They trundled their wheelbarrow to the
Temple of Pharasma, Nat still holding Erin’s belt as he stumbled blindly among
the gravestones. Wren’s people were pleased to see they had safely returned.
While Wren helped them clean Gaeken’s body as best they could, they told the
clerics of what they’d found in the catacombs. “There’s a fully equipped
alchemy lab,” Shadow said, “and a library full of books about plagues and
diseases.” He left out the mention of all the tomes on necromancy. The clerics
agreed these would all be valuable assets for the Temple, and in exchange for
all the party had done, they offered free healing to get them back to full
strength. One even cast a Dispel Magic that
restored Nat’s eyesight. They borrowed a large handcart from Dorro, the man who
normally collected bodies to bring to the Temple to be prepared for burial and
loaded up their two bodies and what items they had scavenged from the Derros.
Throwing a heavy tarp over the whole thing (so as not to shock too many people
as they traveled through town), they set off for Citadel Volshyenek.
As they passed through the city, they noticed
an unusual amount of activity: pubs were overflowing in some areas, despite the
mid-day hour, while across the street from them knots of grim-faced citizens
eyed the revelers warily. But given the grim cargo they were carrying, they
didn’t stop to ask questions. When they arrived at the Citadel, they were
ushered straight to Kroft’s office. They reported their successes: they had
recovered the Shoanti’s body, wiped out an infestation of Derros, killed
Gaedren Lamm, and discovered the identity of his shiver supplier. If they’d
expected to be awarded medals for their actions, they were disappointed. Field
Marshall Kroft listened to their report with an air of distraction. “Well
that’s one less threat to worry about,” she said wearily as she summoned an
assistant to take custody of the body.
She dropped heavily into her chair. “I
suppose you’ve heard the news?” Everyone exchanged puzzled glances and shook
their heads. “Trinia Sabor’s ‘trial’ has been concluded, and she’s to be
executed at sundown in Domina Square.” Kroft's voice seemed to add quotes around
the word ‘trial’.
“At least the poor girl wasn’t tortured
– Marcus and I saw to that. Both Archbanker Tuttle and Bishop D’Bear cast
truth-telling spells on her, but she stuck to her story to the end. But Head
Arbiter Zenderholm, who presided over the trial, said she’d seen too many times
where criminals could resist magical compulsions, and chose to believe the
testimony of the ‘witness’ who claimed he saw Sabor poison the King. She’s
right, of course – that can happen. But with two different clerics of that
power casting spells independently?” She let the thought hang.
“You know, there are other ways to
determine whether someone is lying,” Nat began.
Kroft slammed her fist onto her desk.
“Well it’s too bad you weren’t at the god-damned trial, so you could offer your
wonderful insights!” she shouted, shocking everyone into silence.
Kroft sank back into her chair and
rubbed her brows. “I’m sorry,” she continued in a softer voice. “I shouldn’t
take it out on you. This whole affair doesn’t sit right with me, but it’s my
job to uphold the law, not take it into my own hands.”
“Did they cross-examine the witness?”
Wren asked softly.
Kroft was silent for a long minute. “He
committed suicide in his prison cell before the trial started. But enough
people had heard his testimony – including myself and Commandant Endrin – that
Arbiter Zenderholm chose to admit it into evidence.”
The group looked at each other
knowingly. “Zenderholm was the one who accepted testimony against me that was a
pack of lies,” Nat growled.
Kroft took a deep breath, and resumed
her professional focus. “None of this matters now – what’s past is past. But
I’m really worried about what could happen at the execution. This city is still
badly divided. Most people just want to see the assassin executed, justice
done, and for things to return to how they were before. But there are others
who believe the Sabor girl is a scapegoat, and that whoever truly murdered the
King – whether the Queen or someone else – is using her to mask their own
crime. We can’t afford another riot. Would you be willing to come to Domina
Square, in case any trouble breaks out?”
The group immediately assented, and
Field Marshall Kroft thanked them for all their service to the city. They
returned to Zellara’s, both to rest for a bit and to wash off the stink of
death that still clung to them after their time in the Dead Warrens. Well
before sundown, they made their way to Domina Square.
Domina Square was a large public square
butting up to the base of the pyramid that served as the foundation for Castle
Korvosa. A broad set of stairs led down from the Castle to a large balcony
platform overlooking the square some 30’ below. Domina Boulevard led into the
square from the northeast. The southeast side of the square was lined with buildings,
but the northwest side was terminated by a 20’ high stone wall, hung with
banners of scarlet and black, the city colors of Korvosa. Against this wall as a
newly-constructed raised wooden platform, and at one end of the platform a
guillotine stood ominously.
The square was already crowded, and the
crowd continued to grow as the appointed hour approached. Most of the crowd
were common folk, come to witness a spectacle not seen in Korvosa in a
generation. But the toast of Korvosa was also in attendance, dressed in garish
gowns, fine capes, and enough jewels to blind the common citizen. The overall
feel was of some combination of public festival and a grand ball.
