CHAPTER 24: Beneath the Falling Blades - Part 1
Ryse stood in Renfru's square, built for exhibiting noteworthy executions. The beheading device stood on a podium in the center of the field. From three sides of the square, the crowd's cheers roared like a storm, while behind him, a wall of grey stone loomed high.
A balcony jutted from the wall, accommodating distinguished guests. Ferfal, Isfan, and Fiara sat apart, separated by chancellors, justiciars, and high nobles.
The crowd's cheers broke out anew as another pair of condemned appeared through the same corridor. Armored guards struggled to keep the spectators in line. Those two men wore the same white linen garments as him. They were males, twins, and about his age.
The three were forced to kneel facing the balcony. The bailiff stood in front of a large brass horn, held aloft by a slave. She unrolled a scroll upright and read the charges. Ryse scanned his surroundings, looking for an escape, catching only bits of her words.
“... Rycerval Siordis... Ignaz and Igmar Wingard... Perpetrators of regicide conspiracy... Sentenced to death in the esteemed name of House Jofiter.”
There was no chance to escape. In a corner of the square, a pair of death mask sculptors sat next to a copper bucket of wax that was being warmed to cast his face later. One of them poured grease into their hand to be applied to the King killer’s face, so that the mask mold could be removed without breaking.
Ryse had the dubious honor of being the first to drench the beheading device in blood. The executioner's assistants tied his hands and feet, then laid him supine on a wooden board and tightened the leather straps from his feet to his forehead. They tightened them so firmly that his body tingled.
He examined the device as he was lifted towards it. It was a modified guillotine, with a lying table at the bottom and three thick blades hanging above. Underneath the table, there were baskets filled with sand to contain the blood drippings.
Along with the wooden board, Ryse was slid onto the lying table. The guillotine blades in the wooden frame hung right above his knees, waist, and neck. Unable to move his head, his eyes darted around, searching for something. Anything.
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CLANG! He jolted, his body tensing like a block of ice as the safety catch was released. Only the lever beside the executioner now held the blades from chopping his body.
“The executioner is at hand!” the executioner shouted. The cheers subsided into a hush filled with whispers.
The executioner looked towards the podium. The justiciar pounded his ceremonial verge thrice. Ryse's heart hammered against his ribcage until he felt nauseous. His vision narrowed and ears rang.
The spectators and guards knelt. But from the corner of his eye, he saw five people remain standing. Among her larger companions, a woman swept her blonde hair back. Arrow-like thorns gleamed on her fingers.
Sherry or Shelly!
Two of her men charged through the guards to clear a path. Sherry, with two others, broke through towards the podium. Hope swelled in his chest, but at the same moment, the executioner pulled the lever. With a hiss, the three blades slid down.
Ryse struggled to free himself until his muscles seized up but could only squirm. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as the blades were halfway down.
Clang! The sound was followed by the blades' hissing halting. Ryse reopened his eyes to see a sword thrown at the precise spot, jamming the executioner's lever.
The guards rushed towards Sherry and her two men. As her large companions prepared to face the enemy, Sherry continued running, knocking down the executioner with a single blow.
Sherry's wide strides carried her across the podium to his side. She cut each binding strap with a dagger. Once free, Ryse leapt from the lying table, landing his knee on the face of the executioner's assistant who was about to strike Sherry from behind.
“Ryse! Follow me!” Sherry called after laying down two more of the assistants.
“Wait!” He pulled the sword from the lever, hurried to the twins who were also struggling against their guards, cut their bindings, and let them tackle their own guards.
“Over here!” Sherry called again.
Ryse had no time to speak to the Wingard brothers. He conveyed his intentions through a glance. If you want to live, follow me. They were smart enough to follow.
The guards kept pouring, nearly overwhelming Sherry and her men with their numbers.
“Now!” Sherry yelled as she faced three guards at once. Her companions pulled out cloth bags and tore them open. The clinking of coins on the street had the spectators scrambling to gather them at once, brushing the guards aside like a wave sweeping away jellyfishes.
In the confusion, Sherry grabbed his arm and left the square. As they passed through narrow alleys, one by one, Sherry's men joined them. The Wingard brothers followed not long after.
Her destination was the entrance to the Thief Guild in the old man’s house, but at a major crossroads they were surrounded by enemies blocking all four roads. Archers appeared on the rooftops, aiming their arrows at them.
Ryse and the others formed a circular formation by instinct. He estimated there were at least thirty enemies, including the archers and some Decimae. Even with restraining bracelets, he and the twins could handle the regulars, but Decimae could only be countered by Decimae, and they only had Sherry. Realizing this, their defensive circle shrank.
