“It is customary to let the guilty party have a last meal,” said the mayor, as though trying to show the tiniest bit of sympathy. He failed miserably, of course.
“No, I want to do it straight away,” said Peter, fearing that his newfound strength would fade again.
“Very well then,” said the Magistrate. “sheriff, please put it on record that the sentence will be carried out immediately, at the guilty party’s own request.”
“Yes sir,” said Jaroe, and he took the feather that sat in the grey inkpot in front of him and a piece of parchment and proceeded to write. When he was finished, he did not put the quill back. Instead, he laid it on the table and sat as though stunned.
“Are you all right, dear boy?” asked the mayor. “You’ve turned a funny color.”
Peter also saw this but said nothing, as he had an idea what had befallen the sheriff. It was not every day that someone has to hear about and even witness the execution of his or her King, let alone write it down.
“Well now, I think it’s time for me to give a small announcement to the people waiting outside,” said the mayor. He got up straight away, and when he was two feet from the door, the deputy opened it and stood aside to let the man out.
Only an uneasy silence welcomed the mayor as he stepped out.
“Keep your fingers crossed,” said Euol.
Shouts from the crowd rang out as the people became keen to hear the outcome.
The mayor raised his hands and silence reigned again. “My friends, I’m here to let you know the outcome of this very short trial,” said the man. “But before I say anything of it, tell me, is there any news of young Kayie?”
“No,” said the girl’s uncle, “but when I last saw him, the doctor said it wouldn’t be long. I would be there, but I wanted to know what would happen to that boy who caused my niece’s fatal wound.”
“Yes and on that topic -” the mayor paused as he stared at the faces of the people that stood before him. Some he had grown up with, others he had watched grow, and the some were yet to grow. In those few seconds, he knew that some would never favor or except his decision to execute the boy, while the others would want the boy to die for what he had caused. The question in his mind was how many would be for him and how many against. Was the innkeeper right? Would he lose the election if the boy died? However, there was nothing that could be done to stop it. The trial was now over, and his ruling was clear.
“Why don’t you just tell everyone the truth? Tell that this is just for your own well-being and has nothing to do with justice,” said Euol, who, with his wife and friends, stood to the mayor’s left.
“You again,” said the mayor, again losing his cool. “The truth is that this boy has caused a great dilemma. If we don’t punish him by the time the other creatures come, they will kill all in their sight. None shall be spared. And if you have some sort of proof that I’m doing this for personal gain as you say, present it to the sheriff. However, if it is as I expect and you have none, then I’ll have no option but to send you for a night in the cells to think about where your loyalties lie, unless you take back these accusations.”
“No, I won’t take them back. I know I’m right,” said Euol. “Besides, if you arrest me, you know you will have to arrest all those that feel the ruling you have come up with is nothing but a scheme, a scheme to make you look like some kind of hero.
Then the truth is that you are nothing but a coward.”
“Excuse me, how could you possibly know what I have decided before I have said,” said the mayor giving the innkeeper a suspicious look. “I see now. I see. I wondered why you would want to help him, and now I see. You’re one of them, aren’t you?” he said, pointing and waving his finger dramatically. “You’re a Wizard. I’m right, aren’t I?”
There was a sudden silence as some of the people looked at the innkeeper with expressions of horror on their faces.
“That shut you up, didn’t it?” said the mayor in a victorious tone. “It’s just a pity I can’t prove it.”
“Please, your verdict? I have to know,” said the girl’s uncle; losing patience with the mayor’s delaying.
“Very well,” said the mayor as Peter was being escorted from the inn. “This so-called boy we know as Dermo, though I found out that his name is really Drago, has been found guilty of all that he was charged with, and it is the ruling of the elected mayor of this town that he is to die at the gallows.” This verdict was met with a mixture of reactions. Some of the crowd cheered; others cried out, cursing the man. And to the mayor’s delight, most were for it.
Peter gave his friends a small nod to show that he was still willing to go through with their plan. However, his face told a different story. He looked nervous, even scared. Whether or not it was all an act was not clear to the Wizards and their wives. So to show him that they at least were confident that it would work, Euol returned the nod.
“You know, Drago, you are entitled to a last meal,” said Jaroe.
“No, thanks, let’s just get this over with,” said Peter, still afraid that he might lose his nerve if they waited too long.
“You heard the boy,” said the mayor. “There’s something I’m forgetting. I’m sure I’ll remember later. Bring the cart around.”
Three seconds after the mayor’s order, a cart with a thin layer of hay laid in it and driven by one of the deputies came to the front of the Huffy Hog.
Peter jumped up the steps and stood in the center, and when the deputy cracked his whip, they were on their way to the gallows.
Chapter Eighteen
A Little Pain in the Arse
The deputy driving the cart pulled on the reins. “WHOA!” he shouted.
The horse stopped and Peter, escorted by Jaroe, stepped off of the cart then climbed the steps of the gallows. The hangman stood waiting for him. As the man slipped the noose over the top of the boy’s head, he whispered, “Don’t worry, my lord, you’ll be laughing this off soon enough.” The executioner gave him a quick wink.
