“Today you must be on special alert for other traitors who would attempt to stop or delay the execution. As you are already aware, there are generous rewards being offered for the capture and arrest of any surviving members of the Fiore family. We are, in fact, expecting their presence today.
“Do not hesitate to arrest anyone you suspect of rebelling against the da Rocha regime. And also let me assure you that this painful transition period shall be short lived. Starting today, we will reinstate order and make Crocetta the center of Carnelia once again. I thank you for your continued diligence and loyalty.”
He left the platform as quickly as he had appeared, whisked away by Gaspar and the bodyguards. The company of warriors was dismissed, most of the men leaving to carry out the orders of the day. Without a word, Talvan walked over to Marisa and took her arm, gently steering her into the Crimson antechamber. Making sure they had not been followed, he shut the door and gave her a broad smile.
“Your Highness, I am so happy to see that you are alive! The count said you were dead and I am so pleased to see it is not true!”
“Thank you, Talvan. But now I’ve got to see Eman. Can you sneak me in?”
“Yes, but we must hurry.” His face grew somber. “Your Highness, Cozimo is dead.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “What? Cozimo—no!”
“I am very sorry.”
She sank into a chair, willing it not to be true. The sweet elderly man who had taught her so much in such a short time was dead. What was happening to their world?
“Your Highness, we must go now. Are you ready?”
She wiped the moisture from her eyes and nodded.
“Follow close behind,” he said, peering into the empty hall.
With Marisa close on his heels, Talvan moved quickly through the Knight’s Hall and down a flight of steps. It was the same staircase she had been using all along. Passing the wine cellar, they spotted two guards at the end of the corridor, guarding a door. Talvan strode over to them, puffing up his chest with authority.
“You are to report to Captain Leone and receive new orders.”
“But sir, our orders were to guard the prisoner until the hour before his execution—”
“These are your new orders, corporal!” he barked at him. “I am to guard the prisoner until then.”
The warriors exchanged bewildered glances.
“Do you actually think the king would entrust such an important task to men such as yourselves?”
“Yes, sir! I mean, no, sir! I mean, we will report to Captain Leone for new orders, sir!”
Watching the men hurry down the corridor, Talvan winked at her. “Please be quick. We do not have much time.”
“Thank you.” She stood on her tiptoes, hugging his waist. When he opened the door, she spotted Eman sitting in the darkness, praying. As the light from her amulet filled the room, he glanced up at her, his eyes moist.
“Your Highness, I’m so glad you’ve come.”
She threw her arms around him. “Why is this happening?”
With his arms bound in chains to the floor, he was unable to reciprocate her hug. “Still, my child. All is well and all is as it should be. Do not fear for my sake, for Garon’s purposes are not to be questioned.”
“I can get you out of here. Look, I still have the Ambrogia stone. You can walk right out and they won’t even see you.” She began to remove it, but he shook his head.
“No, dear one. You shall need it for what lies ahead. Hold on to it tightly and hold on to hope.”
“But you have to leave before they come for you,” she pleaded. “I’ll stay in your place. I’ve got nothing left to live for anyway.”
His brown eyes warmed with compassion. “Sweet Marisa, you have everything left to live for. Do you not understand that you were brought into this world for such a time as this?”
“But—”
“If you should take my place and be put to death, it would corrupt your purpose and mine. I must die so that others might live, but you have yet to fulfill your destiny.”
“What destiny? The man who was a part of it is dead.”
“You must fulfill your destiny!”
“But I am only one woman against an army of evil men!”
“Never underestimate the power of Garon. The proud shall be defeated by the humble. But you must believe and you must have faith.”
“Eman, will I ever see you again?”
He smiled. “Look into your heart and you shall find the answer. Trust in Garon and pray that his wisdom shall be made known to you.”
“Is this the end?”
“No. It is only the beginning.”
“But how can—”
“Go quickly now! Someone is approaching.”
She jumped up and flattened herself against the wall just as the door burst open. A group of warriors spilled into the tiny room.
“Time to go, shepherd!” a burly commander bellowed.
Talvan entered behind the others, watching silently as the soldier unhooked Eman’s chains from the floor. Then they pulled him up from the chair and shoved him through the doorway. With the rest of the warriors marching after, the chamber quickly emptied, leaving only Talvan behind.
She looked at Eman one last time as his woeful eyes met hers. He mouthed the words ap eirie just before they guided him down into the tunnel.
As soon as he was out of sight, she collapsed onto the stool, the imminence of his doom piercing her heart. “Where are they taking him now?” she asked in a weak voice.
“He is being prepared for the execution.”
“Isn’t there anything you can do?”
“Alas, Your Highness. I am powerless to stop it.”
“I can’t believe this is happening!”
“You must leave the citadel now. See that you are far away when it happens, or you shall suffer the same fate as he.”
She shook her head. “I’m not running away. Savino must be stopped, even if I have to risk my own life to do it.”
“Go now,” he pleaded.
“Pray for Garon’s mercy on all of us. I don’t know when I’ll see you again,” she said, giving him a hug. Strong arms engulfed her one last time.
