“Commander!”
Jerlo stepped off the staircase and turned. What the hell was Su doing down here? The Rangers’ medic was supposed to be guarding Sarn inside the stronghold, not lumbering across the meadow with Gregori hot on his heels.
“Why aren’t you at your posts? I’m a little busy right now, so make your explanations quick.”
“Sir, you know who has disappeared.”
“You mean the Kid—Sarn?” Jerlo lowered his voice, so only his subordinates heard.
“Yes, your visit upset him, so my wife mixed a sleeping draft but—”
“He conned his brother into drinking it instead—that canny boy. So when you checked on him, you found the brother but not Sarn, am I right?”
Gregori and Su exchanged an unsettled glance, but it was the latter who spoke. “How did you guess?”
“It’s what I would have done. The real question is how did he sneak past the two of you?” Jerlo eyed his subordinates, but both looked stunned rather than guilty.
“That’s just it. We don’t know. We never left our posts.”
“But we think he climbed down.”
“That Kid was in no shape to climb anything let alone from several-thousand-feet up the mountain.”
“We think he might be better than he let on.”
“No way could a Kid who's been bedridden for months make that climb. It’s not possible.”
“Well he did,” Gregori insisted as he folded his arms over his barrel chest. “Those windows are wide enough for one skinny youth to squeeze through and he has,” but the bearish man trailed off before invoking the ‘M-word.’
The unspoken word hung between them, offering itself as a pat explanation. Guidron waved from the platform indicating Jerlo should join them now. Things were about to get very interesting.
“Find him and keep me informed. I’ve got business to attend to.” Jerlo squeezed through a gap in the throng without a backward glance at his subordinates. He could mete out punishments later.
Hadrovel was propped up in front of Lord Joranth on his knees but facing the mob. Those miserable eyes scanned the crowd then came to rest on a spot in the middle distance. Jerlo pushed through the hushed crowd to his Rangers.
“What’s he looking at?” Jerlo tapped Nolo’s arm to get his attention, but the Black Ranger stood like a black smudge at his shoulder. It gripped a black curve, and Nolo’s hand was reaching for a black arrow from the quiver half visible on his back.
“What’s who looking at?” Nolo asked, but his voice seemed to come from far away as if he spoke from the bottom of a well. “Hadrovel—you’re taller than me. What do you see? Put the whole Death’s Marksman thing aside for a moment and look. Gregori and Su lost the Kid. I need to know if you see him.”
“Sarn’s here?”
“Yes, I need your eyes Number Two.”
Nolo shook himself, and the Black Ranger receded, but the bow and quiver remained, and the quiver rested in Nolo’s hands now. At least he had stopped groping for an arrow. That was progress.
The sun appeared long enough to gild Joranth and set his blade ablaze. “Die for your crimes and may God have mercy on your soul because I won’t.” Joranth struck like a thunderbolt, but his sword stuck fast in Hadrovel’s neck. He wrenched it free then laid into Hadrovel again and again, each time shouting “Die!” at the top of his lungs.
But Hadrovel didn’t die. Joranth’s blade cut through skin and muscle but could not cut tendon, or bone. All the blood bleeding out of Hadrovel did not affect him either. He kept right on breathing.
“Why won’t you die?”
Joranth kicked Hadrovel in the back and sent him sliding along the platform leaving a bloody smear behind. He withdrew a knife and stabbed Hadrovel in the eye, but the blade bounced off it without penetrating. Hadrovel laughed until the blood running down his face made him cough.
“Looks like death has forsaken me,” Hadrovel rasped, and his statement unnerved the crowd enough to make it take a collective step back giving the Rangers some much-needed breathing space.
“Fetch rope. We’ll hang him and see how long he lasts.” Joranth withdrew a cloth from his pocket and wiped down his bloody sword. “Bring a hammer. Break his legs.”
“You heard our Lord, fetch ropes,” Guidron bellowed.
“I could mark him for a grisly death.” Nolo fondled one of the wickedest arrows in his collection. It was barbed in places an arrow had no business being barbed.
Jerlo rested a hand on his second’s, lowering the arrow. “It may come to that, but not yet. We need to find the Kid. Concentrate on that. He’s more important than a madman.”
