With Footfalls of Shadow

by Donogan Sawyer

  “Yes,” Liam responded clearly. If they were trying to distract him from his defence, it was working. Liam understood where they were headed with this line of questioning. He had to pull himself together and focus.

  “Roger Pentervlees was executed last week for sedition,” Theron continued. “William Brinkley.”

  “Yes.”

  “Metilda Cummings?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bret Woolsey?”

  Through the pain in his skull, and the pity in his heart for the names Theron was shouting, Liam mustered a boom to his voice. “Proudly, I say yes. How many more innocent people have you murdered to justify murdering my daughter?”

  The crowd gasped as one.

  Theron walked up to Liam and stood very close. “Murdering your daughter, Mr Foster? Are you accusing the King of murder?” Theron looked to the King, who nodded his head slowly, then informed Liam, “Your fate is sealed, Mr Foster. You will die by the noose, but not before the audience hears of your colourful past.”

  Once again Liam was struck hard on the head. The blow pushed him to the brink of consciousness, and the accusations continued.

  “We have sworn testimony from several prominent individuals that you belonged to a secret society of assassins. For thirteen years you were employed in the purposes of disrupting the government of Jeandania. You have killed many soldiers, dignitaries and government officials.”

  “I fought for Jeandania. I fought for freedom,” Liam managed to utter.

  “You fought for money, Mr Foster,” Theron spat, and produced a document which he displayed to the assembly. “And it seems you turned your mercenary business into quite a profitable endeavour.”

  Liam could not see what was written on the parchment Theron held out to display, nor could the crowd.

  ~Æ~

  Only one set of eyes fell upon the document and was close enough to read it. One man saw what was written on the paper, and the conflict within him subsided. The document was all he needed to confirm the truth he suspected.

  ~Æ~

  Theron read from the parchment. “100 Lucre for a foot soldier, 800 for a captain, 1500 for all aristocrats loyal to the King, 1250 Lucre for one of the King’s royal guard. What have you to say to this, Mr Foster?”

  “Say to what?” Liam managed to ask.

  “This document was recovered at your home, Mr Foster. And there are hash marks on it next to each category.” Theron held the document up again. “Thirty-five of the King’s soldiers, Mr Foster? Remarkable, and quite profitable, but those seven captains were an even greater score. Tell me, is this how you financed your tavern, Mr Foster, and your sprawling estate? With the blood of young men faithful to their country?”

  “I inherited my property from my father,” Liam tried to explain, but he knew it was too late. They had won. They had turned their power against him, and dressed it up in nobility. They deflected their own evil onto him. Now the people of Jeandania thought of him as the evil one, a mercenary, a murderer for money.

  Theron continued to address the audience. “Many of you believed this man was some kind of freedom fighter. Liam Foster was no freedom fighter. He was an assassin. He had no regard for King or country eighteen years ago, and he has none now. His fortune was built with blood money, money earned for murder, and the proof is right here in front of you. He used this money for his tavern in Snake’s Mouth, where for years he encouraged upheaval by inviting liars, miscreants and traitors into his bar to entertain and corrupt the good citizens of Jeandania.

  “This man gains sympathy for the death of his daughter. Though the truth is that his misdeeds brought justice to him. Had he been a law abiding, faithful citizen of Jeandania, he would still be in Snake’s Mouth, and his daughter would still be alive. The disregard for the King’s authority and the disregard for the very sanctity of life this man has shown through his career as a mercenary is what cost him his daughter. He killed another of the King’s captains that night in Snake’s Mouth, and he killed a number of the King’s soldiers. Those brave young men served under a different king to the ones you killed for money eighteen years ago, Mr Foster, but their mothers wept just the same. Their wives are widowed just the same. Their children are orphaned just the same.

  “This time, however, Mr Foster, you were not paid in lucre for your misdeeds. This time you paid for your misdeeds with your own innocent daughter’s life.”