“Ap eirie, my queen.”
“Ap eirie, Talvan.”
She hurried down the corridor leading out toward the stables, planning to slip out through the rampart tunnel before the execution started. After that, she had no clue where she was going.
CHAPTER 33
MARTYR
With more than an hour to go before the execution was set to take place, the narrow streets near the main gate of the citadel were already overflowing with crowds. Savino had issued a public decree that all townspeople should appear for the public execution. Those who chose to ignore the ordinance would suffer the consequences.
Wondering how Savino’s warriors would know if a person didn’t show, Marisa shinnied up a trellis, pulling herself over the edge of a rooftop terrace. Hunkering down behind a large flowerbox, she observed the hundreds of people milling about in the street. From the terrace, she had a clear view to the staging area only sixty or so paces away.
Up on the rampart wall, scaffolds had been constructed for the official guests and a royal box had been installed for Savino. The dignitaries started to arrive, taking their seats as the noise from the streets grew louder with anticipation.
Marisa scanned the faces in the crowd, but there was no sign of her uncle, Cinzia, Helena and Tino. Gazing out across the rooftops, she spotted the rear garden of Celino’s house but, not seeing any movement inside the house, she prayed that none of them had been captured. She pulled her cloak tightly around her, watching the dark, gray storm clouds moving in from the ocean and making their way across the harbor. A bolt of lightning zigzagged on the horizon, sending a shiver down her spine.
And somehow she sensed that it would be a very dark day in the city; one of the darkest days in the history of Carnelia, in fact.
&
nbsp; “Right this way, Your Highness.” The white-haired proprietor huffed loudly as he led the men up the narrow staircase. Reaching a door at the top, he pulled out a spiral-shaped key and unlocked it, allowing Darian to enter first. Porfiro, Patrizio, Adamo, Ilario, Aurelio and Loris followed, the last one carrying a heavy sack.
The room was spacious but basic, furnished only with four beds, a large wooden table and six chairs. There was no fire burning in the hearth, but they would not need one for the short time they would be occupying the room. Darian opened the doors of the balcony and peered out, hastily studying the layout of the streets below. The main gate of the citadel and the royal box located just above it were both within range of the balcony.
“This is perfect,” he said to the proprietor.
“Excellent, Your Highness.”
“And I am certain that we can be assured of your absolute discretion, can we not, Orsinio?” he suggested, placing two silver coins in the man’s greedy palm.
“Your Highness, I remain your humble servant,” he said, bowing. “My loyalty lies with the Fiore family, not with that tyrant calling himself king. Even if you are worth another thirty thousand carnies!” He nodded to them and scurried out, closing the door behind him. Darian turned to the men.
“Baron Porfiro, Lord Patrizio, please set things up while I survey the situation at ground level.”
The men nodded to him as he opened the door and headed down the stairs. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and peered out the front windows of the lobby, making sure there were no warriors in sight.
Seeing none, he slipped out the front door and edged through the crowds toward the main gate. He reached the front door of Celino’s house and knocked on it loudly, pausing only for a moment before knocking again, this time louder. When there was no response, he shaded his eyes and peered through the window.
Empty.
Spotting a group of warriors on the other side of the street chatting and laughing, he turned his face away and hurried up the road toward the main citadel square, hiding behind a large tree just a few paces away from the execution staging area. Warrior guards had been posted everywhere, and Savino’s royal standard had been prominently displayed above the portcullis for everyone to see.
Rubbing his bushy beard in silent thought, he studied the layout of the guest seats up on the scaffolding. He had but one chance to hit the target and could not afford to miss. Satisfied with his assessment of the situation, he slipped around the less-congested eastern side of the rampart wall and nearly jumped out of his skin.
Standing face-to-face with the decapitated heads of his soldiers, friends, and compatriots, Darian studied their grisly faces, clenching his jaw in anger as the hate for his cousin flared in his heart. For the very first time in his life, he actually looked forward to killing someone.
Tino and Alessio returned to Celino’s house to find Cinzia and Helena chatting nervously in the kitchen, both of them fraught with worry. “Someone was here—at the door,” Cinzia said.
“And you didn’t see who it was?”
“No,” Helena said. “There was no time to go down into the cellar, so we hid in the library. Whoever it was knocked twice!”
“I hope it was not Her Royal Highness,” Tino said.
“Or Arrie.”
“What were you able to find out?”
“Not much,” Alessio said. “Savino’s men are preparing for the execution and the streets are jam packed, but that’s about it. Although I absolutely abhor the idea, I think we should go.”
“I agree.” Tino nodded. “But we need to hurry!”
When the hand on the half-moon clock of the citadel tower was only five minutes away from the noon hour, the crowds were so heavy that a person could almost not move. Thirty extra warriors had been posted around the rampart rim just to control the throngs of people. Most of the royal guests had arrived and were already seated in their places high on the wall. Several of them glanced nervously into the sky, hoping the execution would end before the heavens opened and the rain came.
