Marisa peeked out over the edge of the terrace wall, her eyes riveted on Savino. As the beast occupying her cousin’s body glared angrily down at Eman, its eyes began to glow. His skin turned green and scaly like a reptile’s and the orange-red haze around his head became thick. His sharp teeth gnashed together as he sneered at the shepherd, flames erupting from his mouth. The three ugly creatures that hovered above him began to jerk and dance in a wild frenzy, and in that instant, Marisa wished that all the people could see him as he truly was.
Thunder rumbled across the skies. Savino raised his right hand high above him and in one smooth motion, he slammed his fist down onto his left bicep.
No clemency.
The warrior moved Eman down closer to the pit where he stopped at the edge and glanced up at Savino.
“Garon sees both the just and the unjust,” he shouted. “What happens here shall be remembered for ages to come.”
“I certainly hope it will be remembered. That is the whole point of your public execution,” he said in a mocking tone. The warriors grabbed Eman’s arms and legs, flipping him onto the wooden raft. Matilda turned away, weeping softly.
“Do not waste your tears on this traitor,” Savino said. “He has committed treachery against the da Rocha family.”
“My tears are for you!”
She climbed down from the platform and stormed off toward the citadel. A warrior moved to block her, but Savino waved him off.
“Let her go. She is the least of our worries.”
He turned his attention to the execution platform below. The warrior motioned to Eman to lift his arms above him, but he refused, raising his chin in defiance.
“You! Eman!” Savino shouted. “My father would have killed you as soon as the treacherous words had left your lips. But I have shown you grace, even given you the opportunity to repent. But you have not chosen to do so. Now my father is smiling down on me!”
“Before Gregario was born, I AM!”
Lightning struck the citadel with a blinding flash as the deafening crackle of thunder shook the castle walls. Gasps and cries erupted from the crowds as the people glanced around in fear.
Savino ignored the unusual events going on around him, nodding to the men to begin their gruesome task. The two warriors at the pit grabbed Eman’s arms and placed his hands above the stakes, palms up.
Gasping when they saw the brutal scars on the prisoner’s wrists, the two soldiers exchanged puzzled glances, unsure of what to make of the strange indentations in his skin.
People in the crowds strained to see what was holding up the execution before one of the warriors finally shrugged, signaling for them to continue. Both raised their hammers high, preparing to deliver blows of tremendous force. Seconds before they came crashing down, Marisa forced herself to look away.
When his screams of pain and anguish split the silence, tears of sorrow were already streaming down her face. Unable to listen to the sound of his suffering, she climbed down the lattice and jumped off. Panting for air, she collapsed onto the cobblestones as a weight of grief and guilt washed over her.
She covered her face with her hands, unable to shake the overwhelming knowledge that it was all her fault. The regret dug deep into her soul as she closed her eyes, weeping for the one who had done no wrong.
Garon forgive me for all I have done that this innocent man must now pay the price. I know he is dying because of me. Please ease Eman’s pain and show us how to overcome the evil that has taken over this country. I beg you to forgive me for my lack of faith – but now I put all my trust in you. Please use me as the means to fulfill your will for this generation and give me the courage that I lack but so desperately need. Amen.
In her mind’s eye, she saw a vision of Arrie chained to a stone wall. He was alive somewhere inside the citadel and there was still a chance to save him, but she would have to act fast.
Her eyelids flew open. Now!
A dark atmosphere of misery settled over the crowd. Cinzia turned to her husband, burying her head in his chest as Eman’s screams tore at her heart. How was it possible that this innocent man could be put to death in such a brutal manner for only speaking the truth? She watched as the warriors lifted Eman’s bare feet up onto the third stake that rose up out of the water.
The crowds froze in stunned bewilderment as the hammer came down once again. Another scream rippled through the air, followed by gasps, sniffles and the sounds of people weeping. A wave of sadness drowned the people of Crocetta as they watched one of their own being slaughtered in front of their eyes.
The frequency of thunder and lightning increased as a dark torrent of evil seeped through the city streets. Black storm clouds in the skies intensified, amplifying the somber mood.
Eman’s body was fully impaled, stakes piercing his wrists and feet. Blood trickled down his skin in small streams, dripping into the water and changing its color. His chest heaved, his face the manifestation of pain as he bore it through gritted teeth. While the crowds watched in a dazed stupor, his slow and agonizing death began.
When Alessio saw the tears glistening on Eman’s cheeks, a rush of guilt strangled his soul, pressing tightly against his chest. And, while almost everyone around him hadn’t a clue why all this was happening, Alessio already knew the answer.
Eman was dying because of them.
CHAPTER 34
RESCUE
The sounds of Eman’s agony tugged at Marisa’s heart as she followed the ramparts around the western wall of the citadel. Darting around the trees and shrubs, she tried not to think of the pain he was experiencing. But the fact that he would soon be dead weighed heavily on her. She pushed it from her mind. There would be a place to mourn him, but that place was not there.
Not now.
High above her, a streak of lightning flashed across the charcoal skies with a clap of thunder riding closely in its wake. Hoping she wasn’t about to get soaked, she stopped for a moment, unsure of where she was going. The snow had almost entirely melted and there were only small patches of it here and there. The air felt wet and cold, as if it was just above freezing.
