The Bastard, page 6
But all I could see of the castle were a few flags flapping in the gentle breeze, and a handful of wyverns, some of them sitting like gargoyles on the castle parapets, with others circling high above.
I wondered idly if Anwen was among the watchers. Would she be of a mind to watch one of her kidnappers stretch? Or would she be hidden away somewhere, under added protection until she could become one of the King’s chosen women?
I didn’t know, nor did I want to. I didn’t blame Anwen for what had happened, but didn’t think I could handle the thought of her watching my death.
Resolutely, I looked away from the crowd for fear of spotting her within it. I had every intention of just staring out into space as I waited my turn.
But someone caught my eye.
A woman, standing in the front row.
She was old, bent almost double, and supported herself with a staff.
On another day, I would have overlooked her completely. There was little about her to suggest a heavy coin pouch, and if she had possessed any beauty in her youth, it had long since faded. Yet as Terence Dowling fell to his death to a round of rapturous glee, I found myself returning the old woman’s stare.
Of all those in the crowd, only she seemed immune to the hangings. Where the rest of them voiced their approval with applause and hoorays, the old woman seemed completely unmoved.
She wasn’t even looking in the direction of the gallows. Instead, she was staring right at me.
For some reason that I couldn’t quite name, she seemed familiar. As if I’d known her a long time ago. But I was pretty good with faces and couldn’t place hers at all.
Unbidden, my dream came back to me. Not the one filled with dragons, but the other one, shaken loose when a knob-ended club had crashed into my skull. Something about the old woman reminded me of the beautiful lady who’d given me my amulet. Almost as if the old woman could have been her grandmother.
For long moments, I was lost in the remnants of the dream and the old woman’s gaze. Then I shook myself and shuffled forward.
It was nearly my turn. Only the old man stood between me and the gallows.
One of the Blackcoats standing guard sneered at the old-timer. “You’re next,” he said. “Time to go, old man.”
The old man turned toward me before mounting the stairs. “It’s strange,” he said to me with a lopsided grin. “It seems I have more regrets than I thought. Oh well. Too late now, I suppose. Might as well get on with it and see what the afterlife has to offer.”
Before I could think of something reassuring to say, he turned and mounted the stairs with all the dignity he could muster. When he reached the top, he stood and surveyed the crowd, offering them a grin.
The King’s Justice began his spiel, but I wasn’t listening. All I could think of was that this old-timer had been kind to me.
Apparently, his crimes were serious enough to warrant further insults, for the old man became a solid target for thrown vegetables and mud. Yet this didn’t faze him. Instead, he danced a happy jig on the stage, successfully dodging all efforts until a large clot of mud caught him right in the eye.
At this, the crowd devolved into laughter, and even the old man seemed to see the funny side of it. He wiped his face as best as he could, and then it was time. The King’s Justice asked him to step back, and the executioner placed the rope about his neck.
I closed my eyes and turned away, not wanting to watch. If I’d been able, I would have stuffed wads of cotton into my ears to keep from hearing as well. As it was, nothing could block out the sound of the old man falling to his death, and the crowd once more roaring their approval.
I didn’t want to see my last real friend swinging at the end of the rope, so I kept my eyes tightly shut while the workers below did their grisly work and added his corpse to the pile.
Even then, I kept my eyes shut and tried not to feel the pain in my heart, or the tear forcing itself out from under my eyelid.
“Shutting your eyes ain’t going to save you,” came the voice of the guard. “It’s your turn. Make your way up the stairs to your death. I don’t want to have to drag you up there, but I will if need be.”
This was it. My turn. I opened my eyes and considered making a dash for it. But there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. And far too many Blackcoats to make the attempt worthwhile.
And anyway, I was far from my physical best. I’d managed to sleep for only a few hours and was feeling as seedy as if I’d spent the night in my cups. On top of that, the beating I’d gained from Durstan and Bryce had turned many of my muscles to mush.
I doubted I would make it more than three paces before one guard or another took me down and pressed my face into the mud.
It wasn’t much, but if I was going to die, then I strongly preferred to breathe fresh air when I did. And to face my death with courage.
As I made my way up the stairs, I tried to shake Sir George from my shoulder.
“Time for you to go,” I told him. “Things are about to get a little uncomfortable, and I’d prefer it if you were well away when they do.”
But the rat dragon stubbornly stayed where he was.
“Move it,” said the guard from below, and then I was standing on the top of the platform where the old man had stood just a couple of minutes before.
I realized then that in blocking out the proceedings, I’d failed to learn the old man’s name. Knowing it was a mistake I could never fix, I sighed out loud and looked out over the crowd as the King’s Justice began to talk.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” he bellowed. “What we have here is the worst sort of criminal you can imagine. Going by Mordie, I am reliably informed that his real name is Mordred, a bastard who has earned himself no last name. Found guilty by royal decree, the man before you kidnapped the daughter of a prominent merchant, with intentions to rape and defile her innocence.”
