The Execution

Mother had told her to stay inside the tent,

She never listened to her mother.

She stepped outside; the dust of snow that the night had left behind stung her naked toes. She felt the rush of blood to her cheeks as the wintry air nipped at her flesh. She felt fear, a sickening sort of dread. It ran through her, up and down, causing her skin to prickle, her eyes to well with tears, her heart to sink. She was sad, sad for him. They thought she didn’t understand, but she did. She knew his fate, he was going to die, he had to die, and he didn’t want to die. He though, would not die alone. She would be there to watch, meet his eyes in the last moments of his life, and let him see her, one last time.

 She surveyed the camp for guards, to her left Tallis was asleep against a tree his beard soaked in the wine that had led to his deep slumber. She tiptoed passed him, quieter then silence; her escape would not be spoiled before it began. A grumble sounded from Tallis and she froze in place. She turned slowly and whispered softly,

 “Tallis,” he didn’t stir so she went on. There was another clearing in the forest a little while off, that’s where it would be, where he would die. An image flashed in her mind, white freshly fallen snow, perfect in every aspect. Except one fatal flaw a splatter of blood, his blood. She shivered, and was about to walk forward when she felt a deadly grip around her ankle. She looked down, Tallis was awake.

“Where ya going little girl,” he snarled, and with his great hand brought her to the ground. She squirmed, fighting to be free from the weight of him.

“What’cha doin’ out ya tent, huh” he pressed down on her belly she couldn’t breathe. She could have cried, screamed, whimpered until he let her go. Instead she focused; let her eyes calmly wander for an escape, when alas she stumbled upon a dagger in his left boot. Her body continued to squirm, distract, while her arm reached for the blade. After some difficulty she had a hold of it. Felt the cold metal within her fingertips. Then, quickly she brought it to his cheats and plunged it through his heart. His blood spilled over her, as his corpse collapsed on top of her, pinning her beneath him. She held his shoulders as she wiggled her body free. She stopped and looked down, but only for a moment, and bent down. She turned his head to the side and brushed her palm across his eyelids. He was only following orders. Then she ran north to the clearing.

 When she heard shouting she knew she was close. She came to the clearing a moment later, she saw her mother standing in front of the crowd, she spoke,

“A criminal lives amongst us, he has lied, stolen, and betrayed us, and he must be punished,” shouts of agreement rippled trough the crowd,

“Kill him,” the man beside the little girl yelled

“Take his head,” screamed an old woman, her mother surveyed the crowd her chin was lifted high as it always was.

“As long as I am your queen, treason will not be tolerated, traitors will never live among us, and so they must die,” her mother’s voice was deep and icy. The little girl looked at her mother and thought how impossible she seemed, so beautiful and yet so terrifying. She saw him then, at his knees. His hands were bound and his head hung low. His face was bloody and ruined and he was thin.

“This man is a traitor and must be executed, as an example to all those who dare cross us, dare to defeat us.” her mother summoned Bailer to his station; he pulled his sword from his belt. The crowd screamed and chanted.

“Kill him,”

“Kill the traitor,”

“Take his head,”

“Spill his blood,”

Bailer brought the sword above his head and was about to bring it down when the little girl screamed. It was a cry, a helpless cry, loud enough to silence the crowd. Her mothers eyes locked on her, as did his. He was crying. She felt her self being pick up, she screamed louder. Her mother motioned to Bailer to continue. The little girl shrieked as the sword fell and brought his end. The sound of cold metal against warm flesh and the sound of her shrill screams echoed through the woods. She was being pulled away; she gripped at whatever she could, as if she had anything left. She looked at his body, laying limply on the snow his blood coating its perfect white. Her father’s blood, he was dead now. She looked at her mother then and for a moment thought she saw a tear run down her face, but it couldn’t be real, she had imagined it.