The sacred square might have served as a market if anyone dared set up a stall on its perimeter. It had the right things, a broad open area where people could congregate, ample shade around the edges to keep the fruits and meats from spoiling in the direct sun. It offered quite a bit. Except it had one thing no other square in the great city had, a direct line from the supposed bedroom of the Immortal that she might look down on the proceedings at any moment day or night and see her handiwork.
With so many packed in, fighting for every step became commonplace. Those who had been placed on a specially erected dais to watch it all could hardly move. Kendrick presided as the two were brought forward to be chained to the posts where they would be burned alive.
He almost wished they would say something. Anything. Prove life still beat within them. Except he got nothing. Versa kept her face down, hiding her eyes. Warden appeared to have been brought while still sleeping, just as he had been when they found him several nights before. Whatever Kendrick did had worked in a way he never expected.
Power did that at times. It changed things beyond the intention of the user.
If only he had more time to study what he had done.
He surveyed the rooftops around the square. His mother had not told him how she would get the Daughters to intervene. They would not wear their masks of the final injustice until the last moment. To give themselves away sooner would be folly, they were considered just as much traitors to the crown as those about to be set alight. Even more so as their loyalty lay with someone who had dishonored not only her place as a princess of the realm but also as a wife of the Black King.
If one could call someone who lived for horror and bloodshed a great king. Those of the Burning Island did, but Kendrick saw them as patently unwise, so that didn't truthfully count.
Each of the eight foot columns in the square stood strong against what might have been a growing wind. The weather was not to be trusted. It would not be the first time a fire lit turned into a blaze to fight. It would spoil the spectacle and make it possible for things to escape notice. He wanted neither at the moment. If he could, he wanted to insure this went off without mistake. He would look upon the corpse of his former lover and allow that image to comfort him in the time he had left among these fools.
Neither of the prisoners resisted their chains, standing in the pool of specially made briquettes to enhance the scent of burning flesh. Circling around to the front, Kendrick sought to catch Versa's eyes. She refused to look up and though the words were on his lips, he refused to say them.
Things between them had not been bad, only secretive and all lovers kept secrets. Be it the bottle he kept hidden away near the door for when he went to work or the woman he dallied with while his wife sat home with the baby, he kept his secrets. The same was true of her, keeping her trysts to herself and insuring he smelled none of it over supper. None of them were without secrets. His were, however, more monumental. He would bring down a thousand year old empire from within and she had helped him.
The wind whipped some of her hair in her face and Versa tried, without success, to remove it. Kendrick stepped over the small wall of bricks still being built and pressed his fingers to her face with a familiar gesture. Her eyes darted to him and she drew back.
"This is your doing," Kendrick said. "Your choice." The workers faded away as he sought something in her eyes. Some sign she understood the truth of her decision perhaps. He almost kissed her, then a green sparkle appeared in her eye. The remains of his spell.
He desired her silence when he came to take on Warden.
Her mouth twisted into a monster's grimace before she turned her head.
"I did this to you."
Her silence was his doing. Deny it however he might, she wanted to rail against this but he demanded her silence. Her obedience. He forced it on her. His strength blew away with the growing wind. Power did not care for your intentions only your will.
It acted based on what you wanted, not the outcome you desired. A cardinal rule he chose to ignore in his haste to receive his due.
Backwards, he stepped across the wall and out of range. From Versa he looked to Warden who also appeared to be lost in thought over his imminent demise. Kendrick knew he was also affected, but he couldn't say how. That night, he'd heard and felt something strong and angry. The Black King's form had come as a dragon, a mighty beast who laid waste to cities. Warden had not been that. Yet to deny he had nearly destroyed a solid metal door would be to give less than his due.
Someone touched Kendrick's elbow and he stiffened as if they could see or hear his thoughts.
The small man beckoned Kendrick down to his lips.
"Your mother sends her regards."
Then he slid away like a ripple of water leaving behind only the memory of his passing. The press of the crowd hid him with such ease Kendrick knew the man practiced often.
Good, they were there, waiting for their turn. Kendrick returned to the dais behind the columns knowing others watched him like vultures. The question was only what part of him did they want: his power or his life?
Nothing would have made him happier than to sit down and allow this to go on without him he realized as he slumped onto the seat provided for him. He was one of the few given leave to sit. The council, flanking him from various directions, had to stand through the entire thing. At his left was the ceremonially empty seat of the Immortal herself. If he had to gall, he would have sat there. He held the highest position in the land now.
She would never return.
He sought out the window of the castle high above said to be the window of the Immortal's bedroom so that she could watch her enemies burn. It wasn't true. The part of the castle where Leviana slept was on the far side of the main building where even the scent from the square would have a hard time reaching. Whatever her reputation, this part was undeserved. Brutality had its uses, but she was no true tyrant.
