The fingers of her free hand curled like claws.

D’Ambray faced the two men, still smiling.

“Just get on with it,” the shorter of the men said.

“Good attitude.” D’Ambray pulled a knife out. It was a wicked blade, razor-sharp and thirteen inches long, with a tapered, slightly curved tip. The metal caught the sun and shone in Hugh’s hand. “Let him go and give the man a knife, for goodness sake.”

The two Dogs released the mercenary and took a big step back in unison. One of them pulled a black, foot-long blade and threw it. The knife bit into the ground by the mercenary’s feet. He grabbed it and grinned, dropping into a fighting stance.

D’Ambray stood motionless, seeming to ponder the shorter man.

Elara clenched her fist. D’Ambray was strong, but he was also large, and in a knife fight strength didn’t count and size was a detriment. Knife fighters were quick and small, and the mercenary looked like he’d been born with a blade in his hand. If d’Ambray lost…

If he lost, she would take matters into her own hands, Skolnik or no.

D’Ambray glided forward with predatory grace. His knife flashed, almost too fast to see. The front of the man’s dark shirt turned darker. He blinked. The gap widened, and she glimpsed the rosy clumps of intestines through the cut. It was so shocking, it didn’t seem real.

D’Ambray slashed again. The mercenary tried to counter, but the knife slid past his defenses, and he howled. Blood poured from where his left ear used to be. D’Ambray paused, frowning, like a painter examining a canvas, holding the knife like a brush. The mercenary charged. D’Ambray sidestepped and sliced off the man’s other ear. The mercenary spun away and somehow d’Ambray was there. A man of that size shouldn’t have moved that fast, but he did. The knife flashed again, slicing a gash across the man’s cheeks, widening his mouth.

“What the fuck?” the other mercenary cried out.

D’Ambray stepped forward, his movements beautifully liquid. His left hand caught the mercenary’s wrist. D’Ambray yanked the man’s arm straight, and stabbed into the inside of the elbow, twisting the blade. The man’s arm came off in d’Ambray’s hand. Blood poured.

He deboned him like a chicken. This isn’t happening, this can’t possibly be real, it’s too horrible to be real…

D’Ambray tossed the forearm aside.

The mercenary fell to his knees, his eyes wide, and toppled over. His intestines fell out in a clump.

The world had turned into a nightmare and she skidded through it, stunned and petrified.

“Look at that,” d’Ambray said. His voice froze the blood in her veins. “He’s going into shock. This won’t do. Not at all.”

D’Ambray held his hand out. A current of pale blue magic poured out of him, bathing the man.

The mercenary coughed.

“That’s right,” d’Ambray said. “Come on back. We’re not done yet.”

The blood over the stump clotted, sealing it. The mercenary tried to rise.

“Come on. Almost there. Let’s get your guts back in.”

The intestines slid back into the man’s stomach. He stood up, shuddering and gripping his knife with his remaining hand.

“Very nice,” d’Ambray said.

The current died.

The mercenary charged, trying to take a swipe at d’Ambray. He sidestepped and slashed across the man’s back, stopping just short of the spine. The mercenary turned, ripping his stomach wound open. The innards slipped out again. They were hanging from him like some sort of grotesque garlands. The air reeked of blood and acid.

Elara finally saw the crowd around them, dead silent, her people horrified, the Iron Dogs impassive. Skolnik stared, his face completely bloodless. The other mercenary shook like a leaf, clamped tight by d’Ambray’s people.

“Let’s do the nose next,” d’Ambray said.

“Hugh,” she called.

He halted. “Yes, darling?”

“Please stop.”

Hugh glanced at the disfigured stump that used to be a man. “My wife wants me to stop. We’ll have to cut this short.”

The mercenary stumbled toward him. Hugh stepped forward, clasping the man as if in an embrace, and slid the knife between the mercenary’s ribs in a smooth precise thrust. The mercenary shuddered, held upright by Hugh’s strength. His eyes dulled.

Hugh stepped back, freeing his knife, wiped it on the man’s shirt, and let the corpse fall.

Someone in the crowd retched. Nobody moved.

Hugh turned to the other mercenary. The man went limp. A wet stain spread on the front of his pants.

“Bring me a pair of handcuffs and a big plastic bag,” Hugh said.

A Dog ran off.

“Hugh,” she asked again, hating the begging note in her voice.

“My wife is softhearted,” Hugh said. “That’s why I love her. You came here to murder my beautiful kind wife and our people. Families. Children.”

The mercenary made a small strangled noise.

The Dog returned with handcuffs and a plastic bag.

“Let him go,” Hugh ordered.

The Dogs released the mercenary. He fell to his knees. Hugh dropped the bag in front of him. “Pick up your friend.”

The man gulped, grabbed pieces of bloody flesh and dropped them into the bag one by one.

“Don’t forget the ear over there.”

The mercenary crawled on his hands and feet.

Hugh caught her gaze and winked at her. She couldn’t even move.

The man picked up the bag and straightened. Only the body remained. “He won’t fit,” he mumbled with shaking lips.

“That’s okay. What you’ve gathered is good enough. Cuff him.”

Two Dogs grabbed the mercenary’s arms, forcing his wrists together. A third slapped the cuffs on. Hugh took the bag from the mercenary’s hand and hung it around the man’s neck.

Hugh took a few steps, circling the mercenary slowly. The man turned in response. Skolnik was directly behind him now. Hugh faced the mercenary, looking past him at the senator.

“You’re going to go back to the man who hired you. You’re going to give him this bag. You will tell him that if I see him or any of his people around here again, I will ride into his town. I will kill every man who gets in my way. We’ll kill his wife, his two beautiful children, his pets, and we’ll set his house on fire. We’ll hang him from the nearest tree by his arms and then we’ll leave. He’ll hang there staring at the ashes of his house and begging for help, and the people of his town will pass by him as if he were invisible because they’ll know that if anyone helps him, we’ll return. Did you get all that?”

The mercenary nodded.

“Good man. Off with you.”

The mercenary didn’t move.

“Go on.” Hugh waved him on. “You’re losing daylight.”

The mercenary spun and ran for the gates.

“Bury the garbage off somewhere,” Hugh said, nodding at the corpse. “And clean the lawn. Fire, salt, the usual.” He turned to Skolnik. “Senator? You had a bit of business?”

Skolnik opened his mouth. “Go.”

“Sorry?” Hugh tilted his head.

“I have to go. Now.” Skolnik started through the crowd. People parted to let him pass. He strode to the gates at a near run.

Hugh watched him until he disappeared. His face turned hard. “I don’t believe Senator Skolnik will be visiting us in the future. Alright, show’s over. We’ve got a truck full of metal to unload. Let’s go, people. Every hour we don’t work is another hour without a moat.”

Hugh liked high places, but the price of height was measured in stairs, and today of all days he didn’t feel like climbing them. There was no help for it, so he did. By the time all of the metal was unloaded and appraised by the smiths, fatigue had settled into his bones. He needed a shower and quiet.

At least most of the haul had been good. The smiths took everything except for the karaoke machine, which he had the Iron Dogs stash in the barracks. When tech hit, they would find out if it worked.

Hugh conquered the long hallway to his bedroom, pushed the door open, and walked in. He never locked it. There wasn’t anything of value in the room. The most expensive item he owned was his sword, and he usually carried it on him.