by Scott Moore
“Bastard,” said the soldier who had been hit. He drove another punch into Nov’s side. This time, the other man had a good grip, and Nov was ready for the blow. So, with a wince he took it in stride. “Let’s get this fucker out there to hang,” said the soldier, as he spit a wad of blood onto the concrete floor.
The second soldier opened the wooden door. Nov looked up to see the hundreds of faces before him. Judging eyes cast their decree. Trialed and sentenced, Nov thought. Their minds had already reached a verdict. Matter of fact, it wouldn’t be their minds at all, but the single mind of Duchess Mankamp. The Duchess wouldn’t be the one handing down the sentence. That job would be in the council’s hands. Their small tribunal would be the judge and jury.
The soldiers pushed Nov across the threshold and into the crowd. Barriers had been placed to make the pathway easier to transverse than the day before. They rushed Nov across the empty grounds and then started the long trek up the stairs.
If Nov hadn’t been tired before, he was by the time they reached the top of the stairs and pushed open the double doors to the hall.
Like always, the crowd stood to the side and in front of the council members. The members were the only ones sitting in seats.
Nov already knew his sentence; it would be execution for him. The real question wasn’t the verdict, but the actual contingency that led up to it. Would Nov get his last visitor and meal? It was after all his rights and the protocol, but that didn’t mean the council gave a damn. More than likely they would strip him down to nothing and throw him naked and cold into the cage. He would forgo the meal and the visitor. Not that it mattered a bit, no one would visit Nov anyhow. The woman had already tried her stunt to spring him from the cells. He had refused. Why he didn’t get up to save himself, he still wasn’t sure. It had to have been the guilt. He deserved this fate; he dug his grave with his own actions.
The murmuring grew louder as Nov approached the table. They would guess at the same things Nov tried to guess at. What would the council say about his actions? How would they sentence him? Would it be the rope or the blade that ended his life?
Shylo Gant, the head of the council, sat in his normal spot at the middle of the table. He held up his hand for silence, as soldiers forced Nov to his knees. The soldiers stepped back, away from the prisoner. Nov was all alone in the center of the room. Shylo lowered his hand. He looked tired, it was early morning, but this was a different tired.
This was a ruling tired. The tired you get from listening to commoner’s complaints about food rations, taxes, or disputes. The look of a man who had to hear the suggestions from the Lady Duchesses, the nobles, and the other council members. A tired that a man portrayed when he had been ruling for far too long.
Nov could see it in the creases on Gant’s forehead. He noticed it in the slight shaking of his hands. Most of all, it was noticeable in his eyes. It was the way he looked at Nov now, not disgusted or judging, just accessing.
Then as the buzz died down and Shylo was expected to speak, he just waved his hand. He did not speak a word. There would be no trial. There would be no defense, explanation, or questions rendered. With the flick of a wrist Nov was condemned to death. Gant looked back down at the table, covered in papers he seemed to have more important business than Nov and his life.
The buzz turned into a dull roar and this time Gant did not check it. Nov’s mind was numb. He had expected the results, but it was so cold and real. Two soldiers came from behind, pulling him up by his shoulders. Nov felt knots in his chest and his breathing became ragged. It felt like he had been fighting on the battlefield all day.
The soldiers turned him toward the tower doors. The holding cells for execution were not the same cells he had wasted in last night. They would lead him to the less savory parts of Sera. The soldiers pushed him forward through the crowd. Nov could hear the derogatory remarks about his character. The thankfulness that soon he would be parted from this life. Nov could not even bring himself to care. His mind swam with fear. Genuine fear of death clouded his thoughts. Not that he wanted to spend any more time with the poison of his own mind.
The door opened and Nov felt two hands between his shoulder blades. The last few steps became a blur. His shoulder bounced off the ground with a thick smack, but he didn’t even feel the pain. The soldiers picked him back up by his collar and continued to nudge him forward.
