Rhys knew his day was about to be ruined when the five knights walked into the tavern. Which was a shame; the mead was good and his stew only half eaten. It took about ten seconds for one of them to turn towards him in the main hall’s corner, dashing any hopes that they might have forgotten to bring their sniffer along.
So, Rhys sighed and took a long chug of the drink while the knight very unsubtly whispered to his friends. Well, at least it looked like it was just chance, not pursuit. One of them moved to block the door while the other four quickly walked up to him. Shame about the stew.
“Can I help you, fine gentlemen?” he put on his best smile, calling out.
“Maybe with clarifying,” one took the lead, with a gruff voice that already sounded unhappy. Not a good sign, that. “What would a lone mage be doing here?”
“Just passing through,” Rhys assured, keeping his hands where they were visible. “Actually, just got into town. I have my ministry papers with me, if you want to see them.”
“That will not be necessary,” the leader shook his head. Drat, that could only mean one thing. Cursed luck. Some other mage probably made a scene and so the knights would be rounding up any in town. The nearby patrons were definitely noticing the commotion by then, quickly evaluating the situation, and immediately thereafter moving to a different table. As if they expected a fight or something of the sort.
“Could you at least let me finish the meal?” Rhys tried. By then one of the quartet was already taking up manacles and walking up. The leader shot him a very unimpressed look. “I will take that as a no.”
----------------------------------------
Incarceration wasn’t actually all that bad. The beds were still slightly softer than rock, and most places didn’t get too moist outside rainy seasons. Sure, Rhys wouldn’t be eating any of the swill they served, but that only meant he could trade it with the other inmates. Small towns like the one he was in meant most cells were overfull. Unfortunately, the bloke opposite to his was asleep and those on the left and right were separated by a thick wall. That left just one person for company.
“...and I was almost out, I am telling you,” his newest mate said wistfully. “Just passing the corner, then out of sight. But then bam, a fucking runaway horse runs me down going from that way. In the middle of the fucking day. Imagine my luck!”
“And you said that was yesterday, yes?” Rhys nodded with a smile. “Say, what set it running like that?”
“Well,” the former thief looked across the opposite cell, his eyes narrowing, then he leaned in, whispering. “I heard after there was a fucking mage of all things. Throwing around fire and shit before the tin cans took ‘em down.”
“I see, scary stuff,” Rhys kept nodding agreeably, and unlikely. What kind of novice would just throw around fire of all things? A terribly inefficient way of self-defense. Probably a third-hand rumor mixed with superstition. Still, that didn’t quite explain why they would be rounding up anyone else.
“And what did they get ye for, greyhead?” the cellmate asked.
“Do I look so old?” he questioned. Surely not… When was the last time he had seen himself in a mirror? So much for ‘permanent’ dye.
“Older than my pa, if he were still ‘round,” the thief just scoffed, then returned to the topic. “Real though, what you in for?”
“Also bad luck,” Rhys mustered all the wistfulness he could for the lie. How was it that the poor sod he had heard it from said it? Something like… “Well, technically heresy. I was just saying some very flattering things about Sebare’s bosoms to my good pal when it just so happened two arsehurt priests overheard me.”
“Damn, that is shit luck.”
“Tell me about it,” Rhys did his best to shake his head just as he remembered it. Talking about that, the runaway horse story was good and just the right amount of fun. He would be sure to remember it.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Before more could be said, there was a loud rustle as someone entered the gaol. A couple of guards by the look of it, and Rhys did not have to wait long to find out they had come for him in particular. Well, at least he hadn’t had to wait long.
They didn’t say much as they took him out, then down the hallway. They walked right up to the normal interrogation room Rhys had noticed… then further still, bringing him down some stairs. Now that was a cause for more concern. Had he missed persecution going back into style? The king around these parts used to be healthy and pretty moderate from what Rhys remembered… Was he in a different country? The hazard of traveling around so much was that he could get places mixed up.
