"Fragments - The Broken Bonds" - Chapter 5 - Trial and Execution

"Ironheart. A voice rang through the dungeon's corridors. Metal boots tramped through the halls and the cell door opened, revealing the highlord Troy with two other knights and a scribe. "A pleasure to see you for the last time, Paris. Would you like to have another shot at me just for laughs? Troy said jeeringly.

"Given half the chance, I would not trade it for anything in the world, lord Troy. Paris answered before realizing the silence spell had worn off.

"Very good. The highlord nodded. "Put those words in record to finally charge Paris Ironheart guilty of assaulting a commanding officer of the lion army, mortally wounding comrades in arms, causing public disturbance and¦resisting arrest. The scribe immediately began to record. Paris cursed his big mouth, and his stubbornness for that matter.

"Paris, Paris¦.any one of these charges would immediately send you traveling to the gallows with record speed. Troy said, motioning to the guards with him. "I believe you are waiting for your precious commander Scryer to arrive and save your hide? You would be long dead by then, dear Ironheart. Captain, take him to the square.
Troy walked off, his black cloak trailing behind like the deathly mist that plagues the land, blighting everything in its path. Two knights took Paris and bound him in chains before walking him outside. It was nearly dawn. He could hear the rooster crow and the birds chirping their early morning song. Paris began to miss it already. A wooden horse-drawn cart was brought before the fortress and Paris was thrown headlong into it. Soon, they were on their way to the city square.

Looking up, he could see the villages as the cart passed the main roads. The festival was over and the city was tired and asleep. It seemed a very opportune time for an uninterrupted execution. The horse slowed as they approached the square. Paris sighed at the sight of the platform. A big figure hooded in black stood on top of it, bearing a battle axe. The wooden chopping block was already in place, and the basket was eagerly waiting to catch the head of Troy's next victim.

Paris was brought forcefully atop the platform and his chains locked to a low pole. There was no running from where he knelt. Troy and a few retainers watched below. The highlord was grinning in anticipation of seeing Paris' head roll from the might of the executioner's axe.

The executioner's heavy hand forced his head onto the block of wood which curiously held far too many bites from a certain axe and blood stains. Suddenly, Paris noticed something queer aside from the pungent smell of old, dried blood from the board that smeared all over his face. The executioner's hand was unusually¦scaly. He dared to look up once only to see a dracona standing tall behind him. "A dracona serving the lion army? He murmured. "But I only know of one draconian under the empire's service¦

"Fear not brother-in-arms. There was a slight chuckle in the executioner's voice. Paris gasped as he heard Zhal's voice. It was the dracona he was fighting against in yesterday's fisticuff competition. "Keep silent and keep your head on the board. Zhal whispered. "Commander Scryer sends his sincerest apologies that he could not make it here since he is on urgent assignment with an uprising near a neighboring province. Nevertheless, he would never let his good soldiers down, no matter what the case.

"So, Zhal¦ Paris whispered back in excitement. "What is the plan? It seems a bit hopeless to make a break for it from my position¦doesn't it?

"You will simply have to trust me on that. Zhal replied as the trumpet blew, announcing the beheading ceremonies. "Keep your senses sharp. When I raise the axe, brace yourself and hit me with everything you have. After that, run for the gates.

"Run? Paris gasped. "How? He wondered, seeing that his chains allowed little room for running around. But the dracona kept silent as though uttering a prayer.

"Get on with it. Ordered the highlord, motioning the executioner to begin. The dracona looked menacing under the dark hood. Zhal raised his axe and the war drums echoed through the square. Paris shook his head, making a sweeping motion backwards, and as the axe fell, he lunged forward with a crushing blow.

Miraculously, the axe landed straight into Paris' chains, cleaving them off the pole. Zhal was sent flying off the platform as Paris' blow connected, deliberately throwing his crushing weight upon Troy's retainers. Paris wasted no time. Without a thought, he bolted and ran for the gates, ignoring the highlord's frantic commands and curses.
An arrow ripped his sleeve from behind. Snipers from the rooftops. Obviously, the chase had already begun even before he could get halfway to the gates. A few moments later, the sound of hooves were imminent from behind. Chargers were after him. Two more arrows pierced the earth just before him, slowing him a bit. The gates were close, but not close enough. Arrow after arrow fired until at last one pierced his left shoulder, sending him rolling through the turf. Now, the chargers were close. The knights were armed to the teeth and their steeds breathed steam. It was going to get real ugly.

Turning, he saw the silhouette of a cloaked rider on a handsome jet-black stallion in front of the gates. The figure waved, urging him closer to safety. Paris forced himself to run, but his pursuers were too close. It was obvious that he would not make it. Suddenly, there was a brilliant flash of white-blue light as a lightning spell was cast from the rider. It shattered most of the city gates, as well as charring the grass, arching over Paris just enough to avoid harming his already worn body. The chargers went wild as the sight of fire, tossing the riders from their backs onto the dirt.

"Hurry up Paris. We still have a long way to go. The rider saluted as he approached the stallion. "Get on. The cloaked man said, helping him up before spurring the horse towards the direction of Sparion woods.

"Who are you? Paris asked. "Are you a paladin? I have never seen you before.

"Simon Fairchild, at your service, sir Ironheart. A wizard adept of the Black Dagger Order. The rider answered. "You can call me Simon. The latter threw his hood back, revealing the face of a middle-aged man with short blonde hair. His face was shaven clean and had no beard, so uncharacteristic of a wizard. Underneath the deep blue cloak was a very light scale vest and a few pouches containing reagents. "Are you hurt? Here, chew on this. It should remove some of the pain until we can get to a safe place. Simon said, handing Paris a piece of mandrake root.
"It's just a scratch. Paris said, yanking out the arrow from his shoulder. "I just hope it isn't poisoned. He was already feeling weak from the pain and was doing all he can to stay on the horse. The mandrake root helped a lot, but the wound still had to be treated.

"Don't worry. Poisoned arrows are of Iluin standard, not Asphenaz. Simon joked a bit before another arrow whizzed right past them. "Then again, an overdose of arrows, no matter what type would really be a cause of worry. The wizard remarked, urging the horse faster. "We will try to make it to the city of Jurom. It is outside Asphenaz boundaries and the highlord would think twice before trying to trespass its territories.

"But that's straight through Sparion woods! Paris said in a shout. The wind was flying past them as great speed it was getting difficult to be heard. "The horse may not make it through at this speed!

Indeed Sparion forest was something special. The leaves of a Sparion tree is so sharp it can cut through human flesh much like a sword. That fact would not have been a concern had it not the habit of growing branches so dangerously close to each other as such low places. Simon did not seem to mind the question. Instead, the wizard simply focused on avoiding the arrows being shot at them.