by J. P. Ashman
Another wizard walked several paces behind Lord Severun and Fal recognised him as one of the guild’s battle mages. He had a gnarled red staff and unkempt black hair. He was powerful, Fal had heard that much before and knew he was there to keep Lord Severun in check, or do his best to if the need arose.
The guild coach pulled up close to Lord Severun and he was prodded inside by one of the Duke’s men. They followed him into the coach one by one, the battle mage climbing in last and closing the door behind him.
‘Where are the other advisers my lord?’ Sav asked Ward Strickland.
‘They have duties to perform in this dire time, and so I will be the King’s only advisor, oh… apart from the Archbishop, who will be at the square already, overseeing the preparation of the funeral pyre.’
Fal balked. ‘Funeral pyre?’ It was an execution, plain and simple. Lord Severun would be burnt alive. It was no funeral pyre.
‘I apologise, sergeant,’ Ward said. ‘This is hard for me to deal with, as I imagine it is for many of us. It’s just my way of making it that bit easier to witness.’
Sav bristled at the mention of the Samorlian Archbishop and both Fal and Ward noticed, but decided to ignore it. Neither of them liked the Samorlian Church any more than Sav, but today was to be a horrific day as it was and neither Fal nor the magician next to him wished to make it any worse by encouraging Sav in his open hostilities towards Archbishop Corlen or his church.
‘Here we go,’ Ward said, as the King moved forward.
Hooves clattered on stone, armour on armour and the clanking retinue of the King followed close behind. Their horses’ heavy trappers barely flapped in the wind as the knights spurred their powerful steeds on into a walk to follow their King. Every single knight was dressed for combat. Their lances held high; pennants flapping. They wore broad heater shields on their left arms, their personal heraldry displayed for all to see, the most recognisable being the Duke of Adlestrop, who led the King’s retinue. Each wore an intimidating great or sugarloaf helm, which covered their faces completely. It was an impressive sight indeed and Fal couldn’t help envying the highly trained and skilled warriors, hand-picked from the noble families to serve and protect the King himself. Their colourful surcoats, also displaying their individual heraldries, covered their thick coats of plate, whilst their arms and legs were encased in armour, from maille to articulated steel plate, which gleamed in the late morning sun.
‘Fal, come on,’ Sav said urgently, and Fal realised it was their turn to move on as Lord Strickland’s escort.
Barrison rode from the palace courtyard and on to Kings Avenue, his retinue close behind, their helmets sweeping from side to side as their eyes peered through the narrow slits, scanning the gathering crowds starting to fill the edges of the tree-lined route.
Behind the Duke of Adlestrop and the other knights came three mounted drummers, slowly hammering a solemn beat on their goat-skinned drums. Following the drummers were three mounted trumpeters, their long brass instruments held at their sides like swords.
Ward Strickland came next, flanked by Fal on his right and Sav on his left with the guild coach that held Lord Severun prisoner close behind them. Starks scanned the rooftops and streets joining Kings Avenue, as well as the gathering and cheering crowds of people that grew rapidly. The coach was followed by the two hardened veterans of the guild guard, their maces visible to all. They too scanned the crowds for anyone who might attempt to assault the coach or anyone else in front of them.
The procession made it to and through Kings Square with no trouble and Fal was surprised that, whilst people – rumoured in their hundreds – lay dying across the city, so many others had made the time to stop and witness the procession of the King.
The noise of clattering hooves and scraping armour travelled the length of Wesson to reach Execution Square. No one had made any attempt other than verbal assaults on the coach as it was escorted to the “funeral pyre”. Perhaps because many didn’t realise what the procession was, since the coach Lord Severun was travelling in was not a prison coach. Fal thought the real reason was the heavily armoured knights of the King’s own retinue, and the now dozens strong rear guard from Fal’s own command, all of whom had followed on after the procession had passed near to Tyndurris itself. Over forty men-at-arms, crossbowmen and mages walked out into the road behind the black guild coach, following on foot all the way to Execution Square. At first, people shouted insults and screamed threats at the mages, but when they realised just how many armed men and spell-bound battle mages followed, they soon quietened down.
