Page 101 of The Shadowed Oracle
King Nestor was not among the males who stood behind him. The only others in attendance were two of Ballius’ fellow schemers, the executioner, and a third, hunched-over male whose face was concealed by a filthy rag.
Ingrid looked again to Callinora, but the princess was still fixated on the macabre meeting, unblinking, her hands now a sickly shade of purple caused by the nervous wringing.
The crowd was quiet, held in suspense.
Then Ballius stepped forward, orating loudly for all to hear.
“Not all public demonstrations are for justice, nor are they to set an example. So I say to you, good people of Maradenn, our gathering today is a happy one. For it signifies change.” He paused, perversely satisfied with himself as he scanned the crowd. “A new era has arrived. An opportunity to right our past mistakes. Accomplish what our ancestors could not. Yes, hear me now and rejoice. No longer will this kingdom sit idly as the rest of our blessed Ealis unifies. Together, we are everlasting. But apart, we are no better than the cannibalistic blasphemers of Earth.”
Seemingly summoned by the words, the executioner strode toward the doomed Viator and removed his hood. Underneath was a youthful face, handsome and familiar. Ingrid had seen him walking around the inner castle when she’d been first led up to Callinora’s room. He was one of the high council members. The well-respected group of wealthy, influential lords and ladies that had once been so close to the king, but had now been replaced by Ballius and his conniving followers.
A collective gasp pressurized and released in the chaos of the crowd, and the shackled Viator screamed out, begging for his life.
But Ballius quickly silenced the protest.
He lifted a hand, and the executioner brought down the hilt of his sword on the council member.
“It is a sad day,” Ballius went on. “When any member of our society breaks the law. And it is something else entirely when the criminal is a member of our own trusted high council.” Ballius feigned sorrow, locking his hands over his chest. “Yet, a cultural and spiritual shift such as this has a way of weeding out the stubborn, the headstrong who would put their own ideals over the good of the kingdom.” With a dramatic flourish, he turned and gestured to the prisoner. “Let his death be a marker in the great history of Maradenn. A final nail sealing away any thoughts of division.”
The high council member struggled mightily as he was lowered onto the medieval device. He began to beg again, but all Ingrid could hear was the pleading and the questions and the cries for justice from the crowd.
“At your word, Lord Ballius!” The executioner gripped the lever.
“For the new age! For mother Ealis! We rid her of this internal rot. Release!” Ballius watched with cold indifference as the killing blow came crashing down.
Blood spurted below, trickling down to the people and creating an empty circle where the unlucky few had been standing.
“Murderers!” they cried.
“Explain yourselves!”
“Where is Nestor!? Where is our king?!”
Neither the executioner nor the male who gave the order spared a look at the civilians. Ballius only showed his back to the people, turning his sights on the castle grounds below.
He glared directly at Ingrid, at Tyla, at the princess.
A smile appeared on his face, like a promise.
Chapter Thirty
The pathto the docks was lit only by flickering glass lamps. Callinora, Tyla, and Ingrid walked in a single line down the pier, passing empty skiff boats, fishing vessels, and war-sails as they neared the disguised ship readying to take them out into the Jemii sea, up the gulf, and on to the Occi Isles.
The sound of the slow lapping against the bow felt loud in comparison to the deathly quiet around them. Whispers rose to strangled grunts from the small crew, and Ingrid began to feel the gravity of it all setting in. It was not unlike the sinking feeling she’d had when leaving home, and when leaving Earth, and when leaving the cabin in Peloria Forest.
The cycle seemed never-ending.
Tyla and Ingrid stood at the post holding the line of the ship, staring at a hooded Callinora in front of them. There were no tears, no hugs, but there was a heaviness hovering between the three females.
“Come with us,” Tyla said for the hundredth time. She had given many reasons for the princess to join them, and had now resorted to begging. “Please. You’re not safe here.”
Callinora only smiled crookedly. “I am a princess in wartime, my dear world-walker. I’m afraid nowhere is safe for me.” Shedidn’t need to mention all the other reasons to stay put. The risk was far greater in the Occi Isles than it was among Ballius and the other advisors.
“Are you sure?” Ingrid asked. “We could take you somewhere along the way?”
“Stop.” Callinora balked. “Not you too. Quit fussing. Besides, who else would take care of Alkaleese?”
Ingrid yielded in agreement. “That reminds me. Did I mention that she?—”
