it, our laws and history agree with you, and I would be foolish to ignore them." Another pause filled the room, and the Sarazen rose from his throne. "Per your request, the boy's sentence will be lessened. He will be given twenty lashes, and will be reminded what a serious matter it is to speak treason against the Lord of Narnia. After that, he will go free."

Reza nodded and bent knee, quietly loosing a sigh of relief. "Very well, mehan."

The Sarazen took his mace in hand and brought the tip of it down with a clang. Reza and Moro arose, knowing they were dismissed. The fear that chewed on Reza went away, though a different fear began to overtake him.

The two wove through the hallways, passing guards without making so much as a glance. He waited for Moro to speak, but the cheetah trotted along in a content silence, his white-tipped tail bobbing up and down with each step.

"You think I made a mistake."

"I do," said the cheetah. "I would not want to watch Erizad bleed to death on account of your leniency."

"Do not mistake leniency for caution," said Reza. "An execution is no trivial matter, especially that of a child."

Moro scoffed. "Suppose Aslan were here," he said. "Would he agree with your ruling?"

"That is neither here nor there; he is the Lord of Narnia, and I will not presume to speak for him."

"By carrying out your duties as Mareshah, is that not what you are doing?"

Reza gave no reply.

"By sparing the boy's life," said Moro, "you would effectively say that Aslan spares the lives of disobedient children. If you are wrong, he will send more of the Red Death upon this country—perhaps on your family."

His heart had slammed against his throat, choking his words. Indeed, the Red Death was heralded as a sign of ultimate judgment against the highest of traitors. The image of men, women and children with bloody faces and boils breaking out all over their skin ruled over his thoughts. He wondered what it would be like to lie in pain as the wrath of Aslan bled him dry.

Reza's boots and Moro's paws scraped against the dirt with each footfall. Without further word, they stared ahead as they wove through the bustling street, the sun baking the roads and the travelers in its late morning glare.

Dreams of fire and thunder tortured his sleep. The mighty palms of Erizad erupted in flames, and smoke blotted out the stars. Something had thrown him down on the sand; now he stared up into the canopy of palms, as a man in gleamless black armor towered over him, his metal-clad foot pinning Reza by the chest.

"My Lord," said Reza. "Have mercy..."

The man withdrew his blade, holding it above his shadowed face. The sword flickered in the light of the flames.

"Who are you, Lord?" said Reza.

A shrieking voice pierced the sky. "I AM ASLAN!"

With a cry like a swooping falcon, the man plunged the sword into Reza's bowels—

The Mareshah flinched awake and kicked against the sheets. Sweat beaded on his forehead and soaked his shirt. The ringing in his ears faded, and the mournful cry of an owl drifted on the breeze. He grasped his stomach, fearing that a sword had plunged through.

"Reza?" The rustling of sheets and a gentle hand on his shoulder calmed his trembling heart. "What is wrong?"

He sniffled, holding his hand to his nose. He sighed in relief—it wasn't blood.

"Another nightmare," he said. "My boyhood lessons are haunting me in my sleep. Nazira, I did what I thought was right. Why, then, does Aslan trouble me so? Are these nightmares the beginning of his judgment against me?"

"You did what you had to," said Nazira. "You followed the law, and you obeyed the Sarazen. Not even Aslan can punish you for that."

He laid his head against the wall behind his pillow and stared out at the full moon. "Are you so sure about that?"

"MEHAN!"

Reza's stomach flipped. It was Moro.

They whipped back the sheets and tumbled out of bed. Reza flung the door open and sped down the hall as Nazira followed close behind.

They burst into the room and turned to face the bed beneath the window. Rafik trembled and groaned, and two lines of blood poured out of his nose.

Reza turned to Moro. "Find Omar and Navid! NOW!"

Moro nodded and leapt down the hall, scrambling down the stairs. Reza laid a cloth to Rafik's nose and held the trembling boy in his arms...

All was quiet in the house as dawn loomed in the horizon. Reza leaned back in the chair, staring half-asleep at the azure sky. Rafik had stopped bleeding and shaking, but that was the last he knew before Omar told them to rest. Nazira sat in numb silence on the sofa. Reza dozed in and out of sleep, and when he jolted awake he thought he heard Navid's voice.

A soft knock at the door made his head swivel. Reza pushed himself onto his feet, and the young soldier lifted his hat and bowed his head.

"Dar..." Reza forced strength into his weary voice, trying to muffle his yawn. "Has anyone found Navid?"

"No, and we haven't found Moro yet, either. Mehan, I know you have enough on your mind as it is, but you must come to the jail. There have never been so many children as we've seen in the last four days."

