Bells rang, and Airet answered the call.

  Allisa allowed Grant to shift his gaze to watch them enter from surrounding streets and alleys. Hundreds trickled in every minute, like rivers feeding a lake from all directions. With how empty the city was earlier, he couldn’t believe how many bodies there were in the square after only an hour, yet more crammed in, shoulder to shoulder and still filling. His first guess of the city’s size had been an enormous underestimation. There were not five or ten thousand, but at least fifteen or twenty. He could not even see the ends of the lines as they overflowed from the square.

  Grant felt himself slipping into madness as he tried to cry out, every attempt being flattened effortlessly by the Mind Mage. She loomed in the edge of his vision, the edge of her lip twitching up in mockery each time she crushed his will, overpowering it like a grown man could hold down an infant.

  Again and again, he willed his mouth to open, only for it to remain sealed.

  “You’re here to be executed!”

  “You’re going to die!”

  “Flee while you can!”

  He meant to shout the words, but nothing came out. It was like trying to scream in a nightmare. The Airet were here to be punished for his actions, and his punishment was to watch. If it weren’t for Allisa manipulating his emotions, warping his disgust into grotesque joy for what was to come, he would have gone mad already. Every time he squirmed from her grasp to think for himself, she squashed him under her thumb again, and he regretted the moment he had been free.

  The worst part wasn’t the pain he felt for the Airet. The worst part was when she was in control, there was no pain. He hated the numbness, but the sorrow was far worse. To avoid discomfort was only Human, and every time he crawled out of the pit, he found himself grasping for the cool ecstasy of following her orders again.

  Behind him sat the Elves, eight in all. Allisa perched on the edge of the water fountain, humming to herself, and Toren sharpened one of his blades. The colossal man was there too, talking to the woman with the staff, laughing like thunder.

  When the crowd went still, an Elven man in dark blue robes stood up and crossed the stage. He was old compared to the other Elves, who were seemingly unaffected by time, and walked by close enough to see the pores on his nose and the white whiskers on his chin. Unlike the others, his belly protruded over his waist, swaying gently as he walked. Grant tried to find a lapse in Allisa’s concentration to jam Siphoning Fang into his throat, but it was futile.

  “Airet.” He said the word through a clenched jaw, his gaze wandering over them, contempt on his face.

  The crowd remained silent. Grant caught sight of a child’s small face among the tops of heads. Airet ages were a mystery to him, but she might have been ten years old, and she looked up momentarily, the light from the sinking sun glinting in her eye like a silver coin. Her mother pushed her head down. Please, don’t let her be among the executed today, Grant thought, and then cursed himself for drawing attention to the girl. Allisa was still in his mind, listening in on every idea.

  The robed Elven man’s rose to a shriek. “We have treachery in our ranks. Two Elves have perished at the hands of this man,” he said, stabbing a finger toward Grant, a growl of disgust escaping his throat. Their faces stayed down, and not a single voice cried out, but every soul in the city knew who he was.

  “And one of yours helped him.”

  The square was an ocean of stillness. Adults among them likely knew what was to come. Children, hopefully, would not. Grant just wondered how much blood would be spilled because of him today, but tried to push the thought out of his mind. He would know soon enough.

  “Must you so feebly strike at our King’s good will? We are Champions sent to save your world! We have graciously accepted you into our Kingdom of Kelro, and yet you strike against us.”

  I strike against you, Grant corrected internally. He pointed his words at Allisa, begging her for forgiveness. Allow the Airet to go. Execute me. A chill crawled down his spine. He would die, and the Airet would still be under the Elves’ control, but if they were alive, there was still hope, and he would die at peace with his decision. I will do whatever you want—just take no more lives on my behalf.

  She did not react.

  I know you can reply mentally, Grant continued. That’s how you contacted the King’s sister’s party. Are you listening? I will do what you want. I’ll cure her Disease. I’ll transfer ownership of my dagger and robes to you, and then you can mount my head on a spike for all you wish. Just kill no more Airet.

  “And therefore, today there will be retribution. Our King demands ten.”

  He allowed silence to stretch as acid rose in Grant’s throat. Ten Airet would be executed, on top of those who died screaming as the fires peeled back their skin. Ten, on top of the two Grant was forced to kill by Allisa. Saban and Marina, the elderly couple he saved from the fire, but couldn’t save from himself. He would remember their names.