Up in the top chamber of the inn, five men sat around the wooden table, their faces somber as they waited for the exhibition to begin. When Darian entered the chamber, they rose to their feet.
“See anything interesting?” Porfiro asked.
He removed his cloak, shaking his head. “Only the heads of the men we lost at the Mychen Forest. Savino shall pay for the horrible things he has done.”
Just then, the clock struck twelve and the bells in the citadel tower began to peal. Each of the men swiftly assumed his position at various places around the room. Darian turned to Loris.
“You must leave now, squire. My conscience cannot bear the thought of you being beheaded along with the rest of us.”
“But where am I to go, Your Highness?”
“Go back to your uncle who is now at the citadel. Lord Raniero remains in Savino’s favor.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out some coins, placing them in Loris’ hand. “A little something to tide you over. But no one must know that you accompanied us from Abbadon.”
“But I was not supposed to leave the castle. How will I explain this to my uncle?”
“You shall think of something, squire,” he said, eyeing him impatiently. “Wait until the execution is over before you return to the castle, though. Your only chance of staying alive is if you are nowhere near us.”
Loris bowed in deep respect. “I shall never forget your kindness, Your Highness. And, if I am questioned, I shall not mention you or your men.”
Darian slapped him on the back. “I hope to meet up with you again, squire. I could use a respectable man like you at court.”
“It would be my honor, Sire.” He bowed and left the room.
Darian watched him leave, shutting the door behind him before moving back over to the window. “Oh no,” he groaned, staring out across the rooftops.
“What is it, Your Highness?” Porfiro asked.
“Look,” he said, pointing to the royal box. “Matilda is seated to Savino’s left. If I shoot from this range and miss, the arrow will pierce her.”
“Then do not miss,” Porfiro answered. “Take your best aim, pray for the best and trust Garon to do the rest.”
He raised an eyebrow. “It is my aim that I do not trust.”
The bells in the citadel tower rang out as Marisa’s eyes roamed the crowds. Her uncle, Cinzia, Tino and Helena would be out among the people somewhere, but finding them now would be nearly impossible. Spotting the prisoner procession slowly crossing the courtyard, her heart sank like an anchor to the bottom of the ocean.
Surrounded on all sides by warriors, Eman’s bare feet were chained together, his hands held together in manacles. He fought to keep from stumbling as he was led across the uneven cobblestones. His face appeared haggard and a streak of dried blood stretched from his temple to his cheek. He walked with a slight limp, each step causing him to wince in pain.
The warriors led him down into the tunnel under the rampart where they waited for the portcullis to slowly open. When it had been fully raised, they led him into the square just outside the citadel walls where a large pit had been dug with three metal stakes sticking up from it. The pit had been filled with water and a solid piece of wood floated on its surface like a raft. When the procession finally reached the pit, the warriors stopped and the crowd became silent.
Somewhere a baby cried. The sky grew dark as storm clouds moved in over the city. And in the final moments before her good friend would be put to death, Marisa felt frozen, trapped in a living nightmare. Of all the strange things she had seen since her arrival in Carnelia, the sight of Eman marching to his doom was the most horrific, the most awful and the most tragic event she had ever witnessed.
The trumpets blew their fanfare from the rampart wall as the dignitaries and guests rose to their feet. Dressed in robes of cobalt satin with his jeweled chain of office draped around his neck, Savino crossed the courtyard at a slow pace be
fore finally reaching the staging area. Accompanied by Gaspar, Lord Raniero and his entourage of warrior bodyguards, his eyes glittered as he strutted up the embankment steps, clearly enjoying the fact that all eyes were on him.
Taking his place next to Matilda in the royal box, he lifted his hand grandly, motioning for the guests to sit. He waited a moment before raising his voice to speak.
“People of Crocetta, I thank you for coming out on this historic day to witness the public purging of the traitor.” He stopped, pointing at Eman. “This man has consistently blasphemed against the da Rocha regime and shall pay for his crimes. These include treason and conspiring against His Majesty the king. This day shall be remembered for generations. The consequences of his rebellion shall long bear witness of what will happen to those who would dare to follow in his footsteps.”
With great flourish, he sat down on his makeshift throne and nodded to the brawny warrior who stood at the edge of the platform. The soldier slammed his staff onto the wooden scaffold three times, shouting for all the people to hear.
“Eman Yewil! You have been found guilty by the Crimson Court for the crimes of blasphemy, treachery, slander and conspiring against His Majesty the King. What is your plea?”
Just then, a bolt of lightning struck the citadel tower, causing the people to flinch as thunder rumbled through the streets.
Shivering in the frigid air, Eman did not utter a single word and his eyes remained downcast. Waves of black matted hair stuck to his cheeks, further emphasizing the paleness of his skin and dark circles under his eyes. His white linen shirt fluttered in the breeze as a single tear slid down his cheek, dropping onto his brown-and-white-striped cloak.
“Since you refuse to submit your plea, one final call for mercy shall be made on your behalf.” The warrior turned toward Savino. “What say you, Your Majesty, Supreme Ruler over all lands of Abbadon and Crocetta?”
The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge Page 31