Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 80

The fair-haired warrior slew many before he yielded to fatigue rather than fear.

He wielded a strange sword; translucent blade and emblazoned with streaks of green. It cut effortlessly through Pertheran's undead brethren.

Finally, a blade to end my misery.

He almost let out a wail when the great sword became chipped and dulled and nicked in battle, and eventually broke in two in the stranger's hands, when wave after wave of guards came flooding from either side of the passage, an unfair war where there was no chance for win. General Reylan took no loss, for the dead could be raised just as easily they were felled.

And so manacles cuffed his hands in the end, much like Pertheran's own.

He watched it all in a blur of sounds and motion, the studded boot of the general pressing the weight of the world on his chest. The crossbow wound he had taken had healed long since, the chains retreated once General Reylan was certain that no more resistance would come from this wretched traitor.

He wanted...release. To be set free from this agonizing existence.

But what mercy could he possibly expect from a noose of rope when swords failed to wound his flesh?

Gazing down at him, the general offered a gentle smile. "After today, Perth, I hope you'll learn to appreciate the value of the life you've been given."

Hanging down from the gallows would not kill him, no. He would choke and struggle, feel his neck snap and...heal again, in an infinite cycle of pain until his master would decide he'd had enough.

✦✧✦✧

Dawn tinged the sky a murky grey, fading to a pallid yellow to the east. A sprinkle of stars still shone glumly in the wake of day. Or perhaps nature appeared differently to the man standing at the gallows, feet in fetters, the portal between life and death dangling before his eyes from a rope.

"You are all proper noble fools," said Pertheran, eyes on the eager townspeople gathered below. The rest of the city bustled, alive with colors and song. "And insane, too."

"I know," said his companion.

Now Perth turned to take a moment to take a better look at him.

Black and purple bruises sullied his visage, one eye swollen, blood congealed on his split lips, still he looked awfully calm for someone about to be executed. He gazed ahead, not down at the jeering crowd, but above their heads and beyond the walls at the rising sun.

The gallows had a grand view of the city.

Above the excited murmur a monotone voice droned on, some official declaring their sins to the people for which they were to be condemned.

"Should have saved yourself when you had the chance," said Pertheran. "But you stayed back for me. Hell, I'm already dead!"

"Exactly. You being practically dead makes things a lot easier," he replied.

"Pardon?" Pertheran wondered if he should be offended.

"Being summoned means travelling through Celestial Realms. And that, my friend, requires an immortal soul, meaning I cannot take a mortal with me on that journey. But you, I can take along." He smiled, its light far outshining the wounds of his face. "Brace yourself, we are getting out of here."

Pertheran chuckled, and chose to entertain the mad ramblings of his companion, who had surely lost his grip on sanity from the fear of impending death. "In a way, we are. Who is summoning us, I wonder? Draedona herself?"