  The information was falsified. The evidence was tampered with. Still, Liam felt the weight of those words almost too great to bear. Again he felt beaten and powerless, and felt he was going to die very soon. But he found strength in the memories of the loved ones he had lost. For his dead wife and daughter, he knew it was his duty to respond.

  “It is true. I have killed many men.”

  “So you confess your crimes, Mr Foster?”

  “I confess I have killed many men, and I confess I bear some responsibility for the death of my daughter.”

  “Are you asking the King for mercy in the punishment of your crimes?” Theron asked.

  “I ask for mercy from the people of Jeandania for my failures, of which I have had many, but I have never received payment for taking a life. And where perhaps I could have saved my daughter, it was the King who murdered her, as he now intends to murder me.”

  Theron’s eyes flared, and then he turned to the crowd and started laughing. “The man’s defiance will never cease, in spite of the wealth of evidence brought against him.”

  He turned back to Liam again and growled, “You, sir, are no hero. You are a murderer, and a traitor, and Jeandania will be troubled with you no more.”

  “Sire?” Theron sought the approval of the King.

  Liam looked to the King, but his eyes were drawn to the purple robed servant that stood beside him. He did not bother to watch as the King made his decision.

  “Guilty,” bellowed the King.

  ~Æ~

  Travis had been listening with rapt attention along with the rest of the crowd. Liam had made a noble effort to defend himself, but the King produced far too much evidence against him, conjured or not. Travis had been certain all along that Liam’s plan would end in his death. Yet, over the last few days, his certainty had begun to wane. There was even a part of him that believed events might end well, that somehow Liam could be the answer to all the problems in Jeandania. He thought beyond hope that Rhemus and Kaila would be able to do something.

  ~Æ~

  Lyra tried to remain calm. Liam had not signalled for his sword, and she understood why. It would be futile to fight his way out, especially weakened from Theron’s blows. She was gripped by panic, and fear, and helplessness. She tried to push it back, before she did something she would regret. Then she looked behind her to little Rhemus, then up to the scaffolding around the gallows, and she began to hope.

  ~Æ~

  There were three of them now, gnawing away at the ropes. Occasionally Filos could see one of their tails swing over the side of the scaffolding, and then disappear quickly. Kaila was focusing intently, trying to encourage another up the beams, while Rhemus kept the ones at the top working on the ropes. Filos watched the little mouse scurry up the fresh wood. It would move up a few feet, and then stop, look around, and then continue upward. Time was running very short as the executioner walked Liam slowly towards the gallows.

  Kaila let out a short gasp, and Filos watched the mouse lose interest in its climb and scurry back down under the dais.

  “It’s alright Kaila, just keep trying,” encouraged Filos.

  “No. You don’t understand. It’s Rhemus. He is working with the mice, but there is something else here, working against us. Rhemus is saying it’s more of our kind.”

  “More of your kind?”

  “Yes, with eyes like ours. I think they must be the ones I told you about. The ones with the old man.”

  “The old man, eh? Is he here as well?”

  “I think so.”

  ~Æ~

 
It took some time for Argus and his companions to discover the mice. Argus had been certain they would have a plan, but could not guess what it might be. As the King had directed, he and the Mikraino were stationed at the back wall of the assembly, watching for some kind of disruption. Gastious had convinced Arconus to prepare for a rebel attack, but Argus considered that possibility unlikely. He felt sure their means of aid would be far more subtle, and now it seemed he was correct. Dantun and the others sat in a wagon at the back of the assembly. It was a wagon designed for livestock, now housing only the three Mikraino, covered by a thin fabric. The people in attendance at the assembly could not see them, and Dantun had expressed to Argus that the fabric was no impediment. Argus signalled to Dantun to observe the scaffolding, but Dantun and the others were already at work.

  ~Æ~

  Travis moved from the ledge on which he was standing, and climbed onto the top of a nearby wagon. He wanted a better vantage point from which to confirm what he thought he saw. What a cunning idea. He had thought it preposterous when Lyra and Rhemus proposed it, but now that he could see it working. If the mice could chew through the ropes, and Liam fell through to the ground alive, the King would have to let him live. Not even Arconus would defy the will of the fates. It was a small hope, in a small package, but it was something.

