How Not to Poach a Unicorn

Twenty-Seven

It was a long, quiet march to the Gallows. Prinin and Prag were escorted by a small contingent of human soldiers and gleaming metallic Reapers to the execution courtyard in the royal prison. As they passed out of the castle gates, there was a gust of wind as the dragon buffeted its massive wings and took off into the sky with Vestin and Cariolta's imposter mounted on its back. On the entire trip to the executioner, they didn't pass a soul. Apparently, neither the palace nor the prison were particularly popular destinations of late.

Prinin was rather disappointed with the turnout for their execu tion. All told, there were less than twenty disinterested human soldiers and a half-dozen Reapers, with no commoners at all. This wasn't the sort of audience that royalty should expect in a formal execution. It was slightly offensive, but since he was still in a dress, he wasn't as upset as he might have been. 

He also saw opportunity. 

The guards obviously hadn't been told who they were executing. In fact, they had almost certainly been told that they were executing some common thieves impersonating royalty and in their complacency Prinin found hope. He concentrated his thoughts and focused a tiny portion of his stored of the magic to communicate with his fellow captive.

"Please stall them for a while." A voice echoed strangely in the back of Prag's mind "I have most of a plan."

Prag looked over at his cross-dressed companion whose eyes had grown a little vacant. Prag didn't have any plan at all so he decided that her... his half a plan was probably better than his current complete lack of one.

"Do you know who we are?" Prag demanded.

The executioner looked up from his paperwork; he was apparently trying to decide if they were meant to be beheaded, hanged, or flayed. "No, actually, and if you would be so kind as to tell me, I could get this sorted out much more quickly."

Prag was unexpectedly pleased at not being recognized. "It's okay," he said cheerfully rocking on his heels. "We'll wait."

Minutes rolled by in silence as the burly executioner debated with a couple of soldiers that had been on escort duty and Prinin fell into a trance, muttering to himself. 

The metal bodies of the Reapers were complex, and it was an uncomfortably cold maze to feel around inside with his mind. He quickly found the power core of the machine, but that wasn't what he wanted. The guards would know that something was amiss if the machine just fell down. He needed the control centre. He knew that there must be something inside that housed the spirit of the Reaper, he just needed to find it fast enough.

"High treason!" the executioner announced victoriously. "You are to be flayed alive to be made examples of !" His eyes grinned beneath his dark leather cowl as he set about to prepare the barbed whips.

"Very well done!" Prag gave a little clap with his shackled hands. "But where's the audience?" His tone changed to that of a lecturing school teacher. "If I were plotting against the throne, wouldn't my execution be attended by hundreds as a way to rally support and strike fear into any who might do the same?" He smiled and waited for the executioner to process this.

Prinin had it. There was an icy globe deep in the pelvis of the Reaper: a little ghost, chained in servitude, trapped in the machine and making its decisions. With a little magical tug from his temple, he pulled the tubes connected to it and the spirit within washed away like mist in the wind. He left his trance and looked up at the machine. It was still standing motionless like all the others, only he knew that it would never move again. He closed his eyes and moved on to the next. It would go faster now that he knew what he was looking for.

"Murderers, then!" the executioner exclaimed and reached for his axe.

"Good guess." Prag was being very supportive. "But aren't you supposed to have a priest here to list the names of our victims and the next of kin to witness us getting our just rewards?"