The Queen's Executioner

by Christopher Mitchell

  ‘What’s going on?’ she said.

  ‘Executions, we heard, miss,’ Jayki replied.

  More rioters? Strange, she thought. The camp had seemed peaceful since they had arrived.

  They passed a pair of militia and entered the main command tent. They were stopped by half a dozen guards at the inner entrance to Obli’s meeting hall.

  ‘Lady Kanawara is indisposed at present,’ one of them said.

  ‘What?’ Shella replied.

  The tent flap opened, and Dannu came out. ‘We will be ready for you in just a few minutes, mage sister,’ she said. ‘Are those your orders? May I?’ She reached out and took the plans from Shella’s hands.

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Shella.

  ‘A bit of necessary business,’ said Dannu. ‘We won’t keep you waiting long, I promise.’ She slipped back through the tent flap.

  Shella considered brushing the guards aside, and entering anyway, but hesitated. She could kill them any time she wanted. They knew it. Yet there they stood, creating a solid barrier in front of Obli’s chambers.

  She tapped her foot as she waited, her paranoia conjuring visions of what could be happening inside.

  After what seem like hours, the tent flap was opened wide, and the guards parted.

  Shella strode in, glancing around, not knowing what to expect, but everything seemed in its usual place. Obli sat on the raised chair that Shella refused to call a throne. She was dressed in white, and looked radiant. Dannu and Tehna stood to either side, along with other men and women of the court, while soldiers lined the walls.

  ‘Mage Kanawara,’ Obli said, smiling.

  ‘Sister,’ she replied, hiding a smirk.

  ‘We have wondrous news,’ Obli went on. ‘We wish to announce to the Migration that I am with child! The discovery of this fertile land has triggered my pregnancy, the surest sign yet that the gods are with us, and that this country is where we are destined to make our home.’

  Shella smothered a sigh, not altogether surprised. ‘Congratulations!’ she beamed.

  ‘Thank you, high mage,’ Obli said. ‘We shall proclaim a day’s holiday to allow the camp to celebrate the news. And then,’ she said, holding up Shella’s plans, ‘we will follow the instructions that you have described here.’

  ‘You approve of what I proposed? Sending each new district out one at a time?’

  ‘Yes,’ Obli said. ‘It is a fine plan. It’s what you’re good at of course, the details. I have just one or two alterations to make, and it’ll be ready.’

  ‘Alterations?’ Shella said, noticing Dannu and Tehna glance at each other.

  ‘Yes,’ Obli replied. ‘In particular, regarding the disposition of your mage cadre.’

  ‘You don’t like the idea of splitting them up?’

  Obli paused, and in a split second the atmosphere in the room grew cold. The guards on either side stilled in readiness as if at an unspoken command.

  ‘Do you remember the advice you gave me a while back?’ Obli said. ‘And the warning? I told you not to worry, that I would take care of it. And today, I have.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes,’ Obli went on. ‘You warned me about how dangerous the other high level flow mages were, and I have seen the truth with my own eyes, how your mages have destroyed the lives of hundreds of our Rakanese youth.’

  ‘Rioters,’ Shella gasped, feeling like she had been punched. ‘At your command.’

  ‘Well now it must end,’ Obli said. ‘Has ended. What happened in the basalt desert was terrible and tragic, and although it may have seemed necessary at the time, history will judge it, judge us, as barbaric. But we have passed through the desert, and entered a new age. No more must the people live in perpetual fear, cowering from the sight of the dark-robed mages of death. I could not allow the risk that one of them would harm any of the spawning pools. Imagine the damage they could do, with a flick of their wrist!’

  ‘What have you done?’

  ‘What needed to be done, sister,’ Obli said. ‘I have removed the threat. The people no longer have to live in fear.’

  ‘You killed all the mages?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Obli said. ‘Do you take me for a fool? Only the high level flow mages, those with the power to take lives. Every other mage is perfectly safe, we’ll need the lower mages to maintain the spawning pools and keep the water fresh…’

  ‘And me, sister?’ Shella said.