Even before the man finished speaking, the crowd had already set to booing, and the first globs of mud were coming my way. But the King’s Justice hadn’t finished.
“On further investigation, it was found that the kidnapping was not his only offence, and that his criminal nature extends back many years. A professional thief, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he has picked some of your very pockets in the crowd. Beyond that, he is responsible for numerous scams and cons, and it is only by chance that he remains in possession of both of his hands.”
More boos and roars of disapproval, and the mudslinging began in earnest. I tried to dodge, to move my hands up to protect myself, but some of them got through. Lots of mad splattered against my forearms, my face, and all over my front.
And still the King’s Justice hadn’t finished. It seemed he was enjoying himself, and that of everyone to be hanged on this day, I was the one he wanted to turn the crowd against the most.
“This nameless bastard has been active for years, a one-man crime wave, a human disease spreading throughout our fair city!” The King’s Justice said the last with a tone of pure venom, and somehow managed to wind it up one more notch. “What do you say, fair citizens? Is a simple hanging enough? Or would you prefer to show this man, this bastard, what you think of him and his ilk?”
If my appearance and crimes weren’t enough to inspire the good townsfolk to unleash everything they had in my direction, the King’s Justice’s words did the trick. All at once, the sky darkened as a veritable avalanche of mud and rotten fruit came my way.
I couldn’t dodge, couldn’t defend, and if I had tried to dance my way out of it as the old man had done, I would have ended up buried.
So I turned around and let the worst of it hit my back, adding the stink of mud and rotten fruit to the rest of my day.
Partway through the barrage, Sir George took flight and disappeared into the sky. And while I felt some relief that he would be safe, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment.
So much for wanting to breathe clean air at my last, I thought. Nor could I hope for the drizzle to wash me clean, for in the past few minutes, even that had faded away.
I waited, listening to the roar of the crowd and trying not to flinch under the barrage of hate.
Finally, the bombardment was over. I did what I could to stand tall and turned around again to face them.
The King’s Justice was grinning from ear to ear, and I wished with everything I had that I could change positions with him. Or at the very least, smack him a few times round the face. This was, after all, my very worst day. I didn’t need him to add to it.
But he still wasn’t done with his torment.
“Mordie, you unscrupulous cur. Is there anything you would like to say to the crowd?”
13
I considered my options and thought about shouting from the top of the gallows that it had been Rolf’s fucking plan from the start. That Bryce and Durstan had attempted to rape, not me, and my biggest mistake had been trying to stop them.
Maybe I could ask forgiveness for my crimes, in the hope that whatever waited for me on the other end of the rope would be merciful. Or—and this was the most appealing—maybe I should let loose with a string of vile curses aimed at every single person in the audience, as well as the King if he happened to be watching.
I mean, it wasn’t like they could punish me further.
But for some reason, I caught the old woman’s eye once again. She was still in the front row, still watching me closely. And any motivation to get even, with Rolf or anyone else, fled before me.
Instead, I started to speak.
“What you have heard about me is largely true, and exaggerated somewhat,” I began. At my words, some in the audience started to laugh, and I knew they understood. The King’s Justice’s words added to the entertainment. If he stretched the truth, nobody really cared.
“I’m not going to ask for forgiveness. I’m not sure it would matter much at this point. But there’s more to my story than what you have heard. I’d like you to know that I tried not to steal when I could easily pay. That I never went out of my way to hurt anyone. And at the last, I stood up against those who would do harm to another.”
The crowd grew quiet for a moment, as if they were actually listening, but then someone in the crowd decided they didn’t like what I was saying, that perhaps it wasn’t entertaining enough. They started to boo, and the sentiment caught on.
I smiled. “I only wish I’d thought to stand up against them a bit sooner,” I finished, although by then, it was doubtful that anyone heard me at all.
The King’s Justice gave the audience their voice and waited until the booing had faded.
“Step back onto the trap,” he commanded, and I did as he said.
As he’d done with so many others before, the executioner placed the rope around my neck. It felt slick and slimy against my skin, and I couldn’t help but think of the many necks it had snapped, and the blood and other fluids that had soaked into its length.
But I didn’t have long to think about that.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” the King’s Justice bellowed. “Would you like to witness a hanging? Would you like to watch Mordie swing?”
Once more, the crowd voiced their approval, and the hangman did the rest.
The door opened beneath my feet.
As I fell through the hole in the platform, the last thing I saw was the old woman, who was still staring at me. Except, just before I reached the end of my rope, she wasn’t the old woman at all.
Instead, she was much younger. My own age, maybe. And beautiful.
Somehow, she had become the woman who had given me that amulet so many years ago.
I was astonished. Stunned. If I hadn’t been a merest fraction of a moment from having my neck snapped, I would have stared.
Through the fading drizzle, the beautiful woman smiled, and I couldn’t help it. I was hardwired to respond in kind, grinning like a boy who had stolen his first kiss, even as the rope reached its limit.