  “Ten Airet lives for two Elves, plus whoever perished in the fires. It is far more than generous.”

  Allisa yawned behind him, her legs swinging lightly, boot heels lightly clunking against the stone as she sat on the edge of the fountain.

  “Tomorrow we will execute twenty. The next day, forty. Then eighty, one-hundred and sixty, and three-hundred and twenty. The number will double each day until his co-conspirator, Rydel Shorn, is caught, dead or alive, and his body is provided as proof.”

  They place no value on Airet lives. They’re not Champions. They only came here to empower themselves.

  “Now, I will allow you one chance to volunteer. If you wish to spare the life of another Airet, you may come to the front now. If not, we will select you at random.”

  Grant did not expect a single Airet to step forward. He thought they’d stay still, with their eyes on the ground, hoping for the poor soul next to them to be chosen. It was what Grant would have done in their situation, and he wouldn’t have felt even a pang of shame or guilt for it. It would be nothing like the twisting his innards felt now, knowing their deaths were his fault.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  Ten men at the front immediately stepped up. Grant scanned their faces in confusion, and then delayed understanding. The few among them who yet had hair only had patches which sprouted on the sides and back. Their backs were hunched, and deep creases sprouted to the sides of their sunken eyes.

  Not one showed even a glint of fear. They knew what was to come. At a second glance, Grant found the front row was full of other elderly Airet men.

  They had discussed this among themselves. Decided the ten Airet who’d be dying so ten others could live. It was a simple math problem to them. 10 men with only a few years left, better than young men and women with a lifetime to lose.

  He wanted to cast Identify on them all to learn their names, add them to his list of people his actions killed. I will remember you, Grant thought.

  The robed Elf seemed disappointed. “Yes, very well. Ten have volunteered.” He paused, looking over them. “Remember that if Rydel Shorn is not here at this time tomorrow, it will be twenty more. How many more already on death’s doorstep do you have to give, hmm?”

  The men ascended the platform, their shoulders set and jaws steeled. They looked younger than they had just a moment before. Grant had heard stories of the ill getting one final burst of life just before they crossed into the Goddess’s embrace. Whatever their reasons, the men were prepared to die.

  They kneeled, facing the crowd, already knowing the routine.

  “Do not avert your gaze!” the robed Elf shrieked, and every head snapped up at attention. Men, women, and children stared up at them, their faces blank and emotionless. Most watched the elderly men on the stage. A few watched Grant.

  The old Airet men kneeling at the front looked back over the crowd and smiled, bidding farewell to their friends and kin, showing the children they were not afraid.

  “Begin executions.”

  Siphoning Fang appeared in Grant’s clammy hand, and his right foot took a step forward.

  Horror overcame him. He was not only there to watch.

  NO! he screamed. I won’t do it!

  You will, replied Allisa with a mental command.

  His arm was ripped back, and it was over in a flash. There was no resistance as his blade sliced through the closest Airet’s neck. A head rolled to the ground, thudding onto the street below.

  [You have slain Lotte Trent!]

  [You have gained 17 Experience and 19 Points!]

  Finally, someone cried out. The pain in the wail broke Grant out of his stupor, and he fought back until Allisa’s grip tightened on his mind again.

  But this time was different. It was as if his push had moved her, albeit a hair’s width. Her struggle to regain control was no greater than a man’s would be pushing a sheet off his body, yet all he would need was a second. He would turn Invisible, and he would spill her bowels onto—

  [You have slain Kathin Oriel!]

  [You have gained 21 Experience and 21 Points!]

  The executions continued. Some bodies slumped off the platform. Others fell half on, half off, leaking gore onto the ground. Grant stepped on and over their lifeless corpses as he moved down the line.

  A cry, a cut, and then nothing.

  A slash, a spray, then a dripping sound.

  A child’s scream, a woman’s wail, a man’s shout.

  Seconds later, only one man kneeled. Unlike the others, he did not look at the crowd of his fellow Airet, but craned his neck up at Grant, meeting his eyes. His face was hardened and scarred, branches of a bright-red oval burn scar twisting the skin on his cheek. An ex-soldier, Grant would wager, and across his face was not fear, but sympathy.

  “I do not blame you, boy. When you break free, murder every one of those—”

  [You have slain Alain Mornan!]

  [You have gained 48 Experience and 19 Points!]

