He threw the spear down—the spear he’d spent all damned day making—and turned away from her with both hands digging at his scales. He closed his eyes, not daring yet to speak, not daring even to think.

“Meoraq?”

The law was clear.

“What’s wrong with him?” someone asked and Scott said, “If you two are going to fight again, do it somewhere else.”

Was that it? Because he’d shouted at her? ‘Please,’ he prayed. ‘I didn’t mean it.’

His will was nothing. The Word of the Prophet must be upheld.

‘She’s human. She didn’t know.’

But the law was Sheul’s. If the humans were His children, they were subject to His rule and to the judgment of His Swords.

And after all, some evil voice observed, you don’t even like her.

“So this is Your lesson,” he said in the dark. His voice, no louder than a whisper, caught at his ears like hooks.

“Well, Jesus Christ, lizardman, what the hell did I do n—”

He pulled a knife as if it were a bone he pulled from his own body. He used the knife of his fathers. He could do that much. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

“Amber!” Nicci cringed back even as she cried out, but no one else moved. “Someone do something! He’s going to kill her!”

“No, he’s not,” said Amber, frowning uncertainly at the knife he held.

It hurt.

“Do you wish to pray?” he asked hoarsely. “Please. Do not make me send you from this world into darkness.”

There followed a terrible stillness. Amber looked past the gleam of ancient metal to search his face and for a long time, it was only that and the watchful eye of Sheul upon them both.

“Are you really going to kill me?” she asked at last. Her voice trembled, but only once.

“I am a Sword and a true son of Sheul. I am the arbiter of His law, which you have broken. I have no choice in this matter.” And then he said, not thinking, what he had never said with a blade of judgment in his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Someone stop him!” Nicci begged.

“We can’t interfere with their customs.”

Amber’s baffled stare turned briefly molten. She swung around, snarling, “Fuck you, Scott! Nicci—” Her voice trembled again, then turned harsh. “Don’t look. Someone get her out of here. Dag…or someone…Don’t let her see this.”

Nicci began to wail, but she walked away, she was not carried. Many other humans faded back with her. Scott stayed. Scott meant to watch. His eyes were bright in the firelight.

Amber turned her back on them all. She lifted her chin with a defiance belied by her too-bright eyes. “Do it, if you’re going to do it. I don’t care.”

“Will you not pray?”

“I had nothing to say to God before. I’ve got nothing to say to him now.” Her jaw clenched, biting on the shiver in her words.

“So be it. Human, you have broken the Third Law and taken up a bladed weapon—”

“Wait a minute, what?” Amber looked down at the knife in her hand and then back at Scott.

All the remaining humans were looking at Scott, whose skin had gone a curious greyish color. And as Amber opened her mouth to speak, he lurched forward and shouted, “She’s a fucking liar!”

The temper broke in Meoraq and suddenly his kzung was in his other hand—not his father’s knife, not for this human—and he shouted, “I do His will now, but I will be free to do my own when it is over, so do not provoke me!”

Scott put up his open hands, but his eyes stayed on Amber, hissing, “There’s nothing anyone can do about this and you know it, so don’t you even think about getting anyone else in trouble!”

“You fucking yellow bastard.” Amber put her hands on the knife, folding the blade into its own haft, then threw it to the ground between Scott’s feet. “It was my knife,” she said loudly. And turned to face Meoraq. “But I didn’t know that was your law.”

“It is Sheul’s law and not mine to forgive.” Meoraq took resolute hold of her shoulder and put the blade against her neck. “I will be quick.”

“Wait, just…What is the law exactly?” she asked. “The actual words.”

He frowned.

“Humor me,” she said. “As my final request.”

He could feel the heat of her shoulder through his hand. Living warmth. He could feel the tremble of her mortal fear, but she stood and she faced him.

“No man may raise his judgment higher than the true Word of Sheul,” he said, reminding himself as much as her. “I am Sheulek. I have no mercy to show you.”

But he did not make the killing cut and after another long moment, he eased the edge of his blade away from her thin skin. Red blood, red as dye-berries, welled up where it had rested.

“‘And the third law writ was this,’” he said in something like surrender. “‘Let no man who is not born of the warrior’s caste and raised under its sign take up the bladed weapon, for the age of the Ancients is ended and wrath belongs to Sheul alone. For he who is born under the Blade, all liberty is given, but for all other men of this world, this sin shall be unforgiveable.’” The last word fell like a hammer on his heart, briefly silencing him. “No allowance can be made,” he told her, as soon as he felt he could. “The Prophet writes plainly that whatever man touches the bladed weapon, even if he has taken it up in defense of his life or that of his son or even of his abbot, if he is not born to that caste, he must be judged unforgiveable. He…You must die.”

Amber’s eyes had narrowed. “Are these laws open to any interpretation?”

“None.”

“Not even from you?”

“I would spare you if I could.” He raised the knife. “But I am Sheulek and His law is mine. I will be quick.”

“You said no man can hold a knife,” she said, and reached up to catch the bone-hilt of his. “But I’m a woman.”

The world dropped away for a second time.

“Is there a law against women holding knives?” Amber asked. Her eyes were intent. Elsewhere, at some unknown distance, human voices began to whisper.

Meoraq bent his head. He breathed.

The First Law: Sheul is master over all His children. There is no mortal being or beast born of clay who does not bend before Him and none whose judgment can be raised higher than His sacred Word.

The Second Law: The Age of the Ancients is ended. Let their cities fall to ruins. Let their time pass out of memory. Let no one seek to master or remake the machines with which they poisoned Gann, lest they be corrupted in return.

The Third Law: Let no man take up the bladed weapon…no man…

Meoraq opened his eyes and found them already gazing into Amber’s. He sheathed his father’s knife. Then he bent, as a man in a fever, without conscious thought or plan, and licked the blood from her neck. It tasted coppery and bitter and he drank it in like wine and pressed his brow to her warm shoulder.

“I take it that’s a no,” said Amber. Her air fell out of her in a shaky rush. “You scared the piss out of me, lizardman.”

“Sheul instructs with a burning hand,” he replied, still somewhat light-headed. “I have to pray.” He turned around, but caught her arm as she first moved away, no doubt to find her weeping Nicci.

She waited, tense, while he tried to puzzle out his reason for stopping her. He only knew that he wanted to say something, but whatever it was would have to be witnessed by all these damned staring humans.

Nicci was coming. He could hear her sobbing through the crowd, as hysterical with joy as she’d been with grief. Amber’s gaze wavered; she looked behind her.

Meoraq released his hold and stepped back. “I have meat,” he said, and rather unnecessarily plucked up his travel-pack to thrust into Amber’s arms. “See that your people are fed.”

Then Nicci was there and Meoraq retreated so he wouldn’t have to watch them embrace and feel…whatever the hell he was feeling.

* * *

Meoraq was sleeping when Amber finally nerved herself up to try and talk to him, or at least, he was lying down with his eyes closed and his arms tucked beneath his head. He was outside though, and fully dressed, boots and all, so Amber waffled for a second or two, and maybe he could feel her stare, because he said, without opening his eyes, “What do you want?”