Boots echoed on stone. Chains rattled with every step.
The prisoners shuffled through the great double doors of the Baron's audience chamber, their ankles bound, wrists manacled, and backs straightened by dread. The morning sun slanted through high frost crusted windows, catching dust in its beams and glinting off the freshly scrubbed polished wood floor. It was almost too clean. A wide space stretched before them, flanked by ornate chairs pushed back against the walls, unused and watching like sentinels. Four guards in scaled armor with halberds stood stiffly along the flanks, their expressions blank and unreadable.
Tapestries of red, gold, and green blanketed the walls, depicting the hunt of a great beast, tusked and writhing, pierced by long spears from noble riders on silver-threaded steeds.
Behind the heavy red-brown desk at the far end of the room sat Baron Hark, draped in a fur-lined mantle of black and crimson. His eyes, pale and hard, did not move as the prisoners were forced to their knees on the polished wood. Behind him, the unfinished loom bore a half-spun tapestry showing a stylized map of the Grand Duchy of Calondry from the southern metropolis of Calondyr to the rugged northern ranges and the Rydermark.
Captain Turask walked the length between the kneeling prisoners and the Baron's desk, slow and deliberate, his chain mail clicking softly. His broadsword shifted with each stride, it's polished hilt glinting against the light, seeming just a dangerous as the situation the prisoners now found themselves. His pale blue surcoat, bearing the crest of Ereny, caught the light like the still surface of a frozen lake. The diagonal scar on his face pulled taut as he frowned.
Behind the Baron stood a figure in a deep green robe, belted with a yellow sash. A hood was drawn low over his face, casting his features into darkness. Only the occasional glint of his mouth or chin betrayed that anything lay beneath the cowl at all. His hands were clasped before him—motionless, like some statue placed to observe.
Grey found himself attempting to peer deeper into the hood before realizing the mistake it might become. He was sure that he had seen this green robe man, or someone like him, back in his home city of Saerlyn.
Next to him stood the Baron's nephew, a young man in cerulean crushed velvet with a slender sword at his hip, and a wide flatcap tilted to one side. Cairvish's face was pale, his eyes flicking from Osarina to the others, returning to Osarina in tormented concern.
Baron Hark leaned forward, his eyes filled with menacing delight, his words deep and hollow. "You know what you are accused of."
Silence. The room was heavy with it. The weight of those words bore down on the confused prisoners, and Osarina shot a tearful look at Cairvish, as if begging him to intervene.
Turask's voice cut through the silence, slow and methodical. "You conspired with malcontents. You drugged the tavern's patrons and set it ablaze. You murdered Envoy Belserel of Saerlyn, a diplomat sent by the Grand Duke under a truce of unification."
"That's a lie!" Grey said, rising slightly despite the chains. "We were drugged! We were the victims—"
The flash of steel was so fast it barely registered.
Runa's head hit the floor with a wet thump.
Blood sprayed across the polished boards. Her body collapsed in place, the iron clattering of her chains the last sound she made.
Screams tore the silence, echoing off the high ceiling and seeming to respond with their own outrage.Tambor cried out in anger, attempting to surge forward. Ulrikana bellowed a wordless roar, straining against her shackles. Grey's eyes widened in horror. He had caused this, he told himself. He felt his chest tighten, and began to fight for every breath.
"She was a child!" Ulrikana spat, her muscles swelling against the iron manicles. "You butcher a street girl and call it justice, coward!"
Captain Turask wiped his blade on Runa's rags without looking at her and shrugged casually. "She would have died on the streets soon enough. I've only saved her time."
Tambor's face twisted in grief. "You bastard—!"
The Baron raised a single finger.
Tambor's head joined Runa's.
Krashina jerked back as blood spattered her cheek. Osarina recoiled, attempting to crawl away on her knees. Nixor froze, eyes wide and empty. Grey turned and retched, body shaking.
Ulrikana leaped forward with a roar of fury, pulling along the others chained to her. The guards were on her in seconds—blows from the hafts of halberds cracked against her back, shoulders, and head until she was driven to the floor, bleeding and gasping, still defiant.
"Enough!" cried Cairvish, stepping forward. His hand drifted towards the hilt of his slender sword. "You've made your point, uncle! This is no trial! It's an execution!"
The Baron's gaze slid toward him, slow and cold. "And what would you have me do, nephew? Applaud their insolence? They are guilty."
"They are tools!" Cairvish shouted. "If they're guilty, so are half the merchants in the city. You needed someone to bleed!"
The man in green leaned down and whispered in the Baron's ear. The voice was low, wet, and serpentine. His words did not carry across the room. The Baron's expression did not change, but his gaze shifted from Cairvish to Osarina and back.
He raised his hand again. Silence fell like a guillotine.
"You want justice," Baron Hark said. "You want mercy. Fine. I'll give you a chance."
He stood, stepping around his desk like a judge descending from judgment. His boots clicked on wood darkened by blood.
"We have already discovered the name of your employer. The contacts he had in this city, the same ones who have already testified against you, have already revealed his location. Bring me the head of the one who ordered this betrayal. He is called the Black Spore. A man-if he is still such- marked by a fungal rot that coats half his body. He was last seen in the city of Shireen, a half-moon's travel north along the river highroad."
Krashina looked up through tears, blood, and confusion. What was this murderer asking, no ordering from them? She had just taken her vows and was beginning her first steps as a knight of Calondry. Tambor had journeyed with her to watch his childhood friend take the oath. He had... He had died right in front of her.
"I give you one moon," the Baron said. "One month to return with his head. Do this, and I may forget your crimes. Fail…"
He looked down at Ulrikana, fuming under the weight of the guards. "And I will let my captain finish what he started."
Cairvish stepped forward again, trying to help Osarina stand. Wiping a tear from her eyes, he promised,"I'll go with them. I'll see this done."
The Baron smiled coldly, steepling his fingers as he pointed at Cairvish.
"Yes, nephew. You will act as warden," Hark said, "and carry my mark, but should you fail you will spend a lifetime feeding the rats in the darkest cage below us, and the lives of your 'friends' will be on your head. Of course, if you succeed, you will be released from your obligations to this family. I will allow you the freedom that you crave so desperately."
"But, I have never asked?" Cairvish glanced at Osarina, uncertainty in his eyes. He did love her, he told himself. Did he love her enough to keep her safe from his own family? To let her go? Did she want that?
"She and the barbarian remain here," the Baron finished. "Surety for your obedience."
Grey opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He had already done enough damage.
Osarina stood palefaced, her lashes damp with tears.
Nixor did not move at all. Survival instinct had already taken over, and he was quietly rehearsing where the guards were, how many steps to the doors, and whether he could slip out of these manacles in time to escape.
Captain Turask leaned close to Grey, his breath hot with onions. "Pray the Black Spore kills you. It'll be kinder than I would."
Moments later, the chains were loosened and the guards began to separate Ulrikana and Osarina from the others, dragging them away, bleeding and shaking.
Cairvish helped Krashina to her feet.
Grey looked back, just once, to where Runa and Tambor lay.
Their blood was already soaking into the clean floor...