“It's alright,” his brother answered him.
“We will see,” Marrhit responded dryly.
In the following days the three of them exchanged very few words. Marrhit spoke even less, turning exclusively to Selot in the Uicic language, to exclude the marquis from understanding. Var ignored the lack of courtesy. He explained how he had organized the diaspora of his people, how he had divided up the groups of families, where he had sent the messengers to recall the men of Atiarav from all the lands of the kingdom. He kept his eyes fixed towards the south-west, straight towards the valleys of Atiarav, where they would arrive in flight, where his heart beat, where Clen and his two sons waited, made to hide and move continually to confuse the trackers. He feared for their fate and his heart was wrought with anguish.
Over those days, Selot felt a presence from afar, other than his two traveling companions, but it was a faint and very subtle sensation and it presented itself only on very fleeting and rare occasions. Sometimes it almost felt like he could reach out and touch it; he held the reins of his horse to catch it, only to have it disappear again. Marrhit and Var noticed those moments, but gave little consequence to them, just like Selot himself. In the end, he figured it was nothing more than his imagination, perhaps owing to all that had happened, his Vetem faculties still evolving, maybe pressed to excess over those last few weeks.
The evening before the full moon, they reached the plain that spread out at the feet of Solzhaz. Ucal's execution was planned for the next morning. Marrhit looked at the walls of the city. He turned towards Selot. He led his horse up to his brother's to speak to him as close as possible. “Do not do anything your marquis asks of you, until my return.”
“It won't be immediately...”
Marrhit grabbed him by the arm. “I don't know what this marquis has asked of you, but I know humans always bring trouble bigger than they can handle.”
“Are you really worried for me?” Selot teased him. Marrhit's face hardened. He had the temptation to throw that rascal down from his horse and teach him a good lesson. He was right though, and the only thing Vetems were not able to do was to lie to themselves. “Yes, damn it, I worry for you,” and it was if he had nails in his mouth when he said it. “You owe him nothing. He saved your life because he intends to use you for his objectives. You are not his subject and there is no agreement that you must respect.”
“Don't you think this might be the most difficult moment of all we are living through now?” Marrhit did not understand. “We are free and any action we undertake is our own to make.” Marrhit found it hard to evaluate the philosophical aspect of these matters. He needed goals and references in order to act. All that mattered to him now was to keep himself and his brother alive until their appointment with Sabre. He rolled his shoulders.
“Reach Atiarav as fast as possible and stay hidden.” He added nothing more and headed towards the doors of the city that were already closed.
Once he got close to the walls, he got down from his horse. He concealed himself behind his giant black cloak and got lost in a group of merchants and travelers who had to enter the city the next morning. He listened to their chatter, investigated in the eyes of whoever he was able to exchange glances with. In a short while, he had enough information about the execution, which was appointed immediately after dawn. It would be a hanging. There was excitement. Executions were not all that common and this time, it was a not a common criminal, but a deserter warrior, who further more, had assisted the Marquis of Atiarav. It was the topic of the day. Executions were quite a spectacle and the people buzzed with curiosity. Only the women, most of all, those with children, seemed to have any pity for the man destined to die with a rope around his neck. Not far off, a garrison of soldiers of the Kingdom of Dar surveyed the city to keep it under control, and to assure its support of the Governor in charge of central power. He waited out the night, unable to sleep. Things he'd been so sure of had been shaken to their very roots over the last few weeks. He couldn't deny it. Selot had changed him. He was afraid he was no longer able to hate him. He had hated the brother he didn't know for many long years, and that hate had kept him alive. It had almost replaced the affection and safety of his father's presence. And now he didn't have one or the other. When he finally had the bastard in his hands, he had been lulled into a sense of peace in pouring out that burning hate onto him which had risen over time. He would make him suffer until death, to avenge all the evil that he and his mother had put him through. He had hoped to kill him while on their mission. In a certain sense, the Council had agreed to the possibility of exploiting and sacrificing him, and he would savor those final moments of Selot's life. He wanted to watch him as he died, look into his eyes, driving the final blow with pleasure, knowing his brother would understand he was killing him. He perceived the Council would not criticize him, and he attributed that idea to the fact that, all things considered, no one would disapprove if he took his rightful revenge. But it had all gone very differently to how they might expect. Now, he understood a great many things. Someone in the Council had exploited his resentment to plot his own schemes. If Yellow Eye hadn't done them in, Marrhit's own hate might have played a role in eliminating one of the two. Though he hadn't taken his brother into account. Selot always surprised everyone. He felt foolishly proud of him. He couldn't explore that sentiment more deeply, since there was an arid zone within his soul, far too vast to do so. He went back to concentrating on his own survival and on the mission he now had to undertake. Finally, he managed to doze for a few hours.
Dawn came. He lost himself in the crowd of people who crammed through the entrance of the city, and headed towards a cutler's he recalled in the lower part of the city. It was still closed. He knocked to make them open for him. A bald man came, unnerved by the disturbance.
