The Executioner's Right (The Executioner's Song Book 1)

by D. K. Holmberg

  It stopped several feet away, looking up.

  At least he had a friend in here, even if it were a rat.

  “Tears and fears give the gods good cheer! Your weeping fills their hearts with glee. They know your thoughts, your prayers for naught! All waiting for your bended knee.”

  The crazed man cackled after his song, and Finn leaned forward, spitting. “Shut up,” he said. Pinch raced off as Finn yelled, disappearing into the darkness. A part of Finn regretted yelling and scaring it off.

  The man laughed again. “You’ve gone to the chapel three days in a row. Have your prayers been answered?”

  Finn ignored him.

  It only seemed to make the man happier. He started to laugh again, banging on the bars of his cell with his uninjured arm.

  Finn leaned back against the wall.

  How much longer was I going to be able to hold out?

  It might not even matter. For all he knew, they had grabbed Oscar.

  If they had, then what sort of information had he given up? Would he have revealed anything about what they had done?

  Not Oscar. He wouldn’t have said anything. He would keep the faith; he would protect the crew. He would say nothing to harm the King.

  Finn had to do the same.

  He sat in place, pain coursing through him. Every so often, he drifted off to sleep.

  After a while, the sound of boots thudded along the stone, stirring him back awake. He had been dreaming, and when he came awake, he couldn’t remember all the details of the dream, only that his father had been there.

  Was this what it was like for him?

  He had been imprisoned for a long time. Years. Finn and his family hadn’t been allowed to even see him. He had no idea when his father would be allowed to leave, if at all.

  He couldn’t imagine his father being tormented like this for years.

  He wouldn’t survive torment like this for much longer.

  He suspected the Lion knew that. It was why he continued to push, tormenting him to get answers. The water hadn’t worked, which suggested that he would try something else next.

  Would I be able to withstand the next torment? What about the one after that?

  Finn had seen the torture tools lined up, and they had been described to him in such detail that he didn’t think he could tolerate most of them.

  What he’d seen already had been more than what he could tolerate.

  “Tears and fears give the gods good cheer! Your weeping fills their hearts with glee. They know your thoughts, your prayers for naught! All waiting for your bended knee,” the man said again, laughing as he did.

  Finn could only stare.

  There wasn’t anything more he could do. Nothing more that he could say. The only thing that he could do was to pray that eventually the Lion would grow tired.

  It was possible that he never grew tired.

  Pinch came crawling forward again, crouching just out of reach.

  Finn waved his hand at him, and the rat just watched.

  At least he had a friend here.

  His crew would find a way to break him out. They would have to.

  But no one had rescued my father.

  He looked up as the thudding came closer, and a pair of iron masters approached his cell. It couldn’t be time for his torment again. He hadn’t been there long enough. Typically, the Lion gave him time in between his torments. Time enough to recover, however briefly. Time enough for his mind to begin to wonder what else he might do to him, what worse way he might abuse him.

  In some ways, that was worse than anything else.

  Finn’s mind created plenty of different ways that he could be tormented. All of them worse than the last.

  The iron masters stopped in front of his cell, pulling the keys out, jingling them as they unlocked his cell door. They headed in, making their way over to Finn and jerking him to his feet.

  “Back to the chapel so soon? Someone really needs to find his faith,” the crazed man cried out.

  “Quiet, Hector.”

  The other man cackled again.

  They dragged Finn forward. He tried to bear weight on his legs, attempting to walk. It was easier for him to walk than to have them drag him, but he couldn’t.

  “You don’t need to bring me there,” Finn said.

  Hector cackled. “Now he doesn’t want the protection of the gods. Oh, how they will make you suffer!”

  One of the iron masters banged on the bars.

  Finn jerked his head from side to side, trying to get his arms free. Even if he were to do that, the pain in his legs made it so that he wouldn’t be able to go very far.

  Hopes of freedom were empty hopes.

  They dragged Finn forward. When they reached the door leading up, he heard Hector crying out again.

  “Repent! Repent! Lest the gods find—”

  Finn never heard what would happen if he didn’t repent. The iron masters dragged him up the stairs. When they pulled him past the landing with the chapel, he looked down it, confusion filling him. He looked over to one of the iron masters. He had close-cropped hair, a soft chin, and a scar underneath one ear that reminded him somewhat of Oscar.

  “Where are you bringing me?”

  “Your trial.”

  “My trial?” Finn could barely comprehend what they were telling him. His mind struggled to work through everything, though most of that came from just how much he hurt.

  They dragged him up another flight of stairs, and Finn stared.

  Light poured in from windows along the hallway. It was almost overwhelming after having been down in the dark for as long as he had been. He blinked for a few moments, trying to get his eyes to adjust, but they wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

  The iron masters dragged him along the hallway, taking a left down another hall and then dragging him out into the street.

  The sudden change was all too jarring for him. The air smelled cleaner than it had in days. Finn breathed it in, trying to clear his nostrils of the filth that he had inhaled in the time that he’d been in the Declan prison. The iron masters didn’t allow him to take the time he wanted, dragging him along with them, forcing him forward.