“You don’t really believe he’s down here, do you?”
Jerlo nodded. “I know he’s down here. It’s just a question of where.”
“Let me look for him. I’m wasted on crowd control.” Ranispara gestured to her dark green tunic and trousers. She didn’t have a bright green sash marking her as security for this debacle.
“Go help your husband and Su.”
She nodded and disappeared into the crowd as pages returned carrying ropes and a blacksmith’s hammer.
Lord Joranth seized the hammer and slammed it down on Hadrovel’s left thigh. Hadrovel screamed as his bones shattered.
Joranth leaned in close and whispered, “I do to you what you did to one of mine.”
“You should keep those you value close to you.” Hadrovel grinned displaying blood smeared teeth.
“You should not touch what doesn’t belong to you.” Once more Joranth raised the hammer above his head. His eyes spat fire. The sun darted behind a cloud, and a shadow fell over the meadow. Joranth hesitated as a chill wind blew past, whipping his cloak around his ankles. He slammed the hammer down on Hadrovel’s right leg.
“Death has come for the monster!”
The crowd took up the chant. Jerlo glanced at his second
“Are they right? Is death here?” Jerlo pointed to a dark smudge forming out of the smoke wafting off a hawker’s grill. Some people had no shame.
Nolo shook his head. “No, it’s just a change in the weather.”
“Damn, I’d hoped Death would take that psycho off our hands.” Jerlo chinned himself up onto the platform. Nolo leaped up beside him.
“Show off.”
Nolo shrugged then offered his boss a hand up.
“Oh, to be young and agile again.” Jerlo accepted the hand, and they faced the travesty playing out on the platform’s middle.
“Old age has its perks.”
“Who you calling old? I’ve got fifteen years on your thirty.” Jerlo gave his second the side-eye.
Nolo didn’t reply. His attention and indeed the whole crowd’s attention had fixated on the Lord of the Mountain who was poised to strike down Hadrovel with all his hate.
In the hush that fell, Hadrovel shouted, “Do it. Beat me to a bloody pulp like I beat—”
“Shut up and die.” Joranth squeezed the hammer’s handle and swung it down, aiming this time for the monster’s head.
“No!” Jerlo moved to stop Joranth from playing into the monster’s hands.
The hammer stopped an inch above his head. Nolo’s hands gripped the shaft. Though Lord Joranth was taller and more heavily muscled, years of politicking instead of training had eroded some of his strength. Nolo was younger and fitter, and he refused to budge.
“No, my lord. This is not the way. Let justice be done upon him, not vengeance.”
For a moment, their gazes met, and respect snuffed out the killing rage in Lord Joranth’s eyes. He nodded and released the hammer.
“Thank you for reminding me of my place. I won’t forget what you’ve done for me.” Lord Joranth inclined his head to Nolo then signaled to Guidron who rushed to join them. “Break his arms then string him up over there.” Joranth waved to the concentric rings of menhirs. “Hang him upside down between two standing stones on the riverward side. Let him die within sight of water but let no man or woma
n bring him relief.” That last part Joranth directed to the silent crowd hanging on his every word.
Seven hours later, the bells of Mount Eredren tolled twenty times. The sun hung low, setting the river Nirthal on fire. Tired of abusing Hadrovel and waiting for him to die, families were packing up their picnics and moving in small groups toward the trail leading up to the mountain’s glowing doors.
But that psycho clung to life. Hadrovel breathed even though there was no way he could relieve the pressure on his chest. But somehow, he managed to draw in just enough air to stay alive. It beggared belief. For seven hours, Hadrovel had hung upside down, legs and arms akimbo and he still wasn’t dead. Blood crusted his body, and his bladder had to be near to bursting by now. But upside down, without gravity to assist, there would be no relief until death took him—if it ever did.
“Why isn’t he dead?” Jerlo tilted his head back to take in the darkening sapphire sky and invited the Almighty to explain this mystery.
“You don’t think he—” Nolo paused to swallow the gorge rising at the mere thought of blood drinking. He shuddered no doubt recalling the scars on Sarn’s arms and legs. The kid had often been bled for no reason anyone could fathom.
