The Vixen Trials

Vengeance

Dakkoul

The cage had been hauled up onto centre stage. Dakkoul did his best to keep his balance, but he slipped and a shout of laughter rose from the crowd. When the cage steadied, he stood up wanting to face them. The Prince, with all the flair of a showman, ordered him out of the cage and next to him on the platform.

​"Here is the Hattavah," the Prince said with a flourish, "The most dangerous man in the city. Watch as I tame him for you". He waved his elegant hand with pointed fingernails in front of Dakkoul's face, "I take away your powers, Hattavah. You are now unable to fight back."

​Dakkoul stared at him, unblinking, but the crowd murmured in enthusiasm and doubt.

​"You can now enter the cage of the Hattavah, and he won't harm you," the Prince announced. "You will have your revenge. Remember, physical blows cleanse the soul. It is the way of the Fox."

​"Wise is the way of the Fox," the crowd cried back. 

​"There are many of you who want to have a turn, so in deference to all, each person will be allowed one minute only. And no weapons for the present."

​Groans were heard from the line, where daggers and knives and even a fork waved in the air.

​"We don't want him to die too quickly," the Prince explained with a nasty smile. "Each should have their turn."

​"When's my turn?" came a old, croaky voice.

The crowd stilled as a trim figure with alabaster skin that seemed to almost shimmer in the light stepped up on the stage.

On closer inspection, Dakkoul saw the shimmer was an illusion of the light, her face was furrowed with wrinkles and it seemed an effort for her to move.

​"The Queen-Priestess," the crowd was saying and with a shock he realised it was true.

​"I want my turn first. I want to sample the Hattavah's blood. He'll make me young and strong again," she wheezed. 

​The Prince forced a grin. "No weapons for the first round."

​"Then I'll have to go before the first round," she cackled and got out her knife and cup and took the hold of the Hattavah's wrist with her bony figgers digging in with gusto, so that even he, who had so often welcomed the feel of the knife, winced. She filled the cup, and strength left his knees.

​"That's enough," the Prince ordered. "The people need their turn."

​She complained and cursed him but eventually shuffled off.

​The Prince ordered a slave to bandage his wrist to stop the flow and then said, "Farewell, Hattavah. I did warn you."

​"You did," he acknowledged. He felt no bitterness against the Prince but only a fleeting regret that his punishment had to be so public that all he cared about must hear about. 

​Then he was pushed back in the cage. He backed against the bars, waiting for the first in line to begin.​Up stepped a thin, grey-haired woman who faced the crowd and said, "The Hattavah killed my son. Choked the life out of him. He was going to get better, he'd turned a corner, but the Hattavah killed him."

​Dakkoul remembered her and the boy. He'd been a household slave, sick for a while with a contagious disease. Concerned the disease would spread, Lord Rustavan had ordered him to put him down. That boy was one of those that howled with the Fox against him.

​The grey lady marched towards him with gimlet eyes. "See how it feels to be choked, Hattavah," she said and she put her hands on his throat and squeezed with surprisingly strong force, so hard he gagged, struggling for breath, until the guard shouted at her to stop. She did not loosen her hold.