The shades exchanged worried looks. They knew they were beaten. In unison, the spirits lowered their arms and stood still. Skera-Kina released her spell, and the strand holding one of them dissipated. Then, one by one, they floated out the window without looking back.
Skera-Kina wiped the blood from her arms with a piece of fabric that was belted to her waist, but the jagged cuts remained open and visible.
The High Priest crawled from behind his chair. “Is it safe to come out now?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Skera-Kina replied in a flat voice. “You may come out.”
The High Priest looked down at the ragged group assembled below. All his guards were unconscious or dead, their bodies scattered about the throne room.
The old man looked embarrassed. He had completely lost control of the situation. He struggled to salvage what little dignity he could by directing his anger at Skera-Kina. “Why are you just standing there, Skera-Kina? Do something!”
Skera-Kina looked at the priest with hooded eyes. “You aren’t in any danger at the moment, Your Grace.”
The High Priest’s face turned so red that his nose flushed dark purple. “I don’t care about that! Look at my chamber. Look at my guards! The room is destroyed. Kill him! In fact, kill them all!” His whole body shook with anger.
Skera-Kina looked at Tallin, and then back at the High Priest. She stood silent as she struggled to make a decision. There was no doubt that Tallin had saved her life. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she said, “No. I shall not kill the dwarf. If you want him dead, get someone else to do it, or do it yourself.”
The High Priest recoiled as if he had been struck in the face. “What?” he asked with an outraged whisper. “You dare refuse a direct order from me?”
“Yes…I refuse,” she replied.
“Your refusal to obey is a death sentence, Skera-Kina! You shall be stripped of your office! Stripped of your honor!”
“So be it,” she replied. “You may execute me, but I will no longer be manipulated by you. I will no longer be used. My death will free me.”
The High Priest glared at her. “I am deeply disappointed in you, Skera-Kina. Very, very disappointed. I believe that I chose poorly when I promoted you to Blood Master. Now I must correct my mistake.”
The far door swung open, and a fresh group of guardsmen entered the chamber. The High Priest motioned to the new guards. “Soldiers! Take these prisoners to the main square! Skera-Kina, too. Tie them to the dog posts and wait for me there. The executions shall begin at sundown!”
The guards moved forward to arrest them. Skera-Kina clenched her fists tightly at her sides. One of the guards touched her shoulder. She jerked away but otherwise did not attempt to fight. When the guards moved to surround Tallin, he braced for a fight, but there were too many of them. He decided not to resist.
As the guards led all of them out of the wrecked chamber, the High Priest’s voice could be heard echoing behind them. “Blast it! Call my servants in here to clean up this mess. Move these bodies out of here! By the gods, my chambers are ruined!”
Tallin, the elves, and Mugla walked out of the chamber surrounded by guards. Skera-Kina lagged several steps behind them, flanked by even more guards, all of whom wore frightened expressions on their faces.
Tallin looked back at Skera-Kina, and as he did, he saw her face change. On her countenance, he saw a look of liberation.
They locked eyes for a moment, and Tallin felt a connection he could not explain. Skera-Kina’s lips parted, and she mouthed silently, “In death, I shall finally be free.”
3. The Hangman’s Square
The soldiers led their prisoners into the city square to await the High Priest’s orders. The square itself was a massive open space filled with merchant’s booths, soldiers, and slaves. One side of the plaza was dominated by the Temple. On the other side stood the town hall, surrounded by statues of former priests.
Cobbled roads branched outward from the plaza in every direction and led to other parts of the city. The square looked a great deal like the plazas in Parthos and Morholt—or, it would have, if not for one dark detail.
The very center of the plaza held an enormous executioner’s circle. The merchants kept clear of it; they set up their booths along the plaza’s perimeter, sometimes glancing at the gallows with visible dread. A huge wooden beam with dozen of ropes attached ran across the stage, designed for public hangings. The structure was undecorated and painted black. Hooded and silent, an executioner waited on the platform.
