The King's Executioner

by Donna Fletcher

  The King’s Executioner

  By

  Donna Fletcher

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The King’s Executioner

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright April 2016 by Donna Fletcher

  Cover art

  Kim Killion at The Killion Group Inc.

  Ebook Design

  A Thirsty Mind Book Design

  Visit Donna’s Web site

  www.donnafletcher.com

  http://www.facebook.com/donna.fletcher.author

  Table of 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

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Author’s Note

  Titles by Donna Fletcher

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Blyth sat in the gathering chamber worries weighing heavily on her. She was not sorry for what she had done nor did she regret her decision, though it had broken her heart to send her daughter Anin away. What choice had she? She could not let Anin wed King Talon. It would not do. It would not do at all, especially if the King ever discovered the truth.

  How could he though, since she was the only one who knew the secret.

  Blyth shook her head. It would do her no good to dwell on it. It was here and now that mattered and she would see her daughter protected even if it meant her losing her own life.

  She stood and walked around the large, stone encased fire pit in the center of the room, its smoke swirling up and out of the hole in the roof. The sun would rise soon. Those assigned to the feasting house were probably already busy preparing the morn repast. She pressed her hand to her middle as it protested the thought of food. She had eaten but a mouthful since sending her daughter away seven days ago and she had little flesh to waste away. She had always been thin and taller than most women and though her long, dark hair was now sprinkled liberally with gray, it still shined from the extra care she had always given it.

  Blyth pushed the sleeve of her shift up to her shoulder to look thoughtfully at the arm bands that covered her arms. Body drawings were a source of pride to the various Pict tribes, each drawing representing something important. How many body drawings one wore depended on your tribe. The Lammok, Blyth’s tribe, only wore intricate arm bands. Each arm band signified the level of skill achieved with weapons. Blyth recalled her first drawing with fondness and pain. More arm bands followed through the years until both arms were nearly covered from shoulder to elbow. The men of her husband’s tribe received their first body drawing with their first hunt and kill. More followed and for various reasons.

  A shiver ran through Blyth when she recalled seeing some of the King’s personal guard. Their upper bodies were covered with drawings, but it was said that no body drawings were like those of the King’s executioner... Paine.

  It was believed that Paine’s body drawings magically appeared on him each time someone suffered at his hands or died by his battle axe, fate having decreed that his evil be displayed for all to see. No one knew where he came from or if Paine was his true name.

  The only thing she and others in Girthrig knew was that Paine was coming for Blyth.

  “Do you want to lose your head, woman?”

  Blyth jumped and her slim hand flew to her chest, her husband having nearly scared the life from her. She turned and watched him approach, tall, slender, though firm in body and hair that had turned more white than gray and with a scowl he did not often wear.

  Cathbad gave his wife no time to answer. “You will stop this madness. You say you do not want Anin being dictated to by a husband? When have I ever dictated to you?”

  “You are not King Talon. He dictates,” Blyth said her tongue sharp.

  “He is King, of course he dictates,” Cathbad argued, shaking his head. “This nonsense ends now. When the executioner arrives, you will tell him what he wants to know.”

  “Or what?” Blyth asked, glaring at her husband. “You can do no worse to me than what the executioner will do.”

  Cathbad’s dark eyes grew wide with anger and he turned, running his fingers roughly through his long white hair while taking several steps away from his wife before turning once again and throwing his hands up. “You are a stubborn woman, but a good wife and I do not want to lose you. I had no choice but to agree to this union. No one denies King Talon. Besides, there is no place for Anin to hide. The executioner has never failed the King. He will force you to confess.

  Blyth took determined steps toward her husband, stopping to stand near face to face with him. “He can try.”

  Cathbad grabbed his wife by the shoulders. “He will make you suffer.”

  Blyth rested her brow upon her husband’s. “I would suffer anything for my daughter.”

  Cathbad eased his wife away, then cupped her face in his hands. She was a beautiful woman and had only grown more beautiful with age, but worry had left lines and wrinkles that he had never seen before and he easily felt and understood her pain. But when the King commanded, his people listened. There was no other way.

  “You cannot stop this union, Blyth,” he said, hoping to make her see reason.

  A lone horn sounded throughout the village as morn dawned without the sun and a second horn sounded soon afterwards, letting all know that someone approached.

  Cathbad took his wife’s hand. “The executioner has arrived.”

  “You will do nothing that will bring you harm. I will have your word on that,” Blyth said, squeezing her husband’s hand.

  “You are already tearing my heart in two. What difference would more pain matter?”

  “If you lift a hand to protect me, it will not only be you who suffers but our sons as well.”

