The first stroke took Vantann's breath away, the second returned it with a gasp. He squeezed his eyes closed, pressed his cheek against the rough bark of the tree and waited for the third and final stroke. It came, wickedly painful, leaving him reeling. Unexpectedly, it was followed by two more, delivered in rapid, powerful succession. Vantann shrieked in agony and sagged against the tree.

"Three strokes, you fool!" Kebb bellowed. "Not five!"

Through eyes blurred by tears, Vantann saw Kebb wrench the whip from the soldier's hands.

"He killed my brother!" the soldier retorted. "He deserves to die as well!"

"When you are Lord of the Keep you can make that decision," Kebb shot back. "Until then, you'd best remember your place. Now, cut him down and clean him up. Then bring him to me. And I'm warning you, if there are any other wounds besides his back, I'll take it up with you personally. Now, move!" He stormed off, the whip in his fist.

The soldier clenched his jaw in anger and drew his dagger. Vantann sucked in his breath in horror.

"I should kill you here and now," the soldier seethed, flashing his dagger just inches from Vantann's face. "But it's going to be a pleasure watching you suffer under Lord Spak's servitude." He sliced through the tie between Vantann's wrists.