True to his word, John arranged a quick transferal to the nearest execution spot for me. An hour later I was hoisted to my feet by the guards and escorted back out of the house. It was a very short walk from where I had been caught. As we peeled out into the square where the gallows had been constructed. I attracted an awful lot of attention from the people who had gathered already, some of them tossed insults at me, so confident in my guilt already.
Most towns called them temporary gallows, but the truth of the matter was that they were utilised so often that they would stay up for years on end without a rest. 'Temporary' became a convenient excuse to deploy an ugly, cheap, wobbly wooden structure in the middle of a residential area without anyone being able to complain about it. Though I noticed quickly that describing them as gallows would be inaccurate, they were much too short to hang a fully-grown person from. Instead, it was an elevated stage used to broadcast a beheading to the entire assembled audience.
The presence of an inquisitor had already attracted a large audience of a few hundred people. As they marched me to my doom, I took in the environment that surrounded me and where the guards were standing. There were seven routes out of the square, large entryways onto other streets and avenues. None of the inquisitors or guardsmen saw fit to stand watch at those exits, they'd all be surrounding the stage and watching the stairs.
I didn't need to use those stairs, I just needed a patch of unoccupied ground to jump down into. I counted six normal guardsmen and three other inquisitors. They all thought that there was no way for me to escape my binds. This was the usual level of security for one of these daylight killings, though the Inquisitors were an unusual replacement for what would have been town watchmen.
Petty King John was awaiting my arrival at the top. This wasn't going to be an ordinary passing of judgement, none of the guardsmen were on stage to relay the crime or testimony that led me to this point. His word carried enough weight that even a simple statement from him would provide ample justification.
He was eating up the attention, pulling me by my arm and presenting me to the onlookers below; "Hear me, people of Blackwake – today we deliver a mote of justice upon the head of a great criminal actor. This man, a spy from the Federation, is accused of attempting to murder one of our great leaders!"
He released me and held out his arms, "Indeed, the forces of order found this very man standing over what he assumed to be Lord Forester's bed, in the hopes of murdering him as he slept. Such cowardice is not unexpected of the Federation and their spies, but their flagrant disregard for our norms and laws means there is only one appropriate judgement for this crime."
There were two other men on stage with us, one hovered by the wooden stocks with a short axe clutched in one hand. He was the designated executioner. The other stood behind me in a posture to try and stop me from causing any more trouble. They'd fail, but it was an admirable attempt. Petty King John continued rambling even as I made my plans to escape, but he dragged me back down to earth by tugging the front of my jumper open and exposing the 'corrupted flesh' for all to see.
"Unfortunately, this poor soul has also been afflicted by the evil taint of corruption. His mind is clouded by ill intent, and his body is growing sickly even as we speak. This is not only a punishment, but also a mercy delivered by the Great Absolver. The only peace for those who are corrupted is death."
The crowd murmured in shock, it was having the intended effect of making them fearful. He had the first and last word on the subject. Nobody was going to believe me if I insisted that everything was normal and okay. Sickly? That couldn't be further from the truth – I was stronger and more durable than ever. I was coming around to the point of view that the primary negative of being with Stigma was the ticking clock that demanded fresh souls. Whether that would change with more 'sisters' being eaten remained to be seen.
As I scanned that crowd for their reactions, I noticed the tip of a familiar halberd poking out from an area near the back. Cali had come to see the show. I hoped she would keep her head down and let me handle it.
"Do you have any last words to share with us?" John asked. What a waste of time.
I rolled my eyes, "Oh, shut up and get it over with."
He grimaced and stepped back. I was pushed towards the stocks from behind by the other guard. He got too close. Close enough for me to put my plan into action. I sensed my chance, and I took it.
Before they could push me down onto the chopping block, I ducked under his arms and twisted around. It was an uncomfortable act of contortion, but I moved with such swiftness that he had little time to react to my actions. I threw the elongated chains of my shackles over his head and pulled as hard as I could. He struggled like a hooked fish as I started to choke the life out of him.
With my hostage secured, I quickly stepped over to the edge of the platform and put him between myself and the guards. They hesitated, knowing that a wrong move could end in his untimely demise. The crowd screamed and jeered as the fight unfolded in front of them. Others panicked and ran for their homes, or whatever other cover they could find.
"Unhand that man immediately!" John barked.
He was going blue in the face and his struggles had started to become weak as the air left his lungs. The inquisitors were rushing up the stairs to try and stop me. Using all of my strength I continued to pull against the chains, dragging the weight of his body up and over onto my back until he could no longer touch the ground. I heard the tension growing, then all at once, the pressure disappeared as the chain links shattered into rusted pieces with a clatter and a snap.
I'd broken his neck like a twig. He fell limp against my back as the lights in his eyes disappeared in an instant. There was no time for me to admire that dour piece of handiwork. I leapt down from the stage into a clear spot below and started to run as fast as my legs could carry me. The guards were caught flat footed as I got a significant head start on escaping from them.
"Guide me!" I demanded.
"You're heading in the right direction."
I wondered what Cali was thinking at that moment – had I blown up a plan she and Tahar had concocted to try and rescue me? Or had she trusted my decision making and kept herself on the side-lines? As I approached the next turn on my recovery run, a guardsman leaped out from the blind turn and tried to wrestle me down to the ground.
