The Executioner’s Apprentice
The Executioner’s Song Book 2
D.K. Holmberg
Copyright © 2021 by D.K. Holmberg
Cover art by Felix Ortiz.
Design by Shawn King, STKKreations.com
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Author’s Note
Series by D.K. Holmberg
Chapter One
The steady tolling of the Shisen Bell rang out as Finn Jagger followed Master Meyer through the street. He looked up to the tower in the distance, noting the massive spire rising over the city, casting a faint shadow along everything. He counted off the number of times the bell rang, and when he neared ten, he glanced over to Master Meyer.
“Do you think we should hurry?” Finn asked.
Master Meyer didn’t look over at him, though his wrinkled face was lined with worry. “They will not start without us.”
“Are you sure?”
Master Meyer was dressed in his more formal leathers, his brown shirt and matching pants more befitting a merchant than an executioner.
“They require our testimony in order for them to carry out the sentencing,” Master Meyer said. “They will not proceed without us.”
Finn just nodded. He was nervous, but his nervousness stemmed not from coming to present to the jurors the findings he and Master Meyer had discovered during their questioning of the accused; this was the first time that he had presented himself before the jurors—and Bellut—since realizing the truth about Bellut.
“I’m not sure I can do it.”
Master Meyer glanced over to him, shaking his head. His flat blue eyes watched Finn, the wrinkles on his brow furrowing more deeply than usual. Sweat beaded along the corner of Meyer’s close-cropped forehead, running down his cheek, completely ignored by Master Meyer. “You can, and you will. You will not say anything beyond what is asked of you. Do I make myself clear?”
Finn nodded, surprised. “I’m sorry; it’s just that I—”
“I know your hesitation, Finn. I understand your fear.”
“It’s not fear,” Finn muttered.
“It is fear. You fear you won’t be able to remain impartial when you present yourself before the jurors.”
Finn looked around the street. They headed through the Theiry section, making their way to City Hall, and they passed by people oblivious to their presence. The only time anyone paid any attention to Master Meyer and Finn was when they were accused of some crime. That, and during the Blood Court. People throughout the city came to the Gallows Festival to watch the condemned proceed through the streets, celebrating the sentencing.
“I can be impartial. And it’s not fear. I just want them to know the truth.”
“What truth is that?” Meyer asked him.
“The truth of what he’s done.”
Meyer stopped, crossing his arms over his chest. He was a large man, muscular, which had surprised Finn when he had first trained with him. He hadn’t realized the physicality of the job, but having worked with Master Meyer as much as he had over the last year, Finn had grown stronger as well. Training with the sword, along with his hurried pace through the streets, had given him a different physique.
“The truth comes out when you have information, Finn. Otherwise, it’s your opinion.”
“I know what happened. I know what I saw and heard.”
“And we will have to prove it.”
Finn took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He appreciated that Meyer intended to work with him in order to prove what happened, but it wasn’t happening nearly as quickly as how he wanted. Bellut, the man Finn now knew to be the Client, had planned an attack on the kingdom. And gotten away with it.
“He instigated an attack on the king,” Finn said softly. He looked along the street before holding Meyer’s gaze. “Aren’t we meant to protect him?”
A slight smile quirked Meyer’s mouth. “The Executioners’ Guild does not need to protect the king. We serve as his arm of justice. I thought you’d learned that by now.”
“I get that,” Finn said.
“Then you should understand that the Archers, along with his personal guards, provide the king with a layer of protection we cannot.”
“If we serve as the king’s justice, then shouldn’t we want to find justice against those who have wronged him?”
“Wronged him, or wronged his people?”
“Isn’t it the same?”
Meyer frowned, and he turned away from Finn, heading along the street. “There are differences. We serve the people of Verendal. We serve at the king’s behest. I as the master executioner, and you as my apprentice. In time, when you progress to journeyman, you can serve him more directly, but until that time, you serve as I demand.”
“Which means—”
“Which means we will present ourselves to the jurors and the magister, and you will say nothing.”
“Bellut thinks he got away with it.” And Finn didn’t know who he’d been working with, but he couldn’t have been acting alone.
“If he is guilty”—Meyer glanced over at Finn, holding his gaze—“if, I say, then eventually we’ll uncover the truth. Those involved will face the king’s judgment. For now, focus on the case at hand. We don’t have enough information to press charges against Bellut yet, so we will continue operating as if everything is normal, we will continue to bring justice elsewhere, and when the time is right, we will deal with Bellut. But don’t let his case force you to make mistakes on others.”
