A rotten stench invaded his nostrils as he entered the dark cells, careful not to slip on the grimy stone floors as he descended the staircase. Torches lined the walls, albeit sparsely placed, providing just enough light to see by. Between the torches were black iron bars half as thick as a man’s wrist, standing from floor to ceiling. Sturdy, it would take someone with strength on par with a knight to damage them, and were all but impenetrable to everyone else.

Meek shadows danced in the back of the cells. Shiny, frightened eyes stared back. They did not get many visitors in the prisons, except when a man had been sentenced to death. Today was such a day, though he hoped to save at least one life.

He approached the cell that contained the man he’d come to see. Sat and cloaked in shadow, the man could have been mistaken for a bear if not for his distinctly round head.

“Berns.”

The man looked up, the whites of his eyes clear as day in the darkness.

“Alden,” Berns replied. His eyes darted away, then back. “Am I to be hanged today?”

“Yes,” he said, letting silence hang between them. “But I’ve worked out a deal with Commander Dhatri. None of the others have confessed anything , and if you were to be the one to do it…”

A loud thump resonated from within the cell, along with the clanking of chains, and as Alden focused he could see Berns’s hand outstretched, his fist against the wall.

“I can’t. You don’t understand what’s at stake.”

“Tell me then.”

Berns fell silent. His eyes darted around the shadowy prison, searching for something. Finally he let out a sullen sigh.

“I’m not actually an adventurer,” he said.

“Care to elaborate, or do you plan to make me pull it out of you?” He heard an exasperated sigh.

“I’m a soldier, damn it. Under Baron Harold Licester. We caught a band of drug traffickers a few months ago, and in return for pardons Baron Harold had them help destabilize Titemore.”

“What? Why? Does he want a war?”

“I don’t know.”

The Licester Barony lay to the east of Titemore, its easternmost lands defining the official border between the heart of the Empire and one of its vassals, the Hilva Kingdom. Leicester was, by all accounts, prosperous, acting as one of the major trading routes between the Empire and the Kingdom. They were helped further by their ability to levy additional taxes on any merchants passing between the Empire and the Kingdom, a fact that generated the barony enormous wealth.

It made matters all the more confusing. Could he even believe it? Alden liked Berns well enough, but the man was captured among criminals. Worse, the kidnapped women and children, who they had presumed were to become sex slaves, had been found at Berns’s camp. Murdered, their corpses buried or cremated.

He had held out hope that the man he now looked upon had a legitimate excuse for what was done.

“The money, from the Myrmecoleon’s lair. How’d you know it was there? What’d you do with it?”

“The money was planted there. We… the plan was to frame a handful of adventurers to ward off suspicion. You, John, Thomas. Decent picks, low class people looking for a quick fortune. If some F-rank adventurers turned up with lots of money out of the blue and went on spending sprees, all while Graftia’s being found all over the place? It’d throw them off, at least for a time.”

“We were the scapegoats, then. But looking at how things turned out, I have to ask. What changed? You took half the money in that chest. If you’d split it evenly we might have raised more suspicion.”

Berns closed his eyes. Alden had adjusted to the low light level, and now could see Berns clearly in his cell. Remorse was written all over the man’s face, his shoulders were slumped, and he lacked the vigor and energy Alden was used to. The man was defeated, and even now was preparing for death, his desire to live conflicting with his desire to remain loyal. The desire to live won out, it seemed.

“I wanted out,” Berns said. “It was only a small fortune to the Baron, but to people like us? I could live to ninety and never have to work another day. So I took half. I planned to run away west, as far as my legs would take me, maybe settle down by the sea. My superiors would’ve never known until it was too late. I don’t think they’d have even looked for me. A war’s coming. A big one, too, but I’m not certain. I can smell it brewing, though, and it smells like death.”

“I’ll be sure to report it.”

“Do that, then. But no matter how this turns out, save yourself. Don’t die for them.”

He nodded, then returned to the surface. Outside was bright, the sun hanging directly above in all its blinding glory, the sheer heat of it having sent most of the town into the comfortable shade of their homes or the taverns. Walking peacefully back to the manor Alden reflected on what he had been told, what he would say.

He didn’t like it. Vassals under the Empire had great freedom compared to the modern world, with individual baronies, viscounties, duchies, and the like able to set their own laws and fight amongst themselves. That would mean, in the best case, war would be only between Titemore and Licester. A losing battle, one he didn’t care much to be part of. Licester was the richer of the two and by a wide margin.

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But barons and baronesses rarely acted alone. They were nobles and, therefore, had the right to vote in the senate, but their power outside of that and their lands was minimal compared to those of higher ranks. And so, like any of noble blood, they forged alliances through trade and marriage, and when swords crossed it became the business of multiple noble families.

That meant a war could engulf the eastern border as the noble families joined to aid their allies, or else stake a claim for glory or status. A big one indeed, Berns.

----------------------------------------

Alden found Commander Dhatri just outside the manor on the front steps. He wore a blue tunic with white pants and tall black boots, the sigil of Titemore emblazoned in gold upon the left side of his chest. Grim, the man paid no mind to Alden as he descended the stairs, shouting orders to the other soldiers. At the front of the courtyard was a simple makeshift wood platform with three poles of iron that rose high above, thick ropes swaying in the wind.

“Commander Dhatri,” Alden called out. The man whirled around, his gaze fierce and uninviting.

“What is it?” Dhatri snapped.

“The prisoner, Berns. I’ve received important details in return for his life, as I’d requested.”

The commander softened, turned, and yelled yet another order. This one did not sound so harsh.