“What is this! I open the doors in one hour!” inveighed the man, opening the door. A short glimpse was enough for Marrhit. The man brought him about twenty knives, the best his shop had to offer, only to close the door again calmly, questioning himself as to why he would give a complete stranger his best goods without any recompense; and yet, it seemed like the best thing to do. He went back to his grinder, where he had to sharpen many knives before opening for the public. Marrhit then made his way to a stable and asked them to give him the best animal they had in their charge. Pulling his own horse by the reins, plus the newly gained one, he headed with grand strides to the higher part of the city. The execution was to take place on the great square in front of the Governor's palace, the same one where he and Selot had exhibited their circus act at the beginning of their journey. The preparations were in full swing. The stage had already been set up for the execution and in that moment, the executioner was testing the rope for the noose. There was only one gallows, so the man he had to save was the only one to be hung that morning. A few curious onlookers were walking around at the foot of the stage. A baker had thought to set up a stall nearby, with bread and pies, to make the most of the event, and earn a little money. He walked in front of him, winking at him. He witnessed a memory in the baker's mind, of a boy who'd stolen a piece of flat bread and a warrior who paid for it immediately afterwards to avoid trouble for the boy. “Flash and Ucal,” he recognized their faces from Var's memories. From the top of a tower, a gloomy bell pealed. It was the call for the execution. Many people came, plus many noteworthy citizens with their wives, all spruced up for the event. They placed themselves at the center of the square, next to the octagonal fountain, quite close to the stage of the execution. Marrhit put his weapons down and tied the horses to a metal ring on the side of the fountain. He pulled out the twenty or so knives he'd taken from the cutler's and began doing one of his circus acts. The people appreciated it straight away. By now, the festivity was underway. The air was saturated with the fragrance of freshly baked bread and the street artist cheered up the assembly before the center piece of the morning. He let some time pass by, letting the rhythm of the bells and the spirit of the mo
ment, inspire him. The chimes announced to the public each of the steps the preparations of the execution were to take. Each peal had a meaning: the prisoner would be taken from his cell, tied up, stripped down, his hair would be cut to highlight his neck, then he would be transferred from the jail. There it was, they were almost ready. The bells stopped chiming and the doors of the palace of the Governor were opened. All eyes flew in that direction. The Governor advanced, dressed in all his finery, and next to him were the dignitaries of the palace and the superintendent of the prison. They took their places at the official benches on the stage, with obvious pleasure. The Governor took up his seat at the bench of honor and gave a signal of benevolent attention towards the town folk, who gladly applauded his well-deserved and obsequious power. All of the guards who guarded the stage had taken up their positions. The Governor finally gave his solemn nod to bring forth the condemned man.
The people suddenly poured out all their hate towards this person they did not even know. It was guaranteed entertainment, for which the Governor was thanked and celebrated. They brought rotten food to throw in disgust at the condemned prisoner, dust and rusty nails too, and stones as well, to tell him he was dying.
The prisoner finally came out, accompanied by the executioner. Everyone called out horrible words against him. They must have feared him greatly. He was tied with a very heavy chain around his neck, hands bound and his ankles too. Damn it. Not a simple rope to cut through easily. Marrhit hesitated. He felt a rather new sensation. He felt pity. These people were doing to this man what he had done to Selot for months. They hated him and they were tormenting him without knowing who he was, without knowing about his life, without knowing what had brought him there. He stood on the edge of the fountain and waited. No one paid any attention to the street jester who only a minute ago was juggling for their entertainment. The executioner led the man up the steps to the gallows. Ucal walked as if none of this really concerned him. Marrhit was too far from him to exchange glances with him. He stayed and observed him. He saw his dignity through those horrible insults and the objects that were thrown. He saw the aggressive crowd and the tranquil soul of the criminal. The executioner asked if he wanted the blindfold. He shook his head. He watched as he raised his head towards the sky and swore he saw a smile. This was the moment. He positioned his weapons on his back and the giant sword at his belt. He silently untied the horses, calming them as he did. He placed the batch of twenty knives on the edge of the fountain next to him. He had to concentrate solely on the liberation of the prisoner. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to take care of the Governor and all his boot lickers too. He took aim and threw the knives at full speed with such precision that initially no one truly knew what was happening. The first to react was the executioner, who looked down at his chest, earnestly surprised to see the handle of a very long knife sticking out of it. He fell to the ground without a word of complaint. He hadn't yet touched the wooden planks of the stage, when the twelve guards who were on guard met the same silent fate. It was if they had all fallen simultaneously. The Governor and the others seated on the benches began screaming in terror as they looked around, unable to understand where the attack was coming from. They called out loudly, “Guards! Soldiers!” Ucal was the first to realize what was happening. He tried to free his head from the noose; the executioner hadn't had time to fix it tightly around his neck. The superintendent of the prison called his men and threw himself at Ucal to tighten that damned noose to finish off the job. The panic that ran through the crowd was like fire in a haystack. Everyone began to flee in all directions. Someone yelled, “They're attacking us! The mountain dwellers of Atiarav!” The square emptied itself. Ucal tried to shake off the superintendent as best he could, but more arrived suddenly to assist him and they managed to fix the noose around his neck and tighten it violently. The superintendent was possessed. “You will die today, damnation! You will not get away from me! Open the trapdoor! Now!” he croaked. Ucal heard the sound of the lever set in motion and he readied himself. He felt his body fall into thin air. Damn it, he thought. He'd been so close to getting away with it this time too...But his body did not suddenly stop, with a blow to his neck. He kept on going until he reached the ground, under the stage. He landed agilely. He looked up: the rope of the gallows swung, deftly cut, and he was alive. Chained, with the noose cut off round his neck, but alive. He had to recover the keys of this damned chain. The executioner had them. He had to get back up there in some way and get them.
