Red robed priests stood in silence behind the Executioner dressed in white and gold as he delivered his speech from the gilded platform.

The platform was only used for the mantling of new kings. Today was no different as Byarn watched the proceedings.

He glanced around him casually and caught sight of the guards pursuing him at the fringe of the crowd. They searched the faces in the crowd in vain.

He turned his attention back to what was happening on the platform. The Executioner was still talking.

“We come together in this holy moment to witness a man willing to become our king. It is his greatest desire to prove himself worthy before the assembly of the people and take upon himself the mantel of his office. All bow to our worthy leader, Lars of Stahyoen.”

The crowd bent themselves at the waist as a man in stocks and chains was led by two purple-garbed soldiers to the fore of the platform and turned to face the crowd. Lars wore a white tunic bordered with gold thread.

“I’m goin to become yer king! Hahahaha!” Lars tried to turn his head around to the priests. “I’ll kill every last one of you freaks! Starting with you two!” He turned back around to the two soldiers.

One calmly kicked the back of his knee, forcing him down onto it.

Lars starting breathing more heavily. “I’m going to become a god! I’ll bless all you people out there and the nobles can go to hell! Hyahaha!”

One of the guards unlatched the stocks from around his neck and Lars started. The stocks were set aside and Lars’ limbs began to tremble as if he had suddenly been thrust outside in the cold.

The Executioner was mumbling a prayer now in a tongue none but royalty and the priests knew. He walked a few steps towards the red-robed priests and reverently lifted something that was draped over a star-white pillar. He turned and faced the crowd with it.

It was a mantel a king might have worn once, only it was torn and ragged. However, it still held its rich red color and glimpses of curvaceous starlight-white designs could still be glimpsed in those places that weren’t burnt or shredded. In fact, its remnant glory was still so splendid that one might wonder if its sordid state wasn’t the true nature of the garment.

That moment would pass as one realized the garment was little more than ribbons on the verge of ashes. Only one part of it remained untouched, a wide necklace made of intricately-wrought gold that formed the mantel’s border around the neck. It was wide enough to easily fit over any person’s head.

The two soldiers took Lars’ chains and bolted them in place to his either side.

The Executioner raised the mantel above his head and walked to the spot directly behind Lars.

Lars’ eyes went wide with fright and he froze.

Two red-robed priests walked forward and covered the Executioner’s head with a white hood lined with leather on the inside.

The Executioner continued speaking, but Byarn doubted even a noble could understand his muffled voice.

Slowly, the Executioner lowered the mantel upon Lars’ shoulders.

Lars watched it as it was lowered down to him, but didn’t watch it as it settled on his shoulders. His eyes were suddenly fixed upon the sky.

The mantel settled upon his shoulders and the Executioner took one step back.

A searing light suddenly emanated from Lars’ body that nearly blinded Byarn at the same time he heard a high-pitched screech. For just a few seconds the light and the noise remained, then it suddenly dissipated and a light thump was heard as the mantel fell to the platform.

At first, Byarn thought the sky had grown darker, but his eyes adjusted and everything returned to normal. A faint glow in the air remained for just a minute in the area where Lars had been, then that dissipated as well.

The Executioner took off his hood and gave it to a priest who came to his side. Then, he gingerly picked up the mantel and set it back on the short pillar. Then he turned back to the crowd.

“Today you have witnessed a man thought to be worthy of the position of king. However, he was unable to bear the King’s Mantel. He is unworthy! He has lied to us and to you! If there are any others who wish to claim the title of King, let them come now!”

The crowd shuffled and whispered amongst itself.

“Cretins.” Someone whispered near Byarn. “They just keep themselves in power by killing anyone who would become king.”

“That bloody mantel is cursed,” whispered another.

“He has ascended! Lars has ascended to be a great and powerful spirit!” Someone shouted from the front of the crowd.

“Guards!” The Executioner shouted.

Guardsmen closed in on the man’s position.

