by Jeff Gunzel
“Yes, my Lord,” the cleric responded in a tight rasp when he stepped right up to the king.
Milo leaned down, his mouth so close to the cleric’s ear that he could feel the warm breaths pulsing against his face. “Today, you will be the one to nail him up,” the king whispered.
“W–What?”
“Take the hammer and nail your brother to the cross. I will not repeat myself.”
“My Lord, please, I can’t. You can’t ask me to—”
The king grabbed him by the collar and slung him down near the soldiers’ feet. “Nail them both up,” the king said, the order given casually as if it were purely an afterthought.
“Wait! Wait!” he cried, throwing his hands up in anticipation. But the blow he feared never came. The surrounding soldiers just looked down on him, some even smiling at the terrified weakling. “I’ll do it. I’ll do it,” he wailed, crying shamelessly as he rolled onto his back, covering his face with both hands.
“Of course you will,” the king said, motioning to the man with the hammer and spikes. He in turn threw them down near the cleric’s head and went back to stand near the soldiers. The crowd watched on in stunned silence. Normally they would be cheering on an execution, but this one felt strange. In truth, no one wanted to draw any attention to themselves for fear of finding themselves on the wrong side of the king’s rage. These were his own clergymen being punished. No peasant was going to be arrogant enough to think he might above the king’s wrath.
The cleric took the hammer and spikes, then crawled towards his friend on his hands and knees. Already tied, the prisoner had regained full consciousness and began to thrash against his bindings. “No!” he screamed, the ropes creaking against his wrists with each futile tug. “Bently, you can’t do this! Please!”
I’m sorry, the cleric mouthed, lining up the first spike over his friend’s wrist. Mumbling a silent prayer, he dropped the hammer down. A feeble attempt, the spike did little more than scratch his friend’s wrist as it slipped off to the side. But from the way he shrieked, one might have suspected the prisoner had just gotten his hand cut off.
“I’m sorry,” the cleric said again, nearly a shout this time. He lined up the spike and struck again, more forcefully this time. The spike bit into his wrist, probably no more than a quarter inch.
The next hour was more of the same as the clumsy cleric slowly completed the task. Not a strong man physically, it was a long grind for the cleric to get the spikes through flesh and bone, and then ultimately into the wood behind them. Mercifully, as the shock began to set in, the cleric had stopped screaming nearly a half hour prior. Wide-eyed, his head simply rolled back and forth with each hammer strike, his mind clearly somewhere else.
Covered with sweat from the grueling task, the quivering cleric finally rose up off his knees. Eyes bloodshot, cheeks streaked with tear tracks, his face was as white as a ghost. He would probably never sleep again after such a nightmarish task.
“Good,” the king said, summoning the poor man forward. Hearing the creaking ropes behind him as they hoisted up the cross, the cleric slowly moved towards the king. Mouth open, feet dragging one after the other, he looked as if he had been drugged.
Resting his hand on the man’s shoulder, the king led him over to the other clerics. By now the townsfolk had largely dissipated. No one wanted to see what their unpredictable king might do next.
“I would like to think that a lesson has been learned today,” the king began, still hugging the cleric’s shoulder as if they were drinking buddies sitting in a tavern. “As I told you all before, I will not tolerate these constant failures. I have had it with your excuses. My irritation grows with each passing day that I do not have my shaman back. You will double your efforts starting immediately. Is that clear?” Heads bobbed all around. “Good.” He released the cleric’s shoulder, but spun him around to face him directly. “Do you understand why I had you carry out the execution?” he asked.
“Yes sir,” he mumbled, even though he didn’t. He just wanted to be out of the king’s sight as soon as possible.
“Because you are now the next one in line,” the king explained. “I needed you to see firsthand what such an end must be like. I wanted you to smell his fear, to see his terror with your own eyes.” He grinned. “If you do not wish that fate on yourself, I suggest you find some way to motivate the others.” He turned back to the clerics and pointed to one trying particularly hard not to be noticed. “And you,” he said as the cleric’s head jerked up, “will be the one who nails him up. Then guess who will be next in line for execution?” He clapped his hands together. “Now get back to work and bring back my shaman.”
