A Sellsword's Mercy

by Jacob Peppers

  A chill ran down his spine at the sight of it. It was just plain wood, wood that could have been used to craft any number of things—beds or chairs, maybe a crib to hold a baby in. But it was none of those things; this wood had been crafted for death, shaped and made for it, and Balen felt a sense of unease as he stared at it, as if he was somehow being watched and not in a friendly way. Ridiculous, of course. Wood couldn’t stare, and it certainly couldn’t think, but that did nothing to settle Balen’s queasy stomach.

  A simple platform, big enough to hold eight men, maybe more, considering one of the poor bastards would be kneeling with his head on the stout block of wood in the center of it. Balen found it difficult to fathom that soon, less than an hour from now, May and Hale would be marched up onto that platform and—unless he and the others managed to stop it—their blood would stain that freshly-cut wood crimson. He had a moment, then, when he felt as if he was dreaming. Surely, it couldn’t be real. Surely they could not have come to such a place as this. But the scowling people around them were real enough, and the sensations running through him, burning one moment, freezing the next, were also real. So, too, was the man standing beside him, staring at the platform and the block on it as if they were creatures, mad dogs, maybe, that needed to be put down.

  “It’s alright, Thom,” Balen said. “We’ll save her.”

  “We’d better,” the first mate said, his gaze unwavering. “Because this much I promise you, Balen, whatever happens, I’ll die before she does, and I’ll take as many of these sons of bitches with me as I can.”

  Balen swallowed hard. If there was a better way to kill a conversation, he’d never heard it, so he decided to start looking around for the swordmaster, for the sailors and Urek and all the others who would be spread out in the crowd, waiting for their moment. He thought he saw a flash of Beautiful’s face, but it could have been no more than a product of his own fear, for the woman had been eyeing him like a piece of meat since they’d met, one she intended to devour, given the opportunity.

  The swordmaster himself, he knew, would not have arrived yet, for he’d gone in search of captain Brandon Gant. Balen didn’t know if he had managed to find him or not, but he prayed he had and that the captain had agreed to work with them. They had little enough chance as it was, if the captain did get involved. If he didn’t…well, better not to think of that. If he didn’t, Balen could spend eternity in the Fields thinking it over. After all, it wasn’t as if the dead had jobs to get to.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  May looked up at the sound of footsteps in the dungeon corridor. She did not shrink away as she so often did, for one surprising side-effect of her impending death was she was no longer afraid of something so small as the scuff of a boot on tightly-packed earth, nor the ruddy glow of torchlight in the dark. Eight guardsmen filed in front of her cell, two carrying torches. Six lined themselves in front of Hale’s cell while two stood in front of her own. She felt vaguely offended at that, but she couldn’t really blame the guards. She’d heard it had taken nearly a dozen guards to arrest the big man in the first place, and more than one had been forced to visit—or be carried—to a healer after.

  One of the guards turned to her, regarding her with eyes that were not unkind, a vaguely troubled expression on his face. “It’s time, May Tanarest. Are you ready?”

  May nearly laughed at that. How, exactly, did a woman prepare for her own execution? Did she do her hair differently, spend hours combing it? Did she exercise, maybe, in hopes of slimming her figure before being put on display in front of so many people? The thing about being executed, she’d found, was that it had a tendency of stealing a person’s motivation to keep up with her appearance.

  She did not answer the man, for there was no answer she might give, no words to express the combination of despair and relief that mingled within her. Instead, she only rose on unsteady legs that threatened to give way beneath her.

  Despite her instincts for self-preservation, May forced one foot forward, then the other. It was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, yet it was also the easiest, and she wondered if soldiers, marching to their deaths, had feet so heavy, wondered if their steps, too, seemed to glide over the ground with a shocking, almost scary ease.

  She reached the cell door, and the guard nodded. “Please turn around,” he said, “with your hands clasped behind you.”

  May did as she was told. Over the past days, she had grown accustomed to doing what she was told, saying whatever she was told to say, no matter if it were true or not. It didn’t always keep the whip at bay, didn’t always keep Grinner from showing his displeasure with his knotty fists, but sometimes it did.

  The cold iron of the manacles touched her wrist, and she jerked in surprise. “S-sorry,” she stammered, scared she would upset the guard. “I-it startled me.” The truth, of course, was that it hadn’t startled her at all—it had terrified her. She thought she had never felt anything so cold as the touch of that metal on her skin.

  “Don’t worry about it,” the guard said, clapping the manacles closed. “Most people jump the first time they’re put on.”

  May wondered at that, and some small part of her, the part most resembling the woman she’d once been, felt sorry for the man. What a life it must be to spend your days bringing men and women to the dungeons and throwing them in cells, often not knowing whether they were truly guilty or not and having no say in what finally happened to them. It seemed to her a cruel profession, as cruel to the man who worked within it as any who he ever imprisoned. A man would either have to be one of the best, strongest people she could imagine, or, she supposed, one of the meanest.

  “Okay, that’s good,” the man said, and he didn’t seem cruel to her, only tired and more than a little sad. Not sad at her plight particularly, she thought, but sad, perhaps, that the world was a place in which his role was necessary. “Now, be still for a moment.”