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I too have killed. And have the power to kill again. Are you going to execute me?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, sister,’ Obli laughed. ‘I trust you.’

  Obli looked down on her, and her laugh faded, her face darkening.

  ‘But no more killing, mage sister,’ Obli whispered, leaning forward, her eyes narrow. ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Obli.’

  ‘Good,’ Obli smiled. ‘The day after tomorrow’s celebrations then, the first new district will depart for the south, and I shall accompany them. You, mage sister, will remain behind, ensuring that everyone leaves on time. This is a great day, sister, the first of a new era.’

  ‘Yes, my lady,’ Shella said, her mouth dry.

  ‘That is all,’ Obli stated, sitting back on her throne.

  Shella nodded, fighting the urge to run. No one met her eyes as she walked across the meeting chamber, and she knew they would be talking about her the moment she left.

  ‘Miss,’ Braga said as she came back outside. He had a guilty look in his eyes.

  ‘Did you two know?’

  ‘Heard a rumour, miss,’ Jayki said as they started to walk back to her tent. The inner circle was still quiet, and the low roar of voices over by the river had decreased since she had last been outside.

  ‘How did it happen?’ she said.

  Her guards looked at each other. Braga shrugged. ‘Soldiers surrounded them while they were having breakfast this morning,’ he said. ‘The guy ropes were cut, and the tent was collapsed on top of them, and then guards clambered over with knives and spears, stabbing them through the canvas. They took down all eleven of your high mages, miss.’

  ‘Seventeen guards were killed,’ said Jayki, ‘when Mage Cano managed to crawl out from under the tent, before she was shot down with arrows.’

  They reached Shella’s tent. ‘Why am I still alive?’ she said.

  ‘Miss?’ Braga said.

  ‘You are Lady Kanawara’s sister, miss,’ said Jayki.

  ‘I want to see them.’

  ‘Who, miss?’ asked Braga.

  ‘My mages,’ she said, fighting back her growing anger, and her tears.

  ‘I don’t think that’s a sensible idea, miss.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because, miss,’ Jayki said, ‘if the people see you, they will rip you to pieces with their bare hands. They know you survived the mage cull, and hate you more than they hated the other mages put together. They won’t come looking for you up here, out of respect for her ladyship, but if you go out into the camp...’

  ‘But you’ll protect me,’ she said, looking them in the eye. ‘Won’t you?’

  ‘Sorry, miss,’ Braga said, lowering his gaze. ‘New orders. We are to guard you so long as you remain here, but if you leave the inner circle, then you’re on your own.’

  Shella walked into her tent while he was still speaking, not able to stand any more of it.

  She had been betrayed, so utterly and thoroughly betrayed. Used by her sister to carry out her dirty work, and when those services had no longer been required, Obli had slain the very monsters she had created. And now Shella was her prisoner.

  She wanted to lie down in a dark room, shut herself off from everything, and curl up into the smallest ball she could make.

  ‘Hi, sis,’ said Sami, perched on a chair in her tent’s living area, Clodi sitting next to him.

  ‘What are you two clowns doing in my tent?’ she said. ‘And why are all those boxes here?’ She pointed to a p
ile of trunks and crates to the side.

  ‘Obli has put us in with you,’ Clodi said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘To prevent you from escaping,’ Sami said, flushing.

  Shella laughed. ‘I’m not sure how you two could stop me.’

  ‘We’re not here to stop you,’ Sami said. ‘Obli will have us executed if you leave.’

  Shella collapsed into a chair, her heart racing.

  ‘Then you know what happened?’

  ‘About your mages, yes,’ Sami said. ‘Sorry.’

  She saw Clodi start to cry, as she often did. She really should have stayed at home.

  ‘We watched them being executed,’ Sami went on, avoiding Shella’s eyes. ‘Obli made us. The people, sis, you should have heard the noise they made when Obli had the bodies hung up by the river, so everyone could see. The rage in their eyes.’ He shuddered. ‘I doubt there’s much left of them by now.’

  Clodi’s tears flowed stronger, and she lowered her head into her hands. Sami put a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘But she spared me,’ Shella said. ‘I don’t understand why.’

