Whatever fool had let himself be caught by Kelera would need to be warned.
Kelera's face went hard making Pietro hold his breath. Had he pressed too hard? Even a losing army could dig in, purely for spite.
But an army broken once was quick to break again, and within moments Kelera's face lost its edge.
"I-," she paused and licked chapped lips. "I do not know his name."
Kelera lifted her bound hands and pulled her hood back up. Its frail protection hid her dirty red hair and cut face. Had Pietro really thought she looked proud before? The wind seemed to quiet around them when she continued.
"I followed Georo one night, and he met with a nobleman." her words rushed out. "With gilt on his belt buckle and a fine green cloak, he must have been one of the nobility." She looked franticly about, clearly wracking her mind for details.
“I could not hear his voice, but I heard him struggle to breathe between whispers. Give me time. I am sure I will remember more, just please don’t kill me!”
The tempest picked up again, muting Kelera’s pleas.
By the damned Breeze, Pietro thought. A tightness crept around his chest and terror poured into him. He attempted every calming technique he could: tapping his fingers on his thigh, breathe only through his nose, slow and controlled breaths.
He had known his wheezing might kill him one day but never like this.
After a minute, fear's grip loosened and only a single wheeze emerged. Each breath came easier and Kelera sobbed in front of him oblivious at how close she had come to destroying him.
Pietro stood and looked at Kelera thoughtfully. He worked hard to keep rumors of a nobleman helping the rebellion strictly confined to the Council families. Coming from Kelera, the accusation might be a confirmation many of the Council feared.
Pietro nodded at Marlon. The guard hesitated ever so briefly, his gaze lingering on Pietro in an appraising manner. Had the ugly guard pieced together everything he had heard? A trickle of sweat ran down the young lord's back. He found it a struggle to swallow. Yet, for all his consideration, Marlon grabbed Kelera’s shoulders and pulled her the last pace to the surface of the Gale Wall.
"What? Why?" she screamed, as she resisted the large man. "I have told you the truth! I swear that Georo and a noble both helped the resistance get near the Sacred Grove’s wall. You have to believe me!"
Pietro wished to look away but he had to sign her death warrant stating he had watched her execution, and he was a man of his word.
As much as I can be at least, he thought.
Edgar gripped her arms and legs. Even bound, someone had to hold her steady so Kelera's head could be brought to the Gale Wall’s surface. Pietro looked at the wall again and was reminded of the surface of a river: smooth but moving. Marlon pushed her face into the wall, and her cheek met fast moving grit. Pietro saw Marlon’s arms tremble at the effort to keep Kelera’s head steady.
The young nobleman heard flesh sizzle before Kelera really started shrieking.
He watched the whole display: like a blade held too long on a grindstone, Kelera’s head was worn away by the massive amount of dirt and sand caught within the Gale Wall's grasp.
Pietro’s eyes occasionally followed the ribbon of red that snaked up the Gale Wall. It would be visible for a few days as it traveled around Yon with the rest of the dirt, a reminder of the Council of Yon’s control.
Thankfully, Kelera gave in - or perhaps fainted from the pain - after only a minute or so. When Edgar stood up her arms did not move from where they fell. A few moments more and all that would be left would be a bloody stump of neck.
While Marlon focused on the execution, Pietro signaled at Edgar. The guard walked smoothly behind Marlon. Pietro saw a flash as a dagger appear from a secret place into Edgar's hand. The man was quick with his fingers, amusing children with coins “found” behind their ears. There was another glimmer of silver as the dagger pierced a space in the armor below the other guard's ribs.
A surprised grunt from Marlon was followed by a kick from Edgar. Marlon's body was snatched up by the Gale Wall. The body quickly flew out, and Marlon's screams were lost in the wind’s steady song.
The Gale Wall was certainly convenient for getting rid of evidence. The wind, though it moved in a steady circle around Yon, always blew away from the city. A one-way trip from Yon that none ever returned from.
"It's a shame, My Lord," Edgar said. "Marlon was a good man."
"I’m sure he was, but he was loyal to the Council. I sent a man to approach him to join the Wind Tamers, but Marlon tried to turn the man in. Marlon would have recounted everything he heard, including the detail about my wheezing. That would be the end of me."
Edgar wiped the dagger on Kelera’s remains before sheathing it.
Now, Pietro would have to think of a reasonable story for Marlon's disappearance. Something that didn’t involve killing the horses that were sheltered down the road. That would cause an investigation.
Perhaps, Kelera struggled too much and pulled Marlon into the Gale Wall? That would avoid any problems if the wind proved fickle and the body managed to be seen.
Lies come too easily, Pietro thought.
"Edgar," he called in a sharper tone than he meant. "I'll need you to carry a message to our carpenter friend. He needs to be more careful about those he recruits. I don’t want to hear of any more who are ready to talk in exchange for their safety."
"As you wish."
A final thought struck the young lord. “And Edgar, I want you to teach me some of your sleight-of-hand. I need to improve my chances of ‘drawing’ the black stone. Perhaps we can plan ahead for these executions.”
Pietro would mourn for Kelera, less now since she had betrayed the Wind Tamers, but he felt a sadness creep over him nontheless. The rebels needed everyone they could muster, and every execution was a loss they couldn’t afford.
But some of the tension in his shoulders eased. He finally had a plan to get around the execution lottery. Today marked a turning point for the Wind Tamers.
About the author:
Jericho Ambrose is a fantasy writer who lives in Austin, TX with his boyfriend. When he isn't writing (and he doesn't write nearly enough), Jericho is reading epic fantasy, eating Indian food, or finding new ways to express his hatred for wicker furniture.
Connect with Me Online:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/JerichoAmbrose
Author’s Website: https://www.jerichoambrose.com/
Whichever Way The Wind Blows Page 2