The stage where the execution was to take place was a permanent structure, thought it saw various kinds of use when not used for something like this, as grisly as that felt to Anaya. There were already scores of townsfolk in attendance, with more streaming in. Anaya never could understand why people came to watch things like these, but she dismissed the thought since thinking about it now wasn’t any more likely to give a sensible answer on the subject. She still wondered how the word of the whole affair had even spread so effectively with so little time. There’d been no suggestion of an execution during the previous day.
As she climbed atop the stage, some of the more eager townsfolk whooped in anticipation. A few of the other guards also present shot her gleeful glances. It was more and more apparent that for whatever reason the entire guard had wanted her in this role. As much as she knew they disliked her, she couldn’t seem to figure out why – unless it was simply their wish to see her fail. But surely Lord Nesbit would be angry… oh. Now she understood. If she failed at this, Nesbit would make sure she was removed from the guard without the captain having to get his hands dirty, or without taking a more direct approach as she suspected they had with her father. And given the captain or his cronies had never held her in much regard at all… it had always seemed that for whatever reason they considered her having got there merely by the goodwill of her father, so they surely expected her to fail. She was suddenly glad for the hood, for her expression would’ve likely landed her in trouble before the event even got properly under way.
Noon inevitably arrived, and with it a small convoy of people entered the town square from the direction of the town jail, from behind the stage. The crowd clamoured as they took note, and Anaya turned to take a look as well, to get a first look at this witch that had so wronged Lord Nesbit… allegedly. His father had never trusted the man, so she’d always been wary herself. Even more so after what happened to her father. If someone in the guard was complicit in his death, chances were the Lord at the very least was aware of it – or could possibly even be behind it.
The witch appeared to be quite short in stature, and very clearly a woman, though her head was covered by a hood much like the one Anaya was wearing, except it had no holes through which to see. Her hands were tied behind her back, and even her legs were bound, though with enough leeway to allow her to walk slowly, with short steps. She was flanked by two guards who had been dragging her forward by the arms, and another two followed behind her. Together with the six guards in front of the stage it meant that in addition to Anaya herself there were a full ten guards present – and the captain, who was just climbing onto the stage, now dressed in his official regalia, which was by far fancier than that of the regular guards, or for that matter compared to what his predecessor had used.
The captain strutted to the front of the stage, taking in the crowd that had now quieted down in anticipation.
“Today,” the captain began in a loud voice, “we are gathered here to see justice done.” He half-turned toward the witch, gesturing at her. “This foul witch has committed a crime most grave; an attempt at the life of Lord Nesbit himself!” Widespread clamour rose from the audience at the proclamation. Anaya resisted the impulse to shake her head. Nesbit was no friend of the people, yet here they were, apparently aghast at such a thing having taken place, almost as if it had been directed at their loved ones. After observing the crowd reactions with a stern yet satisfied look on his gaunt face, the captain continued. “The witch tried to use poison as the means of her murderous intentions but was thankfully caught in the act.” The crowd seemed to approve that turn of events as well.
Now smiling, the captain walked over to the witch, placing his hand on the hood, all the while letting his gaze sweep the audience, much like a theatrical performer or a bard might while being applauded. Anaya realized that the captain intended to remove the hood. Even knowing what kind of man he was, this dismayed her. It was common practice to keep the hood on throughout the whole execution. Clearly Stropp didn’t agree, as he pulled off the hood with as much as flair as he could muster. “Behold, the witch, Rue Calanthe!”
Anaya’s heart skipped a beat, or several, for two reasons. First, this was possibly the cutest woman she’d seen in her life. Second, she recognized the name. Her father had mentioned it to her on a few occasions, and she’d heard it here and there even beyond that. Rue Calanthe. Her father had always spoken well of her, and she’d never heard a bad word about her in general. Yet even that being the case, the crowd seemed to be out for her blood. Anaya felt sick. There was no way she could believe the woman would’ve done something like that if she really was Rue Calanthe. Surely the captain would have no reason to lie about her identity, even as crooked as he was, and even if she looked so unexpectedly young. The witch had even saved her father once, years ago, after a wound had festered, the infection and fever had almost sent him to the afterlife after the tax-collecting wagon he’d been escorting had been attacked. Luckily the witch had come across them and healed both the fever and the wound. In any case, Anaya had figured something very rotten was going on with how fast all of this has happened and had been racking her brain on just what she was going to do. But now, there seemed to be but one option.
If her heart had skipped beats before, it now more than made up for it as Rue shook her head, making her own cloak’s hood fall down, and setting her lustrous brown hair free, all the while still blinking due the sudden brightness. In addition to the hooded black cloak she wore a robe, pants, and boots, all different shades of brown.
Clothes aside, even with a gag in her mouth she was such a glorious sight that despite the circumstances Anaya’s cheeks felt like they were burning. Her eyes locked momentarily with Rue’s. With great difficulty she tore her eyes away from the woman and glanced around. None of the other guards seemed to be paying much attention, not expecting trouble. As the captain was continuing his spectacle, dragging the witch to the executioner’s block, Anaya was breathing deeply in and out, hardly believing what she was about to do.
“And now, it is time for her evil ways to end,” the captain proclaimed, gesturing first at Anaya and then the prisoner who was now kneeling in front of the block and her head resting on it. Her face was facing away from Anaya as the latter walked up to the block and without further ceremony raised the axe.
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