The smell of smoke assaulted Utgar as he stepped into the small open area where the execution was to take place in a few minutes’ time. He breathed out, trying to rid himself of the scent. He had thought he had smelled smoke for the last time when he left the Volcarren. Choking, acrid… he hated it.
The smoke came from the wreckage of the device the Empire had been planning on using to execute Leran. No one seemed to know who had burned the contraption; Utgar guessed it had been a farmer taking matters into his own hands.
Most of the wreckage had been swept to the side, leaving only a charred section of earth where it had been. Here, a simple wooden block had been placed. A crowd had begun to gather, silent and apprehensive.
Near the wooden block stood a large kyrie. He had muscles to rival Kran, though his skin was blue – not even fair, just a deep, solid blue. Utgar had heard that many kyrie in the far north of Valhalla had such skin, but the wrongness of it still unsettled him. At least the brown skin of the kyrie here in the south was similar to the red Utgar was used to. But the northern kyrie, with their bluish skin and white or silver wings… it just seemed wrong.
The blue-skinned kyrie was standing still, a mask and cowl hiding his face. It was a strange mask, wooden, painted with a wide-open mouth and large eyes which seemed to be fixed in an upward gaze. Utgar assumed it had some significance in the Empire, but to him, it merely looked disturbing.
The kyrie stood with his hands resting on the haft of an axe, its massive head resting on the ground, its edge glinting with fresh marks from a sharpening stone. The new commander had been true to his word: Leran would be executed, with an axe if necessary.
The commander himself was present, his armor gleaming in the noon sun, his head bare, his face set. Jandar, Utgar had heard him called. From Dered, he had gathered that Jandar was a high-ranking commander in the Imperial army, and had put down some minor riots in Anund. It made sense why the Emperor had sent him here – he had experience.
Behind Jandar, two guards held Leran between them. He was standing, though shakily, and his head was bent, as if from exhaustion. Utgar frowned. What had they done to him? Starved him before his execution?
Utgar began moving through the assembled crowd of laborers and Volcarrens. They practically melted away before him, heads turning in his direction, and then bowing as he passed. A silence fell over the crowd as he moved through it.
He had left Runa behind in the pavilion, under the guard of Kirav. This was not something she needed to see. Utgar though – he felt he needed to be present. This execution – one way or another – would have a deep effect on the unrest in Helsng. Utgar should be there to witness it.
He stopped at the front of the crowd, Dered just behind him. The commander, Jandar, had watched him approach, his face unreadable. He said nothing as Utgar stopped, and turned away.
“Valkyrie,” a young Volcarren woman whispered, approaching Utgar from within the crowd.
Utgar turned to face her.
“Please,” she said, “you can stop this. You are Valkyrie. Please… don’t let the Empire do this.”
“It is not my place to interfere,” Utgar said gently. “I cannot stop this.” The words sounded hollow to him. He wanted to interfere. After all these people had done, he wanted to help them. But he needed peace. He needed the Empire.
The woman retreated, tears staining her face, and she was swallowed by the crowd. Many of them were watching Utgar, hopeful looks turning to frowns. But many more were watching Jandar and the executioner, nothing short of hatred on their faces.
In the middle of them, Utgar saw Kran – easily standing a head taller than most – Nya at his side, crying silently. Kran had one arm around her in comfort, but the other, Utgar saw, rested on the head of his axe. He was watching Jandar with a look of cold calm.
Utgar knew that look. He had seen it plenty of times in men who were about to kill. He glanced out over the crowd behind him, and saw it reflected in many faces. Most were farmers, but a good number were Volcarrens. In fact, as Utgar looked, he realized that nearly every Volcarren he saw had a weapon. Nearly all of them were near the front, where they could reach Leran quickly. And they were all watching Jandar and the guards with cold readiness.
Utgar looked back to where Jandar and the guards stood. Behind them, there was a double line of Imperial soldiers. They wore full plate, including helmets and armored wings, and stood shoulder to shoulder, spears at their sides. Behind them, there was a staggered row of kyrie in partial plate, holding crossbows. Utgar glanced at the Volcarrens, then back at the soldiers. Each group was watching the other, deadly still, waiting.
This wasn’t an execution. It was about to be a bloodbath.
“Jandar,” Utgar said, making up his mind and stepping forwards. “I would speak with you.”
All eyes focused on Utgar, and then Jandar.
Jandar frowned, but stepped forwards quickly, and approached Utgar. “Speak,” he said quietly, so that only Utgar could hear. “But know that this man must die. No matter how much I might wish otherwise – and I do wish otherwise – I have my orders.”
“Your orders are to keep the peace,” Utgar said, lowering his voice to match Jandar’s. “But if you execute this man, you will end peace, not keep it. Look,” he said, gesturing to the crowd behind him, and then the soldiers behind Leran. “Look. You can see what is about to happen. I know you can. You can stop this.”
Jandar frowned, watching the Volcarrens. “So can you,” he said, turning back to Utgar. “Those are your men out there, Valkyrie. Command them to stand down, and I will command the same of mine.”
“I doubt they’ll listen,” Utgar said. “They want to help the people here, and they want to see you and your men dead. The only way you can hope to prevent that is by letting Leran go.”
