Neither to Timir’s nor Dwara’s surprise, the crowd wasn’t a quiet one. They knew what they were here for. They were here to watch someone die.

The sun was yet to set when they stepped into the ceremonial space created in the compound. The ground had been swept and a makeshift stage erected. The fact that it had taken them only a few hours to do so was perhaps because they were accustomed to the whole process. Timir wondered how many innocent travellers had become Yamuk’s unwitting entertainment in Kastha’s reign.

Dwara waited, alongside Timir, only too aware of scornful stares from many in the crowd. “I hope you realise that if you don’t survive whatever Lord Kastha throws at you, I will no longer be welcome anywhere in Yamuk.”

“You can always tell them I forced you to accompany me,” Timir replied. “If that doesn’t work, take all the gold off my corpse and go east. Most of it is under Aramban control now. But in Sueila you will find a woman by the name of Ahala selling her wares by the port. She will help you if you tell her I sent you, I think.”

“You think?”

“It’s all I have to offer. All I know of is east of Yamuk.”

“There are marshlands to the west, and sheer cliffs rising into the clouds beyond that. I will not survive on berries and roasted lizard tails.”

“What’s past the cliffs?”

“I have never been outside Yamuk. But everyone has heard of the haunted marshes. They say fearsome evil spirits wander there.”

“Tall tales.”

“You don’t believe in ghosts?”

“Oh I do, but tales people tell about ghosts have seldom anything to do with them. Every village and town has such tales and they are all only ever about men.”

“Have you seen real ghosts?”

“I have. Perhaps you will too, someday.”

Dwara allowed herself a smile. Yamuk was all she had ever known, but if she had to leave, travelling east into Aramban territory seemed unwise. Perhaps she could go south, towards the coast. At any rate, she would fare better in a city, Aramban-occupied or not.

“What are they like? Ghosts?”

“Sad, mostly, and full of regrets. If there are fearsome spirits out there, I have never met one. They’re as like to weep than charge when they see you.”

Dwara would have asked him about why they wept, but loud cheering disrupted her thoughts just then and Kastha stepped onto the stage, somewhat more resplendent in oversized black robes than he had been in his chamber. Her eyes swept the crowd once and returned to find that Timir too was on his feet, clapping and hooting like the rest of them.

“My children,” Kastha’s voice boomed over the compound, once again enhanced by magical means, after he had waved the applause down. “I have stood between Yamuk and the oblivion that awaits it for twelve long years. I have protected your homes and families from outsiders and monsters who would take what is yours. In these very grounds, you have watched enemies of Yamuk hanged for their crimes against you.”

The crowd cheered loudly. To the confusion of several in the front row, Timir cheered the loudest. Dwara remained silent throughout, dread colouring her every breath.

“Today, we have another stranger among us,” Kastha continued, ignoring Timir who rose once again to smile and wave to the crowd. “He is an Aramban. He does not deny it. He has killed one of my sons, our very own Captain Trivikram. He begs for my mercy now -” Timir laughed loudly at this. “- and is willing to trade his sword in exchange for his life. I ask you, my children. Does this spy deserve Yamuk’s mercy? Should he be allowed to go free despite what he has done? Or will he join his brethren - all our other enemies, in the forty-fourth hell tonight?”

The crowd cheered for Kastha as Dwara’s heart sank. There were various versions of cries like “hang him” and “death to Aramba” within the cheers, along with a lot of symbolic stone-throwing that never reached the stage. Not everyone was cheering though, and Dwara’s eyes spied Kastha’s wife some distance away, sitting under a makeshift tabernacle with her attendants.

“You have put me at the town’s mercy Lord Kastha,” Timir said when the crowd started to fall silent. “Will you allow me to win their favour with my own words?”

When Kastha, sure of his control, gestured his permission, Timir picked up his sword and made his way to where the people of Yamuk were crowding against the stockades.

“People of Yamuk,” he said. “You are not fools. You respect strength, and that is why you respect Lord Kastha. He has the power to hurt those who seek to hurt you. But even more importantly, he has the power to hurt you. Many of you have been hurt by him. I am sure most of you had no love for Captain Trivikram. You bore that burden because he too was strong and could hurt you. Now, I am certain many of you are happy that he is dead, even if you will not say it.

“Lord Kastha has presented you with a grand opportunity this evening. You may think it involves deciding my fate, but in truth, it is about deciding yours!

“I will make that decision easier for you. I have no intention of handing my sword to Lord Kastha. I do not seek his mercy. I also refuse to hang so he may add my life to the long list of innocents he has already killed and tell you he is doing it for your good, because he isn’t.

“So if you respect strength, respect mine. I put an end to Trivikram. I can put an end to Kastha’s rule too. If you want me to hang, scream your insults and wish death upon me. But if you want an end to Kastha’s tyranny, say nothing and let your silence tell this small man what you think of him.”

What followed Timir’s words was not silence. But it clearly wasn’t as full-throated a condemnation as before either. Dwara, who had given up on Yamuk a long time ago, watched the town bend, just a little, to Timir’s will. She looked to Kastha and found him visibly confused. In a few moments, as some of the voices in the back started challenging Timir’s words, the crowd began to get vicious again. But the damage had been done. For the first time in twelve years, Kastha had been forced to face the fact that Yamuk could imagine existing without him.