They want to see him burn, as if his death alone will rid them of this plague and bring back their friends, family… make right so many wrongs. Can I blame them? So little do they know, scraps of information, gossip; rumours from here and there, until the terrified man sat in the coach behind me becomes a faceless monster to hundreds if not thousands of people. Is death by fire his worse fear now, or is it knowing his name will pass down through generations as the man that brought a plague upon Wesson?
***
‘They’ll all be down there.’ The green haired woman sat by the window in the small kitchen. Elleth gazed at her in awe, thinking about how amazing it would be to have hair like Coppin’s.
Coppin, I like that better than Elleth; Coppin, a real lady, not like me, but a real grown up lady, like mamma.
Elleth’s eyes glazed over and she bit back a sob at the thought of her family. It seemed so long ago now, yet it hadn’t been long at all… so much had changed.
‘The execution?’ Elleth asked, although her voice broke.
‘Oh Elleth, come ‘ere,’ Coppin said. ‘Don’t let Mother see ye cry, we need to stay strong, us girls. Stick together, that’s what we do.’
Elleth nodded as she tried but failed to hold back the tears. She moved over to Coppin.
‘Ye got me now, girl. The two of us, sisters, ye see,’ Coppin said, smiling down at Elleth, who clung to her tightly.
‘Wish I were more a lady like you.’
Coppin half-laughed and Elleth blushed. ‘Oh no ye don’t! Being a girl’s the best thing ye could want, and ye hold on to it for as long as ye can, sis.’
Elleth smiled again, before continuing, ‘But ye look so beautiful and Mother said how all the men love yer little waist and big—’
Coppin’s smile slipped and Elleth stopped.
‘Ye hold on to it, sis, I tell ye,’ Coppin said quietly. ‘Enjoy being you! Ye got the sweetest smile and biggest grey eyes, and ye know what?’
Elleth sat up a little, eyes widening in anticipation.
‘I wish I were just like you, Elleth!’ Coppin smiled fully again, stroking Elleth’s black hair and pulling her close.
Both girls jumped then as Mother walked in.
‘Coppin, put my lovely down and get yerself upstairs, girl. Someone here to play,’ Mother said with a wink, as she crossed the kitchen and dropped onto a wooden chair by the fire. Her fat terrier snorted as it was shoved from its spot by Mother’s large foot.
Coppin took a deep breath and stood then, lifting Elleth to her feet and patting her on the bum.
‘Who’s here to play?’ Elleth asked, but before Coppin could reply, Mother did.
‘One of her man friends, my lovely. Now set about yer chores to earn yer keep and let Coppin go earn hers.’ The terrier snorted again, several times as it turned once then twice on the spot, before resting its head back on the floor. Mother leant back in her chair and closed her eyes.
Elleth looked as if she wanted to ask more, but turning from the doorway, Coppin shook her head, smiled and then disappeared into the hall beyond.
Elleth sighed to herself and prayed for the day she’d be a woman, so she could go up and play with Coppin and the other sisters upstairs, and perhaps even the men, although that thought was a little scary.
I don’t even know how men like to play.
***
In the centre of the sun drenched, cobbled expanse,
the usual gallows had been replaced by a great stake reaching easily twenty foot into the air. Logs and branches surrounded the stake, and Fal noticed most of the branches pointed to the sky, the Samorlian’s alleged way of sending the damned up to meet Sir Samorl for judgement. Alas, Fal knew it was to inflict maximum pain. The vertical logs meant the fire would spread upwards and not outwards, thus burning the victims alive rather than choking them to death on the thick black smoke.
Bastards!
The crowd hissed and called out insults as the guild coach lumbered into the opening created by the City Guard. The drumming had changed beat and Fal felt like it was feeding the crowds’ frenzy.