  ‘She needs you, Shella,’ Sami said. ‘She depends on you for so much. You practically ran the entire migration, from the moment we assembled in Newmarsh district back in the summer. Every plan, every order, every detail, has had your fingers all over them. And once Obli reaches the great river, she’ll need you again. Who do you think is going to be organising this new nation of hers?’

  ‘But that’s fucking ridiculous!’ Shella cried. ‘There must be dozens, hundreds of migrants who used to work in council planning, or local government back in the city, who are a thousand times better qualified than me.’

  ‘That’s probably true, sis, but none of them are called Kanawara. Obli is setting up a monarchy, I’m sure of it.’

  Shella snorted.

  ‘Come on, sis,’ Sami said. ‘Remember when you suggested setting up a council made up of representatives from all the districts, to take over the running of some of the camps? Obli over-ruled you, she said that the migration needed unified leadership, not a squabbling assembly. She promised that she would set up a council once we had crossed the desert. Well? Has she?’

  Shella said nothing.

  ‘And look at those who hold the power,’ he went on. ‘Lady Kanawara, our holy leader. Pavukanawara, commander of the militia. Priestess Tehnakanawara, responsible for the cult of Obli worshippers. Herald Dannukanawara, in charge of access to the throne room. And, of course, Mage Kanawara, Obli’s loyal second-in-command, organising everything from the shadows behind the throne. A terrible weapon, too, if need be. Obli’s personal killer.’

  ‘Shut up, Sami.’

  ‘She’s not going to give up her grip on power,’ Sami said, ignoring her. ‘Not after it cost us so much to get here.’ He jerked his thumb at Clodi. ‘At least she and I have roles in the family now. Royal Hostages Samikanawara and Clodikanawara. Obli has found a use for us at last! If only Klebo had made it. He could have been court jester.’

  ‘What have we done, Sami?’ Shella asked. ‘How could it have gone so wrong?’

  Before he could answer, Braga stuck his head round the tent flap.

  ‘Miss,’ he said, ‘that Holdings priest is here to see you.’

  ‘Let him in,’ she said. She wiped her face with a sleeve to conceal her tears. ‘Sami, find us a bottle of something nasty.’

  ‘Yes, sis,’ he replied, getting up and rummaging in a crate.

  ‘Madam mage,’ Rijon said, entering. He looked calm, but there were faint worry lines on his forehead, a notable emotional signal from a man so usually closed.

  ‘Rijon,’ she said. ‘Come in. Sit down.’

  He took a seat as Sami set down a bottle of clear spirits onto the table, along with four glasses.

  ‘Madam,’ he began.

  ‘Save it,’ Shella said. ‘Drink first.’

  Sami poured for them all.

  ‘It is against my religion to drink alcohol,’ Rijon said.

  ‘Cut the crap,’ Shella said. ‘I’ve seen you with that little flask you carry, when you think no one’s looking.’

  He picked up a glass and shrugged. ‘I am a sinner.’

  ‘Aren’t we all.’

  They clinked glasses together, and drank. Clodi coughed, while Sami patted her back. Rijon, to his credit, looked like he’d tasted worse.

  He put down his empty glass. ‘I have drunk,’ he said. ‘Now you speak. Why have you executed your high mages?’

  Shella laughed. ‘Me? Obli did it while we were freezing our asses off up the mountain this morning. She didn’t include me in her plans.’

  ‘Why would she do it?’ Rijon asked, shaking his head. ‘They were the most powerful force you had.’

  ‘Fear,’ Shella replied. ‘Obli feared them, the dark mages of death, she called them. The people feared them. Everyone feared them.’

  ‘And the Rahain would have feared them too,’ Rijon muttered, his face darkening.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You Rakanese,’ he sighed. ‘So wise in some ways, and so naïve in others.’

  Shella sat, waiting for him to continue, as he poured himself another drink, and took a sip.

  ‘I would guess,’ he said, ‘that your people have never been in a war?’

  ‘A what?’

  Chapter 15

  Summons

  Rahain Capital, Rahain Republic – 30th Day, First Third Winter 504

  Daphne turned on the hot water tap, letting steam fill the small bathroom. Despite the scalding temperature, she cleaned the blood from her fingers and face.

