“Understood. I’ll make sure not to do anything to provoke him.”
Now that Cah’lia was on the stage, she got a closer look at the four nooses that had been draped over a scaffold. The sight of it made her jaw rattle, and she fought hard to suppress her emotions. It was difficult. Duncan was going to kill Patrick and the others by hanging. It would be a cruel, painful, and humiliating way for her friends to die, and they deserved so much better than to leave the world this way.
I can’t let this happen
.
She tried yet again to break free of her restraints. But there was nothing she could do. Her hands were bound behind her back, and though her ankles were unshackled, her legs alone would not be enough to take down twelve High-Mages and their twisted overlord.
She was powerless, helpless, and as she bruised and injured her wrists trying needlessly to escape from the magically created restraints, it all seemed to become realer somehow. This was going to happen: her friends were going to die. The four of them, who at this very moment were breathing, moving, and alive…they were truly going to die in front of her.
Upon this realization, her last bit of hope gave way to despair, and she became weak. She was going to watch them die—she was going to watch
Shina
die. She was just a young girl, and Cah’lia would see her twitching and gasping as she died in agony. Her legs would kick, her face would turn blue, and all while this was happening, the citizens of Magia, as well as the guards, would do nothing at all to stop it despite their good intentions. They were
all
going to watch it happen. They were going to
allow
it.
“Make sure she stays put,” Duncan said. He turned his back to the High-Mages so that he instead faced his audience. He then strolled to the edge of the stage and paused once he was overlooking the mass of people who had come to this sick event. Upon seeing the Archmage standing front and center above them, the level of noise picked up yet another notch.
With an even greater zeal, the irate Magian people roared their disapproval at Archmage Duncan, whose only response was to open his arms wide as if he welcomed it. Even with his bandaged face rendering his expression indiscernible, his body language alone was enough to make him appear relaxed, patient, and willing to withstand their angry shouting for as long as it took them to settle down.
After several minutes had passed, all while he remained in the same passive, open-armed stance, the citizens of Magia finally quieted. Whether it was because they’d exhausted themselves or because they’d become curious enough in what he had to say to let him say it, Cah’lia wasn’t sure. Either way, once the noise had died down to the point that the Archmage’s voice could easily reach all those watching on, he addressed the unruly crowd.
“People of Magia,” he began, his words reverberating through the city square. “Your Holy Magus stands before you. And today, you will be the first to witness my—”
“You’re not the Holy Magus!” someone shouted, interrupting him.
“And you’ll never be!” added another of the citizens, this one towards the front of the gathering. He was tall enough for Cah’lia to see a rock in his hand that he’d been about to throw. As he shouted, one of the guards noticed this and knocked it out of his fingers before giving him a clap over the ears.
“Cut that out for your own good you damned fool.”
The man scowled. “Why? He’s not our holy Magus.”
“That’s right!” shouted a woman standing next to him, possibly his wife. “He’s
not
our Holy Magus!” Others nearby repeated these words, and before long, it became a chant. Again and again, the rebellious Magians echoed the sentiment, repeatedly decrying him as a usurper and murderer.
As he’d done earlier, Duncan waited patiently for their protests to die down before continuing. Cah’lia used this time to inspect her surroundings, desperately hoping to come up with a plan of rescue and escape. But if such an opportunity existed, she did not find it. Mages surrounded her on all sides, she was unarmed, and even if she’d found a weapon, she would not be able to use it with her hands bound so tightly behind her back and so many eyes on her.
Meanwhile, Patrick and the others had been made to stand on top of wooden, box-shaped stools while the nooses that would soon go around their necks dangled just inches in the air above their heads.
Four brawny, shirtless men stood behind them on the other side of the stools at the back end of the stage. Cah’lia wasn’t sure where they’d come from or when they’d gotten here, but she assumed there must have been steps just out of sight behind them that led up onto the stage. These men, she was fairly certain, would each perform the role of executioner. They would place the noose around the necks of her four friends, then kick the stools out from under their feet so that they hung suspended in the air, suffocating to death.
Helena, please. Don’t let this happen to them. Give me a way to save them, and I swear to you that no matter what the cost is to myself I will take it.
One of the High-Mages went down the line of the four of them, beginning with Patrick. He paused at each to mumble a spell, which released them from their magically summoned binds; their chains fell away and disappeared into nothingness. With a gruff, all-too serious whisper, he warned that if any of them tried to escape, he or one of the other High-Mages would kill them immediately—and in a way that would be infinitely more painful than their imminent hanging, he seemed all-too pleased to add.
Additionally, he handed three of the shirtless executioners a stone of some kind that glowed a milky white color when pressed against the backs of Kellar, Shina, and Orellia. From that point onwards, the executioners kept one arm extended to hold the stone in place. Orellia mumbled something about her magic being suppressed.
“It’s for your own good,” the High-Mage said. “You won’t be able to control yourselves during the hanging. Trust me on that. You’ll use magic out of desperation, and you’ll end up prolonging your own suffering. In fact, you should thank us for being so merciful that we…hmm? What’s with that look on your face, mister big-shot prince?”
“Just get on with it already,” Patrick demanded. He glared at the High-Mage. “Why draw it out? If you’re here to kill us, then do it.”
“That eager to die, eh?” The High-Mage laughed, though it sounded more like a wheeze. “You’ll get your wish soon enough, don’t you worry.”
Kellar and Shina were now extending their arms. The distance between them was just small enough that they were able to hold hands from where they stood on parallel stools, their fingers interlocked.
“You know, Shina,” Kellar said, smiling at her. “I’m not gonna lie. I was always too scared to tell you, but…I really like you. I always did, actually. You meant a lot to me.”