That wasn't going to work on me. I kept running and pulverised his nose with a running clothesline, sending him flying head over heels. I slowed down just enough to unhook the leather belt around his waist and steal his shortened iron sword. I offered my condolences to the man now sporting a very broken nose; "Thank you kindly!"
They couldn't catch me that easily. They had little coordination and much lower experience in the art of thievery and escape. I was naturally faster than them, and could easily navigate complicated streets on the fly without flinching. There was no way for them to communicate the happenings at the execution site to the main camp where they were keeping my stuff and Stigma's body. With any luck I could get there before they even knew I was away.
"Right here! I recognize this place!" Stigma said. I skidded around the muddy streets and came across another human roadblock. I didn't stop even as he demanded me to. There was a peddler's cart to his left, in a deft display of agility I leapt up and over his head by using it as a jumping-off point. He was so turned around that he didn't try to pursue me any further than that – he just threw up his arms and quit on the spot.
"A little more, Master. The park near here has been turned into a temporary compound. That is where you will find me and your other possessions."
I recognized where we were. This was the middle-class district in the north-west of the city, there were many empty lots that could be turned into campgrounds for soldiers and inquisitors here. My body was flooded with an excited adrenaline rush. It had been so long since I dashed through the streets of a city with guards on my tail that I had almost forgotten what it felt like.
Sticking out in the middle of an old market square was my target. Wooden stake walls did the bare minimum to keep curious civilians out of the area. A series of red tents had been pitched to provide some small comforts to the men inside. Two inquisitors were posted outside of the front gate, which I was quickly approaching from the left blind spot. I didn't want to get into a scrap with them until I had Stigma back in my hands.
I slowed the pace and hid behind the corner to consider my options. They'd done some level of due diligence and spiked the tops of the stakes at least. That made it much harder to climb over if you were a normal person. But I wasn't a normal person – they would be little impediment to me. I could jump up, get a hold by wrapping my hands around the point, and push myself up using my feet in the grooves between each log. As for the men inside of the camp…
Bang! The buildings around me rattled as a blast wave rolled through.
Cali had decided that another 'distraction' was in order. A huge plume of smoke and fire tickled the top of the slate roofs that surrounded me. Several of the guardsmen at the front gate put their running shoes on and hurried to the scene of the explosion. That would keep them busy and guessing as to my real location. I wiped my hands free of the sweat that had accumulated from my mad dash and coiled my legs like a pair of springs.
The distance I hit with one bound surprised even me, my body was a third of the way over the log before gravity took a hold of me again. I clamped my hands down around the sawed edge and wedged one foot into the gap between the logs. With another simple hoist, I balanced my other foot between each spike to give myself a good foundation to continue.
"Aright, which tent?"
"The big one, at the end."
There were eight tents of varying sizes. The soldiers had also laid claim to some of the side streets, blocking them off with gates and barricades to expand the size of the base. I let myself drop down behind a nearby bush and observed the churn of men for a moment. The explosion had sent them into a panic. They didn't know what to do.
I stuck to the back of the tents and manoeuvred around until I was behind the largest of the set. This was where the normal officers would sleep and organise their units. It was secured with poles and pegs, which made it very easy for me to rip a few of them out and pull up the back edge of the fabric wall. I erred on the cautious side and scanned for any feet hiding underneath, before rolling through when the coast was clear.
They still didn't know I was here, or they thought that I didn't know where my confiscated goods were. An error on both counts. Against the left side wall was a stack of crates and boxes, and on top of them was my stuff – unceremoniously dumped there for later sorting. Stigma had been treated with a little more reverence than my armour and tools.
"I'm in that box."
The box in question has been chained shut and closed tight with a steel padlock. A red wax seal of the order's coat-of-arms and a small piece of beige parchment had been placed on top. 'Do not touch or open under any circumstance; by order of the inquisition,' it read. The superstitious among the army's number would follow such an order without question. Anything the inquisition was dealing in was considered bad luck.
I didn't have time to waste thinking about it. I needed to get her out and fast. I redonned my belt, armour and hooked my helmet to the loop and got down onto one knee. The lock was trickier than your average piece of mass-produced rubbish, but at my level it wouldn't take me any longer than a minute to open. Each footstep or loud yell I heard outside only put my nerves further on edge. This was extremely stupid. I was doing something incredibly dangerous at that moment.
A stroke of luck came my way. I breathed a sigh of relief as the padlock gave way and the chains fell slack. I lifted the lid and reached inside – the sheath was still attached, so averse to interacting with it that they didn't even remove her from it. That was everything they had taken from me during my arrest.
But for every bit of good luck I received, there had to be some bad luck to balance things out. The front flap flew open and an inquisitor stormed inside in a blind fury. He stared at me, as if in disbelief that I had managed to sneak in here under their noses right after escaping an execution. It didn't last for long, he roared and drew his sword in an attempt to cut me down. I rolled under the wide swing and fell through into the dirt covered courtyard. Several more were waiting for me.
"Now would be a good time to use my powers, Master!" Stigma insisted.
I shook my head and drew her from the leather scabbard. I was being greedy. I wasn't going to lean on them, after all, I hadn't even broken a sweat yet. Why burn a bunch of hard-earned soul energy when I wasn't in mortal danger just yet? As they gazed upon the merciless, dark form of Stigma's unholy blade – hesitation linger in their eyes.
"Come on then – and witness this cursed blade for yourself."