  She dried herself on a towel, and pulled on the long black cloak that she had taken from the man’s wardrobe. Her shielded left arm fitted easily into the ample sleeve, and the hood was big enough to hide her face. She picked up her boots, having wiped away the tendrils of gore that had been stuck to the soles, and turned the tap off.

  Placing her fingers on the door handle, she paused. Keenweed was pumping through her veins, instilling her with an alert and emotionless calm, but even so, she dreaded what she was about to see.

  She pushed the door open, and almost vomited.

  This killing had been different.

  For the first time, she had lost control. Rage had possessed Daphne, transforming her into a frenzied blur of knives, spinning, slashing, stabbing, over and over, continuing long after the old politician was dead.

  Barefoot, she tip-toed across the bedroom carpet, avoiding the coagulating pools of blood and grey coils of spilled intestines. The head was almost completely severed from its body, and the torso was lying exposed and open, raggedly hacked apart.

  Had she done this?

  Had she rid the world of a monster, only to put a new one in its place?

  Douanna had been pleased and impressed with her work when she had visited over the Winter’s Day holiday. Three names, three corpses. She had paid Daphne, and provided her with two more names. The first had been a Patriot senator, who had repeatedly proposed blockading the Holding’s possessions in the Plateau, and provoking them into a war. Daphne had disposed of her easily, as simple as a push off of a building, an event that many in the city believed had been an accident, or perhaps suicide.

  The second target lay dead on the carpet before her. Douanna had smiled when she had described the senator to Daphne, understanding full well that she would relish the death of such a man.

  He was one of the biggest slave dealers in the whole of Rahain, which would have been reason enough for the Holdings woman, but his greed was insatiable, and he made even more profit from running illicit dens where otherwise respectable Rahain citizens could go, if they had heard the whispered rumours. In these back alley cellars and rundown old tenements, Rahain nobles could amuse themselves with slaves in an astonishing variety of ways. Torture, rape, murder, watching slaves beat each other to death, all could be bought and paid for.

  She had followed him earlier that night,
as he had sneaked his way through the dark streets from his home in one of the richest districts of the city, all the way to a large, decrepit house near one of the slave-slums. Despite a shadowy dread in the pit of her stomach, she had sneaked into the building after him.

  A few minutes later she was back outside, throwing up in the street.

  Daphne had gone back to his house to await his return, her mind growing colder and her rage burning like a blue flame within her. When he had arrived some hours later, she felt her conscious, moral mind retreat, and her trained fighting instincts take over. He had been armed with a knife, and had put up the hardest struggle of any she had killed so far, but his efforts had been in vain. Powered by rage, battle-vision and keenweed, Daphne had burst through his guard in a second. She had vague images of slamming her left wrist guard into his throat, pinning him in place, while her right arm repeatedly rammed a blade into his groin, but most of the fight was hazy in her memory.

  Looking down at the corpse, she felt sorry, not for the dead senator, but for the part of herself that she had lost forever.

  Three hours later, Daphne was sitting at her favourite café for breakfast. She had ordered coffee, toasted ryebread with eggs and ham, and a glass of brandy. She sat alone, smoking a cigarette, her food untouched. She should have gone back to Douanna’s mansion, but she had been having trouble sleeping since she had witnessed the children clinging onto their dead father, and she was running low on dullweed.

  The coffee tasted burnt and stale, but had still cost her a fortune. It didn’t matter. Douanna’s word had been true, and she had paid Daphne a huge sum for the work she had done. Five bad men and women.

  She couldn’t do it any more.

  Douanna wasn’t due back in the city for another third or so, but when she arrived, Daphne would tell her that she was finished. If that meant she had to leave Rahain, then so be it. She had long grown to hate the place. Hate what it had done to her, what it had turned her into. Not that she felt those she had killed had deserved mercy, it was her own soul that had been hurt and sullied. If it had made any difference to the Rahain government she might have been able to forgive herself, but the same parties were in power, and the same policies were still being pursued.