  ~Æ~

  Dantun and his companions focused on the actions of the other Mikraino, the one who was directing the mice. He frightened Dantun, but his master had directed him to fight. He would try.

  ~Æ~

  Travis saw them in the distance, but thought little about them. He had always been fond of birds. In the tense environment, the sight of a winged animal, floating freely above the tangled thicket of human conflict, always gave him some comfort. Travis set back to watching the events unfold before him. At the moment, Liam was kneeling, taking the moment of silence granted to all those about to be executed. He wondered what the old soldier was thinking. Was he planning something, or was he simply making peace with the life he was about to leave?

  He glanced up at the sky again. The birds were getting closer, and they seemed to be flying straight at the assembly. Strange that they would hold their course like that, he thought.

  ~Æ~

  Lyra could not stand the tension. Liam would be hung in moments. She contemplated throwing Liam’s sword on the dais as he knelt there, but his hands were tied. She knew that she would endanger herself, and worse, she would endanger Rhemus with what would likely be an act of futility. She didn’t want to distract Rhemus from his duties, but she couldn’t help asking, “How are we doing?”

  “I think they are almost through. We could do it if we had a few more. Someone is fighting me, though, and fighting Kaila.”

  ~Æ~

  Filos only noticed them at the last moment, but he realised immediately what they meant. The three hawks swooped in from the sky, one after the other. They glided in low from behind the assembly, directly over the gallows, and each bird neatly plucked a little mouse from its perch atop the scaffolding. Their plan was foiled.

  ~Æ~

  “Well done, my little friends. Well done,” effused Argus from outside the carriage. “Come, it is time to leave.”

  Dantun was satisfied, but conflicted. He wished to please his master, but his master had killed Shagien. Dantun did not understand much of this world. As the days and weeks passed, he understood more and more, but for each mystery he was able to solve, he found several more. Now, as he sat in the cart beside his two friends, he was fixating on a new mystery; the mystery of the other Mikraino. Who was he? He was familiar somehow and frightening. Dantun felt a great conflict within himself. At once he wanted to be near him, and also to kill him.

  ~Æ~

  The crowd gasped at the sight of the birds, and their heads turned as one to watch them fly away. Liam remained kneeling, meditating, oblivious to the birds, the mice, and the quiet battle that had just been waged, and lost, in an effort to save his life.

  XXXII

  Birds of prey swooped down upon the crowd and plucked a meal from the scaffolding of the gallows. It is the way of the fates that the powerful shall prey upon the innocent. But the fates are just, and sometimes, with great sacrifice, the meek may devour the strong.

  – Passage from Lazaro’s Flame, recounting the day of the trial

  It was the ink that gave Rhedmond Ban’hoen the impetus to save Liam Foster. Rhedmond was involved in many aspects of running the castle. For generations he and his family had served the residents of the castle, whoever they were. They were raised to be impartial. They served the crown, not the man who wore it. They were faithful, obedient and highly professional, and because of this, the Ban’hoens were the most trusted servants of the King. Their jobs were very important. They tended to every detail. They maintained the mystique of the Kingship. The silverware was polished and symmetrical on the table. The candles were always new. The King’s quarters and his garb were always properly fitted and immaculate. Even the ink for his pen was of the finest quality. The guests were spied on. Men were killed at the King’s orders, usually by poison, sometimes with the blade, and sometimes at the gallows. The Ban’hoens served in all of these capacities.

  When Theron produced the bounty list, Rhedmond saw it clearly. The actual document may have come from Liam’s property, or perhaps not. Rhedmond knew, however, that Liam did not make the hash marks on the paper. The ink was clearly Royal Indigo. Rhedmond was an expert in ink, and Royal Indigo was a new mixture of dye, derived from the purple lotus in the northern deserts. It was a rare flower, and a unique colour of ink mixed specifically for Arconus. Rhedmond was one of about twelve people in the world who might be able to recognise the ink on sight, and he was certain.