They finally stopped two floors down from the cells. Unusual the building even went so deep underground, though the why was not hard to guess. The torture chamber like the one they brought him into tended to be separated from where regular guards could hear all the screaming.
Speaking of, it was very well equipped. The thick oaken door was standard but the blood splash on it was a clever touch. The chair they bound him to was at the far back of the room too, so he could see the whole collection of implements. From classics like the rack all the way to some almost comically impractical devices displayed on shelves. Why, some of them were even gathering dust already!
The torturer made him wait almost two hours in abject boredom before deigning to show up. A man of devotion given that he actually wore the traditional leather garb covered in small flails - most opted for something more comfortable. The second the door opened, Rhys was already talking.
“I CONFESS, I CONFESS!” he cried, tears swelling in his eyes. “I understand my sins. Oh, Three, I was wrong. I was wrong! I deserve punishment for my wrongdoings! I confess!”
That seemed to take the wind out of the newcomer’s sails. He looked confused for a bit, pausing to consider whether or not to string Rhys up anyway just for good measure. But then he took out his ledger - clearly deciding it was not a bad thing to have less work. It took all of three minutes for the confession to be signed, then the torturer went away to get someone who would remove his prisoner.
Coincidentally, Rhys’ charge was actually heresy. Funny thing. Was that just some local lord making power plays or did the local Church outlaw magic again while he hadn’t been looking? That mead might have been the last he got to enjoy for a while then. The preparations needed to hide from sniffers were not worth a drink.
Not ten minutes later he was back in a cell, alone unfortunately, wasting more time. At least he got some good news from the blokes to the left of him: The next hangings were already scheduled for the day after. He had been afraid it might be a week before they got around to the execution.
The night was rather uneventful without anyone to trade the rations for stories so Rhys just went to sleep early. With dawn his honour guard came to take him onto the gallows. The crowd was quite large so they probably didn’t get three-in-one shows that often.
Besides Rhys, there was the thief he had talked with the day prior - poor lad barely able to stand from sheer terror, yet trying to put on a brave face for their jeering audience. Then on the other side was a young lass, with dirty red hair and seemed scrawny even in the rags. She looked no more than 20 and much worse for wear than the other two hanger-ons.
The good amount of blood on her clothes and a recently missing finger told Rhys the poor thing might have actually believed guilt mattered to the torturer or whoever was writing down the charges. Well, she certainly wouldn’t be making that mistake again, would she? By the smell of her, she was a mage to boot - a shame to be snuffed out so young but it was not Rhys’ fight.
“You know, this is bullshit,” the outlaw next to him grumbled, visibly shaking with fear. “Under the old king, a bit of thieving fetched a whip, not the noose!”
“Did something happen to our good monarch?” Rhys asked with a frown.
“He was murdered by his court mage!” the thief suddenly stared at him, wide-eyed.
“You know, that explains so much,” Rhys nodded thoughtfully. That’s what he got for not keeping his ear on news.
In the meantime the speech was winding down. A priest fianlly went around to offer them the last rites. All the usual rituals. Then the hangman pulled the lever, all three necks snapped, the audience cheered and that was it.
Later, two guards loaded them on a hand-drawn carriage and brought them out of town. The locals thankfully didn’t believe in fire burials so into a pit it would be. They brought them out by the forest and then shirked their duties. Instead of burying them like they had been supposed to, the duo decided to let wild beasts from the woods take care of the labor, quickly leaving to enjoy their shortened shift. Then there were five minutes of silence.
“Thank the Three for lazy fucks,” Rhys yawned while cracking his neck. Reattaching his spine always got it acting up for a good half day. Well, he wouldn’t grumble about not needing to exhume himself, enough time had been lost with the whole farce already. He looked around towards the other two poor sods and paused.
The thief was quite dead. The girl was not. Instead, she was sitting up too, staring at Rhys wide-eyed. Well, what were the odds? Two necromancers getting hung on the same day was probably the setup of a very good joke. Rhys was not great at coming up with those himself though, so he said the first thing on his mind:
“Dibs on the lad’s soul.”