— 24 —

Traitors or not, I don’t like the feel of this,” Ki muttered as they finished dressing the following evening. “It’s bad business, killing priests. My dad used to say that’s what brought on all the famines and sickness there’ve been since the king—” Ki bit his tongue and looked quickly at Tobin to see if he’d offended him; the king was his uncle, after all. He kept forgetting that.

But Tobin was staring off with that distracted look he still sometimes got since his illness. Ki wasn’t sure if he’d even heard him.

Tobin tugged on his new surcoat and let out a troubled sigh. “I don’t know what to think, Ki. We’re pledged to fight all traitors against Skala, and I will! But the way the king looked at Hylus?” He shook his head. “I grew up with my mother’s madness. I know the look of it, and I swear that’s what I saw in the king’s eyes when he was shouting at that poor old man. And no one else said anything! They all acted like it was nothing. Even Korin.”

“If he is mad, who’d dare say anything? He’s still king,” Ki reminded him. “And what about Niryn? He looked pretty damn pleased, I thought.”

A soft knock came at the door and Nikides and Ruan slipped in. Ki noted with alarm that Nikides was close to tears.

“What’s wrong?” Tobin asked, guiding him to a chair.

Nikides was too overcome to answer.

“Haven’t you heard the rumors?” asked Ruan.

“No,” Ki replied. “What is it?”

Nikides found his voice then. “Grandfather is under arrest. For treason! For asking a question!” Nikides choked out, shaking with anger. “All Grandfather did was ask a question. You heard him. The king knows as well as anyone that there’s never been an execution inside the city walls, except—Well, you know.”

“Except during Queen Agnalain’s reign,” Ruan finished for him. “Begging your pardon, Prince Tobin, but your grandmother did some dark things.”

“You needn’t apologize to me. She was mad, just like my mother.”

“Don’t say that, Tob,” Ki begged. Her memory seemed to be on Tobin’s mind too much these days. “She never did anything like Mad Agnalain.” Or the king, he added silently.

“It can’t be true,” he said to Nikides. “Chancellor Hylus is the wisest, most loyal man in Skala and everyone knows it. You know how rumors are.”

“But what if it is true?” Nikides fought back tears. “What if he’s executed with the others tonight? And—” He looked imploringly up at Tobin. “How could I just sit there and watch?”

“Come on. Korin will know, I bet,” said Tobin.

Tanil answered their knock. “Time to go already?” He had on his showiest armor but his boots were still unlaced.

“No, we need to speak with Korin,” Tobin replied.

Korin was standing before his long looking glass with his cuirass half-buckled. The Sakor horse charm Tobin had made for him swung against the gilded leather as Tanil wrestled with the stubborn buckles. Two valets, meanwhile, were laying out ceremonial cloaks and polishing the prince’s gold-chased helm.

Ki felt a pang of guilt, seeing all this. Tobin still dressed himself, and only let Ki help with the straps he couldn’t reach. As much as he admired Tobin’s simplicity, he sometimes wondered if he shouldn’t try to live a bit more like a royal.

Tobin explained Nikides’ concerns, but Korin only shrugged. “I’ve heard nothing of it, Nik. You mustn’t mind Father. You know how changeable he can be, especially when he’s weary. It’s this damn heat!” He turned back to the mirror to watch as Tanil draped his maroon-and-gold cloak over his shoulders. “But Hylus should know better than to question Father!”

Any son would stand up for his father, Ki knew; he’d done it often enough himself. All the same, there was an imperious note in Korin’s voice he’d been hearing more often lately and it left him uneasy. So did poor Nikides’ stricken look.

“I thought it was the Lord Chancellor’s role to advise the king,” Tobin said quietly.

Korin turned and ruffled his cousin’s hair. “An advisor must still show the proper respect, coz.”

Tobin started to say something, but Ki caught his eye and shook his head slightly. Nikides’ nervous glance told him he’d done the right thing, as well as just how much life at court had changed since the king’s return.

The Companions assembled in the mess for Master Porion’s inspection before going on to the New Palace. Tobin stayed close to Nikides as the others milled about.

