by Matt Moss
The Clergy sat in attendance atop the palace steps, patiently waiting in their crimson robes.
The crowd, much larger than anticipated, awaited the ceremonies with a hushed reverence. Word spread fast; thousands of people from across the kingdom had traveled to the capital this day. Children climbed atop rooftops, hoping to catch a view.
The noon bell rang from atop the Church. It was an eerie sound, one that had not been heard since the day of the attack. A sound that would forever be tied to the tragic event that still haunted people’s minds.
The Church doors opened.
Victor emerged from the Church, dressed in white, leading the casket that held High Priest John’s body. Six priests in black carried the wooden box with their heads covered and cast down.
As the procession made its way through the crowd, Victor raised and lowered the funeral smoke. It was custom to burn amber and incense at a religious figure’s funeral. The crowd, screaming and moaning, threw flowers on the path in front of the procession.
As Victor approached the palace, he looked to the left of the steps, to the executioner’s block. Without a pause, he ascended the steps.
On a landing halfway up, the priests sat the casket down.
Victor took his place alongside the Clergy as the priests divided to the sides of the steps.
A brief moment later, the accused made their way around the side of the palace. Fifty guards with sword and spear surrounded them and cleared a path among the crowd.
A giant of a man led the accused, dressed in the black hooded executioner’s robe, and carrying a large double sided axe.
The crowd, yelling and cursing them all the way to the block, were held back by the palace guards and members of the Order.
The guards forced the prisoners to their knees and shackled the two men to the block. The shackles held no chain, preventing any movement, and were simply anchored into the stone. Each was made of the strongest iron that the best smith could wrought. After wrists and ankles had been bound, shackles were locked around their necks, fixing their heads upon the stone.
The two could see the ceremony.
Then they saw Victor.
Lucian’s face, twisting in confusion at the sight of his master’s position, quickly turned to anger.
Paul stared in disbelief.
Victor stood, then walked to the center with a raised hand.
The crowd silenced, succumbing to his command.
“Men, women, fathers and mothers,” Victor called out. “Sons, daughters, brothers and sisters, we are gathered here today in remembrance. Remembrance of those whom we have lost.” He spread his arms out wide. “We have been bound together by fate. Let us therefore proceed into the future together, for we are now family. Family made through tragedy.”
The crowd cheered.
He continued. “We gather to honor our spiritual leader.” Victor stepped down in front of the casket. “High Priest John was like a father to us all. His wisdom and guidance was a burning flame in a world of darkness.” He scanned the crowd. “His faith was an inspiration to us all. Let us carry that faith on. Let that faith live on and deny the chains of death and Hell itself!”
The crowd roared as he turned and walked up the steps. Everyone, including the Clergy, applauded.
When Victor reached the top, he looked up at the clear blue sky, then closed his eyes. After a breath, he looked at Paul. They locked eyes for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime.
“We gather for justice,” Victor said, never looking away.
The crowd ignited. The guards held the peace by handing out a few cuts and broken bones to the ones inclined.
Lucian tested the shackles. They were indeed well made, and seemingly impossible to break out of.
Victor held his hands up for silence once more, and the crowd obeyed again.
“We are at war with evil. Mankind always has been,” he stated. “Today we live in a society — a place where we depend on civility and order to safeguard us. But alas, we have been blinded by this false security.” He pointed at the accused. “Evil is real. It fell upon us all not long ago. No more are we blinded or weak,” he said making a fist. “Let us stand together and purge this evil from the world!”
The crowd cheered and roared in anticipation.
Victor glanced at the throne. George still hadn’t attended the ceremony. He became annoyed at the King’s absence, knowing the crowd wouldn’t wait much longer. He walked to the palace door and opened it.
Looking back at one of the Clergymen, he spoke, “I must find the King. Stall them.”
“What should I do?” the fat man asked.
“Say a prayer or something,” Victor said, then walked inside.
Entering the palace, he heard voices coming from a room, adjacent to the hall. He stalked to a nearby pillar. The words were indistinct, but he knew one of the men’s voices belonged to King George. Victor edged closer to the doorway and put his back to the wall of the room.
“It’s too risky!” a deep voice said. “I don’t like it. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Trust me old friend, I don’t like it either,” the King spoke. “But it’s the only option we have.”
“He shouldn’t even be out there!” the other man said.
“I had to!” George hissed. “The people demanded it. It was the only way I could protect him.”
“Protect him? I could have done that. You can’t control that out there!”
The voice sounded familiar to Victor, but he couldn’t quite place it.
“I assure you, it’s under control.” George said. “I’ve instructed the captain to tell the executioner our plans. Once Lucian is dead, I will declare justice served and decree that the prophet be confined to the Grand Highlands, indefinitely.”
“This better work,” the man threatened before turning to walk away.
Victor caught his profile as he left.
Torin, he thought, I knew Paul brought an escort, but I would have never thought it would have been a failure like you.
After a moment, Victor stepped into the room. “Your Grace, it is time.”
King George glared at him. He walked past the priest, paying him no mind. Stopping in front of the palace door, he paused.
