A muscle throbbed in the Kid’s clenched jaw, but Sarn stared past them as if they weren’t there. Maybe they weren’t. Maybe this was all a nightmare Jerlo could wake from at any moment to discover he was not responsible for an illegal mage and worse, a child.
Jerlo pinched the inside of his wrist until pain shot up his arm. No, this was real. God damn him for doubting it. Jerlo ground his molars and counted to ten then ten again. Still no response from the silent Kid. Maybe Sarn was still too shell-shocked by what had happened. Hadrovel had abused the Kid for over a year before almost killing him, and the Kid had never said a word about that abuse.
“Maybe we were wrong to come here.” Jerlo turned and caught his second’s eye. “Will I see you down there?”
Or are you staying with the mute problem I can’t wait to get rid of? Jerlo waited for an answer to his unspoken question. As soon as Lord Joranth finished meting out justice, he’d reclaim his property. And the Rangers could stop babysitting a mage-gifted Kid who refused to acknowledge their existence.
“You’re safe now.” Nolo approached the silent Kid with open hands. “That’s what we came to tell you. Hadrovel will be executed at noon today. It’s over. You’re safe now.”
Still no response, but had a flicker of emotion passed across the Kid’s face? Might there still be some fire in him yet?
Jerlo opened the door and ranks of diaper-clad cherubs glared at him. Lumir crystals made up their glowing haloes. He shook his head. Mariska and Su had some strange notions about décor.
“Well, that was a total disaster,” Nolo commented after the door clicked closed.
“Of course, it was. You let me do all the talking, and I have no experience with children.”
“I know, and I regret that.”
“Yet you let it happen—why? Diplomacy is your thing, not mine.”
Nolo shook his head and stared at his hands for a moment before finding words. “I just froze when I saw him looking so hale and hearty.” Nolo rubbed his eyes. “I can’t get that image out of my head. I thought he was dead. How could someone so young survive such a beating?”
“A normal kid couldn’t, but a normal kid doesn’t have glowing eyes.” Jerlo retrieved his sheath from behind a malicious-looking cherub and added it to the belt buckled over his tunic. Nolo did the same.
“True, but I thought we’d get more of a reaction. If I were him, I’d demand to see Hadrovel hanged. Hell, I’d volunteer to cut off his head.”
“Maybe you’ll get the chance.”
“What do you mean?” Nolo caught Jerlo’s arm as he passed. “I thought the executioner had first dibs.”
“True, but I have a feeling this isn’t over, not by a long shot. Keep your wits about you and your weapons to hand.”
“You think someone will interrupt the execution?”
“All I know is that Hadrovel had powerful friends. One of them used to be the Lord of this Mountain.”
“But not anymore, not after what he did to Sarn.”
“Only us Rangers and the Lord of the Mountain are privy to that. No one else knows, and his Lordship wants to keep it that way. So stay sharp.”
“What about Sarn? Are we just going to leave the Kid here? He needs closure.”
Jerlo regarded the closed door. Through that iron-banded collection of planks, he saw that silent Kid trapped by pain and betrayal. The sight sent a pang through his heart, an organ he’d thought dead and dusted from disuse. Something about that Kid had quickened his heart and made him care. But that Kid would soon be someone else’s problem.
“Yes, it’s over for him. Not everyone can stomach a public execution. It’s better he skips that,” Jerlo said into the sudden quiet muffling the sounds of Mount Eredren’s hustle and bustle.
Especially if the trouble Jerlo sensed brewing came to pass. Lord let me be wrong about that, please. But the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach grew as corridor led to passage. The change in décor from cherubs to depictions of ancient warriors engaged in aristeia only exacerbated the feeling of doom hanging over Jerlo’s head.
When the labyrinthine darkness gave way to sunshine as he and Nolo exited the stronghold, that feeling of doom crystallized into certainty. Something bad was coming, and it wore the black robes of the executioner.
An hour later, Jerlo leaned against the railing of the lowest balcony girdling the mountain. A metal staircase snaked up from the meadow providing access. Below, two smiths locked the wheeled structure in place then beckoned to a cloaked man and his retinue to mount it. A crowd gathered around the four masons assembling a platform in the meadow’s middle.
