Chapter 23
Alswith arrived at the barracks early. His anxiety wouldn’t let him stay still.
He walked the quiet halls toward the duty room, replaying his conversation with Frederrick over and over in his mind.
As he stepped into the room, voices snapped him out of it.
They were coming from Commander Seville’s office.
Quietly, Alswith moved toward the closed door, placing himself just beside it. He strained to make out the words.
“Progress is slowing,” Seville said.
“Yes, I know,” came a second voice. Alswith didn’t recognize it, muffled, but commanding.
“What shall we do?” Seville asked. Alswith could hear the frustration in his tone.
Footsteps paced behind the door. Then the voice replied, measured and calm.
“We give them a show. Something to remind them that what we’re doing is for their protection. Keep the fear growing.”
“How do we do that?” Seville asked, confused.
“Simple,” the voice said. “A public execution. Start with the women we’ve already arrested. Once word spreads, fear will catch like wildfire.”
Seville was silent.
“And when the executions are done,” the voice continued, “we follow up with more arrests. But not just from the slums… no, we hit where the money is.”
He paused. Alswith could almost feel the man’s excitement.
“Neighbor will turn on neighbor. The fear will be palpable.”
Alswith’s eyes widened. His stomach turned.
“Control will come easy after that,” the voice added, now near giddy. “Even the pompous asshole of a king will see I was right, and bow to me.”
Then, silence.
Alswith stepped back from the door, panic gripping his chest. His mind spun, his legs unsteady.
The office door creaked open behind him.
Gregor emerged first. Seville followed close behind. They stopped short when they saw him.
“Alswith,” Seville said, voice sharp. “What are you doing here?”
“C...C...Couldn’t sleep, sir,” Alswith replied, trying to sound casual.
Gregor’s eyes lingered on him, cold, appraising. Alswith felt stripped bare.
“Good man,” Gregor said with forced warmth.
How much did he hear?
Gregor turned to Seville, still smiling.
“Come, Commander. Let the young man prepare for the day.”
He passed Alswith slowly, gaze still fixed on him.
When they were out of earshot, Gregor hissed:
“Watch him. I don’t trust he didn’t hear.”
Then he turned and strode off, his robe trailing behind him like a shadow.
Alswith sat on the bench, his head in his hands. Trying to make sense of what he heard. Confusion, and panic were in control making him doubt that he heard anything.
Commander Seville entered the room. His gaze focused on Alswith. Crossing the room quickly he stopped in front of him.
“Hurry and get ready.” Sevilles’ voice boomed. “Today you’re with me.”
Alswiths heart sank, the color drained from face.
“Yes sir.” He managed.
Seville spun on his heel and walked to the door. Leaning on the door frame he watched, waiting. Patience wearing thin.
Alswith’s panic caused him to fumble with his gauntlets, dropping them to the floor more than once. Staring at the wall in front of him he tried his best to calm his nerves. But his head swam and his stomach lurched.
When he finished, he turned and joined Seville at the door.
Turning without speaking he lead Alswith down the hall and out of the barracks into the early morning light. As they passed other Wardens reporting for duty, Seville raised his voice.
“Pass the word.” His voice projecting for everyone to hear. “Public executions tonight in Market row at the square.”
Alswith stiffened when he heard this, the pressure in his chest growing.
But they didn’t turn towards Market row and the square. Seville led him to the dungeon. Crossing the threshold and walking down the stone steps, they made their way deeper into the earth. Stopping at the main door, two guards standing guard acknowledged the commander and opened the door for them. Its hinges creaked.
The stench instantly assaulted his nose, almost causing him to vomit on the spot. The smell of unwashed bodies, shit, piss, and vomit clung to him, invaded his pores. The smell of the burning pitch from the torches threatened to choke him. Covering his nose and mouth he followed the commander deeper in.
The commander’s head moving back and forth between cells, eyes cold appraising. He stopped, pulling keys from his belt, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. Grabbing the woman by the hair he yanked her towards the door. The look of her pain and fear seared into his brain.
Seville moved to the next cell, he unlocked the door with his free hand, his other still held the woman by the hair.
“Go get her.” He ordered.
Alswith hesitated, scared.
“Get on with it.” Seville snapped.
Alswith took a small slow step forward followed by another and another until he found himself inside the cell. Looking at the frail woman huddled in the corner, he felt a pang of sadness for her. Moving to her he reached down and grabbed her arm. Her head spun to face him, their eyes met. Sudden realization came over him. He knew this woman. She was from the slums. Looking at her hand he noticed her fingers were a mangled mess. Waldors’ work. My inaction enabled this. With tears in his eyes he looked back at her.
“I’m sorry…” He whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Lifting her to her feet he half walked half dragged her to the door. Re-joining Seville in the hall, they moved to the large holding cell by the door they entered. Forcing the women in Seville locked the door and turned to Alswith.
“Stay here.” He ordered. “When it is time you’ll bring them to me.”
“Yes sir.” Alswith murmured.
“I have preparations to make, when I’m ready I’ll send a runner.”
Turning on his heels, he knocked on the door. The sound of the bolt releasing echoed off the stone walls. The door opened its hinges protesting. Commander Seville stepped out, the door closing leaving him in the dark, alone with the sounds of the women crying, and the smell.