Chapter 11
The elegantly decorated room seemed to radiate with the jumbled murmur of laughter and idle chitchat. Raised wine glasses clinked in silent toast as the violinists played a slow, low-key melody. The soft background music set the perfect atmosphere for yet another one of Lord Alaric Bournfred’s parties.
As usual, the elites of Redwater didn’t particularly need a reason to celebrate themselves. Normally, only the privileged and powerful were allowed to enter these halls, but today’s festivities were a little different than usual. For the sake of image, Alaric thought it might be best to widen the social gap a bit. He wanted to prove he could relate to the common folk, as well as those of his own status. Appearances were always important, but more recently this proved to be especially true.
Ever since Liam’s less-than-ceremonious departure, it seemed as if Alaric had been fighting an uphill battle to stay relevant in the eyes of the people. Clearly, he had underestimated the level of respect commanded by his former mystic. And that respect seemed to have gone right along with him. Everywhere he turned, he swore he heard whispers of how they wished Liam would come back, of how they wanted Alaric to step down for the good of the people. Of course, those working for him assured him it was all in his head, and that those few angry folks did not speak for everyone.
No matter. Let them think what they will. Liam could never be half the man I am, and sooner or later the people will finally see that. Alaric took a long gulp from his glass, draining the last of his wine. “Yes, they will see,” he mumbled under his breath, rocking back a step before steadying himself against the wall behind him.
His vision a bit fuzzy, he eyed his room full of guests suspiciously. He didn’t really trust anyone these days, let alone this mix of commoners present today. “Famers, field workers,” he spat. Who talked me into inviting these useless peasants? What was I thinking? I should have them searched when these leave to make sure they didn’t steal any of my silverware. A firm believer in status segregation, just the looks of some of these folks disgusted him.
“You there!” Alaric said, pointing a finger across the room. His sudden shout drew quite a bit of attention as several heads turned at once. “Yes, you.” A young girl pointed to her chest, forcing her cringe to look like a smile. Her heart sinking, she cursed her own luck and made her way across the room.
“Yes, my Lord,” she said, dropping into a shallow curtsy while dipping her head to the side.
“Haven’t I seen you around here before?” he asked, staring down at her cleavage while making no attempt to hide it.
“I don’t believe you have, my Lord,” she replied, resisting the urge to tug up the front of her dress. Shifting her shoulders forward, she lowered her chin as far as she could, wishing she could just run away from this awkward exchange. “This is my first visit to the keep. I’m here with my father.” She emphasized father, hoping that would be enough to dissuade Lord Alaric from taking this any further. So far, the man was living up to his reputation.
“I see,” he said, his eyes finally flashing up to meet hers briefly. “And does this lovely flower have a name?” His eyes fell back down the front of her dress before even finishing the question.
“Gwen,” she mumbled, shifting her feet nervously. Only a fool couldn’t see how uncomfortable she was.
“Gwen,” he repeated softly. “A lovely name for a lovely girl.” He took her by the hand and led her towards the center of the room. “Shall we dance, Gwen?” he asked, his arms already wrapped around her waist. A nervous laugh squeaked past her lips as they swayed from side to side. She found herself constantly pushing her hips back to keep his body from rubbing up against her. As if the situation weren’t already awkward enough, they were the only ones dancing. With what seemed like a hundred sets of eyes all staring at them, she felt completely helpless.
As they danced alone, Alaric kept pulling her closer until their bodies were flush. She wanted to cry, to break free of his grasp and run away, but none of these things were an option. Lord Alaric ran this city, and disobeying him in any way was ill-advised, to say the least. She had heard the stories, even met a few of the victims herself. She knew what this horrible man was capable of. Just one dance. I can do this. Just one and then it’s over.
His hand slid up from her waist. Assuming no one could see because their bodies were so close together, he firmly cupped the side of her breast. She pushed him back in disgust. But he quickly snatched her by the wrists, pulling her right back into him.