“It’s true!” The man shouted. “All who are taken by the light of the mantel go to live with the Endless Lord in his resting place! Do not listen to the lies of these false priests! We of the True Radiance know what they hide from all of you! Do not let them deceive you!” His voice became more desperate. “Rise up! Throw them down and the blessings of the mantel will be made available to all! Rise up! Rise up! Ri – ”

Byarn presumed he’d been struck down. No one moved to ‘rise up’ against the priests but this elicited a few murmurings.

Byarn risked another glance around himself. Guardsmen were stationed on all roads leading out of the town square. He couldn’t wait until the crowd dispersed, then he’d be caught out in the open while all the guards closed in on him. His best chance would be to slip out with the crowd.

Byarn let the crowd carry him along. He risked a glance forward and saw that a couple guards had positioned themselves standing on top of wagons and were looking down into the crowd as it passed.

Stolen story; please report.

Byarn let his gaze fall and he lowered his head just a little. If he lowered it too much he would stick out from the crowd. He kept shuffling along towards the street.

He drew close to where the guards were searching the crowd’s faces. He made himself keep breathing. He could see the guards in the corner of his eyes. Slowly, slowly, the crowd moved forward.

Byarn was nearly abreast of the guards when he heard a loud thump of heavy boots on wood. He saw another guard get up on the wagon to his left, but he didn’t look that way, so he couldn’t tell who it was.

A few seconds passed. Byarn came even with the guards, then stepped past. He breathed out in a sigh.

“You there! Turn and let me see your face!”

People around him glanced towards the guard. Byarn knew that voice all too well. It was Tamas, the Captain of the Guard. Byarn felt his heart jump into his throat and pretended not to heed the man.

“Everyone!” Tamas bellowed, “Turn towards my voice or be shot!”

Byarn heard the clatter of bows and arrows being readied. More boots thumped onto the wagons and armor clanked as soldiers pushed through the crowd. The people around him stopped and turned about.

Byarn clenched his teeth and glanced behind him. His eyes met those of Tamas who had a gloved finger pointed right at him.

“That’s him!”

Byarn ducked and wedged himself through the crowd right as an arrow was let loose. The arrow thudded into the chest of a man who let out a scream.

The crowd writhed around Byarn as women screamed and some men took their chances and tried to push themselves away into the crowd.

A few more arrows were loosed at Byarn and they missed by only inches, burying themselves in unlucky victims.

The crowd grew more panicked and began to surge away from the guards. Suddenly, Byarn wasn’t shoving through the crowd anymore, it pressed against him and carried him along. Someone alongside him fell and was trampled. Guardsmen shouted at one another.

Another arrow whizzed by his head from above. The woman next to him cried out in pain. He looked up. A light-footed archer was atop the roof, pulling another arrow from his quiver and stringing it.

With great difficulty, Byarn pulled his knife from his belt and up and over his head and threw it into the archer’s chest.

The archer dropped his bow and arrow and rolled down the roof and into the crowd.

Byarn strained his head to see if there were any others, but didn’t find any.

For several blocks the crowd swept him along. When he could, he wrested himself closer to the edge of the street.

When he neared the edge, he stopped. He could see people getting twisted and slammed against the sides of the houses from the pressure of the crowd.

He saw a side street ahead and readied himself. It passed close and he used all of his strength to try and enter into it. The people already packed into it were too many and he could hardly get a foot in before he was swept away.

By this time he was sweating profusely from the strain of keeping with the crowd and the heat it put off. Then there was the smell, but he was mostly used to that. People cried out in pain and fright around him. Others called out for loved ones.

Byarn kept his wits about him and waited for the next cross street to pass. He could feel the pressure of the crowd loosening.

The side street came close and again he wrestled with the crowd. He even pushed himself off a woman’s face so he could move to the side. This time, he was able to squeeze himself into the crowd that was in the side street.

At first, Byarn though he’d made a mistake. The pressure of the crowd here was so heavy he thought he’d be crushed. In fact, he heard a pop and a pained yell as someone’s arm was broken.

He had to take small breaths because his chest was getting squashed.

After a block, the pressure suddenly became lighter and Byarn took a deep gulp of air. He let the crowd take him as he tried to rest just a little.

