Dwarfslayer

48

It seemed the entire city had intention of attending the execution as well. When the eye of Illuminous was at its peak in the sky, doors opened all around town, and rich, poor, and all in between flocked towards the square to witness the first public execution in over a year.

It was a big deal, Damon knew. He had never been to one, and was extremely curious, especially if the condemned was who he thought he was.

Not wanting to stand in the huge crowd gathered in the streets, Damon payed a man for use of his house's rooftop. There was a stellar view of square from the vantage point. Him and Catherine sat at the edge of the building, their legs hanging over the crowd.

“Damon,” she said. “What’s an execution?”

His head shot up. “You mean you don’t know?” he said, slowly.

She shook her head.

Damon looked at the square. “Well, it’s when a bad person gets…”

“Gets what?”

Damon bit his lip, and said nothing.

“What is it, Damon?”

“You really don’t know?”

“No! Tell me. What is it!?”

“It’s when someone is put to death, my dear,” a voice said from behind them.

They turned, and saw an old woman sitting behind them.

Catherine swallowed. “You mean, the person is…” She didn’t go on.

“Yes, they’re killed,” the woman said.

“That’s horrible!” Catherine said, and Damon cringed, hearing that she was near tears.

“Yes, my dear, it is.”

“What did the man do to deserve it?”

Damon looked over, and was relieved to see that Catherine had stopped the tears from coming, but she was sniffling.

“The man was a fool. He disrespected the lord, something no sane man would do, especially not to a man as proud as Lord Maximus.”

Damon looked back. “Maximus, you said? Maximus the Swordmaster?”

The woman nodded. “The king appointed him lord of this land not too long ago.”

Damon turned, amazed.

“Who is that?” Catherine asked.

“Who is the Swordmaster?” Damon said, incredulously. “Only the greatest swordfighter in the Westlands. How do you think he got his Name?”

Catherine cocked her head, and raised an eyebrow.

Damon sighed. “When someone accomplishes a spectacular feat, the king acknowledges this by stripping them of their occupational name, and replacing it with a Name that represents their feat. That’s why my name isn’t Damon Blacksmith. My ancient grandfather was one of the first to be Named.”

Catherine blinked.

Damon smiled. “It’s okay if you don’t understand, though.”

She nodded, and looked down at the crowd.

Horns burst through the air.

Faces turned to the spot that was being rapidly cleared for the Lord’s Carriage. It rode through, and, finally, came to a stop next to the scaffold.

The driver jumped from his spot at the front, and opened the carriage door.

The armored leg stepped out first followed by the six foot, nine inch body of the greatest living swordsman in the Westlands.