Jandar shook his head. “I share your concerns, Utgar,” he said, but I cannot act on them. “If I let Leran go, these people will see only that the Empire can be defeated. They will be emboldened. I will be practically handing Helsng to the rebels. That is something I cannot do.”
Utgar looked him in the eyes. “These people will attack if you kill this man.”
“Then they will die,” Jandar said evenly.
In that moment, as Jandar returned his gaze, Utgar understood. Jandar expected a massacre. From his position, the only alternative was to capitulate, and he wouldn’t do that. He thought that if he slew those who attacked now, he could quell the rebellion before it began.
But he was wrong. Utgar had seen it many times in the Volcarren: the Empire would wipe out a clan which had grown too strong, and all it did was unite the other clans against them for a short time. A massacre might delay a rebellion, but in the end, it would only stoke the hatred in the city higher. Someone had to stop this now, while they still could.
Utgar could see that Jandar was determined. He wouldn’t change his mind. That left only one option, only one chance for peace.
“No,” he said.
Jandar raised his eyebrows.
“No,” Utgar repeated, raising his voice so that everyone could hear him. Silence fell as all eyes turned to him.
“I am Valkyrie,” Utgar said, not breaking his gaze from Jandar. His voice echoed over the silent crowd. “I demand that this man – Leran – be set free, and the crimes he is accused of forgotten. You will not refuse me,” he said, speaking directly to Jandar.
There was complete silence. The executioner stood by limply, his masked-faced turning between Jandar and Utgar. Jandar himself said nothing, but simply watched Utgar, as if he was trying to read his mind, to see if the threat was real.
“No,” he finally said. “I will not refuse you. Release the prisoner,” he added, turning to the guards. “And tell the scribes that his crimes are to be stricken from the records.”
There was silence at first. The guards stared at Jandar blankly, Leran’s head went up, his expression wondering, and the crowd seemed to be struck dumb.
And then, rising like the roar of a distant waterfall slowly growing closer, the crowd began to speak. At first it was whispers, then murmurs. Then, as the guards removed the leather straps binding Leran’s wings and left him standing there alone, it rose to cheers, cries, and shouts. The executioner turned and followed the guards, and at a motion from Jandar, the soldiers fell into ranks and marched back into the keep, Jandar himself bringing up the rear.
People rushed forwards to grasp Leran’s hand, laughing and cheering, and the Volcarrens and Vel present punched the air and whooped as if they had felled the Emperor himself.
Utgar turned as people – Volcarrens and laborers alike – swarmed about him, thanking him, praising him, some on bent knee. He merely nodded at them as they continued to cheer.
At least Runa would be happy. She had wanted to help these people from the start. But Utgar worried. Jandar didn’t strike him as one to simply give up. And he had been right: this would only show that the Empire could be defeated. The rebels would grow bolder, and the people here in Helsng would seek to join them.
But there was time. Utgar had delayed the rebellion. Hopefully long enough for a true solution to be reached. There must be a way they could have peace… Utgar only needed to find it.
Taelord was not one of the people who rushed forward. Instead, he stood where he was, buffeted by cheering kyrie, and watched Utgar. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t relieved. He had seen how close they had come to a pitched battle. Utgar had done the only thing he could do – prevent the bloodshed. But he knew – and he guessed Utgar did too – that this wouldn’t fix things. The rebels were still coming, approaching from the south, and now the Empire looked weak, ready to be overthrown.
“What’s wrong, Taelord?” Rehs yelled from nearby, glancing in his direction. He had joined the crowd just as Utgar arrived. “We won! It’s over!”
Taelord gave him a half-hearted smile, and turned, directing his steps back towards G’shar’s home. Rehs could enjoy the victory. Taelord… well maybe Runa was right. Maybe he did worry about the worst possible outcome. But it was also the most likely. Taelord couldn’t see any way this ended well.
He came across Jer, and paused. The farmer was standing still, not joining the crowd, and instead looking at the charred remains of the Nasyka. He glanced up, and saw Taelord.
“Don’t feel like celebrating either?” he asked, attempting a smile and failing.
Taelord shook his head.
“No,” Jer said, looking back at the burned rubble. “No, I suppose not. We won today, but what is to come after… that I fear. And this” —he gestured to the charred remains— “this only proves we are closer than I had thought. Those willing to strike against the Empire are already here.”
He sighed, and turned away. “I’m sorry,” he said to Taelord. “This is not your concern. You should leave. You should flee this city, before…” his voice broke, and he looked down.
“We’re involved now,” Taelord said, realizing it as he spoke. “Utgar has seen to that.”
Jer nodded. “Involved,” he whispered. “I thought maybe I could stay uninvolved. That I could remain somehow neutral in all this, just like you.” He shook his head. “That’s impossible. I see that now. The Empire has forced our hand. We must choose a side. And I…” he took a shaky breath. “I choose the rebels.”
“And I accept,” a voice said from behind Taelord.
They both jumped, and Taelord spun around to find a kyrie in the shadows of a nearby building, watching them. He was Southern, with brown wings and orangish skin. But he also wore a mask, a simple piece of leather with holes for eyes, which only went down as far as his nose, leaving his mouth and jaw free.
“You,” Taelord said. “You… burned the Nasyka.”
“One of my associates,” the kyrie said, stepped forwards, though he remained partially in shadow. “But yes, I issued the order.” He held out a hand.
“Einar,” he said. “I believe you’ve been expecting me?”