by Ty Johnston
Markwood cast another spell, sprays of spider-like webbing discharging from his hand and splattering the demon, forcing the beast back against the wall where it hung by the threads of webbing.
Markwood paused to take a breath. The attack had caught him by surprise, but permanent protective wards upon the room had stopped the demon from materializing on top of him.
The demon gave a deep throaty chuckle from its place on the wall. It was not free to move, but its head was clear of the webbing and he could speak. “You will be too late to save your favored student,” the thing said.
“What do you mean?” Markwood said, approaching the demon with his staff raised as if he would prod the creature.
The demon chuckled again. “General Ybalik has been sent to collect your little healer boy.”
It dawned on Markwood why the demon was there in the first place, why he had become a target of Verkain’s wrath and why he had been attacked. It was to prevent him from helping Randall.
“Ybalik is on his way now to deal with Verkain’s brat,” the demon spat.
Markwood had heard enough. He backed to where he had been drawing the invisible circle and went to work on it again. He would go to Randall and transport the boy and his two friends out of harm’s way. He would have to be quick, and he might be placing himself in danger, but there was nothing else to be done.
With a mighty roar the demon ripped its arms from the magical webbing and opened its mouth wide to show flames like that of a burning furnace inside.
Markwood continued to draw his circle with his staff.
With a heave, the demon yanked its legs free of the webs.
Markwood finished his circle and silently began to recite the words that would transfer him to Randall’s location.
The demon roared again, its fanged mouth wide, and streams of flames shot forth from its jaws to cover the wizard in fire.
Markwood yelped in pain, his attention having been focused elsewhere so he was again caught by surprise, then he dropped to the ground and rolled into a ball, his staff bouncing on the floor twice before rolling to a stop against the wall.
A toothy grin spread across the demon’s face as it surveyed the downed wizard and the tiny flames that continued to eat away at the mage’s clothing. But the creature needed a souvenir, an item to prove to Verkain and Ybalik that he had slain the powerful wizard. The demon decided the wizard’s head would do and took a step into Markwood’s private study.
Streams of electricity shot up from the floor, encircling the demon and tearing through its form.
The monster howled from the pain as its back arched and its wings straightened to its sides behind it.
Then the thing exploded, all traces of it disappearing in the air.
Crackles of the electricity ran across the floor, then that too disappeared leaving only a blackened spot where the demon had stood and a hint of sulfur on the air.
“Never attack a wizard in his own home,” Markwood said as he looked up from the floor to see his enemy vanquished.
Then his vision went black and he dropped again, his head smacking hard against the floor.
Chapter Fourteen
The atmosphere the next morning was that of a carnival. A throng of nearly two hundred gathered in the center of Wester’s Edge around the statue of the pope. They were yelling and whispering to one another, some trading rumors and others speaking fact of what they knew about those to be executed. A platform of lumber with stairs leading up to it had been erected overnight next to the statue and upon the scaffold stood a smiling Bishop Salvus, one arm stretched over his head as he waved to individuals he recognized in the loud crowd. Behind the bishop stood four of the local soldiers and a hunchback fellow, the jailer, wearing a black bag with slits for eyes pulled over his head.
As Kron, hands tied behind his back, was drug from the tiny stone building that served as the village’s jail, a rotten tomato smacked him in the face. He paused to spit a seed from his mouth and to shake juice from one eye but was quickly yanked off his feet and pulled forward by a brute of a man who looked as if one of his parents had been one of the giant mountain people from the Needles. Following Kron were Adara and Randall, each with their hands secured behind their backs and soldiers in purple pulling or prodding them along.
The trip through the crowd seemed to take forever to the three prisoners, mainly because the crowd would not willingly part for them and the soldiers had to force their way through. Many a villager spit upon the prisoners and more than a few rotten vegetables were tossed in their path.
As they neared the scaffolding, Kron could see their horses were lined up in front of the inn. Already there were gawkers and hawkers looking over and fingering their gear that had been removed from their rooms the night before and strapped onto the riding beasts.
“Up you go!” yelled a soldier as he plunged the butt of his sword into Kron’s ribs, forcing the man in black up the wooden stairs.
Kron was the first on the platform and was shoved to one side while Adara and Randall were drug up to form a line next to him.
Darkbow’s mind raced, trying to think of what to do. His legs were free, and he knew he could kick a few of the guards, but eventually he would be caught again. There was no chance for escape, no chance to free his friends. He had kept hoping he could reach the tiny tools hidden away in his left glove, but so far he had had no luck in reaching them, and now it was not possible with all the eyes upon him.
Bishop Salvus waved at the crowd, drawing hollers and laughter, then suddenly he spun on Randall.
“Here, now, before all these witnesses,” the bishop said, pointing a hand at the crowd, “do you once more admit to the truth of being a wizard?”
Randall’s eyes showed fear, but not so much that he was not in control of himself. “I do,” the healer said.
The crowd went wild, yelling curses at the healer and sending more bits of rotting vegetables flying through the air to splatter on the young man’s white robes.
The bishop nodded to the crowd as if he were seeking their approval, then turned to face Adara.
