Suleiman's voice was terrifyingly calm. "Bring the child!"
He gave the reins a sharp tug. His warhorse whinnied and surged forward.
Behind him, the silent, murderous cavalry followed close, kicking up a cloud of dust like a storm about to sweep everything away.
The chainmail-clad cavalrymen had appeared so suddenly.
The four hundred soldiers maintaining order in the refugee camp quickly converged from all directions, instantly cutting off the camp's noisy arguments, crying, and groaning.
The refugees peered out of their ramshackle shelters in terror, staring at the expressionless knights clad in chainmail.
Suleiman did not dismount. He rode onto a huge, flat rock at the camp entrance. His horse's gleaming black iron hooves clattered across its rough surface, and hot white breath steamed from its nostrils.
He sat astride his horse atop the rock, looking down over thousands of frightened faces. Before him stood four hundred infantrymen in chainmail, heads held high, and more than forty riders.
He had not come to negotiate. He had come to pass judgment and impose order through force.
Suleiman's voice was quiet, but it carried clearly to Bryn, who stood beside him. "Bryn!"
"Find the frailest person among the refugees and bring them here!"
Bryn said nothing. He simply nodded, then dismounted. His towering figure moved among the crowd like a walking hill, radiating an invisible pressure. The refugees parted before him like water, fearfully making way.
Soon, Bryn half-dragged a gaunt man to the foot of the rock.
The man's legs trembled like leaves in an autumn wind. He could barely stand, and his head hung low against his chest as he dared not look at the figure on horseback above him.
Suleiman's voice was calm, yet held an irresistible force. "Raise your head! Look at me!"
Trembling, the man slowly looked