by Doug Kelly
Trahan waited in the cart while the guards retrieved the convicts from the dungeon. Three condemned souls emerged from the darkness and stumbled into the bright light of day. The first who emerged was an older man, then his wife, and just behind them, a young man followed. They walked with wobbly legs. With the ends of three prodding spears, the guards forced the bound prisoners toward the wagon, and commanded them to climb onto the cart. The sentries assisted with the prisoners’ attempts to ascend into the wagon. With the inmates’ hands tied behind their backs and bound at the wrists, black bags over their heads, tired, hungry, and thirsty, too, this was not an easy task for the guards. After months of starvation and living in total darkness, the three condemned prisoners were merely shadows of their former selves, hardly strong enough to stand. Frustrated with the delay of their duty, Trahan barked at the guards to hurry with the task. The three guards hastily grabbed the prisoners and tossed them into the wagon, one after the other, like sacks of grain.
With the crack of a whip, the horse jolted forward, and the wagon headed for the main gate, destined to arrive at the gallows with more victims. As they passed through the main entrance, Trahan waved at the guard in the watchtower and pointed at the executioner’s scaffold, then mimicked blowing a horn. The watchman understood the pantomime, and he hastily grabbed for a brass horn that was only used to signal an execution. He blew it three times, and the crowd hushed and turned their heads to look at the condemned trio. Because of the dark bags on their heads, no one could see their identities, but everyone at the festival thought that the prisoners must have been political rivals; a trio, whom the tyrannical father and son feared could jeopardize their authority, were on their way to stretch the executioner’s rope. Murmurs of disapproval resonated through the crowd.
Before the Brills had ascended with political and judicial power under Olar’s reign, executions were rare, saved for true menaces to society. When paying a heavy fine could stop the threat of an execution, a dead man was worth nothing. Now, death sentences were too common. During recent months, the frequent friction of the rope swinging from the crossbeam of the gallows had worn a smooth groove on the horizontal shaft of hewn lumber, polishing it and revealing brighter wood underneath the gray timber. Lanzo and Trahan were not uniting clans. They were creating disharmony and resentment throughout the region. What little cohesion that remained with the local clans was slowly fading, disappearing into the past. The clans that had been under Olar’s control, the very clans that Aton’s father had helped unite, were crumbling away. Where there should have been the binding cement in the mortar of trusting communities, Trahan, Lanzo, and their evil henchmen had thrust bitter wedges of hate and resentment between the stones of the united clans’ strong foundation.
The crowd parted for the executioner’s wagon, not wondering if the three condemned prisoners were menaces to society on their way to the hangman, just sickened that more people who were innocent were going to die. At the bottom of the gallows’ steps, the wagon stopped, and the guards prodded the prisoners just as cruelly as before, with their sharp spears to get them out of the cart.
Trahan had two duties that day. The first was to preside over the execution of three people, as a way to send a dual message to all the gathered clans, which was to fear and obey the new warlord. The second and final task of the day was to officiate over his son’s wedding; the ceremony after which Lanzo would officially become the new warlord. The guards helped Trahan off the wagon, so he could assist with the first task at the gallows.
After the prisoners slowly climbed the steps to their impending death, Trahan turned them to face the crowd and ordered them to stand shoulder to shoulder, centered under the noose. Trahan snatched the black hoods from their heads. The crowd gasped in horror. It was Aton’s father and mother, Davin and Treva, and his cousin, Briand. They had been in solitary confinement in the dark recesses of the dungeon, so their eyes hurt from the bright sunlight. They could not see very well, but they understood where they were and what was going to happen. Although Davin’s present condition had blinded him, his hearing was fine. He had heard the crowd gasp, and he felt an emotional wave of horrific shock radiate through the mass of people in the field, all the way to the elevated rows of benches.
The common people respected Davin, more so than Olar, and they certainly hated Trahan and Lanzo Brill. To have the execution of such a well-respected man, his wife, and their nephew ordered, just before a public wedding at the spring festival, because of jealous political rivalries, was a tipping point with the throng. The crowd howled its disapproval. Trahan saw that this was not going well, but he wanted to continue. He had to continue. What would happen if he backed down? What might occur if he freed them? He thought that the people must bend their will according to the influence of his desires. If he commuted the death sentences, he might appear weak, and he would not stand for that. He should appear strong and powerful, and everyone should perceive his son the same way, too. The execution would continue, but first he had to control the crowd.
He leaned over the edge of the platform as far as his bad knees would let him, and he ordered a guard to get all the sentries and reserve soldiers, and go to the elevated benches as a show of force, as a message to respect the new warlord.
The guards and soldiers assembled, forming a weak line between the unruly people, who were gathering around the raised stadium seats, and the agitated crowd, who were congregating on the fairgrounds. The guards and soldiers tried to assemble as a line to separate the mob, but it barely divided the swarm of riotous people. They had formed a crooked, unorganized line of undisciplined men, and it was hardly effective against a crowd that was seething with anger. Throughout the week, the troops had lacked order and sobriety. Today, the last day of the festival, was the worst of all for professionalism, because they had been drinking ale and gorging themselves on an abundance of roasted sheep and goat meat that the hill people had presented as a gift. Caught between the taunts from the stands and the jeers from the people on the fairgrounds, the inebriated troops began to receive the increasing ire of the unruly gathering.