How many damn Wizards and Witches are in this town? thought Peter as he stood waiting for his neck to be stretched.
The white-haired mayor stepped out of the mass of people, which once again had formed, and turned to face them. “This is not something that I’m proud of, but this boy must pay for what he has done to this town, and today, the very day he committed his crimes, he shall pay,” said the chubby red-cheeked man loudly and very nervously. The mayor was now having second thoughts of what he was doing. The question he asked himself over and over again was, “Is this really worth the life of this young boy?” And the answer that sprung into his selfish mind: “Of course it is. After all, one less Wizard in this world couldn’t be a bad thing.”
He had already begun to question himself again and turned and looked at Peter. “I hope you find peace.” Then he looked to the masked man waiting to pull the lever.
“Are you ready?” he said to the executioner.
The masked Wizard nodded.
“Are you ready, Drago?” said the mayor.
Peter said nothing.
“Wait! This isn’t right,” said an unknown face in the crowd.
“Who said that?” asked the mayor, taken aback.
“I said it,” said a young man in his early twenties, stepping from the crowd. It was one of the guards from the bell tower. “I haven’t given my side of the story,” said the guard, still wearing his uniform of red and gold armor, black boots, and gold helm. His quiver of arrows was still strapped to his back, and he held his bow in his right hand.
“You were the one who helped him shoot down the creatures,” said the mayor.
“Yes,” said the archer. “That means you’ll have to hang me too, uncle. But at least hear it from my point of view.”
“Why didn’t you come forward before?” asked the mayor with feeling.
“My shift only ended a few minutes ago,” said the young man.
“Can’t you just lay all the blame on me so w
e can get this over with? It is cold you know,” said Peter.
The mayor looked at Peter as though stunned.
“Go on,” said the mayor to his nephew in a firm tone.
The young man went on to tell what he thought had happened when the Lores arrived.
“What happened wasn’t his fault,” said Peter. “I’ve already confessed to it all. He was only doing what he thought was right. You can’t sentence your own nephew to die for doing the right thing.”
After a few minutes of letting those words sink into his head, the mayor turned to face Peter. “No I can’t,” he said with tears welling up in his eyes. “And it’s made me realize that if I can’t do that to him, how can I do it to you? How could I face my family knowing that I sent an innocent person to die? And he is innocent. We all know he is. We just needed someone to blame for what happened to that little girl. But if there’s anyone to blame, it’s me. You did well,” he patted his nephew on the shoulder. The man turned and proceeded to ascend the steps and stood beside the executioner.
“Set him free,” the mayor said to the masked Wizard.
Just then someone from the crowd yelled, “No it isn’t right; he should pay.” It was the wounded girl’s uncle. He jumped onto the platform and pushed the mayor, who fell head first to the ground with a smack. The executioner tried to reach the attacker, but was too late to stop him pulling the lever, and unfortunately, he hadn’t had enough time to take the noose from around Peter’s neck. Before anyone knew what was happening, the boy was swinging.
Euol and Jert jumped toward their King. Jert grabbed him by his kicking legs and tried to hold him up while Euol ran past the executioner who was struggling to keep the girl’s uncle from escaping. The Wizard took out his wand. He waved it and said, “Sharront,” and a thin ray of green light severed the rope.
Peter fell, as did Jert, and when the Wizard checked the boy for life signs, there were none.
“Stop,” shouted someone who was trying to make his way through the thick mob. It was Braten. “Stop! You can’t kill him. He’s not guilty. The girl’s alive and well.”
“What do you mean?” said the girl’s uncle, who at those words had stopped struggling with the executioner.
“I mean she’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with -” when he broke through the crowd, he saw his friend’s lifeless body lying in the dirt.
“You’re a little late,” said Euol as he calmly walked down the steps as two of the townspeople lifted the unconscious mayor to the front of the gallows.
“But he confessed,” said the girl’s uncle.
“He only confessed because he thought that was the only way to get away from it,” said Jert stiffly.
“But surely he knew he would die,” said one of the women in the crowd.
“He is dead, but only until he wakes up again,” said Euol. “Other than that, he’s fine.” The Wizard’s wife, son, and the other magic users were the only ones who understood what he meant. Everyone was asking what the hell was going on.
“We can’t answer any questions yet. And we’ll need to take them to my place,” said the innkeeper to the people as he gestured to Peter and the mayor. “You can explain to us what happened with the girl on the way, Braten.”
“Sure, that’s fine,” replied the son.
They walked side by side, and when they reached the Huffy Hog, the mayor and the young Draga-Wizard Elf were made as cozy as Wizardly possible.
The mayor was the first to come round and the boy jumped to life again only five minutes after.
“So what do you say now?” Euol asked the mayor “Is the boy now going to spend the rest of his life in the cells?”
“Oh no, no. He has already paid severely. He’s free to go with my blessing,” replied the mayor with the sound of a deep, foreboding regret. “Let him leave this harsh place and, may he live his life in peace from this day on.”
“Good,” said the Wizard. He turned on his heel and went to see Peter, who at that time had started on a large bowl of vegetable soup and four slices of thick homemade bread.