They continued onward toward City Hall, and Meyer said nothing more. Finn knew better than to argue with him about this, but it didn’t change his feelings. He wanted to bring justice to Bellut and to the magister, though there was a part of him—the part of him that Meyer had been training—that questioned whether it was justice or vengeance Finn wanted.
Couldn’t it be both?
Many of the sentences they carried out were a mixture of vengeance for those wronged along with justice for the king. He’d not been a part of some of the more brutal sentences, but what were those other than vengeance for those who had been wronged by the condemned?
As they neared City Hall, Meyer slowed, glancing over to Finn again. He didn’t say anything, but there was a hint of worry in h
is pale blue eyes. This was the first time he’d permitted Finn to come and present to the jurors since Finn had discovered Bellut’s role in what had happened to him. Otherwise, Meyer had been the only one coming and presenting. He claimed it was because he needed Finn performing the other aspects of his duties, whether that was running errands, continuing his studies, or even simpler things like cleaning or practicing with the sword Justice so he could ensure he had an accurate strike when he used the blade for the first time, but Finn knew better.
“I’m not going to say anything.”
Meyer inhaled deeply before letting out. “I’m not asking you for silence. I’m asking you for self-control.”
Finn swallowed, turning his attention to City Hall. It was an older building, but large, occupying much of the block. The stone was well maintained, and the overly large steps leading up to the entrance gave an air of authority that the two Archers standing on either side of the door augmented. They were dressed in leathers and chainmail, and both carried short swords, though Finn knew that the Archers within the city were not nearly as well-trained or deadly as the palace Archers.
Meyer strode up the steps, nodding to the Archers, and pushed open the doors. Finn lagged behind, his mind racing as he knew he needed to get control. Were it up to Bellut, he would have hanged. Someone else had been complicit, ranking high enough that it left Finn wondering if it might be the viscount himself, though Finn had not even learned that until much later. Both of them had been tied into some plot on the throne, but it was the matter of proving it that had become challenging.
Finn would prove it. Somehow.
The problem for him was that the people who might be able to offer the testimony needed to convict both Bellut and his accomplice had disappeared. The only one who remained was him—and his friend Oscar. Oscar would never testify, and seeing as how he had escaped without any stain upon him, there was no reason for him to do so. That left finding Wolf or Rock, but both had been banished from the city.
Meyer glanced back at him. “Come.”
Finn hurried into City Hall. The entrance gave off a grand feel. The marble tile gleamed, and portraits of the king, along with kings of the past, hung along the walls in the entrance. King Porman’s portrait hung in a prominent location with a painting of the viscount just below him.
Meyer didn’t linger. He had likely been there hundreds upon hundreds of times.
Meyer stopped at the door leading into the juror chambers. “Say only what you’re asked to say,” Meyer said.
“I will.”
“Do not draw attention to yourself,” Meyer said.
“I won’t.”
Meyer shot him a look. “And speak confidently. You are here on behalf of the king, not on behalf of the jurors. You do not serve them.”
“We don’t?”
“We serve independently. The Executioner’s Guild sits outside of the authority of the jurors. We make recommendations, and we are subject to their sentencing, but we are not beholden to them.”
There was something within what Master Meyer told him that struck Finn, but he didn’t have the chance to process what it was.
Meyer pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Finn followed, moving carefully, watching Master Meyer more than anything else. The juror chamber was draped in the colors of the king along with his crest—a massive wolf head over crossed swords—along with markers for the kingdom, making it an official-looking room. Rows of benches took up the back half of the room, though they were empty today. A man stood in shackles near the front of the room, one of the Archers standing alongside, making sure he couldn’t run.
Finn knew Ralston as well as he could. He had attended the questioning with Master Meyer, facilitating the interrogation. He was a heavyset man, and of average height, with wild hair that had grown even wilder in the time he’d been imprisoned in Declan. His cheeks were ruddy, looking like he had already drank several pints of ale, and he leaned forward with a slight stoop to his back.
The magister sat at one end of the bench. Finn didn’t know much about him. He was the legal expert within the city, had trained at the university, and led the jurors in their deliberation, guiding them, purportedly to serve the king’s justice. The magister had short, graying hair and the pudgy face of a scholar. His thick glasses hung down his nose as he stared at a stack of papers in front of him, ignoring the fact that Meyer and Finn had approached.