Jerlo cursed. Mix one boy with magic in his blood with one psychopath, and the result hung between two standing stones—a body that wouldn’t die despite the damage it had taken.
“Drank the kid’s blood? Yeah, I don’t just think it. I know it.” Jerlo cursed long and hard though he cut it off when his gaze crossed with Ranispara’s. She shook her head then slipped back into the dispersing crowd to continue her hunt for Sarn. “Damn that stupid Kid, how could he elude my best people for seven hours?”
Nolo shrugged. The ‘M-word’ hung between them again, but neither voiced it. Jerlo shook his head. Who knew what the Kid could do with the magic burning in his eyes. Thank God Sarn would soon be someone else’s problem—but not soon enough. He still had to find the boy.
Jerlo cursed as Guidron and the executioner headed in his direction. Why did all the difficult problems land in his lap?
“Oh no, they are not foisting this thing off on me. Not happening.” Jerlo turned to make good his escape but his second blocked the way, gripping his black bow. “Not you too.”
“We have to end this.”
“You mean you have to finish this.”
Nolo’s gaze hardened and the black quiver appeared on his back. The Chooser of Death looked out of his dark eyes determined to end this farce.
“Oh fine, but only if you put the Black Ranger away. You’re creeping me out.” Jerlo made shooing gestures until the dark aura left his second. Jerlo cursed again then squinted up at the setting sun. “You have no sense of proportion.”
God’s only reply was to drop the sun another finger width, so the enchanted forest obscured part of it. Giant trees, some of which stood over five-hundred-feet tall, broke the sunlight up into golden spears. They stabbed Hadrovel where he hung on the shore between two gray stones that stood more than a dozen-feet tall.
“Firing squad,” Jerlo said as the grim-faced executioner reached him with the Guard Captain in tow. “I can provide the archers. I’ve got a squad of them with itchy fingers. Not one of them will think twice about it either. They’ve heard the charges.” And seen the evidence, but he kept quiet about that since no one except Lord Joranth was supposed to know about Sarn.
“Assemble them.” The lead executioner nodded, looking relieved to hand this problem off to someone else.
“How long do you need? His Lordship wanted this over and done with before dark.” Guidron reseated his sword belt on his lean hips then stuck his thumbs through the leather loops meant for weapons.
Jerlo caught the arm of a passing Ranger and jerked him to a halt. If Tenebray’s head turned any farther to the left, his neck would snap. But the young Ranger could not tear his eyes away from the hanging psycho, not even to look his commander in the eye.
“Assemble the Rangers on the green, now. Everyone is to come with a bow and full quiver. Go.”
“What about—” Tenebray trailed off as he pointed at Nolo.
“Yes, send word to Inari to bring his bow too.”
A surprised Tenebray sketched a quick salute and snapped out a hearty, ‘Aye, aye sir,’ before beating it up the mountain to carry out his orders. No doubt he hoped his lapse in duty would go unpunished, not likely.
Satisfied the problem now lay in someone else’s hands, the executioner and the Guard Captain drifted back to a tent where refreshments awaited them. When it became apparent that Hadrovel’s execution would take all day, Lord Joranth and his retinue had traded the balcony for the comforts of a tent and trestle tables laden with food and drink. Nor could Jerlo fault them for needing a respite from the sun baking the meadow and its dispersing crowds.
“Why is Tenebray fetching my bow? What’s wrong with this one?” Nolo held out his hand, and a bow manifested. It was blacker than death. “I can end him.”
“Not your place, trust me in this.”
“What do you mean it’s not my place? I can mark him for the worst death possible—”
“Not your place.” Jerlo patted Nolo’s arm then turned his protesting second. “Look!”
Before the sun dropped behind the serrated horizon, one last ray shined between those distant peaks, illuminating a cross. Enchanted trees leaned to either side allowing the beam to highlight a lone figure. In the noble’s tent, a minstrel strummed a somber tune. His fingers plucked in time with the tall boy staggering toward Hadrovel. A chill wind gusted nearly ripping his cloak off, but the Kid gripped it and hobbled onward leaning on a stick.
The dying ray fell fully on him, changing a shattered victim into a spotless lamb on his way to slaughter. The missing Kid clutched something in his off-hand that refracted the light.
