Annie fell silent, leaning back, keeping her arms crossed over her chest while Finn sipped at his ale. “I can let Oscar know you came looking for him.”
She knew something. Why not tell him?
“Annie?”
“I can’t say much about it. Just a part of the Black Rose movement.” The way she said it suggested a name behind the movement. “There was a time when you wouldn’t have needed to ask.”
“Does it have anything to do with the protests?”
“Probably not, but you’ll have to figure that out on your own.”
Finn considered pressing her more before deciding against it. “Thank you.”
“I don’t know if Oscar wants to get involved,” Annie said.
“He doesn’t want to or he won’t?”
Annie took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she looked around the tavern. “I never wanted anything to happen to the Wenderwolf. I had a place my girls could be safe, but…” She shook her head, turning her attention back to Finn. “When I was targeted, I didn’t know what to do, or how to protect everyone else. I tried, but it seemed like there wasn’t any way for me to ensure everyone was safe.”
“No one blamed you for what happened,” Finn said. She’d never gone into that with him before. She preferred to keep what happened with Gina and the witchcraft to herself. Finn understood.
“I know what happened. I know I could have done more, could have dug into who I hired more.” She looked around the tavern again before her gaze settled once more on Finn. “So you ask about these new girls. I’m trying to ensure everyone here is safe: the girls I have working for me, my patrons, and the tavern itself.”
Finn just nodded. “I think everybody appreciates what you do for them.”
“I’m just trying to do what’s needed,” she said. “I wish it weren’t necessary, but unfortunately, somebody has to intervene.” She watched Finn for a moment, then got to her feet. “Don’t get Oscar involved in something that’s going to get him killed.”
“I don’t intend to.”
“Even if you don’t intend to do it, he would do anything for you, Finn. That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“I would do anything for Oscar,” he said.
Annie tipped her head to the side, regarding him. “Would you?”
It was a loaded question and Finn knew it.
He and Oscar had this same discussion several times before, and each time they did, Finn understood the direction of the conversation, knowing that Oscar wondered whether Finn would be willing to sacrifice on behalf of his old friend. And each time they had that conversation, Finn questioned whether he could do what Oscar wanted.
If it came down to it, what would Finn choose?
Would it be his friend, or would it be his duty?
It seemed like it should be an easy answer.
But it was something that had always left Finn worried.
He didn’t want to have to choose, and he certainly didn’t want to be put into a position where he’d be forced to make a decision like that, especially not one that would place Oscar’s life in his hands. But Oscar had also promised Finn that he would never put him in such a position. Finn counted on him to live up to that promise.
“Can you let him know I came by?”
“He’ll know,” Annie said, “and when he does, I’m going to tell him he should stay out of it.”
“I understand.”
“We have a good thing going here now. He’s gotten out of some of the troublesome habits he had before and he’s finally found a bit of stability. I think he deserves it, don’t you?”
Finn nodded again. “Oscar is one of my oldest friends.”
“If he’s your friend, then you’ll leave him out of this.”
“I’m worried he’s going to get pulled into it one way or another.”
Annie regarded Finn, shaking her head. “I know you want to help him. Gods, Finn, I know you care about Oscar. And he certainly cares about you. The two of you have always thought you could take care of each other. He sees you as a son, and you see him as an older brother. But both of you think you can protect the other.”
“And?”
“And I fear the more you grow and develop, the less likely it is you’re going to be able to offer him anything he needs.”
Finn sighed. Maybe she was right.
“I’ll do my best to keep him out of it.”
“Well, then you wouldn’t have come here in the first place. All I’m asking now is for you to not involve him too deeply. And I’m asking you do everything you can to protect him if you do have to pull him in.” Annie backed away and nodded to Finn. “Enjoy your ale.”
Finn drank his ale, though he didn’t feel any joy in it. It was disappointing to have a mug of ale in front of him and not savor its taste.
He made his way back to Master Meyer’s home and met him in the small garden in front. Meyer was arranging flowers and looked up as Finn approached. These days, Meyer spent more time in his garden than he did anywhere else.
Finn would rather be looking into Reginald and why he’d died, but he had so many other errands to run in order to keep the office of executioner running smoothly.
Meyer could at least look like he was trying to help.
“Have you had an opportunity to talk to Warden Arlington?” Finn asked.
Meyer looked over to him, an unreadable expression in his eyes. “Not yet.”
Finn opened his mouth to say something before clamping it down.
“I see that upset you,” Meyer said.
“He doesn’t respect me, Master Meyer. When I challenged him on the decorations in the prison—”
“Was it necessary for you to do that?”
“I don’t know.” He knew there was a lesson Meyer was trying to get across, but Finn wasn’t exactly sure what it was. “It’s not only Arlington. The Archers have started questioning my authority as well.”
“Does that matter?”
“They need to follow where we lead.”
“They follow where I lead,” Master Meyer said. “Will they follow where you lead?”