Under the gallows, there was a set of wooden stairs and a set of steel cages, just large enough for a grown man. There was also a line of wooden posts with iron loops attached to them. Behind the gallows, a vast fire pit belched black smoke. As Tallin’s group approached, the executioner cut a dead prisoner down from the gallows and threw the corpse into the fire pit, which flared up as it consumed the dead.
The soldiers led the captives underneath the platform to wait. The elves were chained with iron shackles around their hands, feet, and necks. Tallin and Mugla were tied to a wooden post with ropes, but this time, the guards didn’t bother to enchant them. There wasn’t anywhere for them to go—there was no escape.
Skera-Kina was escorted out a few minutes later. Unlike the others, she was locked inside one of the steel cages. Guards carried the cage to the center of the square, where they placed Skera-Kina on a small stage near the gallows—in a position that was in clear sight of the crowd.
Tallin recognized Skera-Kina’s apprentice in the crowd. His arm was still in a sling. The young man was smiling—he was enjoying Skera-Kina’s humiliation.
Now that they were out in the fresh air, the elves looked more alert. Amandila blinked her eyes as if she was awakening from a trance. “What’s happening to us? Are these men going to kill us?”
“We are in danger, but be patient,” Tallin said. “All is not lost.” He turned to his aunt, who was tied to the post nearest to him. Her gaunt face was lined with fatigue and hunger. “Aunt, do you have any idea what they plan to do to us? How much time do we have to escape?”
Mugla sighed. “At sunset, they’ll kill us. The High Priest usually doesn't bother to attend executions, but I’m sure he’ll be present for this one. At sunset, he’ll come down to the plaza and issue his judgment in front of the crowd. Then we’ll be hanged from the gallows. In the morning, the executioner will cut down our bodies and incinerate them in the pit.”
A large crowd formed around Skera-Kina’s cage. A soldier spat at her and hooked a painted sign onto the bars.
“What does the sign say?” Tallin asked. “I don’t recognize the script.”
“The sign says ‘oath breaker’ in their language,” Mugla replied. “Treason is the worst crime imaginable—a traitor is the only person who has lower social rank than a slave. Skera-Kina’s refusal to obey the High Priest is considered a terrible offense.”
The crowd began pelting Skera-Kina with clods of earth and rotten food. She stood emotionlessly inside her cell. She didn’t flinch when objects hit her through the bars.
“She’ll be humiliated and then killed,” said Mugla. “There’s nothin’ we can do.”
Tallin watched the scene with growing revulsion. Across the plaza, his eyes locked onto her face. There was no anger in her eyes—only resignation.
He felt a storm of conflicting emotions rising within him. He tried to remind himself that Skera-Kina had caused a great deal of havoc and suffering—and so many deaths. She was a murderer.
So why did he feel pity for her now?
As the minutes passed, the crowd grew larger. People started chanting obscenities at Skera-Kina, shaking the cage and spitting on her. Skera-Kina remained quiet and did not utter a single cry.
The sun began to dip below the horizon. It grew noticeably colder, and Tallin’s breath turned into white vapor. A s
low drizzle started to fall, but the crowd did not disperse. The moisture turned to steam on the closely huddled bodies in the plaza and created an eerie, misty cloud. The atmosphere took on a ominous quality, like a scene from a nightmare.
Finally, a horn sounded, and everything went silent. From the western side of the plaza, the High Priest entered the square accompanied by a vast entourage of guards, attendants, and slaves. Together with his entourage, he moved toward the gallows in the center of the square.
The High Priest stepped forward and took his position on the stage, flanked on either side by two other high-ranking priests—officials dressed in garish costumes complete with flowing red robes, shiny black stockings, and powdered wigs piled high on their heads. The High Priest didn’t wear a wig or a hat, but he did wear a glittering white robe. It sparkled from afar with silver embroidery and colored gemstones.
“All this ceremony for a simple execution? These people are insane,” Tallin said.
The elves started to look more alert.
