Two guards seized him. In onedance-like spin, Baymond knocked one guard to the ground with theside of his hand and the other down with his foot, then he sprangtoward the door.
“Halt or I’ll fire,”ordered the Samrat officer. Freezing, Baymond looked at the officerand saw he had drawn a blaster. “The elder has allowed you fivedays to prepare yourself for death. I will kill you in an instant.”
Baymond’s shoulders slumped,and he allowed a guard to bind his wrists behind his back.
“See, heisa dangerous spy!” said the witness, in the Deutzian language. “What did I tell you?”
Baymond glared at the man who’dbetrayed him. “You’re a traitor to your people and a murderer!” Baymond shouted in the man’s own language, struggling to break theleather bonds on his wrists.
Two guards hauled Baymond fromthe council room, took him down several stone stairways, and threwhim into a dark cell. He fell to the ground and, unable to regainhis balance with his hands bound, slammed his shoulder and headagainst the stone floor. He lay still, stunned, his head throbbingin pain. Someone moved nearby. Realizing he wasn’t alone, heturned toward the sound. In the shadows, he made out a wiry old manwho was watching him from a make-shift bed of straw.
Baymond struggled into a sittingposition and stared back. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light hecould make out the man’s features. He had a large hook nose, along beard, and disheveled white hair. He wore typical Deutzianclothing, consisting of a tunic and pants, both homespun. Baymondwondered if he’d be spending his last hours with a murderer orcrazy man; this was clearly no soldier. Aware of his vulnerability,Baymond pulled uneasily against the strap binding his wrists,heedless of the pain as it bit into his skin.
Speaking in the Deutzian tongue,the old man said gently, “No need to struggle, lad. I’ll untieyou.” He moved over to Baymond and began working at the bindings. “Your struggles have tightened the knots and made them difficult tountie, but I will have them undone soon. You must have put up quitea fight to be bound. The guards are usually kind to those who haveonly a few days of life left. It is a custom among our people torespect a man’s last hours.”
“Why should I go willingly tomy death? I’m not a spy as they accuse me!” Baymond replied. “And don’t call me ‘lad’ I’m a man and nearly eighteen.”
“So you do speak our tongue. I was beginning to wonder when you remained silent.” Thefastenings finally fell away, and the old man sat back on his palletbefore continuing. “Ah the impatience of youth. Will fightingyour fate change anything?”
“Have I anything to lose? I’mto be put to death five days hence.”
“And I in four.”
“For what crime?” Baymondasked, rubbing his sore wrists.
“Does there have to be a crimein this time of discord?”
“No, I suppose not,” Baymondreplied, feeling less agitated. “Thank you for untying my wrists.” Knowing this kind man was also close to death gave Baymond a feelingof affinity to him. He moved over to the cell wall and sat down onthe remaining pallet.
“You speak my language well,”said the old man.
“I’velived among your people for several months. My spacecraft was shotdown, and a young woman found and hid me in her family’s home.” His voice hitched as he thought of Rissa. It was hard to talk abouther.
