Wicked Hunt

Chapter Fourteen, Part III

Halle: Friends Or Allies 

"Guilty it is then," Clive agreed, clapping his hands together. Bruce released Isaac. His shoulders sagged with relief. The crowd began pattering. The long awaited sentence had been fulfilled. Men came forward and grabbed Isaac, preparing to haul him outside. The women in front of Halle began shrieking and grabbing at the people in front of them. Through all this Halle did not look at anyone but her husband. Clive sat, coolly, a look of dark menace crept across his face.

"What are you doing?" he questioned. The whispers died down. Halle waited. She knew he was planning something cruel.

"Taking him back to the dungeons," Bruce replied carefully.

"I want him dead now," Clive demanded. The air chilled once more at his words. Halle watched as Bruce's face twitched. Relief subsided; replaced by fear. It was only a momentary lapse. Before anyone could notice, the façade was back up, pulled coolly over his face.

"Very well," Bruce said, trying not to miss a bit. "Conrad, Julius bring the-"

"I want you to do it." His father's words were ice. Despite his best efforts, Bruce faltered. In that moment, Halle pitied him more than she ever had. Clive seized the moment without a second thought, leaping upon his son's weakness like wolves hunting down a baby faun.

"Now?" Bruce asked. The bravado had dissipated.

"Bring my son my Great Sword," Clive called to whoever would listen. Several guards scurried from the room.

"You mean to behead him?" Bruce asked quieter, coming closer to Clive's throne. Halle dug her nails into her palm. She sank below several heads when her husband's eyes roamed over the stunned crowd. He drank in every gasp, every wide-eyed expression.

So, this is how he keeps his kingdom in check.

"Not I, dear boy," Clive intoned dryly. "You."

Fear.

"Yes..." Bruce licked his lips. "Yes sir. Of course,..." He staggered away, placing his hands behind his back as he waited for Clive's sword to be brought forth. By this time, the cries and moans had risen to a deafening peak. Isaac had begun begging and writhing on the floor, reaching his hands out and pleading to anyone who would listen. Few did. Most had their attention pinned on Bruce, the king's son who would one day rule them after his father's death. Halle couldn't help but feel like this single moment was a turning point. This would show them all if the son really was like the father. Halle's stomach clenched. She thought that she already knew the answer.

The sharp sound of metal scraping against leather drew the crowd's eyes to the two men that had returned with the blade. Trying to ignore Isaac's cries, Halle watched in awe as the sword was drawn from the sheath. The dim light flickered off of the gilded steel with blinding brightness. Some people looked away, including Maddox, but Halle kept her eyes locked on the blade. A row of seared snowflakes danced down one of the glossy sides, each one distorted by years of wear and tear and the acidity of blood. She recalled the sword's name when she had been reading about Verlic before traveling here.

"Hoarfrost," she whispered as the sword was thrust into Bruce's twitching hands. He swallowed as he hefted the weapon up off the ground. The crowd drew back, a silent wave holding its breath in anticipation of the crashing wave that would soon come.

"Today," Clive called impatiently from his seat. He tapped his long fingers on the cracked stone as he watched the scene with glazed eyes now.