Covering her mouth with one hand to keep from crying, she looked around for the first time since being dragged out onto the empty dance floor. Those stares she hoped she had imagined were all too real, but they were not taunting or amused in any way as she feared. No one was laughing at her. They were looks of pity and sadness. Many looked away in helpless shame when she made eye contact. After all, what could they do to help?
“My Lord.” Alaric paused, releasing the girl temporarily in order to hurry up and deal with this annoying intrusion. There stood a man with short brown hair, wringing his hat nervously with both hands. Wearing a vest that was far too small, he looked as if he had thrown his fancy attire together at the last minute. Or perhaps he just borrowed the ill-fitting clothes. “Please, forgive my intrusion, but I fear a mistake has been made.” The girl looked at him with pleading eyes, shaking her head ever so slightly. “I see you have met my youngest daughter, Edyln.”
Alaric turned towards the girl. “Edyln, you say? Did you not tell me your name was Gwen?” She forced a smile, her lips shifting about wordlessly as she struggled to find her voice.
“Er... My Lord,” the man cut in, trying to draw attention away from his daughter. “I mean no disrespect, but if I may be so bold.” He cleared his throat. “She is but a young girl. Can you not see that for yourself?”
“Father!” she grunted through her teeth, her eyes going wide before rolling towards Alaric. Sure she was frightened. And yes, she would do just about anything to get away from this man, but not at risk to her own father. She could handle herself.
“Sir, I find your actions to be most inappropriate,” the man said, raising his chin while folding his arms across his chest. A father could only take so much. “I think it is time Edyln and I took our leave. But before we do, I should like to hear you apologize to–”
“Hinlor,” Alaric cut him off, shaking a finger knowingly while scratching his chin with the other hand. “Sen Hinlor.” What little courage the man had built up suddenly fled from his body. Deflating, he dropped his arms, shoulders slouching. He certainly didn’t expect to be recognized. “Do you know why you received an invite to the keep in the first place?” Sen said nothing, now feeling as helpless as his daughter had a moment ago. “Your taxes, Sen. You are late. And I personally find that to be most inappropriate.” Alaric raised his shoulders and let them drop, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “I had hoped we could speak privately about this unfortunate misunderstanding, but it seems you are a most impatient man. I suppose we shall have to do this right now.”
“But my Lord,” Sen spoke up, able to find his voice at last. “I am only two months behind. As you are no doubt already aware, this year’s harvest was rather substandard. Yet I still managed to—”
“Only two months?” Alaric mocked, his ear-to-ear grin proving just how much he enjoyed watching this poor man squirm. Interrupting his fun came at a price, and that price would be paid one way or another. He stepped towards the farmer and slung an arm around his shoulder, giving him his undivided attention. “Tell me, Sen, if I were to plunge a knife into your chest one thousand times,” he curled his other hand as if holding a handle, then made several stabbing motions directed at the farmer’s chest, “would it really be so different than just stabbing you once? I mean, are there really varying degrees of dead?” Whimpering softly, the farmer shook his head.
“Well, of course not,” Alaric said, shoving him back while trying to make it appear playful. “So then, why bother telling me how late you are? Late is late, Sen. A day...a year...it makes no difference, correct?” Again the sniveling farmer shook his head. He felt foolish, thinking he could ever stand up to Lord Alaric. Even his daughter had tried to warn him back.
“But,” Alaric said, spinning away to refocus his attention on Edyln. “I am a reasonable man.” Once again he openly looked her up and down, showing no regard for the father who was standing right behind him. “Under normal circumstances, I am legally obligated to confiscate your farm. A pity, really.” He clicked his tongue, making a series of tsk sounds. “But I know that you are a hard-working man, Sen. I don’t actually like the idea of taking away everything you’ve worked your whole life for.” He started tapping his chin in mock thought, eyes up on the ceiling as if pondering this most complicated situation.
