Darren Shan - The Thin Executioner

It had to be today.

Fear struck Jebel hard when he realized that the hour was upon him. For long, miserable weeks he had kept himself going by thinking about escape, savoring the thought of freedom. But until this moment that had been a dream, hovering far in the future, wonderful but vague. Now that he was faced with the reality of it, terror grew in Jebel’s gut.

The odds were stacked against him. The Um Saga might chase him for sport and return him to Bush and Blair, to be tortured and executed.

Life is bad , a scared part of him whispered, but it could be worse. They feed you and give you warm clothes. Maybe they really do regard you as an apprentice. There’s a lot of money to be made robbing graves. You could learn, branch out, and work on your own. If you flee and fail, it means certain death .

The voice was seductive. It told Jebel of all the things that could go wrong, the dead-end alleys, the agonies of torture, the shame of a public execution. And what if he got away? He wouldn’t last two days in the wilderness by himself. Did he plan to stay in Disi all winter, hiding? He should think long and hard before acting. Maybe sleep on the matter.

Jebel wavered. He had come a long way and learned a lot, but when all was said and done he was still only a thin, weak, inexperienced boy. It was ludicrous to think that he could outwit Bush and Blair, then survive by himself in this hostile land. If he didn’t escape, more mausoleums beckoned, nightmares, and eventually death or being sold to other slavers. But at the moment life was bearable. Perhaps he should wait until things were worse and then…

As Jebel prepared to turn his back on the notion of escape, fate intervened in such an unexpected manner that many might claim it to be the work of the gods. Bush and Blair paused at an intersection to ask a soldier for directions. Standing behind them, Jebel’s gaze wandered and he spotted a team of slaves shoveling snow from the path to his left. Most were filthy, long-haired, crooked, broken men who’d worked down the mines or been shipped in from abroad when they were too old to be of use to their original masters. They were here to spend their remaining days doing public work. But one stood out, younger than the rest, tall, muscular, proud. He was shoveling hard, leading the labors, encouraging the others.

Tel Hesani!

Jebel froze with shock. Then his brain whirred. He saw the two bored guards in charge of the slaves, close to Tel Hesani. He saw how Bush and Blair stood at the edge of the path as they chatted to the soldier. He saw the side streets off the path that Tel Hesani and the others were clearing. He saw the linked chain around the slaves’ ankles, and the keyring on one guard’s belt.

He saw hope.

Jebel acted before he lost his nerve. Grabbing his leash, he barged into Blair’s back and slammed him into Bush, knocking both from the path and into the soldier. All three fell together, and Bush lost his grip on the leash.

Jebel ran as fast as he could, mouth closed, eyes on Tel Hesani. He wanted to bellow at the slave for help but thought it better to save his breath.

Bush, Blair, and the soldier shouted. The guards in charge of the slaves looked up. Most of the slaves didn’t — they were too weary to take notice of the world around them. Tel Hesani was an exception. His gaze lifted and his eyes focused. He saw Jebel, and his jaw dropped.

Jebel didn’t know if Bush and Blair were on their feet or if the soldier was running after him. He didn’t dare stop or look back. He ran straight at the guards. They weren’t watching the slaves any longer. They were eyeing the onrushing boy, wondering if it was worth their while to stop him.

This was Tel Hesani’s chance, but would he seize it? Did it make any difference to him whether he remained a slave of the Um Saga and died on the streets of Disi or became Jebel’s slave again and was slaughtered in Tubaygat? Jebel could only hope. He had made his move. It all depended on Tel Hesani now. If the Um Kheshabah didn’t act in the next few seconds, Jebel was doomed.

Tel Hesani’s eyes snapped from Jebel to the guards. He looked over Jebel’s shoulder and saw Bush and Blair chasing the boy. Jebel had a good lead, but it wasn’t great. And it would be difficult to evade pursuit in broad daylight — lots of snow had been swept from the streets, but a thick sheet remained. They would leave footprints. Tel Hesani had thought about escaping, but not in this clumsy fashion. He had planned to wait and act when the moment was ripe.

But Jebel was racing towards him. The die had been cast. It was now or never.

Tel Hesani was almost within reach of the guards. Edging across, he raised his shovel and cracked it hard over the head of the nearest guard, dropping him to the ground. He then swung at the other man, but the Um Saga reacted quickly and leapt away. With a roar of shock and rage, he drew a sword.

Jebel rammed the guard from behind, sending him flying. Tel Hesani caught the man, knocked his sword from his hand, and punched him between the eyes. The guard blinked dumbly. Tel Hesani punched again, and he collapsed.

Jebel grabbed the keys from the first guard and fumbled for one that would fit Tel Hesani’s lock. Tel Hesani snatched the keys from him and studied them — he had been watching the guards carefully, planning his escape, so he knew exactly which key to go for. He selected one and inserted it into the lock on the cuff around his left ankle. It clicked open instantly.

The pale-skinned slave assessed the situation. Bush and Blair had paused and were reaching into their pockets. He remembered the fight in the inn, the mesh balls with the deadly triangles.

Tel Hesani thrust the bunch of keys at Jebel. “Free the others!” he roared, then spun away to meet the challenge of the soldier who had been knocked over by Bush and Blair — he had come running after the boy once he had got back on his feet. As Jebel worked on the locks, urged on by the excited slaves, the soldier swung wildly at Tel Hesani. He parried the blow with the head of his shovel, then chopped low at the soldier’s knees. He struck the left knee a crushing blow, and the soldier fell. Tel Hesani stepped on the sword, kicked the soldier’s hand away, then picked up the weapon. The soldier backed away, dragging his wounded leg behind him.

Tel Hesani glanced at Bush and Blair. He could see the deadly balls in their hands, and they were advancing cautiously. They would be within throwing range in seconds. He checked on Jebel. The boy had freed two slaves and was working on a third. Tel Hesani slapped Jebel’s back, took the keys from him, and tossed them to one of the unchained slaves — both were standing uncertainly, not sure whether to scuttle or stay.

“Free the others,” Tel Hesani hissed. “Run. You won’t all make it to freedom, but some might get away.” He pointed to Bush and Blair. “Beware those two. They’re more dangerous than they look.”

Then he pushed Jebel ahead of him and fled.

Jebel would have taken the first turn they came to, but Tel Hesani had passed all of the side streets earlier, and he told the boy to run straight on. He ignored the next two turnings too. Only when they came to the fourth did he shout, “Left!”

Jebel raced along a dark alley. Halfway down they took a right turn into a larger but deserted street. It was all new territory from this point for Tel Hesani, so he paused to consider his next move. As he wavered, he heard a single pair of footsteps behind them, approaching fast.

Tel Hesani stood, sword at the ready. He didn’t think it was Bush or Blair — he assumed they always worked as a pair. Maybe a soldier. A man came flying around the bend, and Tel Hesani began to swing. The man threw himself to the ground. “No!” he yelled. “I’m a friend!”