Shina, still sobbing, tilted her face up to look at him, then opened her mouth wide. “I do? I mean, I did?”
“Both,” Kellar said with a chuckle. “You’re really cute, you know? I never said anything, but I always thought you were the cutest girl I’ve ever seen. I remember how sad I was when dad made me leave home to come up here. I didn’t wanna go, and I told my dad I’d never be okay here on my own. But I was wrong, and I
was
okay…well, until now at least.” Another sad chuckle escaped him. “Things were good, though. I liked being a mage, and…and I guess being friends with such a cute girl helped make everything easier.”
Shina blushed, even as tears continued to roll down her face. They did not make it past her cheeks, however, as with a sizzle and a puff of smoke, they evaporated just before sliding down any farther. “I’m not cute,” she mumbled, shaking her head.
“Yes you are.”
“No, I’m not cute! I’m a hardcore badass lightning Goddess.”
“You
are
cute.”
Shina smiled, though only for an instant. Then her smile fell away, her lips began to shudder, and raising her hand as if to hide her face, she sobbed into her palm. “Kellar,” she said. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to. I’m really, really scared.”
“I am too, but we gotta be strong. My dad told me once that a person who dies with honor is a person who gets the last laugh.”
“I’m not like you. I’m scared. I don’t want this to be the end. I don’t want to die.”
“Shina.”
“I don’t want to die, Kellar. I don’t want to.”
“Shina.”
“I don’t want to die! I don’t want to—”
“Shina!”
She looked at him. “What?”
“You’re beautiful. I like you a lot.”
Shina sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Why are you saying that now?”
“Because I can’t later, dummy.”
“I like you too.”
“Heh.”
Shina’s voice lowered, and Cah’lia had to strain to hear her. “Kellar,” she said, “how much will it hurt?”
“I don’t know.” The boy laughed, and for the first time since meeting him, it sounded forced. “I never died before so I couldn’t tell ya.”
“Does it end after this? Will there be nothing after?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is it all over after this? Do we go somewhere?”
“You mean like a place in the heavens?”
She nodded, her tear-soaked eyes becoming red and swollen.
“I guess we’ll find out soon.”
“I miss…I miss my brother,” Shina said. “I wish he was here.”
“I do too.”
“You do?”
Kellar smiled. “Oh yeah, that elf’s got balls. He must have some Drashian blood in him.”
The two exchanged a brief, silent look, and then the noise coming from the crowd finally dulled. Cah’lia felt an ache in her chest as she was once more reminded of how cruel this was. They were kids, the two of them. Just children. If only she had been smarter, she would have been able to see this coming ahead of time.
I did see this coming ahead of time
, she reminded herself.
So did Patrick and Kellar. Yet we walked into this trap anyway. This is the punishment for our stupidity.
With a relative quiet once more settling around the city square, Duncan dropped his arms to his sides and craned his neck as if to stare at as many faces in the crowd as he could. Cah’lia wondered if he looked upon them all with hatred still in his eyes; she was unable to tell while positioned off behind him, though it was difficult to imagine him any other way.
“I know that many of you are frightened of me,” he said. He lifted his left hand then slowly ran it down the right side of his bandage-covered face. “Many of you are confused and have questions. This…this is to be expected. But I
am
your Holy Magus, and you
will
come to accept this in time. For now, I will explain things to you so that, at long last, you will see them clearly. First, let’s bring to light the situation with our rapidly declining water reserves…”
Duncan began his “explanation,” and what followed was a speech that Cah’lia doubted anyone—including even the High-Mages—could have anticipated. For nearly thirty minutes, the Archmage spoke candidly on a range of matters: the economy, the state of Magia, his capabilities as a leader, and his vision for the future. During this time, not a single one of the citizens watching from behind the barricades interrupted him, and Cah’lia doubted their silence was out of respect. Likely, it was borne of the same fascination she herself now felt—utter amazement at watching a rotting corpse actually trying to sweet-talk its way into their hearts.
How can he be so foolish?
Towards the end of his speech, Duncan focused on the prospect of power. In what was perhaps the clearest sign of his inability to understand his people’s needs, he spoke at great length about how he would weaponize Magia, gain new territories, win gold through conquest, and be the first Holy Magus in thousands of years to realize Magia’s potential as a world superpower as opposed to some lone, distant land that few even believed existed.
Finally, he concluded by appealing to their sense of patriotism. He extended his arm behind him in Patrick’s direction, then spun a difficult-to-believe tale about the betrayal of Magia by the Kingdom of the Seven Pillars. Judging from the satisfaction that gradually seeped into his voice, he must have genuinely confused what was obviously horrified shock as quiet admiration.
“So you see?” he asked, his tone effusing a greater and greater surety in his actions. “I am the
only
one who can protect our beautiful city. The man you see behind me is none other than Prince Patrick Vasilis of the Kingdom of the Seven Pillars.”
Many of those in the crowd stared at one another, murmuring in disbelief. “It’s true,” Duncan said, addressing the doubt that was plain on their faces. “And this man, this prince—he attacked me. He attacked your Holy Magus. A foreign entity illegally entered our lands, and he…” The Archmage raised his voice. “He attacked and tried to kill the Holy Magus of Magia!”
Duncan further raised his voice, and now he gestured with his hand, holding it up above his head as if in tribute to the Gods themselves.
“And what do we do now?” he asked. “Let me tell you what we will do. We will show the world that not even the children of monarchs are safe from our might should they attempt to cause harm to our society. Because Magia
is
great. And so are the Gods who have blessed us with the Grace of the Light:
magic
!”