The woman did not show fear, but she appeared tired. Her eyes were weary, as if she were resigned to her fate.
“And you, Adara Corvus,” the bishop said loud enough for the whole crowd to hear, “do you admit to the crimes of patricide and matricide, the murders of your mother and father?”
Adara stood straight, as if drawing upon some inner reserves of strength, then yelled to the crowd, “No! I do not!”
Boos and hisses greeted her.
The bishop faked surprise as he backed away from the woman, looking like a sideshow barker with wonders to sell.
“The Church has declared your guilt for you!” Salvus yelled. “What evidence can you present to prove your innocence before all these fine people and the will of almighty Ashal!”
The crowd erupted again, arms tossed into the air and people jumping up and down. It was a show to them, entertainment by execution.
“He was not my father, but my stepfather,” Adara said, her eyes turning to stare blankly at the floor in front of her as a tear worked its way down her cheek. “And I did not kill my mother. That was my step-father’s doing. It’s why I killed him.”
Kron’s eyes moved to watch the woman in her anguish. It was not their predicament that had her upset, but memories she had never mentioned and a history of which she obviously did not want to be reminded. His heart reached out to her then, a thousand wishes floating through his mind, things he wish he could do for her or things he wished he had done. He had not been in love with Adara Corvus before now, but his feelings for her had grown beyond those of a teacher. Kron had always denied the idea of love for himself; love was something he would not allow in his life, at least until he had concluded his business with Belgad. Suddenly he was wishing he had opened himself to Adara, had allowed her more into his private world.
Bishop Salvus appeared before Kron’s face with a grin that showed
many teeth. “And you, servant of the whore,” the bishop said, leaning in close to the man in black, “what plead you against the charges you conspired with this strumpet?”
Kron growled and lunged forward, his teeth sinking into the bishop’s face.
Salvus screamed and fell backward, almost into the surrounding crowd, but Kron’s teeth held the man upright.
A guard swung a club, smacking Kron on the back of the head and dropping him to his knees.
The bishop skittered away whining, touching his face and pulling away a hand to show there was blood. He slowly turned to the crowd, his face displaying shock, while two crimson moons nearly formed a circle on his left cheek.
The crowd had not quieted, but was louder than ever, screaming for the death of the criminals.
With the bishop’s back to him, Kron sprang, launching himself into the man. Salvus cried out again and plunged into the crowd below, falling onto hands that saved him from a rougher fall.
Several guards were suddenly on Kron, pounding away with clubs or fists, trying to beat the man into submission.
Randall and Adara watched all this for a moment, but then decided it was time to take action. Adara charged into the back of one of the guards, sending him sprawling into the crowd. Randall kicked out with a leg, connecting with the back of one guard’s knee, dropping that man momentarily.
Immediately the scaffold was covered with soldiers climbing up from below and swinging clubs. Randall, Adara and Kron were subdued quickly, though each got in another kick or two that left a few of the guards with bruises.
“Are you finished with your nonsense?” the bishop asked as he remounted the scaffold.
He received no reply from the three who were once more lined up side by side, but this time with soldiers holding each of them and fresh blue marks covering their faces.
Salvus spun toward the crowd, waving a hand above them. “Do you see what mischief these three attempt?” he yelled.
The crowd roared back that they did see.
“What should be done with them?” he asked. “What sentence should the church place upon their heads?”
The answer was obvious. The chant of “Death, death, death!” began to reverberate throughout the crowd, slowly at first then faster and louder.
After a minute of this, the bishop yelled for quiet and the crowd went silent.
“Death it is,” he spoke.
The crowd went wild again, individuals jumping up and down and screaming, tears of joy flowing from some of their faces.
After a few more moments of celebration, Salvus once more called for silence. “Since the verdict is death, approved by Ashal himself,” the bishop said, “what form should the verdict take?”
“Hang them!” was the first yell.
“Draw and quarter the lot!” another shouted.
Then there was too much cacophony for any distinct replies to make their way to the bishop. He thought he heard yells for burning and more for hanging, but he had known all night how the three were to be executed.
“Beheading!” Salvus yelled.
The roar of applause that greeted the bishop was loud enough to knock him back on his boots. The tumult was deafening, and Salvus could only smile and wave until the laughter and bawling died away to a soft roar. Then the bishop clapped his hands twice and three strong fellows carried forth a large stump that looked as if it had been cut from a tree recently. The three men hefted the stump to their shoulders and plopped it onto the scaffold where Salvus placed one foot upon it an lifted his hands to the sky. The crowd screamed for the deaths of the three bound behind the bishop, while the jailer with a sack over his head brought up a gigantic, two-headed ax someone handed him from the surrounding mob. Upon seeing the massive weapon of execution, another spasm of cheering went up from the crowd.
“With this weapon, Ashal’s will shall be done!” Bishop Salvus yelled.
The bishop wiped blood from his face again and pointed a finger at Kron. “First!” he snapped.
The crowd continued to scream and yell, but Kron could only give the bishop a dark grin that was all teeth and made Salvus glad he wasn’t meeting this face in a dark alley.