He turned back and grabbed Alden by the arm. He dragged him aside, checking for any would-be eavesdroppers. “What is it?”

After explaining the details Dhatri turned away. He had not liked what Alden had told him, that much was clear, and when he turned back his expression was dour.

“I will explain this all to the Baroness. Until then, keep it to yourself, understood?”

Alden nodded. “Yes, sir.”

An hour of rushing here and there passed before the three prisoners arrived. Berns and two others, they had been gagged with rope and clasped together by metal chains and dragged along by a group of soldiers, spears and swords at the ready. Only Berns stood tall. The others had their heads down, forlorn.

Alden lined up with the other soldiers as the three were put into position. Behind the gate to the manor were the town's residents. Dozens of them and more arriving by the minute, they soon filled the entire roadway to gawk.

Seeing the crowd left a bad taste in Alden’s mouth. It was the hottest day of the year so far, the metal of his helmet like a furnace against his skin and his clothes sticking to him from sweat. And yet a crowd of hundreds had come to watch the spectacle of death. How many would have gathered if the weather were better? Twice as many? The thought sickened him.

Stood atop the makeshift platform with the nooses affixed around their necks, the three of them looked pitiful. One had begun to cry, the other staring blankly ahead at the cheering crowds. It was not a good way to die, he decided. He’d much rather die with a sword in hand, or even a dagger in the back, if it came down to it.

Trumpets reverberated through the courtyard and every head turned. At the entrance of the manor stood Baroness Sylvana. Old and smiling, the woman sported a dress of blue and gold that cost more than Alden would make in a year of service, silverthread glistening in the hot sun. She was escorted by Peren and Frenna on either side, their armor resplendent in the sun’s light, while Commander Dhatri led them down the steps.

A widow, the Baroness had inherited the lands from her father after his death and had only married briefly. In normal circumstances she would have inherited the lands of her late husband, who had been the viscount of Aubury, yet, it was said, the man had named a concubine in his will, and so the lands had gone to her instead of Baroness Sylvana.

Unpleasant as it may have been, it had been long ago and had not visibly worn on the Baroness. She had a kindly appearance, like that of a beloved grandmother, though she had had no children of her own. With a wide grin and smiling eyes, she descended from the manor staircase and approached the platform.

He felt a chill run through him at the sight of her. Uncertain, he took in every detail of the woman. Elderly, kind-faced, and dressed as a noble woman of her station was expected to, he did not see what caused him to feel the way he did. Except for her smile, he realized. Her smile did not befit the occasion.

Frenna separated from the Baroness and fell in line beside Alden, flashing him a sorrowful grin before turning her attention to the prisoners.

Commander Dhatri stood before the platform and addressed the crowd. “By order of Baroness Sylvana, and with the power vested into her by the Drygallis Empire, these three men here stand accused of the crime of trafficking the drug known as Graftia to the good people of Addens; to the crime of using cave systems forbidden to the public, which they did use in the creation of Graftia; and to the crime of kidnapping and murder of the sons and daughters of Addens and its surrounding lands.

“Having been made aware of the facts of the matter, Baroness Sylvana has sentenced these men to death by hanging, as the law permits. All lands and titles are hereby stripped from these three, and all ownership of their belongings now defaults to the Barony of Titemore, excepting that which must be used to pay off any legally recognized debts the sentenced have accumulated. We will now begin.”

Alden stood, confused. Soldiers climbed the platform, fiddling with the ropes, yet when they finished they descended from the platform and Berns remained.

“My lady,” he called out. Baroness Sylvana turned to him, as did the other soldiers, and for a moment he was as surprised as they were at the interruption. “My lady, if I may. Commander Dhatri assured me of the survival of one of these men in return for information he provided.”

She stared at him, looking down from her place beside the fountain, kind and smiling. “Yes, Commander Dhatri has made me aware of the details. Very useful information, I must admit, and I commend you for your efforts. However, it is I who passes judgment in these lands, not Commander Dhatri.”

“But my lady–”

Staring at the sky, Alden’s mind was filled first with confusion. Pain began to throb throughout his body, and as he went to breathe he found that his lungs would not obey. His chest was aflame, every movement sending spikes of tortuous pain through him. He fought the feeling and pushed himself up, only to meet the tip of Frenna’s sword pressed against his cheek. It cut into his flesh, if only just, and blood began to leak.

“Stay down, fool. It is not your place to talk back to the Baroness.”

He cast a wary gaze to the Baroness. Her smile had not faltered in the least as she stared down at him. No, if anything it had grown a smidge, as if his treatment gave her some sort of sick pleasure.

Commander Dhatri, at least, looked ashamed, almost apologetic, though soon enough his sternness returned. He whispered something in the Baroness’s ear. She nodded.

“Allow him to stand, Frenna,” Baroness Sylvana said. “Though do keep him in line, yes?”

“Gladly, my lady.” Frenna grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his feet, the sudden motion sending waves of pain through him so intense he saw spots. Standing unsteadily, he dared not move an inch, lest the pain return, or worse, Frenna’s fist or blade.

Hopeless, he could only grit his teeth as they carried on.

Bound and gagged and flailing, Berns’s eyes met his own as they dropped the platform floor from his feet. Berns fell, the noose snapping hard against his neck, his body bouncing. Yet as he settled he began to flail once more, choking. A botched hanging.

Alden made to move to help but stopped as he felt his shoulder being crushed by steel fingers. “Don’t move, or you’ll be joining them,” Frenna said.

He did not move, as ordered. He watched as Berns choked, his face turning red, then blue, then settling on a sickly purple as life finally drained from him. A minute or two, in total, and yet they were the longest minutes of Alden’s life.