The Serpentwar Saga. Raymond E. Feist

around, panic on his face. ‘Wait, can’t we … isn’t there …’

      One of the guards put a firm hand on his shoulder. ‘Stay in line, lad. That’s a good fellow.’

      Roo stopped moving, but his eyes were wide, with tears running down his face, while his mouth moved, saying nothing that Erik could understand.

      Erik glanced around and felt a sick numbness in his stomach, as if he had been poisoned. Then his bowel tightened and he felt the need to relieve himself and was suddenly fearful he would fill his pants when he died. He found his chest tight and had to will himself to breathe. Sweat dripped down his face and ran from his armpits and groin. He was going to die.

      ‘I didn’t mean it …’ said Roo, pleading with men who had no power to save him.

      The sergeant in command gave the order. The prisoners were marched from the cell, and Erik wondered how he was managing to keep in step, for his feet were leaden and his knees trembled. Roo shivered visibly and Erik wished he could have touched his friend’s shoulder, but the shackles and manacles prevented such movement. They left the long hall next to the death cell.

      The condemned moved down a long corridor, to another that led to a short flight of steps. They walked up them, turned another corner, and out through a door into daylight. The sun was still not above the walls, so they moved through shadow, but above them a blue sky promised a beautiful day. Erik’s heart almost broke wishing he could see that day.

      Roo cried openly, making inarticulate noises punctuated by a single word, ‘Please,’ but he managed to walk. They moved past where the first six bodies lay in the yard, as a charnel wagon was being drawn close enough for the dead to be loaded into it. Erik glanced down at the dead men.

      He almost stumbled. He had seen death before, having found Milo and having looked at Stefan and the nameless bandit after he killed them, but he had never seen this. The men’s faces were contorted, especially those of Tom and the other man who had strangled, their eyes bulging from their sockets. The other four whose necks had broken still looked ghastly, with eyes staring lifelessly at the sky. Flies were already gathering on the corpses, and no one was bothering to shoo them away.

      All at once Erik was being moved up the steps and he felt his bladder weaken. He had not needed to relieve himself, and suddenly he felt an overwhelming urge to ask for permission to do so before he was hung. A wave of childish embarrassment swept up from some deep well of memory and he felt tears coursing down his cheeks. His mother had scolded him at an early age for messing his bed during the night, and for reasons beyond his ability to understand, the thought of messing himself now was the worst fate he could imagine. From the reek of urine and excrement, others had already lost control; he didn’t know if it was those ahead of him or those who had already died. He felt a desperate need not to lose control and have his mother get mad.

      He tried to look at Roo, but suddenly he was stepping up on the box, a guard stepping up next to him to place the noose expertly around Erik’s neck without hesitation, then step down without upsetting the box below Erik’s feet. He tried to look over, but for some reason, he couldn’t see Roo.

      Erik felt himself tremble. He couldn’t make his eyes work, and images of bright sky overhead and dark shadows under the walls made no sense. He heard a few mumbled prayers and what he thought was Roo’s softly pleading ‘… No … please … no … please,’ over and over.

      He wondered if he should say something at the end to his friend, but before he could think of anything to say, Robert de Loungville came to stand before the condemned men. With astonishing clarity, Erik could see every detail of this man who was to order his death. He had shaved in a hurry that morning, for a slight stubble had turned his cheeks dark, and there was a slight scar above his right eye Erik hadn’t noticed before. He wore a fine red tunic, with a badge that Erik could now see depicted the Seal of Krondor, an eagle soaring over a peak above the sea. He had blue eyes and dark brows, and his hair needed to be trimmed. Erik wondered how he could see so much so quickly, and felt his stomach rebel. He was about to be sick from fear.

      The only prisoner not slated to die was brought to stand beside de Loungville, who turned to him and said, ‘Watch this and learn something, Keshian.’

      Nodding once to the men on the gibbet, he ordered, ‘Hang them!’

      Erik sucked in his breath in terror as he felt a powerful blow knock the box from beneath his feet. He heard Roo’s shriek of terror, and then he fell.

      The sky spun for Erik as he moved through the air. His only thought was of the blue above, and he heard himself cry, ‘Mommy!’ as he felt his body hit the end of the rope. A sudden jerk made his skin burn as the rope tightened around his neck, then with another jerk he continued to fall. Instead of the expected crack of his own neck or the sudden choking as his windpipe was crushed, he felt a numbing slam along his face and body as he fell hard against the wooden floor of the gibbet.

      Suddenly Robert de Loungville was shouting, ‘Get them to their feet!’

      Rough hands dragged Erik upright, and with a half-dazed sense of being somewhere else, he looked around and saw stunned men returning his confused expression. Roo gaped like a just-landed fish and his face was sporting a red mark from where it had struck the boards. His eyes were puffy and red, and snot ran down from his nose as he cried like a baby.

      Biggo glanced around, blood running from a cut on his forehead, as if trying to understand this evil prank that robbed him of his meeting with the Goddess of Death. The man next to him, Billy Goodwin, closed his eyes and sucked in breath as if he were still choking. Erik didn’t know the name of the man at the far end of the gibbet, but he stood silently, his expression as stunned as the others’.

      ‘Now listen, you swine!’ commanded Robert de Loungville. ‘You are dead men!’ He glanced from face to face. He raised his voice, ‘Do you understand me?’

      They nodded, but it was clear none of them did.

      ‘You are officially dead. I can have anyone who doubts my word hauled up again, and this time we’ll tie the rope to the crosspiece of the gibbet. Or if you’d prefer, I will happily cut your throat.’

      Turning to the Keshian prisoner, he said, ‘Get over there with the others.’ The shackled men were being pulled roughly down the steps to stand next to the bodies of the dead.

      Soldiers cut short the rope hanging from each of the five men, and two placed a similar noose around Sho Pi’s neck. ‘You’ll leave those on until I tell you to take them off,’ shouted de Loungville.

      He came up to the five still-stunned men and looked each in the eyes as he walked slowly before them. ‘I own you! You’re not even slaves! Slaves have rights! You have no rights. From now on, you will draw each breath at my whim. If I decide I don’t want you breathing my air any longer, I’ll have the guards close that noose around your neck and you will stop breathing. Do you understand me?’

      Some of the men nodded, and Erik said, ‘Yes,’ softly.

      De Loungville nearly roared when he said, ‘When I ask you a question, you will answer loudly so I can hear you! Do you understand me?’

      This time all six men said, ‘Yes!’

      De Loungville turned and began walking along before the men again. ‘I am waiting!’

      It was Erik who said, ‘Yes, sir!’

      Coming to stand before Erik, de Loungville put his face before Erik’s, so their noses were less than an inch apart. ‘Sir! I am more than a sir, you toads! I am more than your mothers, your wives, your fathers, and your brothers! I am your god from this moment on! If I snap my fingers, you’re dead men in truth. Now, when I ask you a question, you will answer, “Yes, Sergeant de Loungville!” Is that clear!’

      ‘Yes, Sergeant de Loungville!’ they said, almost shouting, despite raw throats from the mock hanging.

      ‘Now load those men into the wagon, you swine,’ de Loungville commanded. ‘Each of you take one.’

      Biggo