“Well then, guess we will take our leave now. We have a train to catch in Pelase. We would’ve stayed a little longer to rest, but I think you made it quite clear that you don’t want this little boy around anymore, so we will take him off your hands sooner rather than later. Luric?” He turned to her startled. “Is there something you’d like to say to them before we go?”

Yes, so much. Or rather, he felt so much, but he couldn’t find the appropriate words to express them. Should he accuse? Should he deride? Should he mock them? Should he ask the lady to sic her guards on the townsfolk for what they did to Mr. Carshtin or would he be overstepping his bounds? There was too much going on in his head and heart; aside from bitterness, there was also this new sensation of relief and elation that was coming over him, and the contrasting emotions were leaving him a bit dazed. Afraid he was going to end up saying something frivolous or stupid, he just shook his head.

“Alright then.” The duchess then put her hands on his shoulders and turned them around towards the exit without so much as offering a nod in parting to the magistrate and the priest. Luric just let her lead him wherever she pleased. Two of her guards rushed to open the doors for them. A carriage was waiting outside. It was pristine, gleaming, heavily decorated and clean, and looked severely out of place in the mud- and shit-caked town square stretching behind it. There were other townspeople gathered around it, and even more loitering around near the middle of the square.  They all stopped to look at them when they walked out of the prayhouse. That’s when Luric saw it; a large pile of dried up branches with a long wooden pillar jutting out of it. Ah, so this is how they were going to do it.

He had wondered about this, about how they had been planning on killing him. Deep down he had truly believed he wasn’t going to survive, even when he was fighting for his life.

He looked at his pyre, at the people that had gathered around it. Everybody had come to watch the show. First in line were Izver’s parents. When they saw him, they started yelling. “Bring’im here! Let us light it. For our son, to cleanse him of his poison!” The crowd was cheering. They cheered, and they roared, and they hurled insults at him. Behind him, he could hear Chief Slatrim and Priest Santr trying to get them to stop, but they were still inside the prayhouse so no one else could hear them.

That was alright; Luric could bring the rest of the town up to speed.

“IF YOU WANT TO SEE SOMEONE BURN GO AHEAD AND LIGHT YOUR OWN ASSES ON FIRE BECAUSE I’M NOT DYING TODAY!”

He was going to have a sore throat for days probably, but the memory of the abrupt hush that came over the square was going to be his source of joy for far longer than that. The light chuckle from the duchess and the brash laughter from Mr. Viscol pleased him too. The other guards, the ones he had yet to properly look at, seemed amused as well. He was going to like being with them.

Then, a moment of inspiration. He turned around to look at Chief Slatrim and the others.

“I may not be able to place a curse on you all, but I still hope either Baar or Shulffa damn you in my place. I don’t care which.”

And with that, he turned around to walk down the steps towards the carriage and didn’t look back once. Once inside he started wishing he had, though. He wanted to see what Buck thought of all of this. Had his self-righteous confidence disappeared too? Was he afraid and ashamed of what he’d done? What did he think when he saw that Luric wasn’t the villain of his own little story of heroism? Luric would wonder about that for years to come.

The duchess climbed inside, sat on the bench opposite of him and signaled to the coachman to go. The other guards were mounting their horses. It was over.

Back then he was certain he was never going to see this place and any of them ever again. Had he known he’d find himself standing in front of this prayhouse years later, only seconds away from coming face to face with the people that still haunted his nightmares every so often, he would have tried to come up with better parting words.  As it were, he had to make due with referencing what he had said. He wondered if they would remember it. It had been over ten years after all.

He was a little angry at himself for being nervous; he was older, stronger, and richer than any of them. There was nothing they could do to him anymore. Moreover, they needed his help. This was their punishment. This was his vengeance. With that conviction, and a little annoyance at having forgotten to change his mud-splattered boots and pants, he barged into the building. The screech of wooden doors being pushed out of the way seemed deafening in the sepulchral room. Every head turned to look at him.

And there they were, the demons of his past.

“So, guess both Baar and Shulffa were listening that day.”