Ki stood with them, but his eye was on Korin. The prince was in high spirits, chattering on with the older boys like it was some festival they were going off to. Some of them had seen hangings, but tonight wizards would be burned!

“I hear they turn black and shrivel up like a spider in the fire,” said Alben, clearly relishing the idea.

“I heard they explode into colored smoke,” Orneus countered.

“We’ll show ’em how traitors are served in Ero!” Zusthra declared, brandishing his sword. “Bad enough to have enemies over the water without worrying about vipers here at home.”

This was greeted with a hearty cheer.

“Wizards are the most dangerous sort of traitor, with their magic and free ways,” Orneus declared, and Ki guessed he was quoting something he’d heard his father say.

“Rogue priests are the next worst, like that bastard who attacked Korin,” Urmanis chimed in. “And these damn Illiorans who still claim that only a woman can rule Skala? It’s like shitting on all the victories King Erius has given them.”

“My father says all Illiorans still secretly believe that,” said Alben. “Bunch of ingrates! King Erius saved this land.”

Lynx was quiet, Ki noted. That was nothing unusual, but Ki had heard him mention having an uncle who was a wizard and guessed he was more troubled than he let on. Maybe, like Nikides, he was scared of seeing a familiar face tonight.

“Wizards, priests—they’re all moonstruck,” Zusthra declared. “It’s Sakor who puts the strength in our arms.”

Porion strode in just then, looking like a thundercloud. Leaping up on a table, he shouted for their attention.

This was the first time Ki had seen the arms master in full armor. His cuirass was oiled and polished, but showed the scars of many battles, as did the great scabbard swinging at his side and the steel helmet he carried beneath his arm.

“Line up!” he barked, glowering around at them. “Listen to me now, boys, and listen well. It’s no pleasure jaunt we’re going on tonight, so I don’t want any more of that kind of talk. The servants can hear you at the other end of the corridor.”

He set his helmet down and folded his arms. “Traitors or not, the men and women who die tonight are Skalans, and some of them will have supporters in the crowd—friends, family, and the like. As you know, this is the first time in a long time that an execution has been held inside the city walls instead of at Traitor’s Hill. It’s not for me to say whether that’s wise or right, but I can tell you it’s not popular among some factions here in Ero. So keep your mouths shut, your eyes open, and your swords at the ready. You Companions are coming into your own tonight. What’s your purpose?”

“To guard Prince Korin!” Caliel replied.

“That’s right. You’ve all trained for this and tonight you could be called on to live up to your oath. We’re to ride before the king to the market and back, with king’s men flanking us. At the first sign of trouble, we close ranks around Korin and get him back here any way we can. The king’s men may help us, but the honor and duty are ours.”

“What about Father?” Korin demanded. “I’m not going to be carried off like baggage if he’s in danger!”

“The king will be well protected. Your task, my prince, is to stay alive to rule after him. So no heroics tonight, do you understand?” He held Korin’s eye until the boy nodded, then gave the rest of them a dark look. “And no more carrying on like a bunch of little girls on a picnic, either! This is solemn business.” He paused and rubbed at his grizzled beard. “And a risky one, too, if you ask me. Blood will be spilled in the capital tonight; the blood of priests. Whatever their crimes, it’s an unlucky thing, so stay sharp and be ready for trouble every inch of the way until we’re safe back here again.”

He jumped down from the table and began to sketch out a battle plan on the floor with a bit of chalk. “I’m the most concerned about the market square; that’s where the crowd will be thickest, and most contained. We’ll be here, before the platform at the center. Korin, you and the nobles will flank the king to his right. Squires, you’ll each sit your horse behind your lord and I want you to keep an eye on the crowd while the others are watching the executions. If the worst happens, you stay with Korin and we’ll fight our way back to the gate. Do you all understand?”

“Yes, Master Porion!” they answered with one voice.

He paused again, looking around at them. “Good. And it’s rule of war tonight. Anyone who panics and deserts the prince, I’ll kill myself.”

“Yes, Master Porion!” Ki shouted with the others, knowing it was no idle threat.

As they filed out he gave Tobin’s wrist a quick, furtive squeeze. “Ready?”