“My Lord,” Jerlo bowed to the tall man who stepped off the staircase onto the parapet.
“Is all ready?” Lord Joranth Nalshira asked as he jumped down onto the balcony proper. A deep cowl shadowed his face hiding the same features which had graced his ancestor, the Betrayer, Reveil Nalshira, the first Regent of Shayari.
“It is sir, and it’s an honor to have you attend,” said the current head of the Guards, a man whose only distinguishing feature was his elaborate mustache.
Guidron had waxed his facial hair into a series of cascading curlicues. On any other day, Jerlo would have commented on the absurdity. The sight just invited jokes. And maybe that was Guidron’s intent, to bring a bit of levity to the somber event to remind everyone that life is about laughter, not pain.
Or maybe he was giving the slippery Guard Captain too much credit. Guidron dropped to one knee, took Lord Joranth’s hand in his and kissed his Lordship’s signet ring. The sun caught the howling wolf etched into the ruby stone as Lord Joranth withdrew his hand.
Jerlo shook his head at the kiss up and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The only Lord he bent knee to was God, no one else. That’s why he was here at this far-flung outpost of civilization. No nobleman in his right mind wanted such an independent-minded vassal except Lord Joranth. But he was shrewder than most nobles.
“Then bring out the accused.” Lord Joranth waved.
“If my Lord would take a seat—” Guidron gestured to an iron-and-lumir inlaid throne overflowing with pillows on a makeshift dais, but Lord Joranth shook his head.
“I prefer to stand when meting out justice.”
“All the better to tower over people,” Jerlo muttered under his breath. Indeed, Lord Joranth was the tallest man on the balcony by a wide margin.
“Of course, it’s good to remind everyone of their place every now and again.” There was a smile in Lord Joranth’s voice when he gestured to the chief justice to begin the proceedings.
Guidron went quite pale until Jerlo elbowed the Guard Captain in the gut.
“Honesty gets you further than flattery. You might want to keep that in mind.”
Before Guidron could reply, the Chief Justice stepped onto the stone platform and raised a scroll. Since this was an outdoor event, Nolo was down there with a complement of Rangers holding the crowd back. Each Ranger wore a bright green sash over their forest green uniforms, but even from Jerlo’s vantage, his people were hard to see. Damn the stupid rules divvying up Mount Eredren’s defenses. He should be down there with his men, but no, he was stuck up here with the nobles playing spectator.
A full complement of guards exited a cave in the mountain’s feet. Their helms glinted in the sunlight peeking through a cleft in the clouds as they processed around Mount Eredren’s base.
“Make way for the condemned,” they shouted as they forced the crowd to part.
Lord Joranth held up a hand. “Wait, bring him here. I wish to speak to the condemned.”
The column changed directions and cut across the crowd to the metal stair. Two guards detached from the others leading a third man up the black, twisting spiral. They stopped several steps below, so the condemned man’s head never rose above their lord and master’s.
“Give them some room,” Jerlo bellowed as he waved Lord Joranth’s attendants back. “That means you too.” He grabbed Guidron’s arm and
towed the Guard Captain aside.
“Unhand me. I must protect our Lord.”
“Your men will. That’s what you pay them for.”
Guidron shot Jerlo a killing glare. But anything he could have said would have besmirched his men’s honor, so Guidron stayed quiet. He might look ridiculous with his curly beard flowing out of the Y-shaped slit in his barbute, but the Guard Captain was no fool.
Sunlight refracted off his men’s helmets until the sun noticed an execution was imminent and hid its fiery eye behind the ominous clouds rolling in from the north.
A gust of wind carried with it the scent of roasting meat. Jerlo shook his head. Hawkers had no shame. But there was no law against selling sweetmeats at an execution, so he let it go and focused on the stand-off in front of him.
This was the first time the Lord of the Mountain had come face to face with the former Orphan Master. The latter looked quite the worse for wear. Clad only in a dirty loincloth, Hadrovel stood between the guards with his shackled hands interlaced over his stomach. He had powerful shoulders that tapered to a slim waist then ballooned out into well-muscled legs. Catching him had been quite an endeavor until a rumor had reached the creep about where he could find Sarn.