The walk took them around the entertainment district and up the playwright alleys. They were named this as the bars here were said to be the inspiration for the greatest plays ever written in Sera. People gathered at the stoops of the bars and watched as Nov was herded past. Here, fewer people spoke about his actions, the artistic were always more somber Nov had noticed. They were devising a play to tell his end. The final walk of a dead man.
Cobblestones turned to dirt paths. The crowd thinned. Not even they wanted to venture into the execution holding cells. Nov kicked up straw and dirt as he walked. Horses and other animals were housed in this section of the city. The air smelled of shit and bugs bit at any exposed skin. The soldiers pulled out cloth to cover their faces, it would be spritzed with perfume to block out the smell.
They forced Nov into a small cell, barely big enough to sit down with his legs stretched, and impossible to lie down in. He would not be guarded tonight. Nov would spend his last night in Sera on the dirty, shit covered grounds, and he would spend them very much alone.
Headlong into the night, not realizing there is no day that follows.
42
Sammy had intently watched Miles fight the animal. Never had Sammy seen a man move so fast. Even Miles, who was a killer, had never moved with such grace before. He twirled, jumped, and rolled with blinding speed. It took everything to just follow his movements, let alone understand what he had done.
The creature had just as much trouble following as the battle waged on. It looked as if the creature lost sight of Miles several times and paid the ultimate price. A slash to the thigh, a wrist disappeared into the ground, and finally a sword through the back of the neck. Sammy felt the coldness of the beast as it whispered out of sight. It was almost as if it tried to communicate with him somehow, but Sammy couldn’t understand what it said.
Then it vanished from this world. Miles hung high above the ground and Sammy saw a smile creep over his face for a moment before he crashed hard to the ground. Miles’ head bounced once with a smack off the dirt road. A sudden rush of air escaped from his lungs and he grunted. Sammy watched Miles close his eyes and lay still as a rock.
Sammy waited for Miles to disappear. The creature had taken him. At last, Miles had lost a fight. Sammy stepped closer, wondering what he would do with himself now. Sammy stepped right next to Miles; his chest still moved up and down, Sammy supposed that meant he still lived. He hadn’t gone to wherever the other soldiers had gone to visit. Miles was cut and bruised and some of his old wounds had been reopened during the fight. Sammy examined them and felt wonder at Miles having survived again. He didn’t know how this man, unlike all the others, could fight so well.
Sammy kneeled beside Miles. He had looked this way the night they had spent in the old farming shed. Sammy had seen him do this a few other times. He tried using his fingertips to pry open Miles’ eyes. They opened with gentle pressure, but they did not see. Sammy let go of the eyelid and it fell back into place. Sammy shoved Miles’ shoulder, but only received a soft groan.
The battle had taken everything out of Miles. The last remaining energy had been spent slaying the monster. Whatever had come over him to make him move so fast had left him. Now he was a crumpled, bloody mess in the middle of the street. Sammy shoved the shoulder of Miles again. Still nothing.
Sammy had been so engrossed in Miles, he had not heard the first few doors opening. He had missed the growing chatter that now filled the air. He tilted his head with no fear of the people who were banging doors in excitement to leave their homes. Curiosity peaked at how many people had hidden. Not a single man
or woman came to help Miles as he fought the beast alone. Not a single peep emitted as Miles looked at sure death. Now they came out in droves. They ran into the road and caused dust clouds in their joyful running. Sammy lifted his hand off Miles and stood to watch the people lining the streets.
Sammy noticed young and old alike with curious expressions on their faces. Men stared down at the body of Miles with their mouths ajar and their eyes wide. Women shied away from his glances as he stared toward them. The children were busy running around the small spaces between buildings. Sammy heard them screaming about finding the dead monster. They wouldn’t be finding the creature though. It disappeared just like all those before it.
After several moments of staring one another down, two older women pushed through the barrier of people. The first woman pushed Sammy away from Miles with a hand to the chest. Sammy didn’t struggle or try to fight back, he wasn’t sure how to fight, or what the women were doing.