  Finn didn’t care.

  If he was heading to his trial, then he would finally know his fate.

  They dragged him quickly through the streets, and in the distance, he caught sight of the City Hall. Had they really brought me so far into the city? They must have, though Finn had a hard time concentrating. Pain, fatigue, and dehydration from everything he’d experienced made it difficult.

  As they made their way through the street, several children started to trail after him. They were young, about the same age as he had been when he had followed his father and Oscar, but they made no effort to hide. No attempt to play the game the way that Finn had played with his father. Instead, they taunted him, calling out, yelling toward him.

  Finn didn’t react.

  There was no way for him to react.

  At one point, one of the iron masters waved at the boys, trying to send them on their way, but the boys only laughed and continued to follow, though at a little bit greater distance than they had before.

  By the time they reached the City Hall, there were a half dozen boys following them.

  “What happens here?” Finn mumbled.

  “You find out your fate,” one of the iron masters said.

  He looked around him. This was a part of the city he didn’t know well. There were merchants, shops, and homes, but none of them were familiar to him. None of them were places where he or the crew had spent much time. The buildings looked maintained, not like in Brinder or Olin. They were plain, single- or two-story, and had painted wood around a stone frame.

  They headed up the steps to the City Hall.

  Finn felt a growing trepidation.

  As he climbed, a shrill whistle behind him caught his attention.

  Three short bursts.

  That meant his crew.

  The
y were coming for him. They hadn’t abandoned him.

  He stiffened, and he tried to look behind him, but the iron masters jerked on him, dragging him away, keeping him from looking backward. They dragged him into the building.

  Finn tried to look around, but they stepped too quickly, and he was too tired.

  They reached a door along the hallway and pushed it open. A chair inside reminded him of the one in the chapel, and when they set him down, strapping him into the chair, Finn moaned softly, though there was no sign of the Lion, and no sign of any other tormentor, for that matter.

  They left him alone for a little while.

  He was strapped in place, but as Finn looked around, he saw no sign of any torture tools.

  He looked up, staring at the ceiling, and saw nothing similar to what he experienced in the chapel.

  Maybe this wasn’t a chapel.

  A prayer still came to him, the words forming, long ago memorized.

  He licked his lips. His mouth was dry.

  The door opened, and he looked up, expecting one of the guards.

  An Archer entered. They were dressed in maroon and black, the colors striped along the jacket and pants, but there was something strange about it.

  “Shuffles,” a familiar voice said.

  Finn blinked, trying to clear his vision. That sounded like the King, but that couldn’t be it. Only, as he looked at the Archer, he realized that it was the King.

  “How are you here?” he asked.

  Hope started to rise in his chest. Maybe he could get out of this somehow. The King was here, and he had connections. Bribed Archers. That had to be how he’d gotten in. The King would have to help Finn find a way free.

  “Don’t mind that.” The King looked around him. “You hurt bad?”

  Finn tried to force a smile. “They can’t hurt me.”

  “That’s our Shuffles.” He came closer. “What have you told them?”

  Finn blinked again. “What have I told who?”

  “The guards.” The King stared at him for a moment. “I don’t know how much time I have. I just need to know what you’ve told them.”

  Finn shook his head. “Nothing. I told them that I was alone.”

  The King stared at him for a long moment. “That’s it?”

  “That’s all. I didn’t say anything about the crew. I don’t know why the job went sideways like the one before it almost did.” He’d thought about it when he’d first been imprisoned, but the pain following his torment made it hard for him to think about much else lately. The King had come here for a reason. “Why are you worried?”

  “Rock was almost pinched on another job. Escaped, but now we got the damn Archers looking for him.”

  “Not Rock,” Finn muttered. He didn’t want his friend to suffer the way he had. “I didn’t tell them anything.”

  “You sure?” the King asked. “Damn, Shuffles, but it looks like they’ve been torturing you. Any man would slip with that.”

  Finn tried to lick his lips, but his mouth was too dry. “No slip. I said I was the only one.” He looked around the room. “The Lion tortured me, but I didn’t break."

  He’d nearly broken, though. He’d fought as much as he could, resisting the pain. The agony of the torture. The way the Lion had twisted the screws into his shins to the point where he couldn’t even walk. All for the crew. For his crew.

  “The Lion? You were at Declan.”

  “You didn’t know?”

  The King shook his head. “We couldn’t find where they brought you. I used my resources to find you but couldn’t uncover what they had done with you. Didn’t think they would have brought you to Declan.”

  Finn nodded, pulling on the leather straps on his arms. They hurt.

  At least the crew had been looking for him. While sitting in his cell, he had begun to think that they had decided to leave him.

  “Listen—I don’t know what happened to Oscar, but—”

  The King’s mouth tightened when Finn used Oscar’s name. “The Hand got out. Says he was hit by someone in the home. That fucking job. Still don’t know how the Hand got out.”

  “I pushed him out the window. That’s when they got me. Had I followed him out, they would have caught one of us.” Or both. Finn didn’t know.