A fanfare of trumpets announced the
arrival of the Queen. She emerged from the Castle far above them, and made her
way down the stairway accompanied by her retinue. On her left hand was a
striking figure, a woman dressed in a shining suit of full-plate armor with a
closed helm, sporting a flowing crimson plume: the Queen’s bodyguard, Sabina
Merrin. On her right hand was the Head Arbiter, Zenobia Zenderholm, and behind
her were a cadre of court officials. Queen Ileosa appeared to have fully
accepted the mantle of sole monarch now, and carried herself with poise, style,
and grace. She wore a green and white silk dress embroidered with pearls and
clearly worth a small fortune.
Queen Ileosa took her seat in a
throne-like chair on the balcony overlooking the square. The crowd was abuzz:
admiring comments on the Queen’s attire mixed with speculation on how the
traitor Sabor might comport herself in her last moments. On the platform the
executioner stood motionless, a towering, muscular man wearing a leather hood,
and with a ceremonial headsman’s axe in his crossed arms.
There was another fanfare, followed by
the ominous roll of drums. The crowd fell silent as a phalanx of guards
appeared, leading a small figure, her hands bound behind her and her face
covered by a cloth hood. The drums set the pace for their procession as they
led their prisoner up the thirteen steps to the executioner’s block. One of the
guards roughly removed the hood, revealing the face of a very frightened young
woman, fighting to hold back tears. The party immediately recognized the young
artist they had chased through the Shingles: Trinia Sabor.
The guards left the platform and the
drums stopped. An ominous silence hung over the square. Then Ileosa rose and
addressed the crowd.
“Fellow Korvosans! You have suffered
greatly these past few weeks. Homes have burned, family members have died, and fortunes
have been lost. I feel your suffering, for not only have I lost a beloved
husband, but with each act of anarchy that followed, my heart bled more. This
has been a trying time for us, yet the torment is at an end. Before you is the
source of your anguish and pain. Do not be deceived by this murderer’s timid
nature — she is a black-hearted assassin. I offer you her death as a salve
against the hatred and hurt you have suffered. And so, without further delay,
let us usher in this new dawn with justice! OFF WITH HER HEAD!”
The executioner took Trinia by the arm, to
lead her to the block, but her feet seemed unable to move. He pulled, and
reached out one hand to brace himself on the guillotine’s frame, then cried out
in pain as a hurled dagger embedded itself in the back of his hand, pinning
him. As his grip on Trinia faltered, a figure in dressed in a black hooded
cloak and mask appeared atop the wall; grabbing one of the banners, he swung
down to land lightly at Trinia’s side. Drawing another dagger, he sliced
through her bonds then, in the same motion, threw the dagger down to impale the
executioner’s foot to the platform. A cry echoed through the crowded square:
“By the gods – it’s Blackjack!”
Blackjack, the fabled hero of Korvosa,
turned to address the shocked Queen. “Yes indeed, my queen! Let us usher in
justice, but let that be justice for Korvosa, not this shambles you call a
monarchy! Long live Korvosa! Down with the queen!”
Blackjack’s words triggered a frenzy
among the crowd. The better dressed citizens began to shout things like “Arrest
the rebel!” or “Kill the anarchist!”. But the common folk, raised on tales of
how Blackjack had fought time and again for the poor and downtrodden, began to
cheer. “Hurrah for Blackjack!”, “Blackjack has returned!”. Many began to repeat
his cry: “Down with the Queen!” Guards tried to rush the platform, but the
chaos in the courtyard made it all but impossible for them to move through the
crowd. Queen Ileosa stood stunned for a moment, then Sabina Merrin and her
other bodyguards surrounded her protectively and retreated quickly back to the
safety of the Castle.
As Blackjack watched the Queen flee, he
seemed to have momentarily forgotten the executioner. The mountain of a man
reached down with his one free hand and lifted his axe above Blackjack’s head,
ready to strike him down.
The party reacted in a flash. Despite
their role in capturing Trinia Sabor, they had all come to feel they had aided
in some great injustice, and they had faced her imminent execution with guilt
gnawing at them. Now, they saw an opportunity to right that wrong. Erin threw a
Thunderstone that struck the
guillotine, deafening and stunning not only the executioner, but all of the
crowd nearby. Tomas, ordered by Field Marshall Kroft to be ready for trouble,
already had his bow out, and in an instant one of his arrows sank into the
executioner’s raised arm. Simultaneously, a Force
Missile from Jax and a pair of Magic
Missiles from Shadow hit the axe itself, sending it spinning out of the
man’s hand. Nat opened his mouth; no sound emerged, but the headsman clapped
his injured hand to one ear as blood began to seep from the other. A glowing
hammer appeared in front of him and hit him in the gut, doubling him over.
Blackjack, realizing his danger, wrapped
one arm around Trinia’s waist, then sprinted straight up the wall. He paused at
the top, his form backlit by the setting sun. His eyes sought out the party,
and he raised his rapier in salute. Then he bowed to the crowd with a flourish
and stepped backwards off the wall, disappearing from sight.
Luckily for the party, the chaos and
confusion that still roiled Domina Square had apparently masked their actions;
if they were known to have abetted Trinia’s escape, it would surely mean death.
But then they turned and saw Cressida Kroft staring at them. She had seen what
they had done, and a flurry of emotions crossed her face in a heartbeat. Then,
she simply gave a solemn nod, turned on her heel, and strode away.
This concludes Book One, Edge of Anarchy.
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