Tobin glanced at him, perfectly calm. “Of course. You?”

Ki nodded, grinning. He wasn’t scared either, but swore secretly that if trouble did come, his first concern would not be for Korin.

A yellow full moon hung over the city, painting a rippling golden path across the face of the harbor below. The air was dead still, as if the whole city was holding its breath. No sea breeze cut the fetid summer smell of the streets. Ki’s torch hardly flickered as they rode slowly along. The tall stone buildings that lined the high street gave back the clatter of hooves and the mournful throbbing of the drums.

Tobin rode beside Korin and Porion, of course, which put Ki just behind them with Caliel, Mylirin, and Tanil. All the squires carried torches. The King’s Guard flanked them and brought up the rear. Ki was glad of the line of red tunics to either side. Tonight he felt the full weight of the responsibility that underlay all their training and banquets and mock battles.

Looking back, he could just see the king over the heads of the other Companions. The torchlight turned Erius’ crown to a wreath of fire around his brow, and glanced from his upraised sword.

“He looks like Sakor himself, doesn’t he?” Mylirin whispered admiringly, following Ki’s gaze.

Ki nodded, distracted by a flash of silver and white beside the king. Lord Niryn rode at the king’s side like a general.

The crowds outside the Palatine had been smaller than they’d expected, and quiet. Passing through a neighborhood populated mostly by Aurënfaie nobles and rich merchants, however, Ki looked around nervously. It was not late, but hardly a light showed.

A herald rode ahead of the main column, calling out, “The king’s justice will be served. Long live King Erius!”

A few bystanders returned the call, but others faded back into shadowed doorways, watching their progress in silence. Looking up, Ki saw people watching them from their windows. He braced for more cabbages, or worse.

“Priest killer!” a lone voice shouted from the darkness. Ki saw several of the guards look around for the dissident, and a sense of unreality swept over him. These streets he’d ridden so freely suddenly felt like enemy territory.

Tobin and Korin rode at saddle attention, stiff as a pair of pokers, but Tobin was glancing around, alert to any threat. Ki wished he could see his friend’s face, read in those blue eyes what Tobin thought of all this, for suddenly he was more aware than he ever had been of the gulf that separated them—not of wealth, but of blood and history and position.

The crowds were thicker near the East Market. Many held up torches to light the king’s way and Ki scanned their faces: some looked sad, others smiled and waved. Here and there he saw people weeping.

Ki tensed, sweeping the crowd now for the glint of a blade or curve of a bow. He shivered with a mix of relief and dread as the gate finally come into sight ahead of them. He could already hear the sounds of a huge crowd.

This was the largest square in the city. Located halfway between the Palatine and the harbor, it was surrounded on three sides by tall buildings, including a theater the Companions had often patronized. The paved square sloped to the east and was bounded on that side by a low stone parapet overlooking a small wooded park and the harbor below.

Ki hardly recognized the place tonight. All the stalls had been cleared away and people stood shoulder to shoulder except for a processional way kept clear by Niryn’s grey-backs. Even the shrine of the Four was gone. That, even more than the sight of all those Harrier guards, gave him a strange sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

At the center of the square a broad, banner-draped platform rose like an island above the sea of faces. It was guarded on all sides by ranks of grey-backs armed with hand axes and swords. Eight white-robed wizards stood waiting there. Torches set at the four corners illuminated their silver-stitched robes, and the two large wooden frames looming just behind them.

They look like upended bedsteads, or doorways with no walls around them, thought Ki, already guessing their purpose from the stories he’d heard. Just behind them loomed a more familiar device: the stark frame of a gibbet. Ladders were propped ready against the crossbeam and Ki counted fifteen halters hanging ready.

A crowd of ministers and nobles sat their horses in the cleared space in front of the platform and Ki was glad to see Lord Hylus among them. No doubt Nikides was breathing a sigh of relief, too, though the old man looked to have aged ten years since the night before.

The crowd fell silent at the king’s approach. The only sounds were the drums and the sound of hooves on the cobblestones.

Korin and the Companions lined on the king’s right, as ordered. Taking his place just behind Tobin, Ki steadied Dragon and rested his hand on his sword hilt.