Weariness fell across Reza's face. "Is that what I'm to make of it? I pass down mercy, and they take advantage of it?"

Dar gave him a skeptical look. "You would know better than I."

Reza leaned against a pillar, his eyes glancing across the room. "What will be done with them?"

"Mehan, I agree with you: I cannot just let them be executed. But I cannot do one thing or another without a direct order."

Reza stared at him with tired eyes. "Does the Sarazen know of this?"

"Not to my knowledge," said Dar. "Per your order, all your men are sworn to secrecy."

The Mareshah lifted a finger. "Keep it that way. I will be there as soon as I'm done here."

From on high came the clack of a closing door. Reza flicked his eyes upstairs and saw Omar emerge from the boys' bedroom. With a nod, Reza dismissed Dar and, as Nazira rose from the couch, he stood to face Omar.

Reza let out a sigh. "I must know," he said. "Is it the Red Death?"

Omar gave a sigh in reply. "No. It appeared to have been a complication from the fever."

"I don't understand."

Omar's eyebrows fell over his gleaming eyes. "Nor do I."

Reza started to speak, but the word caught in his throat. "No..."

Omar shook his head. "I'm sorry, my friend," he said. "There was nothing that could be done."

Nazira's gasps broke into sobs, and she collapsed on the sofa and buried her face in her hands. Reza had turned away, and only then did he loose a pained gasp. His teeth gritted and his lips trembled, and the tears in his eyes broke free as the memories flooded his mind—the first steps Rafik took, the day he first lay in bed with the illness, and now the bleeding and shaking as his father held him in his arms...

Reza was wrung dry by the time he gathered whatever breath he could. "It was within my power to save his life. If I—" He blinked, and more tears poured down his face as he stifled a sob. "Had I done my duty...I could have saved him."

"Mehan, you were ordered by Aslan himself. There was nothing you could have done."

"Do not presume to tell me about my duty," he said. "I had the power to save my son, and now...and now he is dead."

The door creaked open, and silence filled the room. Moro strode through, peering up at them with the same emotionless stare. "I found Navid."

A sigh fell from Reza's chest. "Where?"

"He is being escorted to the jail. He kidnapped a horse and rode to Omar's office, where he stole the medicine from Archenland."

Reza's face fell in horror, but Omar lifted a hand. "You have my word, mehan: I will not press any charges."

"That's not the last of it," said Moro. "Your boy has committed high treason against the Lord of Narnia. After I turned him in to the police, he called Aslan a lazy fool."

Reza let out a sob, his face twisting into a grim smile. "Well, that is exactly what he is," he said. "There has been too much death in this city because of him, and now it has reached my house. I will not sacrifice my only living son on the altar to Aslan. Leave at once; tell my men to bring Navid here."

Moro stared up at him with bored eyes.

Reza's grimace fell with a furious huff. "I gave you an order. Carry it out—now."

"I won't have time," said Moro. His spotted ears swiveled to the right. "Even now, the Sarazen is on the march."

Reza's eyes flicked toward the window, and a wave of terror broke across his spine. From afar came the rhythmic pounding of military boots. A river of blue tunics, lit by the torches that marked the shops, was pouring into the thoroughfare.

"You..." He turned to Moro and pulled out his bow and arrow. "You told him."

"You can threaten me with any weapon you like, but I have nothing to hide. You've doomed this country by your weakness and cowardice. If this country does not obey Aslan, then Aslan will spill the blood of her people. By the Man's sword and shield, I cannot let that happen."

Reza nocked an arrow and aimed its tip at Moro's forehead.

"Oh, you can kill me if you wish, but it would do you no good. Aslan would repay my death with yours, and I don't think that's the kind of legacy you want to leave."

His trembling fingers slipped, and the arrow burst free, but Moro saw it coming before it happened. The arrow grazed Moro's tail and shattered against the stone floor. The man nocked another arrow, but the cheetah leapt over the table and soared out the window.

Reza glared at the empty window and muttered a curse, after which he spun on his heel and turned toward the door. "Start packing. As soon as Navid and I return, we're leaving."

"Confound it, man! The army will overtake the jail by the time you get him out."

He glared at Omar. "Perhaps."

Omar grabbed him by the arm. "Reza, I beg you to think. Navid is in Aslan's hands—"

Reza jerked his arm free. "He is not in Aslan's hands, you fool. This country has been seized by cowards and murderers—they're the ones who will take Navid into their hands!"