The brick layers finished their work and when they did, each of the prisoners had a knee-high wall to keep them from escaping even should they manage to somehow remove their stout chains.
Above them, the heavy sound of a gong summoned silence. The time to begin had come.
Kendrick rose from his seat and with his hands before him as in prayer walked to the edge of the dais. Others around him shied away as he did, giving him the space to be at the fore. It suited them well to fall back like good soldiers. He did not need their assistance.
His voice carried well enough though he fought the wind seeking to carry his words away.
The litany of crimes meant nothing; treason was enough.
Even the smallest child had heard by now of how someone had attempted to assassinate the Immortal and succeeded when she succumbed to her injuries. To hear her own Trusted had assisted in that attempt had come as a surprise to some but only some. Others claimed they had known all along the only way to reach the Immortal was through those she placed her life with.
The crowd moved, full of a life of its own, as if to warm itself on the fires about to be set.
In the final part of the ritual, the Voice was expected to ask those about to die if they had anything left to say. Having already seen the prisoners, he knew there would be nothing. Warden's brash voice would not be heard nor the more melodious, at least to him, sounds of Versa.
The fire bearers stood at the edge of the square with their live coals and small sticks taken from the castle grounds. There were trees kept there just for this purpose as trees resisted the thick and often unhappy ground around Arathum, a relic of the broken days when the Island had nothing and no one.
They came forward when beckoned and built their blazes efficiently on the inside edge of each wall to hide the fire from the threatening wind.
When the first bright tongue of flame clawed it's way up it brought with it a plume of smoke so thick the burner stumbled back and sat down on the stones. He coughed and sputtered, but finally with the aid of his companion walked away.
The execution began.
Silence reigned over the sounds of mild shuffling and breathing. There was life, but no one spoke. Kendrick stood at the edge of the dais straining for even the slightest sound of someone alive who would soon not be while his eyes roved for the Daughters to make their move. Sweat ran down Kendrick's neck. They might be waiting for the screaming or the far-off guards to lose interest.
This had to happen. If it didn't he would be sacrificing too much for too little.
Only the fire seemed interested.
Then the sound of a single long cannon blasted through the air. At the edge of the square to Kendrick's right, a man went down clutching his face. Long cannons had been brought to the capital, but they were not in the hands of the guard yet. It had been one of her last choices as Immortal to bring them in but with no one competent to train them, the weapons languished awaiting no one knew what. The rush came through the open gap in the guard line, five men armed with weapons and undoubtedly followed by more.
Kendrick cursed.
They had chosen the side closest to Versa. If they left her behind, it would open questions as to why his lover had not been rescued while another, arguably worse, traitor was taken. Of course, he could not answer that. How could he be expected to when he had nothing to do with any of this.
He bellowed to the remaining guards.
"Put them down!"
They moved with obedience, but they were not equipped for this fight. Swords and axes required closeness a long cannon did not and some were mowed down as they took their fight to their enemies. What were a few foot soldiers his mother had said. He had to agree.
The Captain came to bundle him off a moment later, whispering in his ear.
"We'll take the far road. Otherwise, you may be killed here."
He wouldn't be, but it had to appear as if he feared for his life.
Her scream snapped his resolve.
It rose above all the other noise as if it had been chosen. She did not scream his name. She did not curse. It was a vocalization of purist pain, nothing more. Whatever reproach she felt for him, he would not know. He tried not to imagine the course of the fire licking its way up her skin leaving behind blackening curls as it went. The Captain grabbed him, forcing him in the direction they decided.
"Come!"
Others followed leaving behind the commotion in the square and Kendrick muttered curses under his breath. He couldn't be certain if they had gotten to Warden in time or if the man was even of any use anymore. The magic had done something to him and Kendrick could only guess at what. His failure with Versa offered him little solace.
Rescued by Murderers
In the square, the smoking fires caused confusion with every motion. The added bursts from the long cannons did nothing to help. Instead they drove people to flight and when a throng choses to run, there are always victims.
Warden woke to the sound of someone undoing his chains and a woman's voice shrieking in suffering.
His own clothes burned and smoked, but he felt little of it. The acrobat undoing his chains from the top of the column looked down at him and made the sign for silence. Hidden by the smoke, there was a chance they might be able to avoid coming out on the wrong end of a sword. Warden cared little for that. He dropped the few inches to the ground when his chains came loose and exited the fire by throwing himself into a roll over the wall. If his rescuer approved, he didn't notice. Soon they were together, the smaller man guiding Warden whose eyes watered from the smoke away from the danger.
"This way," and he led them straight to a wall.