Amandila blinked and shook her head. “It seems that the entire city has come to watch us die.”
Mugla nodded her head with disgust. “All of this is completely normal for them. Their preferred entertainment is public violence, and their bloodlust is encouraged by the priests. They’re all eager for the slaughter.”
The crowd grew rowdier as the people became excited by the prospect of violence. Scattered fights erupted. More guards were brought in to pull rowdy citizens away from one another and to calm the gathering.
The High Priest raised his staff into the air, and the crowd quieted down. “This woman is an oath breaker! She has defied me and threatened my life! She is an enemy of the state!” The old man then turned to Skera-Kina and addressed her directly. “Prisoner! How do you plead?”
A sardonic smile drifted across Skera-Kina’s face. “Why would I plead when you have already decided my fate, Your Grace?”
Her words drew a chorus of jeers from the crowd. With a scowl, the High Priest lifted his hands again to silence them. “The charges are true and correct! You are guilty! Guilty of treason!”
After an moment of tense silence, the crowd erupted into cheers. The High Priest nodded solemnly and then started toward the gallows.
“Now what?” Tallin asked.
“Now they hang us,” said Mugla.
Fëanor piped up. “They won’t kill me that easily—I’m not surrendering without a fight.”
Mugla shook her head. “Can ye break the bonds of cold iron, elf? They know yer weakness. They won’t remove yer shackles, not even after ye are dead. There’s no escape.”
Fëanor’s shoulders slumped, and Amandila started to cry.
Tallin felt the glowing warmth of his dragon stone inside his pocket. In all the commotion, he was lucky that the guards had forgotten to take it from him. “Don’t despair,” he said quietly. “There’s still hope. Duskeye sent me a message. He’s coming to rescue us!”
Mugla’s eyes grew wide. “No, Tallin. No! Tell him he can’t. He’ll be killed! Any dragons crossin’ the island perimeter will activate the protective wards. There are wards specifically designed to stop dragons from coming to this island. Without protection, he’ll be torn apart in the sky!”
Tallin’s face went white. “What? You never told me that! Who would set wards specifically against dragons? Oh no!” He felt fear rising up within him. Would Duskeye die trying to save them?
“Duskeye might be able to circumvent the wards,” said Fëanor, a bit cryptically, “if he was smart enough to get help from my queen.”
Tallin looked at the elf. “Explain yourself. And I mean right now.”
Fëanor cleared his throat. “The Balborites didn’t set the wards upon this island—their spellcasters aren’t skilled enough to set wards on such a large area. The elves did it, thousands of years ago, as part of an ancient compact. The only way to bypass the wards is by using a special key—a shadowkey—and our Queen has it in her possession.”
Tallin grasped at this small glimmer of hope. “What is it? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“A shadowkey doesn’t look like a regular key,” said the elf. “But it works in a similar fashion. It’s an enchanted object, but more powerful than any enchanted object in the human realm. A shadowkey will allow anyone to bypass the wards with ease.”
“I’ve heard of shadowkeys, but I’ve never seen one myself,” said Mugla.
Fëanor continued. “You wouldn’t be able to—there aren’t any shadowkeys left in the mortal lands. The elves destroyed most of them eons ago. Any remaining shadowkeys are kept in Brighthollow. There are several shadowkeys in Queen Xiiltharra’s possession. A few were made by humans, and others were crafted by other races, but the spells required to create them has been lost to mortals.”
Tallin’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier, when we were still on the mainland?”
The elf paused, as if surprised by the question. “The information is rather sensitive. Knowledge of the shadowkeys is restricted to elves only. The keys themselves are an abomination. The knowledge of their creation has been lost to mortals for some time, which is as it should be. To create a key like this, you have to slay a dragon and then anoint the key with the sacrificial blood of the creature. Killing a dragon is not something that my people take lightly.”
Disgust flashed in Tallin’s eyes. “You have to kill a dragon to create a shadowkey? So the elves slaughtered a dragon to create this key?”
