The Book of Terrus: The Wise and Powerful

Chapter 22 - The Punishment for Treason

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There was something morbidly satisfying about watching Utunma writhe in a turncoat's agony.

Bookended by Captain Sabin and a second Knight of Amenthis, Mahir strolled through the ravaged town without haste. The sacking of Utunma had been done at his orders, and he wanted to see every inch of what that had wrought. Streets slick with overturned barrels of fish oil and blood were no deterrent to the king; today he dressed like the warrior heir of Amenthis he was now determined to become. No more showy capes of hand stitched cloth-of-gold and doublets fastened with sparkling gems for Mahir.

The king of Goran wore a full bodysuit of black leather armor, enhanced at the breast, shoulders, fauld and tasset by plates of molded steel. The only concessions to royal status were a short, rose-red cloak, pinned at the shoulders by bronze medallions bearing the crest of Amenthis, a similarly scarlet pendant belt which draped down the front of the embossed plates of his fauld, and of course the crown of Goran. Mahir had had the armor made in the likeness of Amenthis' portrait on the fresco in the basement of Castle Armathain, and with Utunma freshly retaken he felt worthy of the uniform.

The reclaiming of Utunma had been a brief, definitive business. Riled up and bloated with a sense of accomplishment, the southerners had at first had the audacity to barricade the road into town and stand their ground. They stood on the rooftops, waving spears, machetes and stones at the army scouts, screaming demands for the soldiers to 'go away' and 'stay out of the south'. All that bravado had been cut abruptly short though when the Third Company began to spill out of the jungle, stretching nearly all the way around the edges of Utunma onto the beaches. Red, black and gold banners like a crescent Blood Moon cornered Utunma against the vast emptiness of the sea.

Already cowed by the show of military might, the townsfolk scattered like the dock rats they were the minute the Third broke down the barrier across the road. A tell-tale lack of boats left in the harbor suggested that many had wisely fled out onto the ocean. More than half of Utunma's residents had been too poor, too slow or too proud to sail away. These the soldiers of the Third dealt with summarily.

The oldest and the youngest were placed under house arrest, with no one allowed out into the streets under pain of death. By the time Mahir reached what remained of the magistrate's office in the main square, the army had just finished herding all men and women of age into the large warehouse beside docks. Market stalls, their wares dumped unceremoniously onto the cobblestones, now served to prop the large warehouse doors closed from the outside. No doubt some of the people inside were injured by the Third's scouring of Utunma, if the cries and groans of distress coming from inside the coral and driftwood building were any clue.

It occurred to Mahir that he had been here before. Pausing, he stood in the centre of the rubble-strewn square and turned on the spot. Yes, the town prison that way, the scaffold over there, royal banner hung from those rooftops. It had been here that all this Factionist mess started. No doubt the infamous BlackPearl knew and remembered this place and that day well. Mahir recalled her clearly now.

Standing here, the hot southern sun beating down on his head and the smell of salt, sweat, and smoke heavy in his nostrils, Mahir closed his eyes and saw them all again. Four southerners kneeling on their bare knees, chained together and trembling before justice was meted out. High Obad Lirien and Tomur, assessing the rogue Obad and declaring him waste. The condemned man's wife, skinny and screaming, trying to fight her way back to her new husband's side even as he begged for her life. In this place, Mahir could almost hear the girl's wails echoing once again.