Niryn dismounted and followed the herald onto the platform. The drummers ceased their playing and for a moment Ki could hear the sea. The Harrier wizards bowed low to the king, then formed up in a semicircle behind their master.

“Witness, all you who have gathered here, the sacred justice of the king!” cried the herald. “By order of King Erius, Heir of Ghërilain, Holder of the Sword, and Protector of Skala, these enemies of Skala will be put to death before this gathering and the Four. Know that they are traitors against the throne and all lawful people.”

Some cheered this proclamation, but most only murmured among themselves in low voices. In the distance someone shouted angrily, but he was quickly drowned out by other voices.

The herald unrolled a scroll heavy with seals and read out the names of the condemned and the charges against them. The fourth was the young priest who’d thrown the cabbage. His name was Thelanor and he was charged with treason, sedition, and assault against the person of the Prince Royal. He’d already been branded across the mouth with the traitor’s T, the mark of a heretic priest. Guards on the far side of the platform hoisted the bound prisoners into the waiting arms of the hangmen.

The condemned wore long sleeveless tunics of coarse, unbleached muslin. There were a few women among them, but most were men and boys. Most bore the traitor’s brand on their foreheads and all were gagged. Only two others, an old man and woman with grey hair and thin, wrinkled faces, were branded on the mouth like Thelanor. They held their heads high as the guards pushed them to the ladders.

Ki had gone with his family to see thieves and brigands hanged in Colath. The crowds had roared for blood and pelted them with whatever came to hand. Ki and his brothers and sisters had thought it great fun, scavenging stones and rotten apples to throw. His father had given them a copper groat for each hit to spend later at the sweet seller’s booth.

Ki looked around with growing unease. Only a few people threw things and he didn’t see many children at all, except for those standing under the gibbet. One of the boys looked so much like his brother Amin that Ki almost called out to him in alarm before he heard the stranger’s name read.

The drummers beat out a quick tattoo. Soldiers braced the ladders against the gibbet beam and, one by one, the prisoners were forced up to the halters. A cheer went up from the other Companions as the first man was pushed off to jerk at the rope’s end.

Korin brandished his sword, shouting “Death to Skala’s enemies! Long live the king!”

The others were quick to do the same and none quicker than eager Orneus. Ki was sure he saw the boy look to see if Korin was watching him and despised him for it.

Tobin had drawn his sword with the rest, but didn’t wave it about or cheer. Ki couldn’t muster much enthusiasm, either.

The second man struggled and cried and had to be pried free of the ladder. This panicked some of the other prisoners and for a moment it looked as if the soldiers might have to force them all.

The crowd was warming up now, and a flurry of rotten vegetables rained down on the condemned and their guards.

A woman was the next hanged, and then it was young Thelanor’s turn. He tried to shout something through his gag, but no one could have heard him over the noise anyway. In the end he went to his death like a man, leaping off the ladder before the guards could push him.

A few of the remaining prisoners had to be forced up, but most of them must have been braver, or shamed by the priest’s example. One man made the warriors’ salute as best he could with his bound hands and flung himself off. The jeering of the crowd failed for an instant, then redoubled as the next man clung to the rungs, struggling and pissing himself as the guards beat him about the head. The young boys and women went more quietly.

The old priests’ turns came last. They didn’t hesitate, except to raise their bound hands to their hearts and brows before they climbed the ladders. This impressed even the lowest sort in the crowd and no one threw anything at them. Both tumbled off the ladders without struggle or protest.

The crowd was almost silent now. Ki thought he heard weeping. The old people had died quickly, their frail necks snapping like dry sticks. But the women and children were light and the warriors had necks like bulls; most struggled hard and long before Bilairy claimed them. Ki had to force himself to watch, not wanting to shame Tobin by turning away. Usually hangmen gave the strugglers a good yank on the legs to put them out of their misery, but no one helped them tonight.

When it was finally over the drumming resumed with a sharper, faster rhythm. A large, high-sided cart rumbled into the square, pulled by a pair of black oxen and surrounded by ranks of grey-backs with shields and upright swords. Six Harrier wizards stood in the back of the cart, facing inward with their arms linked.

