“We interfere with a hanging and we all join Bernard on the gallows,” Lathaar said.
“What if he doesn’t want to be saved?” Aurelia asked. “It does no good to save him if he will just turn himself in again.”
“And what about Antonil?” Harruq asked. “Won’t he leave if we do this?”
Tarlak swore and looked around. He had made sure Antonil was not invited to their little gathering because he knew that’s exactly what the king would do. He’d been hoping no one would mention that fact, but of course, the half-orc had a knack for ruining his plans.
“Yes,” Tarlak said. “He probably will. And if we fail, we’d all get an appointment with a rope.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Aurelia said. She did not wither under Tarlak’s glare. “We have to accept the gift we’re being given.”
“You all may do nothing,” Haern said as he tied his hair behind his head. “But I won’t.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Tarlak said.
“Try and stop me,” the assassin said. “I’m no longer an Eschaton, remember?”
“So what is it we do?” Aurelia asked as Haern walked away.
“We watch the hanging,” Tarlak said, slowly shaking his head. “And we keep Haern from interfering.”
“I think I liked being on the run more,” Harruq muttered.
“Amen,” the wizard said, glaring at Haern’s retreating figure. “Amen to that.”
L athaar told the rest to expect a loud, boisterous execution, so they were surprised when they arrived at the gallows in the far east of the city to find only a large troop of soldiers.
“What gives?” Tarlak asked as several halted them.
“Under orders of the queen,” said one. “Only those in company of King Antonil Copernus of Neldar may attend the hanging.”
“And I am he,” Antonil said, having joined the Eschaton after their meeting. “Let us pass.”
The guards bowed and let them through to the gallows. The structure was simple enough, and built directly into the inner wall surrounding the city. Two giant stones jutted outward, and across them was a single large piece of wood. Another stone stuck out from the wall fifteen feet above the ground, and a long piece of rope looped around it. On the right side someone had constructed a small staircase of wood.
“The queen’s keeping this one private,” Tarlak said as he glanced around at the guards.
“She doesn’t want a spectacle,” Antonil said. “She fears my reaction.”
“She has good sense to be frightened,” Harruq said. “Haern’s out there somewhere.”
No one else laughed.
“Night will fall in an hour,” Tarlak told the rest. “Get settled in. And keep your eyes peeled. I don’t have a good feeling about all this.”
O n the other side of the city, Haern leaped across the rooftops, a sinking feeling in his gut. He knew the rest were right about letting Bernard’s execution happen. The thought of accepting it, though, burned his insides. If an innocent man was to die that night, he planned to send plenty of guilty souls with him to the eternity.
Haern halted on the very edge of a building, his sabers drawn and his cloaks trailing. Before him was the temple of Karak, a multitude of armed men patrolling the premises. Evidently they had a hunch he was coming. He smirked. Too bad it would do them no good. A single leap and he cleared the fence, and in total silence he descended upon the first of many guards to die.
T he priests of Ashhur arrived in a solemn line, their faces covered with ash. They halted before the guards and bowed. They didn’t seem surprised when they were not allowed to pass. Instead they smiled and lifted their hearts to song. Harruq listened, curious of their resolve. They did not sing songs of mourning, but songs of hope, and of faith. It chilled his spine, and he could see the guards equally affected. All around heard of the golden eternity, of the love awaiting them, and each felt a wrongness in where they stood and in what they were to witness.
When Bernard arrived, his arms bound by rope and his face covered by a black cloth, they sang their songs all the louder.
“We should stop this,” Harruq said, feeling a sudden panic in his chest. “We need to stop this.”
“You know we shouldn’t,” Aurelia said beside him. She grabbed his hand and held it tight as he fought down wave after wave of frustration.
“Swallow it down, Har,” Tarlak said as the guards led Bernard up the stairs toward the hanging rope. “We all have our time.”
H aern slipped into the main cathedral, the only sound he made coming from the drops of blood falling from his sabers onto the stone floor. The rows of pews were empty. Four priests knelt before a statue of Karak, pleading for forgiveness. Haern ran down the aisle, his blood thirst far from sated. Guards were nothing. Even the priests were nothing. There was one he wanted, one in particular.
In a single motion he stabbed each saber through the prostrate back of a priest, yanked them free, and curled them around the throats of the remaining two. Another yank and all four fell, bleeding out like sacrifices upon the altar. Haern grabbed the statue’s arm and hoisted himself up so he could wipe blood onto the edifice’s face.
“Their blood is on you,” the assassin whispered. “As it damn well should be.”
A door to the far side cracked open, and a man holding a book in one hand and a small leather whip in the other stepped into the cathedral.
“Have you finished your absolutions?” the man asked as he looked up from his book. The first thing he saw was Haern’s boot just before it crushed his nose. He spun to the ground, crying out as he felt his arm twist and tighten behind his back. A brutal jerk, and he heard the bones of his shoulder crack. He cried out from the unbearable pain.
“Tell me,” Haern whispered into the man’s ear. “Where is Hayden?”
“F or the crime of murder, and attempted murder, Bernard Ulath, you have been sentenced to hang.”
The lone soldier atop the stone with Bernard pulled the cloth from the priest’s face so all witnessing could verify it was he who was to be hanged. This done, he replaced the cloth. On the ground, twelve soldiers grabbed the rope attached to the wood floor. Once ordered, they would pull as one, dropping Bernard between the stones.
As the noose slid around his neck, Bernard put his hand on the soldier’s arm. The soldier recoiled as if burned. The mask moved, and they could tell he was speaking. Clearly unnerved, the soldier stepped away and nodded to the twelve below.
“This is it,” Tarlak said. “At least we don’t have to deal with a cheering crowd.”
The soldiers tensed and prepared to pull. The priests of Ashhur halted their singing, and the sudden silence was heavy. Harruq clutched Aurelia’s hand tight.
“Wrong,” he whispered. “This is wrong.”
In a shout that was like thunder, the commanding soldier ordered the rope to be pulled.
H aern kicked open the door, no longer caring for stealth and subtlety. The room was small and well-furnished. Sitting in a chair before a gigantic tome, a smile on his face and a laugh in his throat, was Hayden.
“I hoped you would arrive,” he said as he stood.
“Foolish of you,” Haern said, clanging his sabers together. “You won’t die quick like the others.”
Hayden laughed. “I won’t die at all.”
Red light exploded all around him. The assassin swore, trying to activate the magic of his ring to teleport away. Instead the ring shattered, its pieces splintering into his flesh. He collapsed, and with blurred vision saw glowing runes carved into the floor. He felt every bit of his strength leaving his body, and in the back of his head he heard a soft buzzing.
“We have much to discuss, you and I,” Hayden said as he turned his chair to face Haern and sat down. “You’ve been killing my priests, haven’t you?”
“Not the only one,” Haern said, his heart leaping as he realized what the buzzing was. Deep in the runes on the floor was a spell forcing him to answer, and to answer truthfully.