Several guards struggled to drag Kron toward the stump that was a chopping block, the bound man kicking and trying to fight them all the way. Eventually, after a well placed clubbing to the back of the man’s head, Kron fell forward over the block, his vision black around the edges and his lungs nearly out of breath.
“Quickly, you fool,” the bishop said, motioning for the jailer-turned-executioner to come forward.
The hunchback did as he was ordered, standing next to Kron and lifting the mighty ax high over his head.
“With the stroke of this ax, so let Ashal’s justice wipe away the blemish of evil,” Salvus said, striking down a hand in the air.
The ax came down. At the last possible second Kron rolled to one side, the ax’s head smacking into the chopping block and sticking there. Kron kicked out with a leg to send the executioner sprawling.
Boos from the crowd rang out as several of the soldiers rushed forward, landing more punches on Darkbow and forcing him back onto the stump of wood.
Bishop Salvus leaned over the restrained man, but not too close as he still stung from the bite to his face. “For the love of Ashal, end this! It will go easier for you and your friends if I do not have to torture you first.”
Kron’s eyes still swam from the many blows he had received, but he could still make out the bishop before him. He spat, the fluid catching Salvus on the end of his nose.
The bishop jumped back enraged. “Bring the tools of torture!” he yelled to the executioner who was just getting back on his feet.
The crowd went wild again as the hunchback jumped into their midst and jogged to his jail house.
Adara and Randall could only stare at one another, their arms gripped tightly by guards at their sides, and each of them saw fear and regret in the face of the other.
The executioner soon returned, climbing onto the scaffold with a large roll of tough leather in his hands. He placed the leather next to the chopping block for all to see, especially Kron, and unrolled it to reveal numerous weapons and instruments of death. The hunchback picked out a curved blade, more of a small scythe than a knife, and held it up for the mob to see.
The screamings and yellings intensified again, waves of the noise drowning out any sounds from the scaffold.
“This is what you deserve,” the bishop said to Kron once the crowd had died down.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Kron spat back with gritted teeth.
“Begin!” the bishop yelled to the executioner.
Three blasts boomed in the air above the scaffold, one right after another and as loud as pealing thunder.
All eyes went up to see perched in the air three massive war demons, their spiked armor sparkling in the early morning light and dark steam rising from their shoulders as their mighty wings spread open behind them. The largest of the demons, the general Ybalik, gripped in his hands his massive black sword.
“They have summoned creatures of evil!” Bishop Salvus screamed, pointing to the demons hovering in the sky.
The demons emitted thunderous roars, shaking the ground so hard a number of villagers fell to the dirt. Then the demons flapped their great wings and began to float toward the scaffold.
Chaos erupted, villagers screaming in terror and running from the scene, soldiers drawing weapons and fighting through those fleeing to get to the scaffold.
The guards around Kron were suddenly more interested in the descending demons, and he saw his chance and put a shoulder into the near jailer’s back, sending the hunchback falling into the remaining crowd.
Salvus turned on Kron, pointing a finger at him. “Kill the demonists!” he shouted, but Adara shoved him from behind and sent him flailing.
“Get to our horses!” Kron yelled.
Without thinking, Adara and Randall charged down the stairs of the
scaffold and made their way through the fleeing swarm of villagers.
Guards were packed onto the scaffold now, slicing swords and stabbing with spears at the demons flapping their wings just out of reach. The monsters roared again and one of them grasped one of the soldiers, ripping the man apart to splatter blood on the other guards.
Working around the soldiers, Kron backed up to the giant ax still embedded in the tree stump. He ran his tied hands along the upside of the weapon’s blade, slicing his bindings and freeing his hands.
A guard tried to bring his sword down upon Kron, but black claws from above grabbed the soldier and flung him far over a rooftop.
Without looking back to see if a demon was coming for him, Kron jumped from the scaffold and took off at a sprint for Adara and Randall.
By the time he was at the horses, he found Adara had already pried a dagger from saddlebags and managed to free herself and the healer.
“Ride!” Kron yelled and jumped onto his horse’s back.
With another roar, the demon general spotted his prey getting away and flapped in their direction, but arrows slicing the air brought him up short.
More guards, and a handful of commoners, had appeared with bows around the edges of several buildings and were launching shots at the black creatures that had invaded their town.
Ybalik screamed as in arrow punched into his arm, but it was a scream of anger. The puny arrow had not injured the demon, but had infuriated him.
The demon general, forgetting his original intentions, turned his wrath and sword upon the unfortunate soldiers of Ashal.
Adara looked back once as she and Kron and Randall galloped out of Wester’s Edge. Despite the way she had been treated in the town, her heart went out to those who were taking the brunt of the demons’ rage. Then she was off again, riding as fast as she could spur her horse.
Chapter Fifteen
“They travel north,” the woman wizard said, staring into the small mirror in her hand.
Belgad looked over Karitha’s shoulder into the mirror to see an image of Kron and Adara and Randall riding fast through grassy fields. He and the wizard had watched the demons arriving at the village, the ensuing combat with the town’s soldiers and the escape of their quarry on horseback.