  “Why’d you do it? Hand said you sacrificed yourself for him.”

  “I don’t have the same priors he does.”

  “You think you’re going to get an easier sentence than the Hand?” The King turned away briefly. “Not where we were.” He said it quietly and under his breath.

  “Can you let me out of here? I don’t know what they’re going to do to me, but since they think it was only me, it can’t be good. It’d be better if I—”

  “Stay to find out the sentence. Then we’ll get you out,” the King said.

  Finn pulled on the leathers. “You could spring me. They wouldn’t know it was you.”

  “We’ve got to know what they intend. You understand, Shuffles. Can’t let it get back to the crew.”

  The glimmer of hope he had allowed himself to feel started to fade. He swallowed back the lump that rose in his chest.

  Finn understood. That was the reason his father remained imprisoned. His crew hadn’t sprung him, either. Not that he expected the King to spring him. All he wanted was for him to release the leathers. Finn would make his way out on his own. With his legs hurting the way they did, he might not make it that far. He’d try, though.

  “Do you know what they’re thinking for punishment?”

  “Don’t have much of an idea. Declan, though…”

  Finn noticed the steady sound of boots outside the door.

  “I’ve got to go. Keep your mouth shut about the crew. We’ll come for you soon,” the King asked.

  Finn nodded.

  With that, the King slipped out into the hall. Murmured voices drifted through the door, though Finn wasn’t able to make anything out. When they fell silent, the door opened, and the two iron masters entered. They loosened the straps from his arms and legs and lifted him.

  “Where now?”

  “Sentencing,” one said.

  They dragged Finn down the hall, stopping when they reached a pair of double doors. May the Gods Grant the Wisdom of Their Justice was scrawled along the upper edge of the doors. Carvings of the seven gods were worked into the wood. Finn barely had time to look at them and think of a prayer, not that he expected any prayer he might come up with to be answered.

  One of the iron masters pulled the door open. They didn’t give him the chance to register anything on the other side, though the long table at one end of the room caught his attention. Six people sat at the table, though there should be seven—with the magister in the middle. Finn had seen him before but never quite like this, and not with jurors on either side of him. The magister was appointed by the king, an expert in the law, but the jurors were elected by the sections, supposedly to represent the city. Though there were now more than six sections in the city, the number of jurors had not changed. Finn doubted any of them represented his section.

  One of the jurors looked familiar, and it took a moment before Finn realized why. He’d seen the man. Not only that, but he’d seen him talking to the King. He was the heavyset man Finn had spotted in the night before they had taken the job.

  Could he be the Client?

  If it was, that would explain why the King wasn’t concerned about Finn.

  A solitary chair sat opposite the table. The iron masters dragged him to the chair and left him. At least they didn’t strap him down the way they had before.

  He was free. As free as he could be in this place.

  If his legs worked, he might even consider running.

  The magister looked up from a stack of papers on the table before him. Short dark hair grayed around his temples, and his pudgy face made Finn think he never got up from the table. Thick glasses were tilted on his nose, and pale blue eyes looked down on Finn. Full lips pressed in a t
ight frown.

  Finn quickly looked at the other jurors, surprised to find two women. Both were older—both with dark graying hair. One had severe features, including a sharp nose and thin lips. She eyed him with suspicion the moment he sat. There would be no sympathy from her. The other had a round face, rosy cheeks as if she’d just come in out of the cold, and dabbed at her nose with a cloth. The men were dressed formally, all in dark colors. One had glasses like the magister, though not quite as thick. All appeared older.

  The door opened behind him, and the magister looked up. “You’re late.”

  The last juror swept into the room dressed differently from the others. He had a crimson cloak he pulled off, revealing a matching jacket and pants. Blond hair hung down to his shoulders, and he had bright blue eyes. He was nothing like the other jurors and could be no more than a decade older than Finn.

  “I was waylaid. You could have started without me,” the man said, taking his place in the empty chair next to the magister.

  “We couldn’t, and you know it, Bellut.”

  “I’m here now. You can begin.” He looked up and over to Finn, his eyes locking onto him. “Have you started with the allegations?”

  “The allegations against this one are straightforward.”

  Finn looked over, realizing the Lion was there. He hadn’t seen him before as he’d been standing in the shadows, but he stepped forward and toward the jurors.

  “Finn Jagger. Professional thief. Known accomplice of the man known as the Hand.”

  Finn swallowed. They knew more about him than he’d realized.

  “Was found on the night of Janral the fourth, breaking into the royal home of the viscount. Apprehended at the scene.”

  “With little fight, I must add.”

  Finn looked over to the other person. An older man stood behind a post, making it difficult for him to make him out. His voice was firm. Almost hard.

  The magister nodded, as if this man’s comment mattered. Finn hoped that his not fighting would make a difference.

  “Yes. Little fight,” the Lion said. “During interrogation, he claims to have been working alone, though with his known associates, this seems unlikely. I suspect that in time, I will obtain more information about the nature of these associates, which we can then use to understand the purpose of the attempt on the viscount.”