Drugged and in traction, the Kid slept through the entire capture, never realizing his sick room had been turned into an elaborate trap.
Lord Joranth approached the parapet and glowered down on the accused. “I trusted you. I handed over my most valuable possession to you, and you sought to destroy it. Why?”
Jerlo blinked. He must have misheard. Though, he doubted that considering his exceptional hearing. What was Lord Joranth’s most valuable possession? Why did his heart sink at the question? Jerlo glanced at Guidron, but there was no sign the Guard Captain had overheard the quiet conference at the other end of the balcony.
“Answer me.” Lord Joranth withdrew a dagger and tapped its tip against Hadrovel’s throat. “Answer me, or I will make you beg for mercy that will never come.”
“I did what I had to do.” Hadrovel tilted his head back exposing more of his throat. “And you’ll do what you must. So it goes.”
“That’s all you have to say? That cop out? I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you must. It’s the truth.”
Lord Joranth nodded to the guards. “Get him out of my sight.”
They bowed to their Lord then escorted Hadrovel down the stairs. “Make way for the condemned,” they shouted at the crowd parting before them.
Lord Joranth didn’t put his dagger away until Hadrovel mounted the platform. As he rested calloused hands on the scalloped parapet, the wind billowed his cloak revealing a broadsword sheathed at his hip.
Footsteps clanged on metal as a young man ascended the stairs. “Why was I not informed of these proceedings?”
When he saw his father, Morelan halted on the stairs. He was clad in light armor having just come from a sparring session. At twenty-two, he was the spitting image of Lord Joranth, and he flaunted that despite his uncanny likeness to one of the most reviled men in Shayari’s checkered history.
“This is a private matter that does not concern you.”
Morelan scanned the balcony then zeroed in on Jerlo, who sighed. The young nobleman would darken his door later looking for that explanation. One his father should make, but if Joranth did so, he’d acknowledge that his illegitimate son was running things because his heir was a sixteen-year-old spoiled brat disinterested in doing anything resembling real work. Oh, the tangled webs noblemen wove when they did their begetting on the wrong side of the sheets.
“Return to your sparring. This matter will be concluded shortly.” Lord Joranth waved his eldest son away.
“As you wish father,” Morelan put an extra bite into ‘father’ then inclined his head and descended with his head held high. For the crowd’s benefit, he whistled for his destrier and vaulted onto her sleek black back before she came to a halt. They charged off giving the crowd a bit of a thrill. A few ladies even swooned.
Jerlo rolled his eyes. Oh, to be young, virile and handsome again.
The chief justice waited for Lord Joranth’s signal to continue. “The accused is hereby stripped of all names and titles. Nameless and naked he entered the world, nameless and naked he shall return to the formless darkness that spawned him.” As he rolled up the scroll, the chief justice nodded to the guards flanking the condemned. They removed Hadrovel’s loincloth without a struggle.
“For endangering the lives of the children in your care, we, the people of Mount Eredren, find you guilty. Stand now to receive your punishment.” The chief justice stepped aside as the guards pinioned Hadrovel’s arms to a post. “With the lash, we spill your blood in recompense to wash away your sins. Begin.”
At those words, the executioner swung a cat o’ nine tails, and a Guard called out the strokes.
“Wine sir?” asked a serving girl with lowered eyes as she proffered a cup to Jerlo.
“Thank you.” He sipped it with raised eyebrows. Lord Joranth had selected a vintage from his private collection for the occasion.
“Ninety-nine,” shouted the Guard, who sounded a bit hoarse. “One Hundred.”
“Enough,” the chief justice raised a restraining hand.
Hadrovel’s back was a red ruin. Rivulets of blood ran down his legs and dyed the platform red. He slumped against the post looking resigned but not repentant—what a monster.
“What happens now?” Ranispara asked from behind Jerlo. “Oh, and this came for you. I didn’t think it should wait.”