Fëanor looked uncomfortable. “Yes. One was made by the elves long ago after the Balborites were barred from breeding dragons. Long ago, the Balborites had their own dragons and dragon riders. The elves put a stop to that.”
Tallin gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Unbelievable! Your queen gets to determine what we have a right to know, even if it costs us our lives? We’re your allies! We should be helping each other. Wait—let me ask you this—would Xiiltharra actually let you die here, rather than risk us having access to a shadowkey?”
Fëanor raised his chin defiantly. “Perhaps, but despite everything that’s happened, I support my queen, even if I am forced to die here. You mortals act like children! Spoiled children! How could you ever be trusted with something as powerful as a shadowkey? Mortals cannot be trusted—not with all their pettiness and constant warmongering. What is happening here is proof of that fact.”
Tallin shook his head. “You elves don't have the right to force the other races of Durn to bend to your will.”
Mugla interrupted them. “Shush now, stop fightin’. Your bickerin’ isn’t helpin’ things. Look…they’re bringin’ Skera-Kina this way.”
Shouts echoed through the plaza as the priest’s slaves dragged Skera-Kina’s cage over to the gallows. The entourage followed the priest up the stairs.
A group of blackbirds started gathering in the trees around the square. There was a single red-crested raven sitting at a distance from the other birds, bouncing back and forth on the branches of a tree. It was larger than the other birds and seemed to be waiting for something. When Skera-Kina passed, it cawed loudly, and she looked up at the raven with visible sorrow in her eyes. It was the first time she had showed any emotion.
When the soldiers reached the gallows, they left Skera-Kina’s cage under the steps, near the other prisoners. Tallin caught Skera-Kina’s eye again. Her voice floated across the short distance between them. “It is almost over, brother,” she said. “I’ll be the first to be killed, so this is farewell.”
Tallin looked up into the darkening sky. “There’s hope yet,” he whispered quietly to himself, “but it had better come soon.”
Mugla laughed suddenly. “I should warn ye, nephew, if I’m to die today, I’m plannin’ to take a few of these buggers with me. I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve, and iron shackles won’t stop me.”
T
allin smiled despite himself. His aunt was as feisty as ever. Even the fear of death didn’t break her spirit.
After the High Priest ascended the steps, he pointed at Skera-Kina’s cage. Four guards went beneath the platform, removed Skera-Kina from the cage, and escorted her roughly up the stairs. Several more guards looked on, ready to strike if Skera-Kina attempted to escape.
The executioner stepped back and grabbed a wire whip that was lying behind him. The whip had dozens of filaments, and each one had a sharp barb at the end of it.
“Thirty lashes!” cried the High Priest, and the crowd cheered again.
The executioner swirled his arm in the air in a theatrical way, and then brought the whip down on Skera-Kina’s back. She flinched slightly but did not cry out. Although her warding tattoos offered some protection, any of her skin that was not tattooed was vulnerable to the sharp barbs. It wasn’t long before her back and shoulders were streaming with blood.
“She isn’t going to fight back? Not even a little?” asked Tallin. “She’s just going to let them do this to her?”
“She cannot fight them,” said Mugla. “She’s taken a blood oath. She can’t harm the High Priest, either directly or indirectly. Blood oaths are what hold the assassins to their masters. If she attempted to hurt the High Priest in any way, it would cause her blindin’ pain. She can only refuse to obey him. Death is her only escape. I guess she is finally tired of being his chattel. Even her position as a Blood Master wasn’t enough to make such bondage worthwhile.”
Despite everything that had passed between them, Tallin felt saddened by Skera-Kina’s impending death. “I actually feel sorry for her.”
The flogging was over. They all watched as the executioner bound Skera-Kina’s hands behind her back. Mugla sighed. “Skera-Kina never had a chance at a normal life. Slavery and bondage is all she’s ever known. Life is unfair, Tallin. Sometimes people are victims of circumstances that they don’t deserve.”
Kathir's Redemption (Book 6) Page 3