The crowd started to thin quickly now and soon Byarn was able to dodge his way through the throng of exhausted and battered people.

He traveled past the crowd to where the streets were quiet and empty. He traveled past these to where the streets were filthy, more dirt than cobblestone. He climbed into a hole that was in the rubble of an old building.

For a few feet he has to crouch under stone slabs and rotten wood beams, but then the tunnel opened into a space dimly lit by a window and a wide crack in the ceiling.

There was a young man sitting at a table and he looked up at Byarn’s entrance.

Byarn waved a tired hand. “Galahad.”

Galahad ate another spoonful of the glop that was in the bowl before him. “Need a place to crash at? Those soldiers never give you any rest. You look like someone used a meat tenderizer on you.”

Byarn chuckled, “They’re like a chatty and nagging wife, but I’d take them over a wife any day.” He walked over to where a straw mattress was lying on the floor. “Call me if any of those goons come poking around.”

He lay down and only then did he start to feel the bruises and just how many times people had stepped on his toes.

For a few moments Byan lay awake listening. Larkin stopped by and chatted to Galahad about everything that had happened. Galahad inquired about his sister but she hadn’t turned up yet. Both he and Larkin stepped out to look for her.

Then there was quiet. Byarn felt his eyes grow heavy and he fell into a sleep.

***

Byarn opened his eyes. The room was in deep shadow. The glow of the evening sun was a dull orange where it crept in through the crack.

Byarn rubbed his face and sat up stiffly. His whole body ached.

His sleepiness cleared a little more and something made him hold still. Slight sounds were reaching his ears. Normally, such sounds wouldn’t bother him. But the scuff of boot on stone had a rhythm to it when a person was trying to sneak about.

He slowly got up and retreated to a corner where there was a pile of stone rubble. He removed a stone as quietly as he could and revealed a small crawl space. He backed into it and moved the stone where it had been before.

He backed himself through the crawlspace scaring some rats away. For several more feet he did this until he came into a more open area. He turned himself around in the small space and started crawling forward again.

The little tunnel had mostly been made by slabs of rock that had fallen over. In some places he had to crawl over broken stones or go to his belly to squeeze beneath them. After another twenty feet, he came to another stone blocking his way.

He waited and listened. Long moments drew out. Behind him down the tunnel he heard the sounds of boots on stones and hushed whispers. So, the soldiers had found his bed empty.

He waited for a little more until the sounds receded and a soldier barked an order.

Byarn crammed his fingers around the edges of the stone in front of him and slowly moved it to the side. This opened up into another room.

Byarn crawled through and stood up and stretched, then replaced the stone. He crept stealthily to the door and cracked it open. The street was quiet outside. He waited a few more moments, then pushed the door open halfway and slipped through. He closed it behind him. He stood still and waited, listening.

The streets here were cast in deep shadow now. The setting sun lit the sky but everything else was blacker than night between the dilapidated buildings.

He took a few steps forward then quietly began running at a crouch to the right.

“Halt!”

Byarn cursed and stopped short as a line of soldiers strode forward out of the darkness with their weapons drawn. He started running the other direction but soldiers were there too. They hemmed him in on either side, then circled him.

Someone approached from behind the soldiers.

“Byarn Folk’s Bane, it seems like your title has finally come back to haunt you.”

Byarn couldn’t make out the dim figure, but he knew who it was by the voice. “You’re a murderous coward Tamas. I haven’t killed half as many peasants as you.”

A soldier rushed Byarn from behind and struck him in the side of the head. Byarn toppled to the ground. His head swam with pain.

“If you hadn’t run from us that whole stampede never would have happened. Galahad’s sister never would have been trampled to death and he would have never blamed you for it. Now, here we are. The terror you’ve wrecked on our people is finally at an end. Look at it this way, we’ll finally be able to see what your lineage really is. Are you a fallen noble? Or just some scum who’s only purpose is putting a blight upon our land.”

A second blow blackened Byarn’s vision and he slipped into unconsciousness.