“Here they are!” He turned and looked at Marrhit, their eyes exchanging glances. Marrhit knew everything about him. He nodded. He held the keys in his hand. Ucal stared at him, speechless. He was the most impressive warrior he had ever seen, and he'd appeared out of nowhere. For a minute, he forgot everything: that he was about to be executed and that, just maybe, this was the right moment to escape.
“Mother of God. Who are you?” he asked, magnetized by his steely stare.
“Selot's brother...on our father's side.” Ucal was astounded. Marrhit used the keys to liberate him from the heavy chains, and cut away the noose in an instant. He withdrew his twin swords from his back and handed them to Ucal.
“Use these!” he yelled, as he turned to face the soldiers with his biggest sword; the soldiers had in the meantime been called to the rescue. Ucal did not need to be coerced. His favorite weapons. Alive, free and armed, he felt a burst of excitement. They threw themselves at the soldiers who were chasing them. It was almost too easy for the duo to clear a space around them. Ucal took the luxury of observing that alien fight. It was evident he was a Vetem. He anticipated every move and got rid of his adversaries with embarrassing ease. He was gifted with impressive physical strength, and his every strike was fatal and clearly not detracting from his energy levels; he moved with little effort. Once the coast was clear, Marrhit called for the horses which bounded toward them. They leaped onto the mounts agilely. They headed towards the doors of the city to the north. Marrhit had noted the previous evening it was the least occupied. When they reached the doors, he pulled out his bow and shot at the sentinel guards. He left just one alive, who was then ordered to open them. The man hurried to carry out the order. When he opened the door, Marrhit and Ucal dashed out with all possible speed, followed by the soldiers of the Kingdom of Dar who sounded the horns to alert their comrades on the other two doors. They spurred on their horses, and Ucal followed the tracks of the direction Marrhit took, who in the saddle of his stallion, had no equal when it came to speed. He wanted to lead the soldiers far from the valley crossing that led to Atiarav, so he took the opposite direction, towards a very insidious territory: a dark and narrow river valley, dominated by stony ground and dizzying gullies. Marrhit, despite riding at full speed, still managed to turn and deliver shots with a precision that left Ucal open-mouthed. He went through his quiver without wasting a single arrow. They ducked into a woody strip, letting their horses follow the most logical pathway as they themselves hid among the treetops, waiting for the soldiers to pass beneath them. They waited silent and immobile, crouched down on the highest branches of a giant elm. The soldiers of the kingdom went under them four times, without discovering their presence. They stayed like that, until dusk. From far off, they could make out the furious cries of the Governor. For something of this sort, he could lose his position. Maybe the height of his political power had come to an end. Once it was completely dark, they dared come down. Ucal looked at Marrhit. “I owe you my life,” he said handing over the twin swords, after admiring their incredible elegance.
“You owe it to my brother; if it had been for me, you'd be hanging on that gallows. Now, let's move.” He should have been much more irritated, but he just couldn't do it. He gripped his blades and returned them to the casing on his back with a lightening quick gesture. Ucal held out his arm.
“My name is Ucal, but seeing as you are a Vetem, you know that already.”
“I know everything about you,” he replied, but he did not go out
of his way to tell him his own name, nor to accept the arm in a sign of friendship. “We must move quickly, seeing as you can't wait to risk your skin for the Marquis of Atiarav, too. He's not having an easy time of it.”
“Is Selot with him?” Marrhit hesitated. Why were they all so worried for this damned marquis? Why were they all so anxious to help him?
“Yes.”
“Good,” the warrior commented.
“He hasn't treated you well in the past, as far as I can see. Why do you give him your loyalty?” Ucal was startled. Had this Vetem read so far into him? Marrhit stared at him to make him understand it was so, that he'd read that deep into his soul.
“Well then, it's useless for me to explain it to you, you should know already,” he retorted, closing the matter right there. Marrhit had a hint of annoyance. No, he didn't know. There was a veil created by emotions that he didn't know how to read. The reasoning of men became incomprehensible to him and he didn't understand where their sentiments drove them. In any case, he was not interested in going further into the conscience of that man.
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