18
Chairs, tables, and bed platforms lit the town as Duncan and his companions were shoved onto the square. A huge bonfire was being fed by furniture. Warriors with painted faces were gutting the houses of those abandoning St. Francis for the west the next day. Duncan realized that this was Mog’s way of telling them good riddance.
The captives were arranged in a row before the death posts, positioned with kicks and then, with sharp blows to the backs of their legs, forced to kneel. A rivulet of blood ran down Duncan’s forehead where a club had hit him. A much-worse cut had been inflicted on Munro’s arm, which had deflected the spike of a war ax that had been aimed at Duncan’s shoulder.
Mog had all night to kill his prisoners. First he would perform for his audience, the crowd of more th