  “Then remember that and tell the executioner what he wants to know.” Cathbad did not give his wife a chance to respond, he hurried her outside and down the few wood steps to see that their people had lined both sides of the lone path to the feast house in anticipation and curiosity of the executioner’s arrival.

  Heads turned and necks stretched when out of the morn’s mist stepped a large, black wolf. His gait was slow and cautious and his fiery orange eyes roamed over each and every one there. His mouth was drawn back to show his sharp fangs, and a continuous low growl rumbled from him as he walked down the path.

  As frightening as the wolf was, he was not half as frightening as the warrior who followed behind him. Not a sound, not even the slightest gasp was heard when the executioner came into view.

  Never had Blyth seen a man the size of the executioner. He appeared a giant, standing a good head over the tallest man and a mantle hung on his broad shoulders, its hood draped over his bent head, leaving most of his
face shrouded in mystery. Though the chill of harvest time had settled over the land, he wore no shirt under his dark tunic that barely covered his lower body. Smooth, dark hides were strapped to his muscled legs and foot coverings with leather ties.

  He stopped a moment and threw back his hood, his cloak falling away from his arms.

  Abundant and strange body drawings covered his thick-muscled arms and neck and one could only wonder as to the drawings that lay beneath his garments. His dark hair was cropped short around the sides and back, the remainder short but not shorn. If none of that caused one to gasp, his fine features and bold green eyes did, and Blyth’s first thought was... how could one so pleasing to look upon be so cruel?

  She continued staring along with her fellow tribesmen and the closer he came the more she saw and the more frightened she grew. His green eyes were empty. They held no warmth or coldness. There was nothing there. Nothing at all. And she could not help but notice that there were no lines or wrinkles around his eyes or mouth which meant he never smiled or frowned.

  Could it be true? Could the executioner have no heart?

  She lowered her glance, not wanting to gaze upon him a moment longer and she could not keep a gasp from slipping from her lips as her eyes fell on the battle axe he held at his side. The double edged weapon appeared as if it was recently sharpened in anticipation of his next execution.

  Cathbad heard his wife’s sharp gasp and quickly wrapped his arm around her. He was relieved that he had sent his four sons away on what they believed were important matters. He wanted them gone when the executioner arrived, for he knew they would not stand idle and watch their mother suffer. He could not as well, and this day might bring both he and his wife’s deaths.

  The executioner did not stop when he reached the couple. He walked up the steps and as he passed Cathbad, said, “I will speak to your wife alone.”

  Cathbad kept his voice firm as he spoke. “I will—”

  “Do as I say,” the executioner ordered and opened the door and turned, casting a look at Blyth.

  She whispered reassuring words to her husband as she struggled to free herself of her his firm grasp. On trembling legs, she walked over to the door and slipped past the executioner without dare glancing at him.

  “Bog, guard!” the executioner commanded and the wolf took a stance in front of the door as soon as it closed shut.

  Blyth went to the fire pit and stretched her chilled hands out to flames, hoping the heat would warm them and stop the shivers that had her trembling, though no doubt it was more fear than chills that had her body quivering.

  After several silent moments, she managed to ask, “May I get you food or drink?” And before she lost the courage, she turned to face him. She stumbled back when she almost collided with him, he stood so close to her.

  “Sit,” he ordered and took her arm and hurried her to a bench at one of the tables, forcing her to do as he said.

  “Why did you send your daughter away?” he asked.

  Blyth had not expected that question, though the strength of his tone left no doubt that he would have an answer. “Anin would not make King Talon a good wife.”

  “That is not for you to decide.”

  “I am her mother and know her best, and the King would not be happy with her.”

  “The King does not seek happiness, merely a wife.”

  “How sad for him.”

  The executioner stared at her for a moment before he demanded, “Where is your daughter?”

  “I do not know. Do what you will to me, but the answer will remain the same. I do not know.”

  He placed his battle axe on the table and swung one leg over the bench a short distance from her.

  Blyth sat frozen, too fearful to move. He was much more intimidating sitting so close to her, his muscles thicker and his eyes so barren that it seemed there was no life in him at all. She turned her eyes away only to have her glance fall on his hand that rested on the table near the handle of his battle axe. His hand was large and no doubt strong from swinging his weapon with enough force to chop off heads or to inflict endless suffering.

  Blyth struggled to regain her wits and to delay or, dare she hope, prevent any torture. “Let me tell you why Anin would not suit King Talon.” When he nodded, she wondered that perhaps her words would not be wasted. A foolish thought, since he was here to carry out the King’s command and nothing she said would change that.

  “King Talon needs a strong wife, a woman who will stand by his side with courage and fight beside him if necessary. A woman who will give him many strong sons.”

  “Like the four brave sons you gave your husband. And are you not from the Lammok tribe of women warriors? Does your daughter not have your warrior heart?”