Then I felt the most extraordinary pain in my neck. Sharp and immediate, and hot as a burning ember. I would have screamed at the agony if all my air hadn’t been cut off with it. I felt my eyes bulging, I couldn’t breathe, and everything hurt.
This is it, I thought. It’s over.
Even as the thought came and went, I felt a surge of heat in my blood, a surge of power that I hadn’t ever felt before. It felt strong, undeniable, and I wondered if by some mad chance, I would actually survive being hanged. As if that surge of power would keep me alive.
Then my world faded into darkness, with my last conscious sight being that of the woman in her younger guise. She was still smiling, still looking right at me.
I regretted that I would never get a chance to find out who she was, and that was all I knew.
14
I never expected to wake up again. I mean, who did? A hanging was generally pretty final. I mean, sure, sometimes the knot will slip, and very occasionally, the rope might even break. But the chances of that happening were one in a thousand, or even more.
To expect the lady of luck to shine so brightly in my direction was no more than wishful thinking.
And anyway, I was pretty sure the knot hadn’t slipped, and the rope hadn’t broken. If they had, then the King’s Justice would have ordered his men to string me up again, and that would have been it.
So imagine my surprise when I found myself waking up after all.
It was dark, but not too dark to see. I knew that without even opening my eyes. The rain had settled in once again, soaking me to the core. Everything hurt, from my neck all the way down to my toes, and my fingers were tingling as if the circulation had been cut off for some time.
All this, I understood even before I opened my eyes. But what I didn’t understand is how I happened to be alive at all. How I happened to be feeling the pain in my body. The cold wetness of the rain as that same body was dragged across the mud. Or even that I was able to think and recognize those sensations.
And then it truly sunk in that I wasn’t alone. There was someone else nearby, grunting and cursing as they tried to drag me from where I lay.
“Come on, you’ve got to help me,” she said. It was an old woman’s voice, and part of me already knew who it was. “We’ve got to get you out of here. You’re not all that dead anymore, so help me!”
The words made sense. I knew that they did. Yet for some reason, I couldn’t seem to make myself understand them.
It was like with my eyes and the rest of my body. I could sense things, I knew things, but I didn’t seem to be able to find the will to move.
Not even to open my eyes.
The old woman cursed yet again, and then slapped me a good one across my cheek.
It stung, seeming to add to the bruising left by Durstan and Bryce’s booted feet, and it was enough to jolt me back to myself.
I opened my eyes and blinked in the rain, and saw that I was lying amid a pile of corpses. Yet perhaps I hadn’t responded enough because the old woman was winding up to slap me again. With a curse, she let rip, and with a monumental effort, I reached out my hand to catch her wrist before she hit.
Somehow, the movement felt slow and sluggish, as if I was caught in a dream. But it worked, and it seemed to please the old woman.
“I’m awake,” I managed, and once again, it took real effort to make my mouth move. It was like I was speaking through treacle, and the words came out mumbled.
Even so, I tried again. “What happened? Where am I?”
“There will be time for questions later. For now, it’s enough that you live. But you won’t for long, not if we don’t get back to my place pretty damned soon. Your body has been partly dead for much of the day, kept alive through no more than an enchantment. But as with all magic, there’s a limit to how long that enchantment will last. I have to bind you with others, and I have to do so quickly. Otherwise, you will no longer be partially dead, but dead all the way, and there won’t be a thing I can do at that point. So, help me out. You’re much too heavy for me to lift by myself. Get on your feet and into that cart.”
It was like I was listening with my head underwater. Like my brain was no longer working as it should. Yet enough of the old woman’s words seemed to get through that I understood her intent.
But before I tried to move, however, there was one thing I had to know.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Does that really matter?” she returned, still trying to move me. Then she gave up and uttered a sigh. “All right, then. My name is Morga–Meghan La Fey,” she said, and something about the way she had spoken suggested she might have been going to say something else.
“Now will you do yourself a favor and help me out here?” she asked.
I tried to nod but was pretty sure all I managed was a faint bob of my head. I gathered my strength to try to roll to my side, but the old woman–Meghan–stopped me with her next words.
“What’s this? A rat dragon! Shoo, vermin!”
I found myself smiling. Without knowing how I knew, I realized that the dragon Meghan was shooing away was none other than my friend Sir George.
He’d found me after my hanging.
“Leave him alone,” I managed, sounding as if my tongue was three feet thick. “He’s my friend.”
“Your what?” Meghan asked. “You’re friends with a rat dragon? Horrible things.”
I thought I was going to have to argue some more. Rat dragons were almost universally despised. But Meghan spared me from it.
“So be it,” she said. “What do I care, anyway? Now are you going to help me out, or what?”
It took an enormous amount of effort. My body felt as if it weighed as much as the north castle wall, and I had never been weaker. I felt like an old man at the end of his strength, and to make matters worse, my limbs didn’t seem to want to follow my orders.
“What the hell?” I managed as I laboriously got to my knees. I’d used all the strength that I had, but even then, I still had to rest my palms on the ground for support.
