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The clouds were finally parting after many months of rain and dreariness. The long ardent battle between spring and winter was finally coming to an end as it always must. The sun broke through and with it a patch of blue sky coupled with a fresh breeze that caressed Prolur’s cheek as he stepped outside.
He hadn’t had any other visitors than the guards since Quale had spoken to him. He imagined that di Sauria and Sir Ayran had given strict instructions that he was not to have visitors.
It had only been two days since he had confronted di Sauria in the woods. Two days since he could have fled to freedom. He had begun to heal sitting there by himself, contemplating his life. Not even the stranger in the cell next to him had approached him during that time, maybe he had been taken care of, it had been a lonely couple of days. His eye was still sealed tight, and he bore cuts and scrapes all over his body, but he was at least clean.
Early that morning they had taken him to the bathing facilities of the castle and given him a thorough washing, which included trimming his beard and cutting his hair. Then they had dressed him in long, flowing linen robes with a large hood, all in drab grey, as was the custom.
The four guards standing around Prolur had taken good care of him since his freshening up. Rumors had been circulating amongst the young ones about who was in the cell and awaiting execution. There was respect in their eyes as they watched him coming out of the castle and into the courtyard, stretching out his hands to one of them. The guard brought forth shackles that had been hanging from his belt and gently locked them around Prolur’s wrists.
A cart stood in the middle of the courtyard with two brown horses in front of it. A very young guard jumped up into the driver’s seat and startled the animals, who quickly regained their composure. The man who had shackled Prolur extended his arm towards the cart to show him it was time to move out. Prolur leaned on him as he stepped up onto the cart and moved towards the front of it. The remaining guards joined him; they had armed themselves with swords, shields, and spears. They were dressed in black tunics and wore black leather pants and a chain mail tunic with hoods covering their heads; around their left arm, they all wore white sashes—the symbol that they were escorting a dead man.
The driver grabbed the reins, and the cart rolled through the open gates of the castle. Prolur turned and looked behind him, watching how Barnavor Castle disappeared as they moved through the city. He had first seen it as a conquering general. Now he was leaving it as something quite different.
The streets were desolate; it was early even though the sun was out and lit up the world as if it were mid-day. It was too early for city dwellers to be awake. Prolur’s executioners could ill afford anyone discovering what was about to happen. Not that the Sauranians would be concerned about Haugarians killing each other, but if rumors began that the king had executed the great Prolur di Sangior, the opposition might burst into flames. What would happen to the four men guarding him? How would the king keep them quiet? They would probably be sent away to face certain death—much like the young men who had been sacrificed to bring him down. They would give their lives for the king, to protect him against his enemies without knowing it.
The gates that led in and out of Barnavor itself were open, which was an anomaly. It was most likely an order from higher up to avoid that more people than necessary knew what was about to happen.
When the cart had passed the gates, it turned left and swung around the city, staying close to the outer wall. Behind the city and a few miles to the north lay the place that the Sauranians had dubbed ‘Ckan’s Hill’—a place of tribute to the god of the sun. In the days before the country had become part of the Haugarian kingdom, it had been the host of lavish banquets and games. Now it was limited to executions and public displays of punishment. It took only a few minutes for the wooden palisades, with their Haugarian banners flying high, to become visible atop a low but wide hill. The palisade doors swung open as they approached them. They halted in a big open area in the center, after passing through. The guards standing with Prolur jumped down from the cart and showed him to follow their lead. He did, and the cart rolled away. He looked around the former Ckan tribute area to take it all in.
All around the open yard, balconies hung off the wooden walls, covered overhead by a roof to protect viewers from the elements, so executions were not rained out. In what was commonly known as the king’s box sat Lord Mieden di Sauria. To his right, in the advisory seat, was Sir Ayran leaning on his staff. To the left of him, in what was known as the Lady’s seat, there was no one. The seat next to that was occupied by Lady Armana who was accompanied by Father Elden. di Sauria’s face bore a blank expression as he was stared at Prolur’s shackled form.
Behind Prolur, where the jousting would have taken place during such games, stood a raised stage. On it stood a gallows pole and a chopping block, and next to the block stood a large Haugarian soldier dressed in a white uniform. He was holding a long sword at his side. The soldier who had shackled him grabbed the chain that bound him and led him up the creaking steps on to the stage. Elden rose and walked to the edge of the balcony and leaned against it. The soldier led Prolur up to the block and secured the chain by fastening it to an iron ring in the wooden floor.
Prolur raised his head and looked out upon the ones who were there to watch his demise. Taura was staring at her feet, avoiding eye contact with him, trying not to show her emotions, though all present knew her relation to the condemned.
di Sauria rose from his seat and walked closer to the edge. Normally, he would have read the accusations to an audience gathered below the stage, but this day he carried no parchment, and very few people were assembled. He did choose to speak all the same, and as he did, his voice trembled:
“Father Prolur di Sangior, you stand before us accused of treason against His Highness King Crauco and his kingdom, and therefore, also treason against the very gods themselves and Haugar above all. Before you are to lie down before the blade, you may save yourself by admitting your trespasses and give us the information we seek so that we might save the kingdom from its enemies. What do you say?”
There was a pause as Prolur seemed to give di Sauria’s words some thought. He scanned the balcony, looked closely at the faces before him, and then spoke, and his voice was not marred by fear or sadness.
“The only form of treason I am guilty of is betraying the ones who have trusted in me to do what was expected of me. More importantly, I have betrayed myself and the course set for me and for that may I be forgiven. This is what I have to say.”
di Sauria sighed as did Father Elden, and Sir Ayran smiled. “So be it,” he said. “Commence!”
Prolur looked at the executioner, who gave him a sympathetic nod. Prolur knelt down and placed his left cheek on the cold wooden chopping block like so many men had done before him. From the corner of his eye, he saw the sword rise from the ground, and he went over in his mind the journey of it. He thought he heard the blade cut through the air, and suddenly, there were flashes of his life before, and then it was still and white as if all that was left was the wind.
Taura screamed and ran towards di Sauria, filled with rage as Prolur’s body fell limply to the floor, but Elden held her back. Her rage subsided and was replaced by loud sobs. di Sauria and Sir Ayran walked away looking as if a huge weight had fallen from their shoulders. The four guards walked up on the stage, carrying a wooden box and placed Prolur’s body inside it.
Prolur watched it all play out before him, standing on one of the balconies. Suddenly he felt the presence of someone else standing next to him. He turned to his right and found a big figure dressed in a grey cape with a hood covering most of his face.
The figure pulled back the hood, and Prolur shivered as he revealed a haggard face missing its right eye and showing the claw where a hand should have been.
“Haugar?” Prolur managed to say.
“Yes, Prolur di Sangior,” the god replied in a voice that rang out like thunder, yet was as soft as a whisper. “I wanted to tell you that you have not betrayed me in any way.” The two of them, man and god, stood there for a moment and watched people leave the area.
“Haugar?” Prolur said.
“Yes, Prolur di Sangior,” the deity answered.
“What will happen now?”
“Though I may have lost an eye, the empty space that it once occupied can see into the future. It is never entirely clear, but I do see war coming. No matter what you had chosen to do in life, your death, in any fashion, would have led to it. That was always your fate, and to try to change it would have been impossible. Destiana is a fierce but formidable opponent.” With those words, Haugar left the monk to his own thoughts.
Prolur stayed at Ckan’s Hill until he faded into nothing but consciousness, and then he joined the universe.