“Just like a man to go and kill himself,” the woman scoffed.
The second woman came forward and placed her hand on Miles’ chest. “Looks to me he is still breathing,” she said.
The other woman gave a look of disgust. “Such is a shame for him, he will hurt for some time,” she replied while kneeling to place Miles’ head upon her knee. With a flick of her finger, she ushered a group of children toward her. “Water and rags.” The children turned to run off toward the buildings. “Be quick about it, no playing,” she yelled after them.
The women continued to prod and poke at Miles. Miles continued to do nothing. The women chatted back and forth, but Sammy didn’t understand most of the words they were saying. Something about healing and bringing him back from near death. All Sammy noticed them doing came down to pressing on different parts of Miles’ body.
When the children came back, the women went to work with wet rags over the spots where Miles lost red liquid. They cleaned the areas and said more words that Sammy didn’t understand. Once Miles was clean enough for their liking, they tossed the rags on the ground beside them. The once white cloth turned a deep shade of red.
Sammy looked up and noticed that the other villagers had gathered around them. The women no longer seemed to shy away from his gaze. The two women beside him took Miles jaw in their fingers and pried it open, dumping liquid from a mug into his mouth. Sammy thought this a good idea; men seemed to become happier when they drank from mugs.
At first, Miles sputtered, and the liquid ran back down his chin. Then he started to swallow, and the woman poured faster until the liquid emptied. Miles gave a few coughs and a loud groan before he opened his eyes.
***
Miles’ head throbbed, and his world spun. His eyes were slow to open, and he felt the hardness of the ground below his back. Had he been beaten and thrown from a whore house? It wouldn’t have been the first time. He was sore enough for that to have been the case. His entire body felt like a horse and carriage had run over him. He tried to move, but fingers prodded him and held him down.
“Don’t move too quickly now,” one voice said.
Miles glanced toward the voice and saw an old lady he had never seen before. She poured water down his throat. Water he hadn’t even realized he had been drinking. Another woman swam into his view and dabbed his chin with a dry cloth. Maybe he had gotten too drunk. His world spun fast enough for him to believe that. Everything before this moment had been a drunken dream. Nothing he had thought happened during his dream had really happened at all.
It was a nightmare more than a dream. Something no man would wish upon even his worst enemy. Miles tried moving again, just to have the hands hold him down. They spoke again but Miles spun too fast to hear them. Maybe moving wasn’t the best idea anyhow. His body was sore and any movement he made sent shocks through him. He had to have been beaten. Even a good day’s romp wouldn’t leave him this sore. Miles squeezed his hands tight and felt earth fill them. He was outside, that he could be sure of. He thought he heard the chatter of several people around him. Maybe he was in the city and the bustle of life went on around him.
Miles felt the fingers of the women dig into his sides. These two seemed to like to play rough. That was okay, as soon as he regathered his bearings, he would give it to them both. They were older than he normally dabbled in, but he wouldn’t discriminate after such joyous news. Waking up from that dream made him see life in a new light. He was still a lord. He couldn’t see why anyone would give up that pleasure for anything. He hadn’t joined the rebels, because only a man with a death wish would do something so stupid as that.
Miles almost laughed at those creatures popping up from the ground. He gave a small chuckle at the thought of slaying a beast as big as he had dreamed. He wanted to just push the dream from his mind. Wanted to clear his mind from everything. He wanted to take these two women back inside their brothel and celebrate waking up from that hell.
Miles wanted to do all of that, but Sammy stuck his ugly, fucking head into Miles’ view. Sammy’s eyes stared at him, still in the simple wonder of a child or invalid. His goofy damned grin spread across his face, like an infant who had just shit itself. His entire face sent waves of anger through Miles. The damn face meant many things, but the major thing it meant was that this hadn’t been a dream. Miles wanted to reach out and punch Sammy in the jaw. He wanted to smash his head in, over and over again. However, his hands were not in the most cooperative state, so instead he had to do so with words.