"But Aslan's laws—"

"Damn the laws! We have spent our lives cowering before a man—no, not even a man...the mere threat of a man who rules by fear and commands blood sacrifice to keep the peace! That man sent my cheetah into the North, knowing my younger son would die in misery while my older son awaits an execution. Navid was being far too generous when he called Aslan a lazy fool. The Lord of Narnia is worse: He is a nightmare from which we all must wake up. Now I am awake, and I will not fall asleep again. I will not bow before the Lord of Narnia, not for one more day."

Reza paused. When it was clear Omar and Nazira would say nothing, he spun on his heel and marched through the open doors.

Reza entered the courtyard, and a burst of relief flooded his chest.

Parents and children emerged from the jail, joyful tears mingling with trembling smiles. A few families had brought their animals with them; even the beasts shared in the celebration. At the sides of each family, Reza's men led the way. There was talk of not going home, but being led to safety. The sight made Reza's hard face lift a little, but he forced his face to go blank, as he had work to do.

He wove through the din and marched into the jail, his boots clanging against the metal floor. The soldiers had emptied all the ground-level cells, leaving the rats and mice to cower in the hay-filled corners, but more prisoners—all children, led out by the hands of their parents—streamed from the lower levels.

Dar swerved in between a pair of families bustling through the narrow corridor, and he looked Reza in the eye to preempt his commander's inquiry.

"I couldn't, mehan. I couldn't just execute them."

Reza aimed a dark look at him. "That was not your decision," he said, then laid a hand on his shoulder. "But I thank you for making it."

"Papa!"

Reza spun to his right. The little boy with a red-cheeked face charged as hard as his feet could carry him, and Reza caught Navid in his arms. The boy laid his tear-stained face on his father's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Papa…"

"I know, son…I know." He patted him on the back and let out a sigh of relief. "Let's go home."

A deep voice bellowed across the courtyard. "IT'S THE SARAZEN!"

Reza's face fell. With a strong grasp, he took Navid's hands into his own. "Listen to me carefully: We need to leave Palár, but if I do not tend to this matter, things will get much worse. Follow these men wherever they take you, and wait for me to return."

Tears flowed down his face. "But Papa—"

"Navid, you need to be strong. I know you are scared, but you are stronger than your fear."

Navid bit his lip, but gathered his breath and nodded.

Reza pulled him close in the tightest hug he ever gave, and he said, "Go."

Navid pulled away and followed the two soldiers around the bend.

Reza stood tall and motioned to Dar, who followed him out of the corridor. As they entered the courtyard, Reza felt his heart slam against his throat. The marching stopped, and an ocean of blue uniforms surrounded the courtyard on all sides, pinning Reza, his men, and the restless crowd of witnesses inside. The Sarazen broke out of the line and took a step forward; in reply, Reza and the last of his unit took their stand behind the jail, hands clasped in the hollows of their backs.

The Sarazen's eyes glanced down the row, flicking from soldier to soldier. "All I need is one man to explain the situation."

No reply.

At the Sarazen's feet, Moro slinked into view and turned a big smile upward, making Reza stifle an infuriated breath. "I can explain everything, mehan. Your unit has not done its job. Reza's men kept those children in prison, with no intention of informing you."

"You have already explained as much," said the Sarazen. "I want to know who is responsible for it."

No reply.

"I know the names of the children," said the Sarazen. "I can find them and bring them here."

Reza glanced back to the house. He saw Navid scramble through the open door, then pull it shut. When the door gave a distant thud, Reza felt his heart leap in his chest, and he stifled a sigh of relief.

"Who carried out the order?"

Still no reply.

The Sarazen said something in Erizadi, and on cue, the front row of soldiers nocked their arrows, aiming the tips at the line of Reza's men. A wave of murmurs and cries rippled through the crowd.

"If no one is to proclaim his own guilt, then I can only assume all of you share in his guilt." The Sarazen swung his head to and fro, like a hungry cat. "I will ask you once more: Who is responsible?"

Reza kept staring ahead, but to his left he felt Dar tensing. He knew what Dar would say, so he strode forward and lowered his boot with a loud clop.

"I am."

A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd. The Sarazen swung around, and pain sprang across his face. He stared with mournful eyes at Reza, but with a breath he motioned with his hand, and the soldiers stood at ease, their bows and arrows resting in their hands.

Reza kept staring into nowhere. Every step of the Sarazen's boots felt like a minute passing by. When their eyes met, Reza let out a breath, waiting for the Sarazen to say something. No words came, for his gaze said enough.

The Sarazen nocked an arrow and loosed it into Reza's chest.

Blood spurted out of the wound as pain sliced through his heart. The force of the impact shoved him backward like a kick to the bowels, and the wall of the jail rushed up over his head as his pounding ears muffled the cries of the crowd.

The Mareshah of Palár fell into a repose, and all was no more.