  She waited, fighting the urge to tense her back in case he decided to hit her after all. Then she heard the metallic clank of the cell door opening, a sound that she had longed for in the past days. And now that she heard it, she was glad; though the freedom she was offered was not the freedom for which she had hoped, it was still freedom. Or would be. Soon.

  “That’s just right,” the man said, speaking as if to a child or a lunatic, slowly, with each word clearly enunciated. “Now then, I want you to take two steps back and one to the side, do you understand?”

  May swallowed. Two steps back and one to the side. Two steps back and one to the side. She felt a thrill of panic surge through her. “W-wait. I-I’m sorry. Which side?”

  “Ah, shit. Two steps back and one to your left, understand?”

  “Y-yes.” She waited, expecting some other instructions.

  When the guard did speak there was pity in his voice. “You can move now, Lady Tanarest.” That pity, so unexpected, struck her like a blow, putting a crack in the armor of resignation she’d erected around herself that no amount of pain or harsh treatment, where no questions from Hale—or his damned eyes—had been able to penetrate.

  “Well, perhaps you should be clear on what you want,” she snapped, and her eyes went as wide as those of the two guards must have. But she found she wasn’t done. “I’d hate to do the wrong thing and force you to kill me without an audience—the gods forbid they miss their show.”

  She heard a grunt that might have been laughter from behind her and knew it was Hale. “Move now, Lady Tanarest,” the guard said, and when he spoke this time there was no pity or compassion in his voice, only a cool hardness. Great, she thought, you find a guard who treats you like a person instead of some feral animal, and you bite his head off for it. That’ll teach him.

  She did as she was told, feeling the sudden surge of anger-fueled strength leaking from her, as if she were a wineskin that had burst open, spilling its contents onto the floor. She was outside her cell now, staring at the dungeon wall.

  “Now, remain still and do
not move.”

  She felt one of the two presences behind her depart then heard another man giving the same instructions to Hale. She realized they would be escorted to their execution together. Don’t worry, ladies and gentlemen, it’s all part of the show.

  “Careful,” one of the guards hissed. “You saw what he done to Jessum.”

  Another grunted. “Jessum’s a fool that spends too much time with whores and not enough with his sword.”

  “Maybe,” the first said, “but I doubt he’ll be doin’ much of either now. Fool he might be, but he’s a cripple for sure.”

  “There’ll be no trouble here, will there, big guy? We’re just gonna go on a stroll, you and me. How’s that sound?” If Hale answered, May didn’t hear it, but she tensed in expectation.

  There was the sound of something falling, and she felt a rush of fear, thinking that the big crime boss had decided to attack the man, after all. She craned her neck, but could make out nothing save for the forms of some of the guards standing in front of the crime boss’s cell. “See there?”

  The guard who’d spoken said, laughing, “Fucker can barely stand, let alone fight. Councilman Grinner has done for him right enough—my pa always said even the meanest dog’ll learn not to bite, if you show ‘em who’s boss. Now, on your feet, you big bastard.”

  Someone let out a weak groan, and a wave of despair washed over May as she realized it came from the giant. Although she had grown to hate the crime boss’s staring, silent visage, hated the way it had always seemed to measure her, she realized then that she had also come to rely on it in. Whatever else he was—admitted crook, thief, and murderer—Hale was a man of seemingly inexhaustible strength. And without having known she was doing it, May had come to rely on that strength in the last days. To hear those tortured, pitiful moans from the crime boss made her feel weaker and, what’s more, afraid.

  “Oh, stop your damned blubbering,” the guard spat. “You two help him up for the gods’ sake. Dangerous is he?” The man laughed. “I’ve seen cows more dangerous than him, though I’ll admit he’s as big as one anyway.”

  Please, Hale, don’t do anything stupid, May thought, but she realized that some part of her wished he would, wished that he would surprise the guards—and her as well—and show them that his strength had no limits, after all. But there was no cry of surprise, no scream of alarm, and soon she heard the metallic snick of Hale’s own manacles as they closed around his wrists. “Alright, Lady Tanarest. You can turn around.”

  May turned and let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding as she saw, with relief, that he only stood there placidly, making no move to attack the guards. But her relief was mixed with a bitter sort of disappointment. Even Hale, it seemed, could be broken. The club owner felt a wave of sadness at the thought, for though the big crime boss was not necessarily a kind, or even a good man, he was one from whom she’d always known what to expect. Seeing him as he was now was like seeing some great beast of the jungle, lying in a cage with barely enough room in which to move, wasting away, all its nobility, its majesty, being stripped away one day at a time, being bought and paid for with each coin that changed hands as villagers came to gawk at it so they might have a story to tell their friends. A story of the great beast they had seen, one that had once been capable of slaughtering men by the dozens. Once, but no longer, for the beast had been broken. Tamed.