Around the back of the bonfire was a raised platform which the King, after dismounting from his noble steed, climbed to stand before a wooden throne. His heralds joined him whilst his knights positioned themselves around the square at evenly spaced intervals. Wherever a knight and his destrier stood, the crowd’s volume dropped, and Fal could see people warily keep their distance from the powerful horses and their armoured riders.
The drummers kept up their new rhythm, still astride their horses standing in front of the raised platform, where the King had been joined by Archbishop Corlen and a large man Fal had never seen before, who dressed in similar robes to the Archbishop. The King said a few short words to the Archbishop, who in turn spoke to the larger man. The stranger frowned and descended the steps of the platform to stand at the bottom on his own. King Barrison clearly didn’t like the man and so neither did Fal.
‘He’s the Grand Inquisitor,’ Ward said, following Fal’s gaze. ‘He’s not in the King’s favour after the Kings Avenue attack on you, and so is not permitted to take his usual place by the King for the execution. I assure you, Sergeant Falchion, he will be punished further after today’s proceedings.’
Fal merely nodded and turned his gaze to the black guild coach they’d let pass them. They followed it until it stopped on the far side of the pyre. The coach rocked on its springs as the driver hauled on the reigns to stop the two horses pulling it.
Two black clad men carrying rapiers moved from the side of the platform and opened the coach’s door. Out came the Lord High Constable’s men – swords in hands – followed by Lord Severun, which instigated a chorus of hisses and insults from the crowd. Finally, the wild looking battle mage climbed down from the coach and whispered into Lord Severun’s ear. The former Grand Master of the Wizards and Sorcery Guild turned to the battle mage, a mixed look of surprise and fear evident on his face. He then walked to the foot of the platform to face the King. Severun knelt, his head lowered.
Fal, Sav and Ward all shifted in their saddles as the coach pulled away and the King stepped forward. Starks looked back at the kneeling wizard from his seat on the moving coach, a look of pure sorrow on his face as he disappeared from view behind the large bonfire.
The trumpeters sounded then and the drums stopped, and almost immediately the whole square, hundreds of people, fell silent. A child cried towards the back of the crowd and gulls circled above, their mocking calls irritating Fal as he stared at the King, awaiting the announcement.
One of the King’s heralds stepped forward and unrolled a parchment from which he began to read. ‘It is with great regret that our royal highness, King Barrison, as well as his royal advisors, declare the former Grand Master of the Wizards and Sorcery Guild, outlaw.’
People began to murmur and some shouted again before the King himself raised his hand.
Near silence fell across the square once more.
The herald, looking back down at the parchment, continued. ‘Lord Severun has been found guilty of both the practice and use of arcane magic. He was brought to the palace for questioning and confessed to all. He had only one accomplice, who has been placed under lifetime house arrest and who will, by order of the King, remain nameless.’
The crowd stirred again, one man threw a bottle which fell short of Lord Severun. That man was swiftly dragged away by two guardsmen, one of which clamped a hand over his mouth to keep him from calling out.
The King raised both hands this time and stepped forward, gently moving his herald aside. The crowd quietened down once more as King Barrison spoke.
‘People of Wesson, of Altoln, have I not always been a fair King where possible?’ Many people called out their agreement.
‘Then trust in me, in my judgement and that of my advisors. We have talked with the outlaw who kneels before us and we are convinced his accomplice attempted to stop Lord Severun’s work many times, and only continued alongside Lord Severun in an attempt to make the experiment they were working on as safe as possible. He was unaware Lord Severun had used arcane magic in the process. He did, alas, work alongside the outlaw, and his work did allow the experiment to continue, thus has he been detained under house arrest for the rest of his years. The accomplice works for you now, the citizens of Wesson, he works to free us of the plague he helped release.
‘As for the outlaw you see before you, he will pay the ultimate price. He meant only well for this city. I know this to be the truth. Although we all know his methods were misguided and have caused much suffering, his work with forbidden arcane magic was intended to help the city. It has, however, brought us closer to destruction than Altoln has known in centuries. By meaning only to do good, Lord Severun,’ Barrison’s eyes fell to the kneeling wizard, who raised his head to meet his King’s gaze, ‘all you have done is brought us suffering, pain and death. You may have meant well, but you practised forbidden and dangerous arcane magic, and that is why we cannot stray from this course of action.’ The King pointed at the high stake, rising from the bonfire. ‘Execution by fire, as set out by Altoln’s protectors against arcane magic, the Samorlian Church.’
