Excerpt:

They were friends in the way that caged lions are friends. Forced to bond due to the prox­im­i­ty of their cells. Required to endure crowds of onlook­ers, peering into their misery with fam­ished delight. 

“We are gath­ered here today to cel­e­brate the stamp­ing out of yet another trai­tor­ous filth found in the Under­k­ing­dom of Fire Knell.” The Page cleared his throat to read, as the towns­peo­ple edged closer to hear, “This decree comes direct­ly from the all-pow­er­ful King Drako­nis himself, and is a warning for all those who attempt to defy him. The subject of today’s exe­cu­tion is an enemy of the crown, charged with the highest form of treason, pun­ish­able only by death.” 

The towns­peo­ple broke out in a muffled excite­ment as King Drake arose from the hill beyond on a chariot sup­port­ed by four of his dark-natured spiny crea­tures, bred in cap­tiv­i­ty, that lived Beneath with him for mil­lenia. No eyes addled their smooth faces, their slender maw dripped with gorey drool like a large canine waiting to feed. Serving him was their only purpose. The crea­tures shrieked an oth­er­world­ly sound as they set down the chariot on a large block, so that the King could observe the exe­cu­tion above the crowd. 

A sin­is­ter smile slith­ered across the king’s fea­tures as he beheld the cheer­ing flock, his people, thirst­ing for blood. “Today is a day of hope, of triumph, for our people. Today, we stamp out yet another insur­gency from Above, a deli­cious treat for all to see. Our first step towards getting the day­light back.” He sent the crowd into a rum­bling cheer, their voices echoing across the large cavern that encased the Fire Knell beneath the surface. The Kingdom Beneath was a large cavern, large enough to hold a whole city within its walls. No day­light pierced its grounds – those who lived there were trapped Beneath, for eternity. 

The King raised his hand, com­mand­ing silence. “While I appre­ci­ate your enthu­si­asm, may we get on with it?” The King locked eyes with his Lieu­tenant, a tall, tan, scarred warrior with shoul­der length black hair, tied back to reveal a small section of shaved skin on the left side of his head. Marking his rank, and his impor­tance to the King’s command. 

The King’s Lieu­tenant, dressed in warrior leathers, walked slowly towards the waist-high plat­form in the town center. The snow whipped at his face with each burst of wind. His worn axe clanged at his hip in rhythm with his steps, a metronome, count­ing down to the moments ahead as his golden eyes con­nect­ed with today’s charge. The eyes staring back belonged to a rough hewn male, Fae by the looks of his pointed ears, who had no room for sorrow in his emerald eyes. Only strong resolve. The male was held down by two sen­tires, high above the crowd on a large wooden plat­form. His hair was wet on his face and covered his sharp fea­tures, yet his emerald eyes stared boldly through. Frost formed at the edges of the shack­les around his scarred and swollen wrists. A short and wide tree stump sat before the pale pris­on­er, stained in yesterday’s blood. The sen­tries lowered the male’s head to the wooden round.

The Lieu­tenant approached the plat­form, his hatred buried deep within, and schooled his fea­tures into neu­tral­i­ty as he donned the mask of the exe­cu­tion­er. As he did so, the mur­mur­ing crowd grew louder. They were ripe with lust for freshly spilled blood and they would soon be sati­at­ed. The tang of decay­ing gore stung his nos­trils, a scent he would not ever adjust to. Like a rotten, mud-soaked death.

“Let’s get a move on, shall we Lieu­tenant? We haven’t got all day,” the king drawled, earning a roaring laugh from the crowd. The Kingdom Beneath was shroud­ed in dark­ness, lit only by the fires of magma sur­round­ing its city walls. Bright, bub­bling, wicked heat kept the fortress powered, as well as lit. It was the only light other than the pyre in the town center, and torches sur­round­ing the crowd. The fire reflect­ed in the pris­on­ers’ eyes. 

Silence fell on the crowd as the Lieu­tenant lifted his hand, a signal that the pro­ceed­ings had begun. The air was thick and intox­i­cat­ing. The sen­tires lowered the male roughly to his knees, result­ing in a bone-shat­ter­ing sound as he hit the deck. Though the crack earned a groan from the crowd, the pris­on­er did not make a sound. He remained still, his stare focused, gone to a place deep within. 

Axe heavy in his hand, the Lieu­tenant stood beside the god of death once again. He nodded to the sen­tires, who placed the prisoner’s head across the stump, facing down­ward in dis­grace. The Lieu­tenant breathed in a steady­ing breath, raised the axe, and – the male turned his head towards him, one last look to the far back of the crowd, where the King sat. With one fell swoop, blood covers his leathers, and gore explod­ed at the front row of the crowd. They gasped and cheered as the male’s severed head rolled down the hillscape, eyes still open. 

As it rolled, towns­folk dodged and spit on it. “Filthy traitor” one man yelled, “Spy bastard,” another man said. The head ceased rolling and thudded against a small wood and iron cage, its inhab­i­tant shriek­ing with fear and rage. 

“Father!” she screamed, her voice grew louder with each sob, “Father, no!” Her grief rang out over and over as she stared at the severed head in dis­be­lief, her shrieks rever­ber­at­ing off the walls of the towers sur­round­ing the small court­yard. The crowd silenced. 

“A pity,” King Drake said, “A pity that he chose the wrong side, but you, young child, will not make the same mis­takes as your father, now will you?” He paused, as if he awaited an answer, “No, you’re a good little girl. I will make sure of it.” A ser­pen­t’s smile, the only sign of evil on his oth­er­wise hand­some face. The torch fires reflect­ed in his eyes, “We will have fun togeth­er, won’t we love?” 

The girl’s sobs turned to anger, and she jostled her small cage back and forth as the crowd turned back towards the Lieu­tenant, already bored. Four fae sen­tries guarded her wood and iron cell, small enough that even with her frail stature, she had to kneel. She was not more than seven years old, dressed in rags. Her dark and unruly hair covered her face, save for her pierc­ing emerald eyes. “Come now, young one, life isn’t so bad without daddy, is it?” The king said, each word laced with cunning irony “I’ll be your daddy now.” 

Her screams turned to fury. The girl looked to her fathers gaping face, then to the King. She reached outside of the iron bars, which burned her fae skin, and pointed to the King in defi­ance. She raged against the burning, an immor­tal ire in her eyes, and spoke under her breath to the King and the towns­peo­ple alike “You will pay,” she said, each word laced with wrath, “You will pay for all of this.” 

The King started to rebut, but before he could open his mouth, thunder cracked over­head. Dark clouds with no sky to carry them moved into the cav­ernous space, shroud­ing all in foggy mist. The ground shook vio­lent­ly, a quake strong enough to send the crowd into a pan­icked chaos.

“Sur­round her!” The King yelled, but too late. The mist banked down to where the young girl sat in her cage, steam rising from her skin which still burned as she held the bars with both hands. A bright light blinded the Lieu­tenant and all sur­round­ing her cage, a loud high pitch twang deaf­en­ing their ears. The Lieu­tenant caught a glimpse of the girl through the mist, a strange power rising from the ground into her feet, up her legs, into her torso, as it filled her body with pure light. Her hair rose as the wind swirled around her, picking up as it knocked towns­peo­ple off of their feet. The clouds cre­at­ing low vis­i­bil­i­ty, the crowd remained steady and crouched togeth­er. They had nowhere to run. 

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