In a daze, Jerlo stumbled toward that innocent boy. Blood washes away innocence, protect my lamb, whispered that still small voice, Jerlo had strained all day to hear.
“I hear and obey, my Lord.”
Time dilated, stretching the minstrel’s tune out until it lost all meaning. The few people left on the meadow to witness the end of this spectacle froze. The setting sun’s last ray disappeared by slow increments as Jerlo moved dreamlike through the thickening air. He skidded to a halt in front of Sarn. For that one moment suspended outside of time, the Kid was his problem. And he solved it by locking his midnight eyes with the Kid’s burning green ones and praying for a miracle.
“I just wanted it to end,” Sarn whispered, gripping the knife in his shaking hand.
“I know Kid, but executions are no place for children,” Jerlo said as day finally turned to night, and the red glow crowning the distant mountain and its cross, faded into darkness. God still stood on that mountain, and his eye was Jerlo’s eye. And through it, He saw all, knew all, was all.
“I’m not a child—” Sarn started to say, but God reached through Jerlo and gathered the boy in, enfolding him in oblivion, as He took the Kid’s pain and all he’d seen that day. Sarn wavered, but Jerlo caught and lowered his limp body to the ground. A knife fell from his hand. It gleamed in the lumir light like an accusation until Jerlo kicked it away. It had not claimed this boy. He was still as innocent and pure as the snow crowning Mount Eredren’s crooked peak.
“It’s over for you. We’re going to take you back to your brother, and all this will seem like a bad dream tomorrow, but you’ll get through it.” At a loss for what to do next, Jerlo patted the sleeping Kid’s head. His dark hair was clean and baby-soft.
“What just happened? Everything got very strange for a moment and—”
“Commandeer a rolling chair,” Jerlo snapped at his second. “We need to get the Kid out of here, now.”
"Have you no heart?" Hadrovel rasped. "Let him see things come full circle—how all things end."
If he’d had saliva to spit with, Hadrovel would have spat at the boy.
“No, you’ve done enough damag
e. It ends here. He’s going back to where he belongs, and you’re going to hell.”
Hadrovel barked a cruel, mocking laugh.
A few minutes later, Nolo returned with a rolling chair, and they bundled the Kid into it. His long legs draped over the armrest because there was no place to put them. With all life’s cares erased by sleep, Sarn looked younger than fifteen.
“He looks awful.” Nolo shook his head then gently covered the Kid’s face with a fold of his cloak.
Sarn’s eyes were red-rimmed, and he smelled of vomit. The poor Kid needed a wash, a meal and rest, not more psychodrama. But none of the Rangers pouring onto the green would take the Kid inside. Their eyes were hard and their will sharpened by anger. Quite a few retirees joined their number for this deadly exercise. The timing had been perfect—one watch had been about to end and another to start which had put quite a few Rangers within easy reach. Word of mouth had brought the rest down.
“Your bow,” Inari said as she held it out to Nolo. She quirked an eyebrow at the oddness of the request but didn’t ask her husband why he wasn’t using Death's bow. Maybe she already knew. The shrewd glance she threw Jerlo certainly implied that she did.
He had not expected her though Inari’s presence made sense. She was a hunter by nature and Hadrovel was the kind of prey she could sink an arrow into without any guilt. What a woman she was. Would that all women had her fire and spirit. What a world that would be, one he’d be proud to inhabit. Jerlo shelved such pleasant thoughts for another time.
Inari had her recurve bow in hand and two quivers full of arrows. One she handed to Nolo but the other she kept. Both bow and arrow had come with her to Mount Eredren. Before Nolo could comment on his wife taking part in the firing squad, she set her chin, and her beautiful earth-colored eyes took on a steely edge. Oh, she was all Huntress now.
Jerlo clapped Nolo on the back distracting him from the rising confrontation.
“I saw what that monster did. I’ve sat at Sarn’s bedside for over three months. I will end that fiend for him.” Inari brushed a lock of dark hair out of her eyes as her troubled gaze fell to where Sarn lay on the sedan chair’s seat. Her hand tightened on the bow stave. “And maybe it will end his nightmares.”
Curse Breaker: Books 1-4 Page 50