“Get the hell away from me,” Miles screamed. Or rather he tried to scream, but even his throat didn’t work right, so it came out in a croak, which didn’t sound threatening or scary at all. Not that Sammy would have gotten it anyhow with his simple fucking mind.
Sammy didn’t move. His smile even seemed to grow wider. Miles coughed to clear his throat. “I said get the fuck away from me.”
Sammy still didn’t move away. The surrounding chatter had grown silent. Miles pushed himself up but fell right back into the embrace of the women. He needed some insult to slur at Sammy. Something that would hurt the man’s pride, but Sammy didn’t have pride, and Miles’ head hurt too much to come up with something clever.
“If you ever come around me again, I will treat you like those damned beasts and chop your head from your shoulders,” Miles said.
Sammy’s smile faded a bit and confusion crossed his face. It wasn’t much of a change as Sammy always looked fucking confused.
“You bring those damned creatures, don’t you?” Miles asked.
He understood the hypocrisy of asking a question after you told a man to leave, but he was in too much pain for getting things in the right order.
Sammy didn’t answer. He never answered questions. He was too fucking stupid.
“I have seen it happen several times now, you idiot. The creatures walk right through you. They don’t give two shits about your existence. They never try to kill you, even while they slaughter everyone else. You get to sit there with your dumbass grin on your face. Everyone else gets murdered by those fucking things. You bring them, you are the reason they won’t leave me the fuck alone!” Miles had gotten some of his voice back and used it to his full advantage.
The adrenaline surged through his body as the anger rose in him. It helped ease the pain. Miles pushed himself to a seated position. He could see that the crowd had gathered in closer as he started to address Sammy. The women, who had been cleaning his wounds, stopped and listened too. Only Sammy didn’t seem to get the message. He still sat on his knees hovering around Miles’ face, with that damned simple look.
Miles extended a hand to a man near him. The man grabbed it and hoisted him to his feet. The women didn’t bother to protest this time.
“I need something to drink, something stronger than this damn water.”
The men chuckled and one clapped him on the back, Miles tried not to wince with the pain.
The crowd turned toward a small building off to the right. Miles guessed it would be the town bar. He
started to make his way toward it but turned one last time.
“Never come around me again, Sammy,” he said.
Not all glory leads to happiness.
43
Miles received a hero’s welcome. Ushered into the local tavern and pushed to the front. A gentleman pulled out a barstool for him and the two ladies, who had followed, hoisted him onto the barstool. The barkeep slammed a large tankard of ale in front of him.
“Back up and give the man some room,” the barkeep yelled over the commotion. The men and women all dispersed but did not leave. They found seats at the bar and tables behind Miles. Miles took a quick sip of the ale and felt the warmth rush over his body. He needed to get good and drunk to forget about it all. Miles reached into his pocket to fish out any coin he had left. He slammed a few coins on the counter, but the barkeep gave a joyful laugh. “You keep your money, after a feat like that I wouldn’t dare take coin from you.”
Miles was too sore and too tired to argue, not that he would have argued with free drinks anyhow. Miles picked the cup up and drained half in one gulp. It wasn’t the best beer he had ever consumed, but it could have been piss poor and he would have still swilled it down with earnest. The last few weeks had taken everything from him and his only hope to get it back was to drown out the constant barrage of thoughts with a good drink.
Men and women, who feigned interest in gathering drinks, continued to come forward, patting Miles on the back and congratulating him. Miles didn’t feel like much of a hero. He felt like death had come knocking on his door and then kicked the door in when Miles didn’t answer. The only confusing thing was that death had left him here in this shitty world. Left him here to suffer. Miles took the tankard and finished the amber liquid. As soon as the cup touched the counter, the barkeep poured him a new one. He could get used to the service, service he would have had as a lord, but at what cost was he getting it now?