Tarply’s pavilion was at the distant end of the field, farthest from the gallows, which was a good place to be if you wanted to avoid the bustling crowd of the spring festival. During the days leading to the final event, that is where Aton had spent his time brooding over what he should do, how he should do it, and when. He wanted revenge and needed to stop the wedding. He had the resources to do so, but he still lacked a plan in which he was absolutely confident. During the first days of the festival, under the cover of darkness, he had wandered around to try to find his parents and cousin. They had disappeared months ago without a trace, and he had no idea just how close they actually were. He had feared the worst for his family and still did not know of the unfolding events at the executioner’s stage, near the opposite end of the fairgrounds. He knew exactly where Esina was, but fearing for her safety, he dreaded trying to reach out to her. The final event was drawing near, and the only comfort Aton could summon now was from holding one of the red-fletched arrows that he had hidden under a wool blanket, to conceal them from prying eyes because they bore his trademark. The metal tip was as sharp as a razor. Aton had assembled these arrows with the intention of using them to kill Lanzo, but he had not done it yet, so he began to doubt himself again. He thought that maybe he was not a true leader, a man of action whom people could depend on and trust. As he felt Esina and his opportunity slipping from him, he subconsciously grasped the arrow tighter in his hand.
He snapped out of his trance when he saw a wave of heads turn toward the gallows. Immediately after Trahan had lifted the black hoods from the heads of the condemned, whispers of their names reverberated like a shockwave from the execution’s stage and hit Aton with the force of an earthquake. He heard the names of his father, mother, and cousin shouted from the crowd. He was shocked. They were here, just released from the political prison, and now Trahan had them on the executioner’s
stand. There was no more time to hesitate. Aton had to act quickly.
Hauk and Tig were in the tent with Aton. Throughout the week, these two good friends had faithfully stayed near him. Hauk’s recruits had also stayed close, and Tig had ensured that his men stayed near the fairgrounds, but at a safe distance, so their vast numbers did not raise any scrutiny. While the days of the festival had gone on, and the intoxication of the guards and soldiers had amplified, the security of the enclosure decreased in the same magnitude as the festival’s revelries had increased. The time for revolt was ripe.
The armed men of Tarply and the spears of the hill people had never raised any suspicions, and they were ready for Aton’s order to attack. They had understood that his command would come at any second. Now, that second had arrived.
“Hauk! Tig!” exclaimed Aton, clutching his arrow with a deathly grip.
They rushed over to their desperate friend.
“Hauk, there’s no time to waste. Rush your men to the gallows. Stop Trahan!”
Hauk sprinted from the tent. His men followed closely behind him as he pushed his way through the horde. As a line of armed men started to coalesce behind Hauk, the crowd parted, easing their path to the executioner’s stage.
“Tig, run to your people. Tell them to charge after they see my signal.”
“Anything for you, but what’s the signal? What are we looking for?”
Aton raised the arrow in his hand high above his head and said, “Look for this. Now, run!”
Tig ran barefoot across the fairgrounds and headed toward the stream on the border of the woods. He charged through the tall grass lining the creek and ordered his runners to gather all of the hill people in the adjacent meadows. The hill tribes quickly returned and condensed into an army. The forest bristled with metal spear tips. Tig marched his men across the cold water of the flowing stream and went to the edge of the fairgrounds where they waited for Aton’s signal to attack the soldiers.
On the gallows, when Trahan had lifted the dark hoods from their heads, Esina had been close enough to immediately recognize the intended victims. She had wondered why Trahan had ordered the construction of the wedding platform so close to the executioner’s stage. Now she understood the reason. The tyrant had intentionally placed it there to convey a clear message of exactly what he was capable of doing.
After months of captivity in darkness, bright daylight blinded the three prisoners. They could not see what was around them. Although they knew where they were, which was at the gallows, they were not able to open their eyes completely and see the crowd. If they could have, they would have seen a storm brewing in the sea of people, frothing with waves of discontent, ready for a breeze of revolution to crash the treasonous breakers onto the shore of freedom. Davin was a symbol of rebellion to the repressed masses. Trahan’s plan was not going as he expected.
When Trahan pulled the bag from Davin’s head, Esina turned away as soon as she saw his face. She could not endure looking at the condemned father of the man she loved. He was the head of a family that had been generational friends with her own. Many years ago, his bravery helped repel a nomad attack against her father’s walled estate. If not for Davin, she might not be alive. Now, this brave man was going to die on the same land that he had liberated for her father. Without looking, she knew the other two must be Davin’s wife and nephew, whom Trahan was going to execute as wedding entertainment. After she turned her head from the gallows, she closed her eyes, fought back the tears, and with shaking hands, anxiously twisted the leather pouch on her lap, subconsciously expending nervous, pent-up energy. The thin strip of leather that had tightly bound the neck of the purse began to loosen. She could not tolerate the agony any longer, so she walked across the stage as if she were in a trance, and she went to Lanzo, begging him to tell his father to stop the execution.