“Good news, then,” said Peter in a rough ragged voice, which didn’t by any means stop him smiling.
“I forgot about those big ears of yours,” said the innkeeper.
“It’s not nice to make fun of people you know,” replied the boy, his smile widening.
“What do you think is going to happen to the man who attacked the mayor?”
“Who knows? In this place, anything can happen,” said Euol. “You’re proof of that.”
“Tell me about it,” said the boy, rubbing his neck with one hand while trying to balance his spoon in the other.
“You should have a little time to rest, maybe a day or so, and then if you feel all right, I think it would be for the best if you and Braten leave for Cayer-Huld,” said the Wizard.
“No, I’m fine. I just want to finish this,” said Peter, lifting his bowl. “Then we’ll leave if that’s all right.”
“Whatever you think,” said the innkeeper. “So I take it you heard about the girl.”
“No. When did she die?” Peter asked with the guilt flowing out of his words.
“She didn’t; she’s fine. In fact, she’s out side with the others, her and her family. And then there’s the rest of the town, who all wish you a speedy recovery,” said Euol happily.
The boy shot up out of his chair and stood bolt upright.
“But the arrow, it -”
“The arrow should have killed her, but you saved her with a single touch of your hand.”
“How?” asked Peter, now so curious he was listening to every word that past his friend’s lips.
“I’m not sure how it works, myself, but I do know that it is part of the miracle that stands before me now,” said the Wizard.
“I’m hardy a miracle,” replied the boy. “I still think that you’ve all made a mistake. I mean, look at me. I’m a rich kid. What in the hell do I know about wars or Dark Lords of magic. Isn’t it always the most unlikely people that become heroes?”
“You’re absolutely right; no one would ever expect you to be a hero. It’s completely unlikely, isn’t it?” said the Wizard with a small laugh. “You are an unlikely hero. Actually, I think that most heroes are unlikely ones. Do you think that Thoucil, Dragdani, Lanisic, Jaucal, Delsani, or even your father asked to be heroes? The answer is no. I know for a fact the first three never really wanted it at all. They only wanted to be treated like everyone else, but they never let the people down if they could help. That I think is what made them heroes, not how many they killed or how many fortresses they captured or destroyed. What made them real heroes was the fact that they didn’t do it for honor or glory. They did because they valued their own freedom, their homes, and the people they lived with everyday.
“So just because you don’t feel like a hero now, I’m sure that by the time you reach Cayer-Huld you’ll be one. Now stop all that bloody whining and get that bowl emptied.”
At those words, Peter shot a look at the innkeeper, who was still smiling.
“So that’s how you show your respect to your King and savior?” said Peter, also smiling, “Well, that’s just lovely.”
Euol let out a roar of a laugh, as did Peter in turn.
“You’re right; it’s time to leave,” said the boy, setting the soup bowl on the small wooden table in front of him.
When the two reached the bar, they saw the mayor still seated at the same table, nursing his own wound.
“Ah, you’re still with us, I see, just as Euol said,” said the man getting up from his chair and starting toward them. “I trust you feel as well as you look, my young friend.”
“So now you’re friends,” snapped Euol. To Peter, he looked as though he would pounce on the mayor at any moment.
“It’s okay,” said Peter, putting his hand up to the Wizard’s chest in case his fears would come to pass. “I chose to be on trial and expected to get what I got. Besides, it was all part of th
e plan anyway.”
“Plan? What plan!” asked the mayor, curious to know what was going on behind his back.
“This plan,” replied the boy. “Well, it didn’t all go according to plan, but my getting hung and coming back to life was part of it.”
“Oh yes, I see. Well, it all turned out for the best now, didn’t it?” said the man, hoping to be forgiven.
“Yeah, I suppose it did,” said Peter happily.
“I understand you might be leaving us,” said the mayor.
“Yeah, we plan to leave as soon as our bags are packed,” said the boy.
“And who are we?” asked the man, becoming even more curious.
“Braten, my son,” replied the innkeeper.
“Then I wish you both the best of luck,” said the mayor.
They stayed in the pub for only a few minutes more and then headed out.
“Are you all right?” Jert asked Peter, totally ignoring the mayor, as did Kireth and Huri.
“I’m fine,” said Peter.
“So what’s happening then?” said Braten in a low tone, as though expecting his father to say Peter had decided to stay a while longer. But before anyone could say anything on that matter, he voiced that fear himself. “I suppose we’ll be staying longer now?”
“What, are you kidding? I can’t wait to get the hell out of this place,” said Peter.
“We’re sorry you feel that way,” said the little girl’s mother, who stood with her husband and daughter. And I’m sorry for screaming at you. You saved our little girl’s life. Thank you.”
“And I’m sorry for what happened at the gallows. You know, when my brother hung you,” said the girl’s father.
“I’m sorry too,” said the mayor, putting his hand on Peter’s shoulder, “for if I hadn’t been so quick to judge you, well, you know.”
The Second Prophecy (Part 1 of the Dragdani Prophecies) Page 29