The crowd roared again and the King said something else to Lord Severun, but Fal was too far away to hear the hushed words. Severun stood then and the two black clad men, whom Fal recognised now as witchunters, lead the wizard to the bonfire.
They walked him to the top of the pyre and secured him to the great stake using chains.
Fal moved his horse a couple of steps closer and caught Lord Severun’s eyes. The wizard looked back, tears streaking his cheeks as Fal mouthed the words, ‘I’m sorry.’
Both Sav and Lord Strickland moved forward either side of Fal.
Severun nodded to Fal and briefly glanced at Ward, before looking back to where the King was now sat. Corlen stood on the King’s left hand side, bending to whisper into his ear.
The drums pounded and the trumpets called out three long, hollow notes.
The fire was lit.
Fal felt anger burn within him as he looked from Lord Severun to the King and back. He looked then at Sav who had tears in his eyes and was visibly clenching his teeth. His knuckles were white as he gripped his reigns.
The flames licked higher as the two witchunters lit more kindling around the base of the bonfire. People screamed and jeered and one woman laughed. Fal cursed himself for the thought he briefly had upon hearing that.
Lord Severun was squirming now, the heat and smoke clearly getting to him.
The drums kept up their eerie tempo as the flames began to lick at the base of the stake Lord Severun was chained to.
Men of the City Guard shoved back the crowd as they tried to push forwards to get a better view of the execution. On one side of the bonfire – where the crowd became too rowdy and managed to force two guardsmen back – a knight of the King’s retinue walked his destrier forward. He turned it about and lowered his lance towards the crowd. The great bay destrier reared and clattered its metal shod hooves on the cobbled stone. The people before it ceased their advance and pushed back again, away from the snorting animal and its faceless rider.
Fal’s gaze was drawn back to the fire as Lord Severun cried out in pain. The smoke was enough to half hide the burning man now, but not enough to finish him off before the flames engulfed him. Fal turned to look at Lord Strickland, who, hidden by a long, volumi
nous sleeve, held one hand high whilst closing his eyes and whispering to himself. Fal thought it strange the magician might pray to a deity, but in such a horrific situation, people did whatever they could to ease the pain.
The screaming was raking at Fal like an animal now. He could see Lord Severun writhing in agony, thrashing around on the stake. His skin bubbled as his clothes burnt away and he blistered from feet to thighs.
Gods above, we commit a definite evil here and now, as justice to an act that is perceived as evil, but was not meant to be so. Does this right the wrong, or plunge us deeper towards the gods below?
Fal started, as Sav moved forward suddenly, his horse taking a few steps. Fal turned to see his friend quickly stringing his bow before pulling an arrow from a linen bag tied to his saddle. Fal kicked his horse forward and tried to grab Sav as he nocked the arrow and drew the bow, aiming it at the screaming wizard now being roasted alive.
‘Sav, no!’ Fal shouted, but before he could say another word, Sav was dragged from his saddle by two guardsmen and wrestled to the floor. Fal turned to call for Lord Strickland, just as one of the King’s own knights surged across the cobbles on his warhorse and rammed his shield into Fal’s face.
The pain was instant and his vision flashed white, but before he registered what had happened, Fal felt himself fall from the saddle and his world turned black.
***
Thick, black and tan fur became visible from under the low bed, as a large bloodhound appeared, sniffing at the floor all around the late Peneur Ineson’s bedroom.
‘Long body ain’t it?’ Sears said.
Biviano nodded. ‘Aye…’ he scratched his left arm pit as best he could through his maille, ‘and short legs for such a heavy looking hound.’
‘Never seen another like him, that’s for sure,’ Sears said as he watched the hound, which seemed to be following a scent leading out through the bedroom door.