  Rhedmond knew the consequences of the action he was about to take. He had been raised in the knowledge that his life was not his own, but the King’s. It was his duty to die for his liege if the need arose, and he had always been willing to fulfil his duty with honour. But now he was about to challenge those vows. He was not concerned for his own well-being. He was concerned for the name of Ban’hoen, and for those he would leave behind. He was especially concerned for his brother, Richard, who stood on the dais next to the King. Richard knew of Rhedmond’s interest in Foster, but could not have known what he was about to do. The act would likely cost him his life, but Rhedmond had seen the true nature of King Arconus; from the injustice of his rule to the vulgarity of his appetites.

  Rhedmond had befriended Tiffany, the King’s current young concubine, when she first arrived at the castle, or at least he had tried. Rhedmond was never sure of how much the teenage girl was really aware because of the psychedelic mushrooms she took to ease her pain. It was then that he had dropped all illusions of the King as a man chosen for the position by the fates, beyond the judgment of other men.

  Then he began to hear the rumblings of a man from Snake’s Mouth who had defied the King, who defeated his soldiers, who stood for righteousness, and who carried himself with the dignity and honour worthy of a king. While it sometimes made him uncomfortable to serve a tyrant, and it pained him to execute political enemies, he had always been secure in the knowledge that he had no choice. It was the duty of his family to maintain the distinction of the Crown.

  Now, for the first time in his life, Rhedmond felt as if he were presented a choice. On the dais, next to his twin brother, sat a man unworthy of the crown he had committed his life to protect, ordering him to kill the only man Rhedmond had ever seen who might just be fit to wear it. At the beginning of the trial, Rhedmond had been confused and disturbed at his situation, but he had decided unequivocally to support the King, as was his duty, until he saw the ink on the document presented as evidence. Then he saw the birds of prey swooping overhead and plucking a meal from the top of the gallows, and he made a decision. Perhaps he had just witnessed a sign from the fates. He would be the mouse. He would be the meal, as was his duty, but his flesh would nourish the true king of Jeanda
nia.

  ~Æ~

  “Filos, you had better get down there,” said Kaila. “Rhemus is signalling to me. Lyra is beginning to panic. I think she might be planning to take matters into her own hands.”

  ~Æ~

  Liam was ready to face death. Indeed, part of him longed for it. His life had been full of pain, and he had seen much suffering, but he knew he was lucky for the joy he had experienced. His wife, his daughter, Rhoie, and his tavern had all brought contentment and enrichment to his life. For those things he was thankful, in spite of the terrible pain of their loss. He knew he had been granted more good fortune than was allotted to most.

  As Liam knelt on the dais he remembered the good times: laughing with his family, mending a broken chair, or arguing with Rhoie about politics or what he should do with his life. Liam hoped there would be a place he could go, after the noose squeezed the life from him, after the darkness, where he might be able to join in death those he had parted with in life. He also hoped he had comported himself with honour, and that he would be remembered well. He had no way of knowing what the people in the assembly might have thought of his defence. He only hoped that they had listened, and that perhaps some minds would be opened.

  Liam had spent the last few days preparing to die and he was ready. He opened his eyes and scanned the audience one last time for Lyra’s face. His eyes met with hers. She was crying. He would miss her.

  ~Æ~

  Lyra felt for the sword under her dress. She gripped the handle tightly, and moved towards Liam as the executioner placed the noose around his neck. If only his hands were not tied, he might have a chance.

  ~Æ~

  Filos pushed through the crowd. He was not sure how he was going to dissuade Lyra from whatever she was planning. He was not even sure he wanted to dissuade her. If Liam were condemned to die, why not take a chance?

  ~Æ~

  Rhedmond reached down to aid the kneeling Liam Foster to his feet. He turned Liam by the shoulders to face him, and spoke in a tone too soft for anyone but Liam to hear. “Please do me the honour of remembering my face and my name. I am Rhedmond Ban’hoen, and I am about to save your life.”