One second, he was sound asleep. The next, he was slammed to the floor on his back with the wind knocked out of him. When Justin gained his wits, he realized he was pinned to the ground. The tip of a sword was pointing at his throat.
"Where is your sword?" Zechariah demanded, letting the blade touch Justin's neck.
"Are you freaking crazy-?" Justin choked out.
"Where is it?"
Justin glanced sidelong at his sheathed weapons at the foot of the bed.
"Well?" Zechariah growled.
"Right there," Justin said, gesturing with this chin.
Zechariah turned in an exaggerated fashion. "All the way over there, eh? Tell me, Justin. What is the purpose of a weapon?"
"To-to kill people?" Justin said.
"The purpose of a weapon is to defend yourself. Understand?"
Justin nodded quickly. It was hard to thi