No one dared throw anything at them, but an ugly muttering swelled to screams of anger and outrage. Ki shivered, feeling the sudden fury like a wave of nausea. But whether it was the Harrier wizards or their unseen prisoners who were jeered, he could not tell.

Tobin had never seen an execution before and it had taken all his willpower tonight not to kick Gosi into a gallop and flee. What little dinner he’d managed roiled and burned at the base of his throat and he swallowed convulsively, praying Korin and Porion would not see his weakness. None of the others seemed to be bothered by the spectacle; Korin was acting like this was the finest entertainment he’d ever seen, and shared whispered bets with some of the others on which of the hanged prisoners would last the longest.

As the cart reached the platform a sudden, irrational fear overwhelmed Tobin. What if it was Arkoniel they pulled out, or Iya? Gripping the reins so tight his fingers ached, he watched as two naked prisoners were dragged from the cart.

It’s not them! he thought, dizzy with relief. Both were men and neither was hairy like Arkoniel. There was no reason to think that it would have been him, he realized, but for an instant the possibility had seemed all too real.

Both men had elaborate patterns painted in red on their chests, and iron masks strapped over their faces. These were featureless except for slanting slits where the eyes and nose would be and gave the prisoners an evil, inhuman appearance. Metal shackles bound their wrists.

The guards forced them to their knees and Niryn stepped behind them, raising his hands above their heads. He’d always struck Tobin as rather bookish, but now he seemed to swell and grow taller, looming over the condemned.

“Behold the enemies of Skala!” he cried in a voice that carried to the farthest corners of the square. He waited until the renewed roar died away, then went on, “Behold these so-called wizards, who would overthrow the rightful ruler of Skala. Witches! Blighters of crops and flocks, preachers of sedition, these storm bringers call down lightning and fire on the innocent people of their villages. They defile the sacred name of Illior with perverse magics and threaten the very safety of our land!”

Tobin shuddered; these were charges of the most serious nature. Yet as he looked at the condemned wizards, it struck him how helpless and ordinary they looked. It was hard to imagine them hurting anyone.

Niryn pressed both hands to his brow and heart, then bowed low to the king. “King Erius, what is your will?”

Erius dismounted and climbed up to join him. Facing the crowd, he drew Ghërilain’s sword and planted the tip between his feet, hands folded over the hilt. “Cleanse the land, loyal wizards of Skala,” he cried. “Protect my people!”

No soldier stepped forward. Instead, Harrier wizards dragged the condemned to the upright frames. Three stood a little apart, chanting steadily as the prisoners were loosed from their shackles and quickly bound spread-eagle to the frames with silver ropes.

One of them seemed drugged or ill. His legs would not support him and he had to be held upright as he was lashed into place. The other one was not so passive. Just as the wizards reached to tie his hands, he suddenly twisted loose and staggered forward. Raising his hands to his face, he let out a muffled scream and the iron mask shattered in a cloud of smoke and sparks. Blood spattered the robes of the closest wizards. Tobin watched in horrified fascination, unable to look away. The man’s bloody face was horribly torn, and twisted with agony. Shattered teeth showed in a defiant snarl as he raised his fists at the crowd, screaming, “Fools! Blind cattle!”

The wizards grappled with him, but the man fought wildly, throwing them off. “Your reckoning will come!” he shouted, pointing at the king. “The True Queen is at hand. She is among us already—”

He jerked away as another wizard seized him and suddenly he was staring straight down at Tobin.

Tobin thought he saw a spark of sudden recognition in those crazed eyes. A strange tingling sensation spread over him as they stared at each other, locked eye to eye, for what felt like a long time.

He sees me! He sees my real face! Tobin thought numbly as something like joy came into the man’s eyes. Then the others were on him again, dragging him back.

Freed from that gaze, Tobin looked around in panic, wondering if the crowd would let him flee if Niryn denounced him. From the corner of his eye he saw the wizard and king standing apart from the scuffle, but didn’t dare look directly at them. Were they staring at him? Had they understood? When he finally chanced a look, however, both were watching the execution proceed.