Initially, Lanzo was indifferent, because either way he would get what he wanted, which was the title of warlord. As she pleaded for their lives, he could see the crowd was becoming discontented. Their rising anger was bringing forth vulgar mumblings throughout the masses. He thought it would not be an appropriate time for a show of weakness, so he refused her request of clemency for the condemned. Esina continued to beg and anxiously wrung the leather pouch as she did. She rolled the wedding gift from the mysterious stranger in her palms, and shifted it from hand to hand. As she begged Lanzo to show mercy and compassion, the friction of her palms completely unraveled the binding strip of leather from around the purse’s neck. She felt it open, and the little silver coins fell as freely through her fingers as her tears were flowing down her cheeks. The note inside was the last item to fall out, and the parchment clung to her sweaty hand. The handwriting on the note was familiar, because it belonged to her; it was the note that she had written to Aton one year ago, at the last spring festival. She had placed it in the purse of winning prize money, because she had known that Aton would win the archery competition, and she unconditionally believed in Aton and loved him, although Esina’s overbearing father had not allowed her to show it overtly.
Then the name of the man, who had given her this leather pouch of silver coins, came back like an echo from the past. Nota from Nitam, was the man’s name, and according to Trahan, she was not supposed to know who he was, but now she did. She had turned the name of the mysterious man and his village around in her mind, and now she completely understood who had given her the purse. The name and village were Aton Matin pronounced backward. Upon this revelation, bewildered, she muttered Aton’s name, and then a slight breeze took the note from her hand and put it directly beside one of Lanzo’s polished boots.
He heard the foul name that she whispered under her breath and became enraged, then he angrily picked up the hand-written message. With the clues in front of him, he put the pieces of the puzzle together. He recognized the leather bag of prize money from last year’s archery competition that Aton had won, and her handwriting on the paper. She had written the note to Aton, and he had slyly returned it to her. Aton was here; he had tricked Trahan and slipped through Lanzo’s noose, returning to the estate undetected. While stomping his feet, Lanzo madly screamed, “ATON!” at the unruly mob gathering in front of him. Esina quickly snatched the sentimental note from him and moved to the far side of the platform, away from Lanzo, as he continued his furious tirade. Lanzo yelled at the crowd and looked wildly into it for a glimpse of the man whom he hated like no other. The discontented mob began to taunt Lanzo, so he drew his sword in a fit of rage, leaned forward, bending as low as he could, and slashed at the crowd in front of the stage. Then he turned his rage in Esina’s direction, because he was going to teach her a lesson for everyone to see.
Still wearing his cloak, Aton donned the hood and retrieved his trusty hunting bow. It was a short recurve bow made of strong wood from a hedge tree. He slung a quiver full of his trademark arrows across his back, and he hoped that he only needed to use one arrow, because that might be all that he had a chance to use. As with Hauk, the crowd parted for Aton when he ran from the tent. He went quickly through the mass of people, but he feared that he might not be fast enough. He had already seen his target, Lanzo, standing on the ceremonial platform, screaming at the audience below him while he madly waved a sword. Lanzo had been swinging his blade at the crowd, and the maniac had been a safe distance from Esina, but he raised the sword above his head and began violently marching toward her, so Aton stopped where he was and nocked an arrow. In the blink of an eye, he pulled the string. It touched his chin. He closed one eye as he held his breath and judged the wind’s direction and speed by the movement of the leaves on a nearby tree. He released the arrow, and it hissed through the air, directly at its target.
Just as Lanzo was closing the distance with Esina, to strike her dead with his sword, he noticed that the crowd had parted, leaving only a solitary man in the center of the expanding void, a man who was bending a bow and aiming an arrow at him. Before Lanzo could react, he saw a red streak fly direc
tly at him, and then he felt a piercing force against his chest, which preceded a stabbing pain, knocking him flat onto the dusty wooden planks of the wedding stage.
On the signal, which had been the red streak of Aton’s arrow whizzing through the air, Hauk and his recruits surrounded the gallows, like a swarm of stinging bees, to rescue Aton’s family. Hauk and several dozen young men encircled the executioner’s stage as they brandished their stout, sharp swords made in the forges of Tarply from remnants of the finest American steel. His men were full of youthful enthusiasm and ready to fight. Rather than have his men charge the executioner’s platform and ensure a bloody onslaught, which he was confident that his men would win, he stood at the base of the gallows’ steps and held up his hands to stop the immediate advance of Tarply’s newest warriors. He wanted to control the flow of battle. There were only three armed men and Trahan, if you could count an old man with bad knees as an adversary, and all of them had drawn swords. There was no easy route for Trahan and his guards to exit the theater of combat. If Hauk and his men did charge up the platform, the three desperate soldiers might slash Davin, Treva, or Briand in a frenzy of swordplay, or the tussle of opposing forces might knock the weak prisoners off the platform to the ground, killing them. He was experienced on the field of battle, and knew that if his opponents had an escape route, they might not fight to the death, so he was going to offer freedom to the three soldiers on top of the platform, but not to Trahan.