The rough brick offered ample handholds and Warden knew well to climb. His shoulders protested the lack of activity he'd been through in recent weeks but kept him off the ground. The other man scampered up and waited for him at the top.
"Hurry."
Warden followed, calculating where they were in the city from the flattish rooftops. They were in the old city where most of the buildings were one story. Once they were out of it, they would have a harder time moving along as many places were not the same height. A problem they would deal with soon. He kept up his run, pacing himself for distance. He didn't dare push too hard. Another fight certainly awaited him once he found out what his new friend wanted in return for Warden's life.
If they were friends, perhaps he could bargain his way out.
At the edge of the old city, they made their way down to the street level with little fanfare. A beggar noticed, but said nothing. As good as no one noticing at all. Warden put his hand to his chest, the smoke had done nothing good to his breathing, but that hardly accounted for the way his heart thudded against his ribs.
"Are you well?" his companion asked putting a hand on his arm.
"I'm fine. Where are we going?"
The man's smirk did not fill him with peace.
"Come with me. It will be worth your life."
The glint of a glass blade told him all he needed to know. Assassin. One of his own. Perhaps come to claim the bounty on his head for failure. Warden smashed to one side, taking to his heels. Where there was a glass blade, there would be more. They were trappers, ambushers, n hunters. Those who took care of the loose ends. He expected them far sooner.
Warden ran, his opponent a moment behind. Wearing no cloak allowed him to keep out of reach, but his advantage would disappear soon if he didn't decide where he would go. Simply running away would not be enough.
To his left, another runner appeared, lithe and quick. The trap closed around him.
No, he wouldn't allow it.
The follower tripped over him as Warden dropped back and folded forward allowing him to pass before changing direction. Going for the roof would do no good. He would simply be trapped there as effectively as he was on the ground. Mind racing without ideas, he sought any door leading off the street. One, partly open, presented itself. He dashed through it and slammed it shut behind him before he could look around.
His pursuit hit the door with a bang and Warden took a moment to get his bearings as they pounded. That was two, where was the third? Glass Blades worked in sets of three, it lowered the chance of prey escaping.
Thoughts that could do him no good interrupted as he considered his escape plan. Now was not the time to ponder. The building was two stories, but built for storage so much of the inside was empty. He could hide, but it would do him little good.
Where was the third?
The other two must have split up as the sounds at the door no longer beat at him, but that meant little. There were windows on the first floor, so they could come in through any of those. Then the guard would start looking for him soon. They had to know already he was no longer chained to a column being roasted alive.
Versa's screams ghosted in his ears. He would never unhear them. Not knowing her, he couldn't say if her death was noble or not, but it didn't matter now. Dead was dead. He didn't intend to join her.
In the back of the warehouse were pallets of pretty stones. Brick work for those who cared for such things. There were always nobles looking to enhance the rocks around Arathum. As if they could prettify the blasted desert. What interested Warden about them was how close they put him to a second story window and the building next to it he glimpsed.
A path out and perhaps a few moments of rest, if he could make it.
Hoisting his body up the pallets, he felt them shudder under his weight but they held. He made it to the window just in time to see a long cannon pointed his direction. Ducking out of the way, he missed the sudden shock of that projectile hitting the pallet beyond him. As the shooter reloaded, he slipped out onto the sill and then grabbed the next building. Warden grabbed him as he brought the weapon around to defend himself. Around the man's neck hung a small glass blade filled like a vial.
"The third."
Warden used his leverage to push him off the roof and into the street below. With the skills of a Blade, he would certainly survive the fall. Warden didn't wait to find out. If
the man died, he chose his profession.
With a view from the roof and a moment to think, Warden considered his direction. The billowing fires from the execution square still reached for the heavens. He didn't dare head up the mountain toward the castle, going that way would be suicide.
Escape.
His mind rang with it and it tasted bitter in his mouth knowing no matter what he did now he would find a blade at his back. To say he had not always lived that way would be untrue, but never was it truer than now. An acknowledged traitor to the crown brought into the light, he could only hope to become anonymous again if things turned out right and for that he needed Leviana. He sprinted to the edge of the roof feeling every tile under his feet and launched into the unforgiving air. He need clothes, darkness, and luck. His skills would get him only so far. Old tricks needed to be taken over by new.
Landing and rolling to a jog, he sought his way back to the ground. The Glass Blades wanted his head. The Daughters of Curcula as well. Kendrick for a third and he had the weight of the entire empire behind him. A smile quirked his face. He might not be the most successful assassin of legend anymore, but he would certainly be the one who changed the world. A title worthy of him for certain.
Nightfall found him rooting through the offal left out back of a tavern as he didn't dare do anything else for food. Showing his face, even to do something as simple as beg, would be fatal.
Ruins of Fate (Fate Circle Saga Book 3) Page 9