The Harrier wizards hauled the struggling man back by his arms and hair, yanking his head down so that another could gag him.

“Lightbearer will not be mocked!” he managed as they forced a loop of the silver rope between his teeth. Even then he kept fighting. Transfixed, Tobin didn’t notice the king move until he’d plunged the Sword of Ghërilain into the man’s belly.

“No!” Tobin whispered, horrified to see that honorable blade stained with a prisoner’s blood. The captive thrashed once, then crumpled forward as Erius withdrew the blade.

The wizards held the man upright and Niryn pressed his hand to the man’s brow. Still alive, the prisoner spat at him, leaving another red stain on his white robes. Niryn ignored this insult and began to chant softly.

The prisoner’s eyes rolled up in their sockets and his legs gave way. After that it was a simple matter to bind him into place on the frame.

“Proceed,” Erius ordered, calmly wiping his blade clean.

With order restored, the wizards formed a circle around the frames and began a new chant. It grew louder and louder until white flames, brighter than anything Tobin had ever seen blossomed over the condemned men’s bodies. There was no smoke, and none of the stench that sometimes wafted into the city from the burning grounds outside the walls. The doomed wizards struggled for a few seconds, then were consumed as quickly and completely as a moth’s wing in a candle flame. Within a few seconds nothing remained of them but their charred hands and feet, still hanging in the silver bonds at the corners of the scorched wooden frame.

The searing brightness left dark spots before Tobin’s eyes. He tried in vain to blink them away as he stared at the frame on the left, remembering that look of recognition he’d glimpsed in the man’s pain-wracked face. Then the world was tilting crazily around him. The square, the jeering crowd, the pathetic, shriveled scraps on the frames, it all disappeared and Tobin was staring instead at a gleaming golden city set on a high cliff above the sea.

Only Ki was close enough to hear Tobin’s faint cry as he slumped slowly over Gosi’s neck, and he didn’t understood the single word Tobin gasped out, nor would Tobin remember it for a long time.

“Rhiminee!”

No one, not even Niryn, noticed a tiny charred pebble lying among the ashes of the wizards.

Twenty miles away, under that same yellow moon, Iya rested her head on a tavern tabletop, gasping as white fire filled her vision as it had that day in Ero. In it she made out another doomed face, twisted in agony. It was Kiriar. Kiriar of Meadford. She’d given him a talisman that night in the Wormhole.

The pain passed quickly, but left her badly shaken. “O Illior, not him!” she moaned. Had they tortured him, learned of the little band of wizards hidden away under their feet?

Slowly she became aware of the tavern noise around her.

“You’ve hurt yourself.” It was a drysian. Iya had noticed her earlier, healing village children outside the shrine. “Let me tend to you, old mother.”

Iya looked down. The clay wine cup she’d been drinking from had shattered in her hand. The shards had cut her palm, crosshatching the faded scar Brother had given her the night she’d brought Ki to the keep. A sliver still jutted from the swell of flesh just below her thumb. Too weak to reply, she let the drysian wash and dress her wounds.

When she’d finished, the woman laid her hand on Iya’s head, sending a cool soothing energy through her. Iya smelled fresh green shoots and new leaves. The sweet tang of springwater filled her dry mouth.

“You’re welcome to sleep under my roof tonight, Mistress.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” Better to sleep on Dalna’s hearth tonight, than here where too many curious idlers were still watching the crazy old woman to see what foolishness she’d do next. Better, too, to be with a healer if the awful pain returned. Who knew how many wizards Niryn might burn tonight?

The drysian helped her down the muddy street to a small cottage at the edge of the village and settled her on a soft bed by the fire. Names were neither asked for nor given.

Lying there, Iya was glad of the thick bands of protective symbols carved in the beams and the hanging bags of charms. Sakor might be at war with the Lightbearer in Skala, but the Maker still watched over all equally.

Despite that, Iya found little comfort that night. Every time sleep claimed her she dreamed of the sybil in Afra. The girl looked up at her with shining white eyes and spoke with the Lightbearer’s voice.

This must stop.

In the vision, Iya fell on her face before her, weeping.