Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 61

Atop a small hill overshadowed by the temple of Lord Rhilio, the High Gallows loomed over a dense forest of red-brick rooftops and chimneys. Wreathed in smoke glittering in the rising sun, it awaited Farren.

Things were not supposed to end like this.

It would have been much easier, if all went according to plan. Once she was turned in by the company, her squad was to defend her, their words supported by a well-planned argument by the Royal Sorcerer himself, strengthened with solid proof. Before dusk, she could have been back in her squad, and the company beneath the command of the princess.

The unforeseen arrival of the mages, with Lord Atruer in her disguise, shattered all plans, leaving them little to improvise with.

Even as the City Watch around them blew up in alarmed shouts and the mages voiced their loud complaints, the other Farren smiled at her, from between the bars of the prison wagon, long-nailed hands grabbing the bars.

"Revenge is sweet, isn't it, my dear?" whispered Lord Atruer in her own voice, the words carrying over the clamor. "But the taste of your despair is even sweeter."

The agitated faces of the City Watch, the panicked looks exchanged between her companions, the serene city stirring awake--all blurred except the gallows high above, visible beyond the temple district.

Remnants of the last executed still swayed from the rope. The old corpse was mere skin and bones, tattered clothes rippling like a grim standard, a blemish upon the otherwise beautiful capital city. Yet by an unsaid rule, the bodies were not taken down, but left there instead, to serve as a reminder to the people.

The black-blooded ones, Reylan's plan to siege the city, the sorceress, Avalyn--all seemed a distant nightmare, almost harmless.

A man would hardly worry about the storm clouds beyond the horizon when his limbs were on fire.

What does the end of the world mean to one who's already doomed?

The imminent threat of a war looked tame to her now, for the people of her own kingdom could kill her in ways much more cruel than some necromancer ever could.

"This one must be some sort of evil doppelganger! I say we burn this creature 'fore Lord Rhilio before worse comes to worst!" shouted a city guard, gesturing wildly at her.

As more of the City Watch began to close in on her, hands reaching out to grab at her chained wrists, Bjorn and Gunvald jerked her out of their reach.

"Come again?" said a harsh voice.

So alien it sounded to her ears, Farren swung to face its owner. She did not know whether her ears deceived her, or her eyes.

Captain Xenro stepped forward, his shadow casting shade upon the faces of the City Watch, his demeanor changed within moments from cheery new recruit into something...malevolent.

All they could do was improvise. And that, he did.

Strands of blond hair escaped the knot and hung low over his sullen face. He hefted his yet sheathed two-handed sword over his shoulder and spat, cursing in fluent Velan. He was no longer an exiled God, nor a soft-spoken young recruit--but rather, an ill-mannered mercenary captain from distant lands.

"What's this nonsense I hear about doppelgangers?" he snarled in heavily accented Midaelian, "ain't no such thing in my company. We bring you--" He emphasized his words by grabbing her collar and dragging her before the City Watch. "--the real thing."

"Sorry," he muttered in her ear the next moment.

The mage who seemed to be the leader of the group gave him a look of disbelief. "You mean to say we, representatives of the Council, are liars?"