Glancing to her right, she didn’t see any guards at their usual stations up on the wall. Most of them had probably been ordered to watch the execution. Their absence would be an advantage, but she still wasn’t sure how she could get inside the citadel. The main gate wasn’t an option at this point and she had never seen or heard of another entrance.
Overcome by a spell of dizziness, she leaned back against the stone wall, her body shivering. She felt her forehead. It was hot and her fingers were chilled to the bone. She was coming down with something, but there was no time to rest on her laurels. If she didn’t find Arrie soon, he would be dead. Maybe she could rest for a few minutes before pressing on.
Lowering herself to the base of the stone wall, she loosened her braid and leaned back in silent thought. She plucked the damp strands from her sweaty cheeks and gathered her hair into a ponytail. Something was niggling at the back of her mind but she couldn’t quite place it. Somewhere she was missing a critical detail. But what was it? She blew on her hands and rubbed them together, glancing around at her surroundings.
The tall evergreens clustered near the wall with their long, thick branches were in stark contrast to the rest of the trees that had long since shed their leaves before the start of winter. Gazing up at their long, spiky branches above her, they reminded her of the same trees she’d seen near the rear gate of Abbadon Castle on the day that Savino had taken her on the hike up to the waterfall.
Something clicked.
The rear gate. Was it possible that Crocetta Castle had another entrance? Just then, she remembered Cinzia telling her the story of how her parents met and said that she and her mother had snuck into the castle through the rear gate. There had to be one at the citadel, even though she had never seen or used it before.
With renewed energy, she pulled herself up and continued along the wall. The rampart around the castle
was miles in circumference, so there was a lot of ground to cover. She squeezed through some thick scrub brush, its prickly branches scratching her legs as she passed. It became difficult for her to stay next to the wall in certain spots where thick, tangled vines climbed up the stones.
When she had followed the wall for three quarters of an hour, the snow-capped Crocine Peaks finally came into view along with a sight that made her feel the rhythmic pounding of her own heart in her throat. Knowing that it would be a mistake to look down, she did it anyway and immediately regretted it.
Several hundred feet beneath her, a meandering river twisted at the bottom of a canyon. Meanwhile, the path that she was following had narrowed down into a two-foot-wide strip of ground—barely enough for a person to pass. After that, it plunged down a rocky embankment at a steep angle and it didn’t stop until it reached the river at the very bottom.
Wiping the sweat from her forehead and inhaling deep breaths of cool air, she noticed that she was trembling all over. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting to subdue the panic that threatened to hijack her mind.
This is my worst nightmare. How can I ever survive this?
Opening her eyes again, she slowly glanced up. There was no way she could scale that high wall. And so, with only one way to go, she turned back to the wall and, flattening her body against it, she began to move slowly, sidestepping her way around the northern face.
Keep your eyes fixed upward—toward me.
After moving along for what seemed like hours, she spotted a wooden bridge just a few hundred paces ahead, spanning the ravine from the mountains to the citadel wall. It was old and rickety, and it looked as if it hadn’t been used in years. She quickened her steps until, finally, she reached the point where it met the castle.
Sure enough, the bridge ended at a small gate on the northern side of the citadel, barely wide enough to accommodate a small wagon or carriage. She reached for the handle of the gate and tried to turn it but it wouldn’t budge. Then she tried to turn it again, but it still wouldn’t open. The gate looked ancient, almost in disrepair, but, to her chagrin, the lock stubbornly stood its ground.
She looked at the far end of the bridge on the opposite side of the chasm. There was a decrepit gate house with a path leading up and away into the mountains, but it appeared deserted with no sign of a guard who might have a key.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, suddenly reminding her of something. On the day of Gregario’s funeral, Arrie had given her a tiny skeleton key before she had left for Beauriél. She had slipped it into a pocket on her holster for safekeeping, but since then had forgotten she still had it. She reached under her skirt and felt for the holster around her thigh. Her fingers reached down into the pouch and felt around until they touched a small, spiral-shaped object.
It’s still there! Could it possibly work?
She pulled out the key, carefully replacing the dagger in its holster. She stuck the key in the lock and turned it, her lips mouthing a silent prayer. The lock didn’t budge. She tried again and groaned. On the third try, she jiggled it slightly and the lock released its grip.
“Thank you!” she shouted.
Pushing hard against it, she winced as the rusty gate slowly screeched open. Hoping that no one had heard the sound, she closed it again with a clang, locking it back up behind her.
Up until then, she had never been on the northern side of the castle. With no public or private rooms in the northern wing, there had been no reason for her to be there. And unlike the imposing main entrance on the south side with its ramparts and portcullis, the rear gate of the citadel seemed basic and straightforward, appearing as if it were nothing more than a simple supply door.
Entering a small courtyard, she spotted some narrow, stone steps leading up the side of the wall. She wanted to get a better view of the layout so she ran up the steps, taking them two at a time. Panting heavily by the time she reached the top of the wall, she only saw one warrior on the eastern wall, standing with his back toward her at another hundred paces or so away. His attention was focused to the south, near the main gate.