She looked a bit pale but resolute in her greens as she thrust a folded paper at Jerlo. He sighed when he saw the Nalshira seal on it.
“He didn’t waste any time, did he?” Jerlo broke the seal and frowned at its contents.
“Nope, his lordship stormed in demanding answers about a half an hour ago. I came here as soon as he left.”
“What did you tell him?”
Ranispara folded her arms. “I told him he’d have to talk to you and that’s when he handed me that missive.”
“You mean demand. I’ll deal with this later.” Jerlo pocketed the polite demand for information Lord Morelan had delivered. If only nobles talked to each other, it would save their vassals a lot of time.
Ranispara grimaced at the scene below. Hadrovel lay spread-eagled on his back while guards tied each of his limbs to a different horse. Four steeds snorted and stamped as they waited to tear him apart. Grooms held their bridles gentling them, but they were as impatient as the crowd to get this over with.
Ranispara shoved a lock of dark hair out of her eyes. It had escaped the tight braid down the twenty-something Ranger’s back. “I should go back and mind things in case—” She broke off, but her request was obvious.
“The worst bits are yet to come. What his lordship has planned isn’t going to be pretty, but if you can stomach it, I’m sure Nolo could use a hand with that rabble. Things are bound to get interesting.” Jerlo waved to the swelling crowd and the teasing hints of bright green marking his Rangers. They had done the smart thing and created a human wall between the crowd and the platform.
“Oh goody, crowd control, my favorite duty.” She gave him a wry smile.
“Then get on with it.” Jerlo motioned to the metal staircase leading to the meadow.
Ranispara gave him a mocking salute. “My husband will just love that.”
“I’ll bet he will,” Jerlo said to the clanging retreat of the only female Ranger in the ranks.
“They’re starting again.” Guidron drifted over, plate in hand and pointed to the chief justice with a chicken leg.
A knife glinted in the sun as the blue-robed judge held it aloft. “Let your sins be scattered to the four winds then burned until no remnant of your evil remains. From earth you came, to incessant howling we send you. Wander forever without kith or kin to mourn you. We do so condemn you.”
The knife flashed as it slashed Hadrovel’s chest open. The
chief justice stepped back and held the bloody instrument aloft to loud cheering.
“Behold the blood of the slain.”
Whips cracked, and the four horses bolted, each in one of the cardinal directions. Hadrovel grimaced and grunted in pain as his limbs stretched to the breaking point. The crowd held its breath, waiting. The horses strained, pulling with all their might. Their hooves dug deep furrows into the ground, but Hadrovel’s limbs refused to separate.
“Why aren’t they tearing him apart? No man can survive that.” Lord Joranth pounded his fist on the parapet, but he didn’t stop it. Guards whipped the horses to pull harder until they were lathered with sweat.
“Enough.” Lord Joranth sliced a hand through the air, and his bellow stopped the horses in their tracks. “If you want something done right, you should do it yourself,” Joranth muttered as he swung onto the parapet and jogged down the stairs.
Jerlo heard the implied ‘with me.’ So he elbowed the stunned Guard Captain. “Come on. We’d best follow him.”
Though the parapet, which was waist-high for Joranth, a man whose height well exceeded six-feet, was shoulder-high for Jerlo.
“Here, let me give you a hand.” Guidron interlaced his fingers forming a stirrup.
“You’re a good man, forget what I’ve said about you.”
“Oh, and what have you said about me?” There was a twinkle in the Guard Captain’s eye that had been missing since this farce began. Its return was a sign life would resume its normal rhythms when this ended—if it ever ended.
“All good stuff, of course.” Jerlo stepped onto Guidron’s hands then onto the coping. He turned and extended a hand to Guidron, who accepted it.
“Of course, I never doubted it.”
A rough cheer went up from below as the ropes were cut. A laughing Hadrovel lay on the grass bleeding on the daisies pushing up between those knee-high stalks.
“Get him on the platform.” Joranth bellowed. The force of his anger parted the crowd before him. The wind pulled on his cloak as a shadow fell over the meadow. Reaching the platform, he withdrew his broadsword and used its tip to indicate where the condemned should be placed.
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