“That’s my point,” Finn said, suppressing the irritation starting to creep in.
“How long do you think it took for me to develop my authority?”
Finn frowned. “I don’t know. I assumed they have always followed your direction.”
Meyer sniffed. “There is an aura about our title. I know you focus on the negative aspects of that aura, but when it comes to what we do and the way we serve the king, there are times when that aura benefits us. It took me years to build. And now you think to throw your weight around and force yourself into the chain of command while others know exactly where you stand?”
Meyer rarely became this forceful with Finn.
“If you do things the way you are supposed to, serve the way the king asks of you, your authority will build from there. You don’t need to demand respect. It will be given.” He seemed to hesitate a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter, which Finn took.
“Where?” he asked, immediately knowing what it was. They got requests like this fairly often. Communities surrounding Verendal needed an executioner.
“This one’s not far; otherwise, I don’t think the court would have asked it of us. A village nearby called Weverth. Should only take you a day or two.”
“What about the protests?”
“The Archers have it under control.” His voice was firm.
“And Reginald?” When Meyer frowned at him, Finn sighed. Maybe it was something only he was concerned about. “The man who killed himself in the debtors’ prison.”
“If there’s anything that comes up, I’ll let you know when you return.”
Finn knew better than to argue.
Instead, he headed into the house to begin his preparations to leave.
Chapter Seven
Traveling out of the city didn’t bother Finn the way it used to. Needing to ride
a horse did, however. He looked over to his companion, patting the fat gray mare on the side, and wondering if the stable had intentionally provided him with another overweight horse for this journey. Finn hadn’t been able to endure riding for very long without needing to get out of the saddle, unable to tolerate the stretch of his legs and thighs making his knees bend at an uncomfortable angle.
He’d pushed the horse for speed, though, and she’d responded. She might be fat, but she could be fast when necessary. The forest towered over him on either side of the Kings Road, and Finn found himself looking over to the trees from time to time, mostly out of curiosity, though occasionally because he heard a sound that made him question whether there was anything moving in the forest. With everything that had been going on in the city, Finn wouldn’t be terribly surprised if he was being followed.
It was the fact that there was so much going on in the city that troubled him. How much was the Black Rose movement tied into the protests? Annie hadn’t said, but Finn had a feeling she knew more than she was letting on. The city had been quiet when he’d left, but how long would it stay that way? Eventually, things would explode again.
It always seemed like Meyer sent him off on these journeys when Finn felt as if he needed to be in the city. Maybe that was Meyer’s way of proving to Finn he wasn’t nearly as important as Finn thought himself to be, or perhaps it had more to do with how Finn had progressed in his training.
This time, Finn left after having the feeling that he’d somehow upset Meyer.
Which was even more of a reason for him to rush his return.
It had been a few weeks since he’d been called out of the city. Long enough that the trees had started to take on different colors, the leaves turning from deep, vibrant green to the oranges, reds, and browns of the change of seasons. The air had shifted as well, taking on a bit of a damp quality, and it left Finn feeling as if the cold of winter would be here far sooner than he wished. He had tolerated winters much better lately, ever since taking on his role as an executioner, but that still didn’t mean he enjoyed them. In Verendal, winters could be harsh, and he had come to dislike needing to run through the city on all of his errands while it was that cold.
He thumbed through Reginald’s journal while he rode, but still didn’t find anything helpful within it. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something there he’d missed. There was a list of shop owners here, including several general stores, a luthier, a bookseller, a silversmith, and a couple Finn didn’t recognize.
The horse stirred.
Finn looked over, trying to get a sense of why the mare would be bucking now. She was unsettled, though he didn’t know if it was because of him—and it certainly could be, especially as Finn was a little unsettled himself—or whether it was something the horse detected.
“What has you spooked?”
The horse swung her head toward him, whinnying softly, then jerked on the reins, as if trying to get free of Finn.
He held on to them tightly. If she bolted, not only would it take him quite a long time to return to the city, but he would end up walking to Weverth.
“You just need to settle down,” Finn said, patting the horse on his side.
Not that he expected that to make much of a difference. The horse probably knew how irritated he was and realized she didn’t want to be here either.
They made their way a little farther along the road, and Finn frowned as he looked into the distance. The road curled around a bend. He shifted the pack strapped to his back, including the sword he had there. He wanted to keep one hand on the reins.
A rustling through the leaves caught his attention, and Finn turned toward it.
He muttered to himself, climbing back into the horse’s saddle. He nudged the horse on her flank, getting her to speed along the road. Finn’s legs screamed at the movement, already pinched from the time he'd spent in the saddle throughout the day, but given the unrest around Verendal, Finn wasn't going to be caught flat-footed.