After taking a deep breath, he stepped outside.
Twenty-THREE
Torin knew the inner workings of the palace from his previous visits to the capital. He knew the kitchen, and how to sneak into the back. He knew the servant quarters and the multiple ways to get in and out that only they knew. He had often frequented the wine cellar after he had found out where the spare key was hidden. Lucky for him that the cellar guard was a female and almost as big as him. It didn’t take him long to gain that information.
He also knew the secret passage to the prison cells as well — the place where he was going.
Days before their arrival, the prophet gave Torin instructions. He now replayed the words in his head, incredulous of the old man’s insight.
“Torin, if anything happens to me,” Paul had said, “I will leave a letter at my last known location.
“Nothing will happen to you, Paul,” Torin had said in reply. “I’ll make sure of that.”
The Prophet had grabbed his arm then.
“Listen to me! It is of the most importance that you promise me you will deliver the letter.”
“Alright, I will. I promise.”
He said the words so the old man would let it go. He never thought he would actually have to do it.
Now the whole world had turned upside down. Torin cursed himself for letting this happen as he started down a spiral staircase. After all the years of dedication and training, all the blood, sweat, and tears shed to prove his worth to Paul and the Order, this wasn’t where Torin wanted to be.
I’ve failed him again, Torin thought. This time maybe worse than the first time. Damnit! I should have seen this coming. I should have been ready. He rounded a corner and slammed into someone.
; The man was knocked back, but remained on his feet. He glared at Torin and opened his mouth to speak, but then thought otherwise when he took the whole of the big man in. He ducked his head down and scurried off, but not before Torin took notice of his face. The man reminded Torin of a rat.
Without wasting another moment, Torin hurried off. He knew the crowd wouldn’t wait long for their justice, so time was of the essence. He arrived at the kitchen. It was large, and held four cook stoves, a brick oven, and three work stations with wash basins. Its second floor location, on the backside of the palace, allowed access to the outside.
This was designed for the meat cellar. A large balcony had been wrapped in thin sheets of steel to make the room seal tight. The smiths piped water in, then made a system that circulated the water, keeping the room below freezing.
Of course this was only designed to work during the winter months to preserve the meat longer. Sometimes the kitchen got hot, especially when an event took place, so the cellar became a favorite to kitchen workers.
Torin opened the heavy door to the cellar. He walked to the center of the room and stood by a steel grate in the floor. It was part of the aqueduct system that ran throughout the palace and back to the river.
Torin lifted the grate up and jumped in, his boots making a slight splash when he landed.
The sewer was pitch black. He closed his eyes and put his hand on the wall to guide him.
The tunnel was modest size, enough so that a man could make repairs. A small man.
Torin grunted as he crouched, sloshing through the slop and darkness. Right, right, left, left, he thought, remembering the way as he came across each intersection.
He stopped, tensing, as a pack of rats ran by his feet. He hated rats.
He took the last left and saw a faint glimmer of light in the distance. As he drew closer to the source, he thanked the Almighty that the guards had left the torches burning in the cells. He pulled the grate and jumped down.
Surveying the room, he noticed two cells, both doors open. One was bare. The other held a bed of straw. He walked to the straw and began searching with his hands. Buried in the middle was a letter.
Turning it over in his hands, he began to open it.
No. Not now, he thought.
He stood and tucked the letter away. After grabbing a torch from the wall, he made his way down the tunnel. It was longer than he remembered. He finally saw the glow from the guard’s room. Something on the ground caught Torin’s eye, causing him to stop. He moved the torch closer. Blood.
He followed the trail to a side room. As he pushed the door open, he found three dead men lying in the middle of the room — one old, one young, and one had been stripped down to his loin cloth.
All of their throats had been cut.
Torin’s instincts had been right all along. Something was wrong.
He left the dead, picking his pace up to a jog. Entering the guard’s room, he stopped. Four men stood from a table and drew their weapons.
Shit, Torin thought. I don’t have time for this.
He pulled the axe from behind his back.
Twenty-Four
King George looked down at the box that held John’s corpse.
Atop the steps, he stood in front of what felt like the whole world. All eyes were on him. He scanned the crowd full of men, women, and children. He locked eyes with a girl, no older than five, sitting atop a man’s shoulders. Her face held a curious gaze as she cocked her head, staring at him.
He saw the guards standing at attention in front of the crowd, keeping them at bay. He noticed members of the Order posted throughout the crowd and along the sides of the palace steps.
He turned, looked at the Clergy, then stared at Victor for a brief moment. He looked at the accused chained to the blocks.
Paul held his head up, as much as he could, to look at George. Smiling, he nodded to the king.
Lucian held his head down, staring at the ground.
Looking up to the sky, the King closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He offered up a silent prayer, asking justice for one, mercy for the other.
“Nothing done here today can erase the tragedy that was bestowed upon us,” the King stated, his voice commanding to be heard. “Despite our advances in compassion, acceptance, and goodwill in society, we are reminded that evil does live in this world. It is real. It waits like a hungry wolf outside our doors.” King George stepped towards John’s coffin.