  May was so focused on the disappointment, the unexpected sense of loss, that she didn’t realize the guard who’d laughed at Hale was speaking for several seconds. “…be a crowd out there, all come to see justice done. They’ll be shoutin’ and hollerin’, maybe throwing fruits, vegetables and such, but you two just stick to your best behavior, and we’ll do what we can to keep ‘em calm. This thing is happenin’ whether you want it to or not. Don’t bother tellin’ me you’re innocent or that we’ve got the wrong man or woman. That decision’s been made already, and it wasn’t mine or these others here who made it. So you just act right, stay calm, and we’ll get this thing done with as little fuss as we can, and maybe when you see Salen, he’ll listen to you holler about innocence, now how’d that be?”

  May nodded, her heart racing. She had thought that she’d prepared herself for this moment, this day, but the truth was a woman could never prepare herself for giving up her life, the only thing that made her her. She wanted to tell the man yes, she would do as she was told, but she found that the words stuck in her mouth, simply too big to utter.

  “And you, big fella?” the guard said. “We gonna have any problems today?”

  Hale remained silent, and May saw he was out in the hallway now, supported by a guard on either side. His head lolled, but whether it was a nod of agreement or a sign of exhaustion, she couldn’t have said. Still, it seemed to satisfy the guard and he gave a short nod of his own. “Alright then. Let’s get this thing done.”

  With that, the man turned, holding his torch aloft, and May followed him out of the dark dungeons to that far greater darkness which awaited all women and all men when their time came.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Adina did her best to project a presence of authority and strength as she strode up to the gate, her companions behind her, but her stomach fluttered nervously, and her hands were slick with sweat. Would the guards even let her and the others in? Or would they attack the moment they identified themselves? If things were truly as bad as the Speaker said—and she had no reason to doubt him—there was no telling how the guards at the gate might react to her and the others seeming to show up out of nowhere. She just had to hope that the men stationed there were loyal to Isabelle, not Grinner, had to hope, further, that there was still some distinction between the two.

  “Morning, miss,” one of the four guards said. “What can the city of Perennia do for you and your companions?”

  “You can let us through,” Adina said, forcing an air of authority into her voice that she did not feel. “And it is not miss, but Majesty. I am Queen Adina, and I have—thanks to the help of my friends—narrowly avoided an attempt on my life and their lives as well to return here and once again take up the fight against the mage, Kevlane.”

  The guard’s eyes went wide as she spoke, and he looked as if he weren’t sure whether to draw the sword at his side or kneel. Adina studied him and the other three, holding her breath as she waited to see what choice they would make.

  Finally, the man dropped to one knee, bowing his head, and Adina breathed a sigh of relief. A moment later, the other guards followed suit. “Forgive us, Princess Adina,” the one who’d spoken said. “We did not expect you this morning, but it is good to see you returned, of course, and safely at that. What can we do for you?”

  The man’s tone was subservient, even helpful, but she didn’t miss the fact that he’d called her “Princess” not “Queen.” She hoped it had been only a slip, nothing more, but the butterflies that had gathered in her stomach when she approached the gate fluttered restlessly. “I have heard that May Tanarest and Councilman Hale are to be executed,” she said without preamble, schooling her features to look imperious. “Is this true?”

  “Regretfully, yes, Princess,” the man said. That word again. It means nothing, Adina. Relax. “Lady Tanarest and the councilman have been interrogated by the queen’s questioners and found guilty of treasonous plotting including the downfall of Perennia and the kingdom of Isalla as well as conspiring in an assassination plot on the queen herself.”

  Hearing the words out loud from a man who believed them as opposed to the Speaker who only told her what news he’d heard made Adina feel as if she had woken to a world where everything had been turned upside down. For a moment she could do nothing but stare at the guard in mute shock. A second later, she felt the urge—very strong and very hard to resist—to slap the man across his face for his ignorance, but she did not.

  Instead, she took a slow, deep breath, steadying her anger and her frayed nerves, and when she spoke she did so in a reasonable tone, one
that, she hoped, also demanded obedience. “May Tanarest and Councilman Hale have been accused unjustly, guardsman. There are none more loyal or more instrumental in our fight against the mage, Kevlane, than they. The execution must be stopped at once until we can launch an investigation into what has truly occurred.” An investigation, she promised herself, that will end with Grinner’s neck bent beneath the executioner’s axe.

  The guard’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But, Princess Adina, begging your pardon, the investigation was done by the queen’s very best, and it is said that the two admitted to all manner of evils.”

  “Then the investigation was wrong, and I intend to launch one of my own.”

  The man nodded. “As you say, of course, Princess. If you like, I can escort you and your companions to the queen, and I’m sure—”

  “There’s no time for that,” Adina said. “Finding them innocent will do Lady May and Councilman Hale little good if they are already dead. Now, where is the execution to be held?”

  “At the city square, Majesty,” the guard said, “but, forgive me, Princess, I do not think it wise for you and your…friends to go there.”

  “No?” Adina said, letting a note of warning enter her voice. “And why is that?”

  The man winced uncomfortably. “Excuse me for saying so, Princess, but there have been many rumors circulating around the city since you and General Envelar…left.” Abandoned, was the word Adina suspected he meant, but she let it go. “Many people are scared, and it is an easy enough thing, in my experience, for fear to turn to anger, given the right conditions.”