The King's Courier

I

An abrupt, loud pounding awoke him. The boy, appearing no older than eighteen, let out a prolonged groan of disapproval. He got up out of his small bed and rushed to answer the door.

"Hello, Costis," the man who was waiting outside said, "overslept again this morning, have we?"

The boy shrugged a little and gestured the man to come in.

"Don't worry about your boots, I'm sure my father will shoo you out the moment he sees you," Costis let out sleepily, "he has a knack for that."

The man began a retort, but lowered his finger, "Yes, I'm aware. But he does need to realize that this problem isn't going to just simply disappear, no matter how much 'wealth' he claims to own."

"Yeah, I'm sick of my father putting it off as well. But what am I to do, he's my father; he wouldn't listen to financial advice from his son in the slightest," Costis let on. "Actually, speaking of taxes, I'd better get going to work or I'm sure we'll never be rid of my father's loans."

Costis made a sort of shooing motion to tell the tax collector to leave, although the man wasn't too keen on the idea of leaving empty-handed.

"I'll be back tonight, and if your father isn't here, I'll have no choice but to evict you both," the tax collector let out lowly, "I won't take no for an answer."

Costis closed the door behind him then threw on his overcoat and a freshly washed lambswool cap. He'd wrapped a scarf around his neck and slung his messenger bag over one shoulder. The clouds were heavy and the air had hurt Costis's lungs while he ran along the shoddily made road. He'd been running for roughly fifteen minutes and the clouds fell close to the earth, leaving a thick, bone-chilling fog that obscured the view of the capital which Costis had been using as an indicator of how much further he had to go.

After what felt like a lifetime of running in the frozen air, he'd made it to the crumbling walls surrounding the capital, along with its respective guardsmen standing outside the gate. Costis shuffled through his bag and pulled out his identification papers. It was a long, dreadful process, using the papers daily just to get to work.

"Mornin', kid," said one of the swordsmen crankily, "You know the baron has been asking for you, right?"

Costis shivered a little, half from the cold and the other half of fear. "Uhh, no, I wasn't aware, is something wrong?"

"Who knows, I'm sure he'll find you; head on to the next checkpoint and prepare your bag for examination."

Costis walked into the first sector quickly to avoid the wind, though the stone walls gave little protection from any other weather. He'd set his bag on the table and a new face began to rummage through Costis's things.

"I usually have Sir Vordoran check my things, could you sent him instead," choked up Costis, worried the man working the table was corrupt and would find some reason to incarcerate him.

"Sir Vordoran? He's been.. called off, if you will. If you hurry to the town square, I'm sure you'll find him." The man let out a cackle then slid the bag back to Costis, "you're all set, kid."

Confused and somewhat panicked by the man's behavior, Costis began moving to the town center as quickly as possible, holding his bag in his arm to ensure no one from the crowd grabbed it. Work would have to wait if something big was happening soon. Costis pushed through the crowd, trying to see what was going on and why everyone was cheering.

Then he saw it. Costis had gazed at it; he'd rubbed his eyes in disbelief. His gaze locked on the slowly swaying ropes of the gallows, then at the executioner, who was anxiously awaiting the moment he got to pull the lever. The baron was there as well, pacing back and forth awaiting more people to arrive. He stopped pacing at the very center of the gallows and pulled out a scroll. He unrolled it slowly, building anticipation, then faced the crowd and began reading it off.