  Other than the stifled sobs of their friends and family, there was silence. With the soldier’s death, the day’s executions ended. Grant, under Allisa’s control, watched leaking stumps sitting before him, unable to even blink. The time between the beheadings had been so short that the headless neck on the first of his victims still spurted, his pumping heart not yet aware that it had been severed from the brain.

  Grant had never felt so powerless. Not when Captain Nickel threatened his friends, and not when Col beat him in the baths. Not when he stared down Bay’kol herself.

  He heard shuffling feet across the platform, and a soft touch grazed his shoulder, sending a shiver of pleasure into his chest.

  “You did well, killing those Airet,” Allisa said, surveying their bodies. “Not a single one required a second strike. You gave them good, painless deaths, and you saved many lives today.”

  Grant wished he could reply. One second, he wanted to thank her for the praise. The next, he wanted to tell her that it would be her head rolling next.

  She did not react to his thoughts, instead cracking her neck toward the darkening sky. “Tomorrow is going to be a busy day for you. Let’s get you bathed and rested.”

  ***

  Ami

  Ami yelled as loudly as she dared, barely a hiss despite her frustration. Her father’s gaze remained forward, neck still, and hands over his crossed legs. He had commanded her to never give the Elves what they wanted. ‘Tyrants are only empowered by compliance,’ he had said.

  She repeated his words back to him identically through tears, and yet he told her it was different. She knew as much, yet the questions still sat uncomfortably on her tongue. Why was she supposed to do as he said, but he wasn’t?

  But her father was not a man to change his mind. He left her with instructions.

  Travel at night. Leave the city with the party he arranged. Take her mother. Stay off the roads and go straight north to Afling. Find her uncle and hide.

  Never return.

  Her father wrapped his arms around her shoulders. They clasped behind her back, just as they had when she was small. “I’m sorry, Ami. I wanted better for you.”

  “Me? Why are you talking about me?”

  “Because I am your father. It is a father’s duty to care for his children.”

  Water dripped in corner, plinking into an iron pot laying on the floor. Ami scowled at it. It was not what he father had used to attack the Elf, but it reminded her of why they were there, in that cellar, having the conversation they were having. Every day that she peeled an apple for the rest of her life, the knife she used would be a reminder of what her father had done, and what it had cost him.

  “And I am your daughter. Your duty is to care for me until you are old. You are not even forty summers yet, and you leave me in this unfair world?”

  The moment stretched. Ami felt she had won that exchange, but her victory was pointless.

  She pushed him off and stepped back, filling her voice with conviction she did not feel. “We can fight, Father. We can fight back. There are tens of thousands of Airet, and only thirty-three Elves. Why can we not fight?”

  He only shook his head. “The Mind Mage, Ami. The Oaths.”

  “Then we will free the Human!” Her voice rose in excitement as her plan came together. “Their Mind Mage cannot twist his thoughts all night. Even she must sleep. We will organize a party. A small group. Five, maybe ten capable men. We will cross the moat with ladders, and then use them to scale the walls. The Elves are powerful, but they are arrogant and lazy. We will free him from wherever she has him tied down. With her dead, the city guard will be free from their Oath.”

  He only shook his head again, a sad, infuriating smile on his lips. They sat in silence, the drip of water wearing on Ami’s nerves.

  “Do you know why I named you Ami?” he asked.

  “It’s a fruit mother likes.” She had heard the story.

  “Yes. Ami is the name of a fruit. Have you ever seen one before?”

  She shook her head, staring down. It was starting to sound like the kind of things fathers said before leaving their children behind forever.

  He chuckled. “You have, actually. It was when you were too small to remember. Ami only blossom in the harshest conditions.” He paused for a moment. “When you were still a baby, the Four Commanders arrived, and we had to flee our home. Our path away from the wyrms and the legions cut straight through a snowy forest, where every winterberry branch had been plucked clean by the young and healthy who were unburdened by children and age.”

  Ami chewed her lip. This was not the story he’d told her before.

  “Finally, we reached an icy cavern, where we hid from a band of renegades—opportunistic Airet, who would have taken our belongings for themselves. In the very back corner of the cave, where it was too dark to see even our own feet, we found a trove of ami bushes. We spent the first year of your life there. I hunted some deer and trapped a few cottontails, and your mother found some mushrooms in the warmer seasons. But the ami kept us fed. The day we left, we gave you your name.”

  He gave his first happy smile of the night. “Ami. The fruit that thrives in harshness, when all others wilt.”