It was times like these when he wished he had some fighting skills. He might have a sword, and could use it in a pinch, but he wasn’t particularly gifted with the blade, which left him at a disadvantage if highwaymen came upon him. Still, carrying a sword had a certain advantage. It made him look more intimidating, even if he didn’t necessarily feel that way.
He rounded the curve in the road and expected to come across what had spooked the horse, but there was nothing other than the empty expanse of the road.
Finn kept the horse moving at a trot. The fat mare was difficult for him to stay seated on, and he felt as if he continued to slide around in the saddle, very nearly tipping off the side of the horse. He was thankful that he had been riding for a while, even if it had been on short journeys outside of the city, but at least he wasn’t nearly as saddle sore as he would’ve been otherwise. His backside still hurt, and every jostling step left his thighs aching, but he would survive it.
And he couldn’t wait until they reached the destination.
It was near dusk when he reached Weverth.
The village was like so many others in the countryside around Verendal. In this case, it was more forested than some. The last time he’d left the city, he’d headed across the plains that led him to the village of Tell, which he had found well-equipped for what he had needed to do. It had been an easy stop. They had a rapist there, a man who had violated two women before they had a chance to stop him, and he had willingly admitted to his crime. That had made Finn’s job that much easier, and he had carried out the sentencing quickly before returning to Verendal. These days, Finn didn’t like being gone from the city any longer than necessary. He felt as if he were needed in Verendal, especially as Master Meyer had him doing more and more tasks on his own.
Of course, to hear Master Meyer speak of it, Finn should want to spend more time on his own out in the surrounding countryside. It was a way to augment his income, and Finn certainly appreciated that opportunity, especially as he hoped to one day afford a place of his own.
Weverth was nestled in the forest, just off the side of the King’s Road, with towering pine trees surrounding it. A few trees with larger leaves were interspersed among the pines, most of them already having changed color. As the wind tugged on their upper branches, the trees swayed in the breeze, carrying the energy of the wind—but also something else.
The air smelled crisp, earthy, but there was a coppery undertone to it, along with a hint of rot. Death.
Finn slowed the horse, heading toward the village more carefully, noting only a few people milling in the streets. Maybe there was nothing for him to be concerned about, but he had grown cautious in his time working with Master Meyer, and had learned to trust instinct when it flashed in him.
As he neared the village, he climbed down out of the saddle and approached the closest of the buildings.
They were farms, though small, and most of them had fenced-in yards to contain livestock. Several cattle grazed in the yards, and he caught sight of a couple of pigs wallowing in the muck.
Finn passed through, making his way along the main thoroughfare into the village itself. He looked along the street, taking in the sight of the houses and a few shops. All the buildings in this village were two or three stories tall, with steep, sloped roofs, and were situated along the narrow cobblestone streets. With only a few people moving along the streets, there was an empty, albeit cozy, appearance to them. The houses were painted in browns and whites, with an occasional splash of color on shutters opened to the day. His gaze drifted to the massive church that rose up in the distance. As he approached, he realized the church had both the markings of Heleth and the Church of Fell.
The Church of Fell was a newer sect, having cropped up over the last decade or so. Finn didn’t have much experience with them, but the priests of Fell had a different attitude toward sentencing than the priests of Heleth, who offered comfort and forgiveness to those who came before them in their final hours. It was almost as if
the priests of Fell, however, wanted to torment the condemned, berating them in their final moments, castigating them and telling them how they would suffer in the afterlife.
Finn didn’t put a lot of stock into any of the different gods, not nearly as much as what he suspected he should given his profession, but he found the particular ideology of the followers of most of the gods to be unpleasant. Most of the people who were sentenced to die had good reason for it, and while all of them had caused suffering and anguish to others for them to be sentenced in such a way, Finn still felt as if they deserved a humane approach.
He had never been to Weverth for a sentencing. Many of the small towns and villages dotting the landscape around Verendal were like that. They were self-sufficient, and rarely did Finn ever spend much time in them—rarely did he need to spend much time in them. The only time he had been back to a village more than once had been when he had needed to obtain additional information.
He paused along the road, noting the happenings around him.
A child running down the street was dragged away by his mother, scolded for being out.
A bell tolled softly, a steady ringing that carried to Finn’s ears from the massive temple in front of him. Heleth.
Or, it might not be Heleth. It might be celebrants of Fell.
Finn frowned, turning and looking all around him before heading forward again.
He didn’t know where he was to go. That wasn’t uncommon when he took these journeys out of the city. Oftentimes, he was simply to come to the village, find out what they wanted from him, then figure out what the condemned was guilty of.
He patted the horse on her side.
He didn’t have to wait long.
Another bell tolled, this one a little more urgently than the last. There was a hint of energy to its sound along with something else—a vibrant, trembling pulling that seemed to carry deep within Finn. He felt as if there was a message hidden in it.
He pushed those thoughts away. That had to be his imagination, nothing else.
The tolling continued.
The Executioner's Rebellion (The Executioner's Song Book 4) Page 8