The other jurors were arranged along the bench. Bellut sat near the center. Finn couldn’t read his expression, though there was a darkness to his gaze. He was not much older than Finn and wore his crimson cloak, his blond hair looped back with a crimson ribbon, as if to play at his service to the king, and he had bright blue eyes that stared at Finn. Finn refused to look away from Bellut. Regardless of what Meyer taught, Finn was determined to get vengeance.
When Meyer reached the front of the juror chamber, he glanced over to the Archer, nodding. Ralston glared at Meyer.
“You’re late,” the magister said without looking up.
“My duties are extensive,” Master Meyer said. “And I’m here only a moment after ten bells. I apologize for my delay, but it was inconsequential.”
The magister looked up, folding his hands together and leaning forward. “Well?”
Meyer glanced over to Finn. “My apprentice will present the details of the crime to you.”
“We don’t need your apprentice to report anything,” Bellut sneered.
Meyer looked over to him, an unreadable expression on his face. “Tradition dictates that the apprentice executioners are permitted to speak before the jurors. If you would like that changed, perhaps you could petition the executioner court, along with the king. Otherwise, we will proceed based on tradition.”
Bellut sat back, crossing his arms. Finn wished he could have accused him, bringing him before the jurors, but Meyer claimed they didn’t have enough evidence. The other jurors looked out at Finn, waiting.
There were seven sitting in front of him, all told. Six jurors, plus the magister. Two of the women were older with dark graying hair. One of them, Isabel, had a sharp nose and thin lips. She still looked at him with the same suspicion that she’d looked at him with when he had come before the jurors as one of the condemned. The other woman had a round face and rosy cheeks, and constantly dabbed a handkerchief across her brow and at her nose. The men were dressed in dark clothes, formal attire, and one even wore a wide-brimmed hat that tipped to the side, almost hitting Isabel every time he turned his head.
Meyer coughed softly.
Finn took a step forward. “I present to you Ralston Jol. Accused of many crimes, but primarily of rape. During our questioning of Mr. Jol, he admitted to five episodes, with four different women.”
“He admitted to this?” the magister asked.
Finn looked over to him, trying to keep his face neutral. This was what Master Meyer wanted from him. Describing these crimes was more difficult than he’d expected, and a man like Ralston deserved what would come for him.
“He admitted to these crimes. We have corroborated his admission with those he violated.”
The jurors tore their gazes away from Finn, all but Bellut, and turned them upon Ralston.
“What do the victims request?” Isabel asked.
Finn shook his head. “The victims seek justice.”
“What measure of justice?” a heavyset man near the end of the bench asked. Finn knew him to be Alor Hostal, a somewhat wealthy merchant from the center of the city. He served several different merchant sections that elected him as juror and had found him to be relatively impartial most of the time.
“They did not specify,” Finn said.
“They didn’t specify, or you didn’t ask?” Bellut asked.
Finn took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he held his gaze on Bellut. “We assured the victims, along with their families, that the king’s justice would be served, as it always is.”
Next to
him, Finn could feel Meyer stiffen.
He needed to be careful. He wasn’t trying to anger Meyer.
“Of course,” the magister said, waving his hand and drawing the rest of the jurors’ attention to him. “The king’s justice will always be served. That is our responsibility. We are here on his behalf.” He leaned forward, watching Ralston. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
It was unusual for the condemned to have the opportunity to speak on their behalf, so Finn wondered why they would permit it now.
Ralston was a mason, a man of some training and skill, but not someone who would warrant careful consideration on behalf of the jurors. It was the reason Meyer had wanted to ensure that they had all the details of his crime as carefully constructed as possible. If they made a mistake, it was possible that Ralston would hang even if he were innocent.
“I don’t have anything to say to you,” he spat.
“Then unfortunately, you will face the king’s justice,” the magister said.
“Seems to me you’ve already decided. You always already decide. There is no justice here.”
The magister stared at him before leaning back and motioning to the other jurors. They whispered softly amongst themselves before the magister nodded and looked to Ralston, his eyes narrowed. “Ralston Jol, you have been accused of the crime of rape, attacking four women in the city, and you have not denied the allegations. Given the nature of the accusation, you will hereby be sentenced to the king’s justice, and we sentence you to death by hanging.”
Ralston just grunted.
The Executioner's Apprentice (The Executioner's Song Book 2) Page 1