Without warning, lightning struck the fortress tower and the wall trembled under her feet. Deciding that it probably wasn’t a good place to be during a lightning storm, she hurried back down the steps, spying a large door leading into the northern side of the citadel. She hurried over to it and pulled on the handle, but it was locked. Fishing around for the small key, she stuck it in the hole. The door unlocked on the first try.
Peering inside, her jaw dropped.
There was a large loading bay as big as an airplane hangar. Vaulted wooden beams ran along the ceiling and attached to them was a tangled network of wheels, pulleys and ropes. Lying on the ground in a haphazard fashion were stacks of wooden crates and planks, stones, bricks, burlap sacks and rusty tools. A wooden cage-like object was suspended a few feet above a square-shaped hole in the floor. Everything was covered in a mountain of dust and thick cobwebs stretched across every piece of equipment.
She entered the bay, stepping carefully around the objects strewn across the floor and trying not to trip over any of them. The massive chamber appeared deserted and forgotten and she wondered what it had been used for.
Spotting a flight of stairs on the far side of the wall, she made her way toward it, weaving her way around rusty wagons with broken wheels and other strange contraptions that had fallen into disrepair. For extra light, she pulled out the amulet from underneath her cloak and watched it pulsing rapidly. With only the small lavender glow to light her way, she descended the stone steps into darkness until they stopped at a heavy wooden door. Turning the metal door ring, she pushed against it but immediately met heavy resistance.
Throwing her entire weight against it, the door groaned, but only budged slightly. She fell against it again, catching herself from falling when it gave way, bursting inwards with a loud creak. Beyond the doorway, the stone-walled corridor sloped downwards at a steep angle.
Her feet were light as she jogged down the slippery steps into the darkness. But when she tripped over some uneven cobblestones and lost her footing, she slammed into the unforgiving wall.
“Oww!” she yelled, rubbing her shoulder. She leaned back against the stone wall and felt the cold air blowing past her, penetrating her cloak and causing her body to shiver. Her cheeks were flaming hot, her head still pounding.
Arrie, where are you in this place?
She continued to move down the corridor and reached a flat landing with two doors on either side. There was an additional case of steps descending into yet another deeper layer of darkness. The tunnel had already started to make her feel claustrophobic, but she couldn’t stop until she found the dungeons at the bottom level.
At last the steps ended, emptying into a wide chamber with rough-hewn walls and consisting of ten prison cells. The space had only a single window with bars in front of it, high on the wall and located in the center cell. The only other source of light was a single lit torch on the wall. Hearing a man’s cough, she stopped, peering cautiously into the dungeon.
One lone soldier with a bored expression sat on a wooden stool in the corner, guarding his only prisoner in the middle cell. His helmet rested on the ground next to him as he quietly stared at the floor. The prisoner was reclining on a wooden table with his back toward her. It could have been Arrie, but the chamber was so dim that she couldn’t be sure.
Feeling for her dagger, she remembered Bruno showing her how to knock a man unconscious without killing him. During the lesson, she had never imagined that she would actually have use for the method, but was grateful now for his instructions. Her heart ached once more, realizing she would never see Bruno again.
Clutching the knife in her fist, she crept along the passage as quietly as possible. Her heart raced as the dagger’s stock squirmed in her sweaty palm. She whispered a silent prayer for the courage to do what had to be done. Standing just a couple of paces away from the warrior, she hesitated. Gaugin
g his enormous size, she’d have to hit him pretty hard.
Just like she had done at so many of her track meets in the past, she took several steps back, gathering all the strength she could muster. Like a high jumper preparing to run, she focused on the target and rushed forward, leaping high up into the air. Coming down on him with as much force as she could gather, the handle of the dagger slammed onto his temple at the hairline.
Without a kick, he slumped to the ground, unconscious. She bent over to examine him. He was bleeding, but he was still alive. The poor guy never even saw it coming.
“Marisa?” Arrie shouted, jumping up and grabbing the bars of his cell. “You are alive!”
“Boy, am I ever glad to see you!” She moved to the door of his cell and stuck the small key in its lock. “We’ve gotta get you out of here! Eman is being executed and now’s our only chance.” She jiggled the key, hearing it finally click.
As soon as the door swung open, Arrie’s strong arms pulled her into a tight embrace. “I am so happy you are alive!” Glancing over her shoulder at the key still stuck in the lock, his lips spread into a wide grin, and he gently took her face in his hands.
“Is that the key I loaned you which you never returned?”
She smiled at him. “Aren’t you glad now that I didn’t?”
Thunder rumbled in the skies above Darian and his men as they watched the horrific proceedings from the top floor of the inn. Now that Matilda had left, he had a clear shot at Savino as he sat on his makeshift throne.
He strode across the room and took his bow, pulling three arrows from the quiver. When he returned to the balcony, he saw that another man had taken her seat and was whispering in Savino’s ear.
It was Raniero.
“I do not understand,” Aurelio said, watching the grisly scene below them. “To what purpose does the water serve?”
“It controls the depth of the stakes,” Lord Patrizio answered.
The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge Page 32