  Blyth shook her head slowly. “Anin is gentle and kind, though strong in her own way. She is no warrior.”

  “The King will see her kept safe.”

  “And will he discard her as he did his other two wives when she fails to bear him a child?”

  “Take care with your words, woman, or you will soon have no tongue.”

  “Forgive me,” Blyth said quickly realizing she had gone too far. There may be talk that it was not his wives, but the King himself who could father no child, but no one dare say or imply it.

  The executioner rose off the bench, grabbing his battle axe as he stood.

  Blyth flinched, for she thought he meant to bring it down on her, but she felt nothing.

  “Outside,” he ordered sharply.

  “Please,” Blyth said, “whatever you intend to do to me, do it here where my husband does not have to be witness to it.”

  He pointed to the door. “I will not tell you again.”

  Blyth walked slowly to the door, every step laborious, fearful of the suffering to come and not only her own. Her heart weighed heavily with worry for her husband and her people. It was good she did not know where Anin was, for if she had known, she would have confessed much too easily to the executioner. She trusted her daughter would know where to seek shelter and be kept safe.

  The black wolf moved to the executioner’s side as soon as he walked out the door.

  Blyth saw the look of relief on her husband’s face when he saw that she was unharmed and he was quick to stretch his hand out to her. She did not wait to see if the executioner would stop her, she hurried to her husband’s side, taking firm hold of his hand.

  The executioner walked over to stand in front of them both, though he looked to Cathbad as he spoke. “The tribes in the south are restless. You are Overlord of the Western Region. Will you be ready to stand with your King if necessary?”

  Cathbad understood that his wife’s refusal to obey the King had placed his allegiance in jeopardy, so he was quick to reassure. “I, my sons, and my tribe will fight to the death for King Talon,”

  “He will be pleased to hear that and now I go and collect your daughter Anin and take her to King Talon to become his wife.”

  “Thank goodness you came to your senses,” Cathbad said to his wife.

  Blyth stared in surprise at the executioner and shook her head confused. “I could not tell him what I do not know.”

  “You told me everything I needed to know or you would not be standing here unharmed beside your husband.” With a quick step, he was beside her and whispered in her ear, “I will learn your secret and may mercy be with you if I must return here.”

  Blyth felt her breath lock in her chest, her limbs grow weak, and just before she dropped into a dead faint, she saw the executioner and his wolf fade into the mist.

  Chapter Two

  Anin was too tired to go any further and with light soon fading to darkness, it was better she sought shelter. She had hoped to reach her mother’s people, the Lammok, before it turned dark, but her gait had slowed, her legs finally protesting the days of endless walking. She hoped she had enough strength to secure herself a safe spot to sleep. If she began her journey when the sun rose, she would reach the Lammok vi
llage by the time the sun was high in the sky.

  She surveyed the area with a keen eye. The forest could be welcoming, but when the light faded it could turn dangerous and being alone made her all the more vulnerable. Of course asking the forest creatures for safe passage always helped and since her journey thus far had been without incident, she believed they were looking after her.

  With a tilt of her head and turning slowly, she finally found what she was looking for, a tree that would cradle her safely until the sun rose once again. She went hunting for the vine that clung tenaciously to certain trees and, once found and gratitude given, she cut a long piece with the small dagger she kept in a sheath on the belt at her waist.

  It was not difficult for her to throw the vine over the lowest branch that was too high for her to reach and use both ends to work her way up the tree and settle herself in the crook of two thick branches after curling up the vine so that she could use it to get down on the morrow.

  The leaves were just beginning to turn so they were still plentiful on the branches and hid her well. No one would know she was there and with a gentle hand pressed against the rough bark she asked the tree spirit to keep her safe.

  Before it grew too dark, she peered past the branches to take one last glance over the surrounding area and to make sure she was alone. She smiled when she spotted a nearby stream, pleased that she would be able to wash up and look presentable when she arrived at her mother’s village.

  Her green, soft wool cloak served as an excellent blanket and juniper berries in the pouch at her waist would sustain her until morn. She had collected them along the way during the day so she would be prepared if she did not reach her mother’s people by night. Once she arrived at the Lammok village, she would be fed well by her mother’s two sisters.

  A lone howl had her pulling her cloak tighter around her and had her wishing she was home tucked safely in her sleeping pallet. She missed her mum and da terribly and even her four brothers who could torment at times and be much too protective at other times. But she loved each and every one of them.

  She had always thought that one day she would join with a man of her tribe or a neighboring tribe and live a good life with him and with her family nearby. She never imagined or desired to go to the center of the Pict Kingdom—Pictland—home of the ruling High King and away from all that was familiar to her.