Amberly woke well before dawn, her sleep restless. The fire in the hearth dying but still useful. The light illuminating the room just enough for her to make out his shape asleep against the wall. Moving closer to the fire, she warmed her hands. Replaying the conversation they had last night over in her head. Sitting on the hearth base where he sat last night she watched him sleep.
He looks peaceful. she thought. First time in a while he hasn’t worn that scowl. A quiet smile touched her lips.
The peace only interrupted by the crackling of the fire.
She found herself wishing he was awake. Wanting, just for a little while, not to be alone. With delicate fingers, she brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. Her eyes traced his features, lines, freckles, a few old scars.
He was handsome she thought.
Turning she placed her back against the wall beside him. Slowly, carefully, she let herself settle there, the fire warming one side of her face. And for a while she just listened to him breathe.
Greycen woke as the first light touched the sky outside, a faint peach blooming across the horizon. A weight on his right shoulder. Turning his head, he saw her. Her head resting gently on his shoulder, her breathing slow, calm. He watched her quietly as she slept, not wanting to disturb the moment.
Trying to shift gently to not wake her he moved his aching legs.
“Morning” she murmured quietly.
“Morning.” He replied.
Her eyes opened fully as realization struck she sat upright quickly.
“I’m sorry. I must have fallen asleep when I came to sit by the fire.” A touch of embarrassment in her voice.
“It’s okay.” He said, a pause. “I didn’t mind.”
He stood and stretched, he leaned down towards her and offered his hand to help her up.
“Thank you” she replied as she took his hand. Her touch was light, careful, warm. When she pulled her hand away the feeling lingered in his. He didn’t want it to go.
The silence returned, but this time he was not so comfortable with it. Greycen busied himself at the hearth, tending the fire. Watching the flames helped settle his thoughts, at least a little.
Finally, without looking at her, he spoke.
“I am going to market row when they open.” He said more talking at her than to her.
Amberly blinked, caught off guard. “Okay?” She said, a little unsure.
“Send her home,” the voice hissed. “No more trouble if she’s gone.”
Greycen shook his head trying to clear his thoughts.
“If there is nothing leaving today, we will need to get some supplies for the night.” His voice was both sad and hopeful at the same time.
He turned to face her. “Do you have any coin with you?”
Amberly dug through her cloak pockets and produced a small pouch. It looked nearly empty, but when she turned it over into her hand, a single silver coin fell out.
“Will this do?” She asked.
Greycen took it, weighing it in his palm. “Not enough for travel. But it’ll get us food.”
He hesitated. “I’ll see how much passage costs. Maybe I can figure something out.”
Amberly shifted, uneasy. “Where will I stay tonight?”
His answer came too fast. “Here.” He paused to settle his voice. “It will be safer to stay here where I can keep watch.”
She nodded her voice small. “I… I… don’t want to impose.”
He turned back to the fire. “It’s fine.”
Greycen pocketed the silver coin, turning to face her.
“I am going now.” He said speaking at her again. “Don’t leave, don’t linger at the window. If anyone comes just run.”
She nodded her head in acknowledgement.
“I‘ll try to be quick.” He moved to the door, shifted it aside, and stepped out. Once outside, he leaned the broken door back into place.
“If anyone comes that door won’t do anything.” The voice muttered.
Market Row was quiet. Most stalls were still shuttered. Greycen moved between the few open vendors, haggling to stretch the silver as far as it would go. Bread. Dried fish. A heel of hard cheese.
Farther down, near the square, he stopped.
A large group of Wardens was at work, assembling a raised platform, two stone circles in front of it.
Greycen stared for a moment, watching. Then he turned to the nearest stall.
“What’s going on?” he asked the vendor.
The man flinched at the question, his eyes darting to the scaffold.
“Public execution tonight,” he said, voice trembling. “They say the witches are back.”
“Witches.” The voice echoed, amused. “I wonder what one looks like. Probably a woman from the slums.”
Greycen didn’t reply. The knot in his stomach tightened.
He thanked the man and turned away quickening his pace. He needed to get back now.
Alswith sat alone in the hallway, his back against the cold stone wall, watching the door to the cell that held the two women. He felt utterly helpless. There was nothing he could do, nothing, that would spare them from what waited. He had long since run out of tears but the unending self-loathing burned like a fire in his gut.
He had lost track of how long he had been down here. In the dark, time didn’t matter.
A noise echoed through the hallway, the bolt was moving, the door wailed its objection as it opened. A young Warden stepped in.
“Commander Seville says it is time.” He spoke the words he never wanted to hear.
Alswith rose to his feet. He reluctantly moved to the cell door. Praying, begging, that the key wouldn’t turn. He slid it in the lock. A click. A sigh. Then he pulled the door towards him.
The young Warden stepped forward. Without a word, he grabbed the first woman and shoved her against the wall. He tied her hands behind her back with practiced ease, then handed her off to Alswith. Moving deeper into the cell he did the same to the second woman.
Now Alswith stood there, one bound woman in each hand. He waited. The guards opened the main door. Up the stairs and out into the cooling night.
The women didn’t speak, they didn’t have to. He knew what they were thinking.
He thought it too.
“I wish I were dead.”
Closing Note
Next release: Chapter 24
Monday at 9:00 AM.
Thank you for reading.