“That is why we must be vigilant in the face of terror,” he said. “We must stand together to fight this evil and eradicate it from this world!”
The crowd cheered in approval.
The King looked up to the sky. “The Almighty smiles upon us this day.”
“Where was the Almighty when this evil came to our town?” a man in the crowd shouted. “Why did He allow this to happen?”
“Who are we to question His will?” the King replied. “In all of His infinite power and wisdom, how can we say what is good or what is bad for the universe?” George walked down a couple of steps. “If time does not exist to God, then who is to say that what happens today, horrific as it may be, is not for the benefit of tomorrow. Such things a human mind cannot comprehend. That is why I choose to have faith. Faith that He works for the benefit of the whole.”
Most cheered in agreement, while others remained unmoved.
“That is what High Priest John believed,” the King said as he placed both hands on the coffin. “He also believed in justice.”
The people roared as the king walked towards the accused. He stopped halfway, unbuckling his sword as he spoke. “I am your King,” he said, allowing the sword to fall with a clang, “but first, I am a man.”
He took the crown off his head and dropped it. “I am a citizen of this kingdom.” He shed his royal cloak. “And I stand before you now, equal and in demand of justice.”
Some in the crowd cheered, but most were shocked.
King George held his right fist in the air, signaling the executioner.
All eyes were fixed upon the King.
The executioner stood between the accused, axe in hand, awaiting orders.
“Judged by man,” the King said. “Now be judged by God!” He swiftly dropped his fist.
“Lucian,” Paul said, craning his neck to look at him.
The executioner moved to the side of the accused and raised his axe.
Lucian turned to look at Paul.
Paul winked at him before his head left his body. It hit the ground and rolled in front of Lucian. The face was fixed, a half smile staring up at him. Blood began to pour from Paul’s body and pool on the ground.
A stunned silence hung in the air. King George broke it with a terrible moan of pain as he dropped to his knees.
Lucian’s eyes went wide and he strained against his bonds.
The executioner stepped in front of Lucian and knelt down.
Lucian lifted his head to look at the man.
“I just wanted you to know who the better man was before you die,” Karn said, pulling his hood back enough for Lucian to see.
Lucian jerked at the chains as Karn moved to the side of him.
The church bell began to ring.
The townsfolk tensed, remembering the terrible sound.
Lucian glanced at his master. Victor met his gaze, a smile creeping onto his face.
Gong!
Torin rounded the corner of the palace. As he pushed his way to the side of the steps, his eyes locked on Lucian and the executioner.
Then he saw Paul.
“No!” he screamed, shaking in rage. Everything in him wanted to wash the pain away in blood.
Gong!
Torin shoved his way to the front. Three guards met him and drew their swords.
Gong!
As Lucian stared at Victor, seething, he saw someone move behind his master. A woman. She moved beside him. Victor caressed her face, then kissed her lips.
Gong!
“Do you see
her Lucian?” Karn said.
Gong!
After the kiss, Sarie looked at Lucian.
Impossible thoughts ran through his mind, but those were quickly replaced by unbound hate. He forced his eyes closed.
Gong!
“Die,” Karn said and raised his bloody axe.
A deep roar came from Lucian as he exploded with rage, pouring out everything in him. The chains broke like glass. He rolled towards Karn as the axe fell. Lucian grabbed the big man by the neck with one arm and threw him across the crowd to crash into the side of a building.
The crowd screamed and scattered.
The guards suddenly began killing people, hacking away at the nearest body. The Order attempted to control the crowd, but it was futile. Blood rage took over. Mob mentality.
The townsfolk fought back against the guards and the Order. Steel and stone were the weapons the mob used to dismember and disembowel their oppressors. One man, a giant simpleton, ripped a guard’s arm from his body. Blood and chaos filled the capital. Bodies quickly became an obstacle as men fought for purchase of the ground.
Lucian locked eyes on Victor and began to walk up the stairs.
King George knelt, fumbling for his sword. After finding it, and his composure, he stood poised in Lucian’s path.
“Come on, you son of a...” the King said, but was cut off as a guard’s dagger was shoved into his throat.
George’s eyes went wide as the man ran down the steps to join in the fight. The King put a shaking hand to his neck as the blood poured.
Lucian, never slowing, walked past George.
The King turned, dropped his sword, and stumbled towards the coffin. He crashed into it, sending himself and John rolling down the steps.
The three guards lunged at Torin. He pulled his axe and spun. Skull flew as he threw his hate at the first man. He kicked the other guard in the chest, sending him crashing into a dozen people. The third man swung his sword, gashing Torin across the arm.
Torin roared and split the man from neck to chest.
In a brief moment, he saw Lucian ascending the steps out of the corner of his eye. With axe blurring, he pressed forward, swept up by the mob.
Blood ran down the palace steps. Bodies lie scattered about, torn and broken by Lucian’s hand. Every step he took was met by two more guards or sometimes a priest or a member of the Order taking a try at him.