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, Sen,” Alaric said, snapping his fingers. “I think I’ll take the rest of this evening to weigh out my options. After all, I don’t dare make a rash judgment on something so very important.” He looked at Edyln. “I also think it would be best if your daughter here stayed with me for the evening. I think you’ll find that I can be most agreeable when I have the right company.”
“No,” Sen growled, almost in tears. “That will not be part of the deal. Edyln, you’re coming with—”
“I’m staying,” she said. When her father shot her a look, she practically rushed into him. Hands on his chest, she pushed him back several feet. But the aggressive push softened into a warm hug once they were out of earshot. “I’m staying,” she whispered. “I will not see you lose everything you worked so hard for when I alone have the power to stop it.”
“I won’t hear it. You’re coming home with—”
“It is not your choice to make.” Gripping the fabric of his shirt, she rolled her forehead back and forth across his chest, drying a few tears as she did. “Now go home. I promise I will return in the morning.”
“You don’t have to do this,” he began, choking on his words.
“Yes, I do. And we both know that. Now go!” She pushed off his chest and spun away, unable to look her father in the eyes for another second. Refusing to look back, she stepped up to Alaric and forced a smile. Her forced smile was at odds with her tear-filled eyes, but he didn’t care. She didn’t have to really be happy, as long as she was willing to cooperate. “Shall we go, my Lord? I’m sure you and I can come to an agreement on my father’s behalf.”
His return smile was not as fake as hers. It was quite genuine, in fact. “Of that I am certain, Edyln.”
* * *
Smashing his lips into hers, Edyln felt his front teeth click against her own. Her back hit the door with a heavy thud, his sticky tongue probing the inside of her mouth. He tasted like stale alcohol and day-old pipe smoke. For a moment, she truly believed she was about to throw up right in his mouth. It was all she could do not to push him away and start spitting on the floor. But she needed to be strong, for her father’s sake.
She flinched when his fingernails dug into her backside, nearly lifting her off the ground as he pulled hard at her rear. Feeling more teeth than lips, Edyln finally turned her face aside to relieve some of the sickening onslaught. It was more like he was trying to eat her rather than kiss her. Now licking her cheek, he pushed his hips up along
her leg. Feeling the bulge in his pants rubbing up and down against her inner thigh, her hand probed desperately for the doorknob behind her. Jiggling the knob with urgency, the door swung inward and they both tumbled through and onto the floor.
Scrambling to get out from under him, Edyln pushed against his forearms and squirmed her way free. Getting back to her feet, she composed herself and walked to the corner of the room. There she stood, her back turned, eyes straight ahead. Of course she knew this was his room. The twin mirrors in both corners were etched with golden leaves. Either one was probably worth more than a year’s salary for anyone else who worked in the keep. She looked in the mirror on her right. Her eyes were puffy and there were scratches on her cheeks and around her lips from his aggressiveness.
Staring into her sad reflection, she thought about her father, her little brother who was no doubt wondering where his big sister was this evening. She even thought about her mother who had passed away a few years back. Would she be proud of her for doing what had to be done? Ashamed, maybe? I don’t have a choice. I won’t let him take what has belonged to our family for three generations. Please, Mother, forgive me.
With a tug of a few buttons, her dress spilled down to the floor around her ankles. Glancing at the mirror once again, she could see Alaric’s reflection gratuitously staring at her backside. Obviously, the man wasn’t even trying to disguise his true intent with even the most modest attempt to act gracious, so why should she? Yes, he disgusted her. But each of them had something the other wanted. It was time to stop feeling sorry for herself and recognize her own power in this situation.
She spun around, his eyes coming up for the first time as she quickly stepped towards him. Pressing her naked body against him, she grabbed the front of his shirt and tore it away. She pushed him back, falling on top of him as they spilled onto the bed. Fingers tangled in his hair, she kissed him with all the passion she could stomach. As far as her true feelings were concerned, she might as well have been kissing a wild boar. It will all be over soon enough, and then everything will go back to normal, she told herself. She needed to believe that. That thought was the only thing that would get her through this night.
