Hierarchy (Book Four of the Torrent Skies Saga)

Chapter Ten: General Admission Execution

The darkness and lack of substance in Halemeda's cell was driving her insane. Had it been only days? Or was it longer, maybe months? She did not know, and she had not had the presence of mind to tally the days, as it was so dark she would be hard pressed to count any marks she did make. She sat, stood, paced the three steps around her tiny cell and sat again, repeating this if only to make noise, until the door opened, in the midst of her sitting. It was not the hatch at the bottom that opened, but the entire door. The light from the two torches was so bright that she cringed, hating the image she must have shown to the guards.

"Why?" she asked, as they bound her wrists in a different set of manacles, freed her from the others, hoisted her to her feet, and pulled her from the cell. The overabundance of movement made her dizzy.

"You're to be publicly executed." The guards voice was male, drowned by his helmet. The shimmering crimson of his armor was dizzily enchanting.

Of course, Halemeda thought. She sent her thoughts out to those she cared enough to say goodbye to, and made her peace.  Or, she tried too. That peace lasted only a moment.

They took her up from the dungeons, tugging her forward when she stumbled. She caught her reflection in a barrel of water in the guard house and winced. Her once nice clothing was tattered and stained beyond even her repair. Her hair was untrimmed, matted, and dull without its usual enchantments. Her face was sallow, tired, and caked with grime. In the moment all she wanted was to be clean. To have some shred of her dignity returned. Maybe she was vain, but her appearance had always whispered of her power, and losing both was difficult to swallow.

Maybe she would get a final request.

Snow had fallen and stuck sometime during her stay in the dungeons, and she was glad to see it. The morning light made the covering of white sparkle where it had been untouched, and even where it mixed with the dirt in the alleyways, it was beautiful. It was colder outside than in her cell, surprisingly, but no one offered her a coat or cloak of any kind. In their eyes, she was only a traitor.

She thought the walk would be a short one, that they would be taking her to the square. That was traditionally where executions were held. In such a way that the statues of dead heroes could stare down in judgment upon the dammed. But they turned instead to a barred carriage and insisted she enter.

There was no reason to have her ride to her death, if it was so close. Her stomach twisted.

There was a single window in the carriage, and the guards did not fault her for gazing out of it. With a snicker from the horses and a call from the driver, they traveled past the square headed south east, and a dread began to settle into Halemeda. She caught a flicker of movement from the guard on her right, but she dismissed it, as she realized where they were going.

To the Tower.

Halemeda bit her lip. You bastard. She thought of Kryrial, wanting nothing more than to slap him.

The soft bumping of the carriage on the road was ignored and forgotten, in lieu of her anger. She closed her eyes and reached inward. Hoping desperately, to feel her magic. To know at last, before she died, that she still possessed it. She could feel the enchantments on her manacles, halting her from reaching it. But she could not stand the thought of being strung up on the Tower grounds. She did not want to see it in pieces.

Strain as she might, she could not reach her magic. It was only now that she realized how insignificant the spark of it was. There was barely any magic left within her. her stunt with Kryrial really had cost her. She doubted she could ignite the smallest of flames, let alone find a way to escape. That was the price she paid to fight Kryrial. And she had lost.