The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge (36 page)

The trumpets blew their fanfare from the rampart wall as the dignitaries and guests rose to their feet. Dressed in robes of cobalt satin with his jeweled chain of office draped around his neck, Savino crossed the courtyard at a slow pace before finally reaching the staging area. Accompanied by Gaspar, Lord Raniero and his entourage of warrior bodyguards, his eyes glittered as he strutted up the embankment steps, clearly enjoying the fact that all eyes were on
him.

Taking his place next to Matilda in the royal box, he lifted his hand grandly, motioning for the guests to sit. He waited a moment before raising his voice to s
peak.

“People of Crocetta, I thank you for coming out on this historic day to witness the public purging of the traitor.” He stopped, pointing at Eman. “This man has consistently blasphemed against the da Rocha regime and shall pay for his crimes. These include treason and conspiring against His Majesty the king. This day shall be remembered for generations. The consequences of his rebellion shall long bear witness of what will happen to those who would dare to follow in his foots
teps.”

With great flourish, he sat down on his makeshift throne and nodded to the brawny warrior who stood at the edge of the platform. The soldier slammed his staff onto the wooden scaffold three times, shouting for all the people to
hear.

“Eman Yewil! You have been found guilty by the Crimson Court for the crimes of blasphemy, treachery, slander and conspiring against His Majesty the King. What is your
plea?”

Just then, a bolt of lightning struck the citadel tower, causing the people to flinch as thunder rumbled through the str
eets.

Shivering in the frigid air, Eman did not utter a single word and his eyes remained downcast. Waves of black matted hair stuck to his cheeks, further emphasizing the paleness of his skin and dark circles under his eyes. His white linen shirt fluttered in the breeze as a single tear slid down his cheek, dropping onto his brown-and-white-striped c
loak.

“Since you refuse to submit your plea, one final call for mercy shall be made on your behalf.” The warrior turned toward Savino. “What say you, Your Majesty, Supreme Ruler over all lands of Abbadon and Croc
etta?”

Marisa peeked out over the edge of the terrace wall, her eyes riveted on Savino. As the beast occupying her cousin’s body glared angrily down at Eman, its eyes began to glow. His skin turned green and scaly like a reptile’s and the orange-red haze around his head became thick. His sharp teeth gnashed together as he sneered at the shepherd, flames erupting from his mouth. The three ugly creatures that hovered above him began to jerk and dance in a wild frenzy, and in that instant, Marisa wished that all the people could see him as he truly
was.

Thunder rumbled across the skies. Savino raised his right hand high above him and in one smooth motion, he slammed his fist down onto his left b
icep.

No clem
ency.

The warrior moved Eman down closer to the pit where he stopped at the edge and glanced up at Sa
vino.

“Garon sees both the just and the unjust,” he shouted. “What happens here shall be remembered for ages to
come.”

“I certainly hope it will be remembered. That is the whole point of your public execution,” he said in a mocking tone. The warriors grabbed Eman’s arms and legs, flipping him onto the wooden raft. Matilda turned away, weeping so
ftly.

“Do not waste your tears on this traitor,” Savino said. “He has committed treachery against the da Rocha fa
mily.”

“My tears are for
you!”

She climbed down from the platform and stormed off toward the citadel. A warrior moved to block her, but Savino waved him
off.

“Let her go. She is the least of our wor
ries.”

He turned his attention to the execution platform below. The warrior motioned to Eman to lift his arms above him, but he refused, raising his chin in defi
ance.

“You! Eman!” Savino shouted. “My father would have killed you as soon as the treacherous words had left your lips. But I have shown you grace, even given you the opportunity to repent. But you have not chosen to do so. Now my father is smiling down o
n me!”

“Before Gregario was born,
I AM!”

Lightning struck the citadel with a blinding flash as the deafening crackle of thunder shook the castle walls. Gasps and cries erupted from the crowds as the people glanced around in
fear.

Savino ignored the unusual events going on around him, nodding to the men to begin their gruesome task. The two warriors at the pit grabbed Eman’s arms and placed his hands above the stakes, palm
s up.

Gasping when they saw the brutal scars on the prisoner’s wrists, the two soldiers exchanged puzzled glances, unsure of what to make of the strange indentations in his
skin.

People in the crowds strained to see what was holding up the execution before one of the warriors finally shrugged, signaling for them to continue. Both raised their hammers high, preparing to deliver blows of tremendous force. Seconds before they came crashing down, Marisa forced herself to look
away.

When his screams of pain and anguish split the silence, tears of sorrow were already streaming down her face. Unable to listen to the sound of his suffering, she climbed down the lattice and jumped off. Panting for air, she collapsed onto the cobblestones as a weight of grief and guilt washed over
her.

She covered her face with her hands, unable to shake the overwhelming knowledge that it was all her fault. The regret dug deep into her soul as she closed her eyes, weeping for the one who had done no w
rong.

Garon forgive me for all I have done that this innocent man must now pay the price. I know he is dying because of me. Please ease Eman’s pain and show us how to overcome the evil that has taken over this country. I beg you to forgive me for my lack of faith
–
but now I put all my trust in you. Please use me as the means to fulfill your will for this generation and give me the courage that I lack but so desperately need.
Amen.

In her mind’s eye, she saw a vision of Arrie chained to a stone wall. He was alive somewhere inside the citadel and there was still a chance to save him, but she would have to act
fast.

Her eyelids flew open.
Now!

A dark atmosphere of misery settled over the crowd. Cinzia turned to her husband, burying her head in his chest as Eman’s screams tore at her heart. How was it possible that this innocent man could be put to death in such a brutal manner for only speaking the truth? She watched as the warriors lifted Eman’s bare feet up onto the third stake that rose up out of the w
ater.

The crowds froze in stunned bewilderment as the hammer came down once again. Another scream rippled through the air, followed by gasps, sniffles and the sounds of people weeping. A wave of sadness drowned the people of Crocetta as they watched one of their own being slaughtered in front of their
eyes.

The frequency of thunder and lightning increased as a dark torrent of evil seeped through the city streets. Black storm clouds in the skies intensified, amplifying the somber
mood.

Eman’s body was fully impaled, stakes piercing his wrists and feet. Blood trickled down his skin in small streams, dripping into the water and changing its color. His chest heaved, his face the manifestation of pain as he bore it through gritted teeth. While the crowds watched in a dazed stupor, his slow and agonizing death b
egan.

When Alessio saw the tears glistening on Eman’s cheeks, a rush of guilt strangled his soul, pressing tightly against his chest. And, while almost everyone around him hadn’t a clue why all this was happening, Alessio already knew the an
swer.

Eman was dying because of
them.

CHAPTER 34

RESCUE

The sounds of Eman’s agony tugged at Marisa’s heart as she followed the ramparts around the western wall of the citadel. Darting around the trees and shrubs, she tried not to think of the pain he was experiencing. But the fact that he would soon be dead weighed heavily on her. She pushed it from her mind. There would be a place to mourn him, but that place was not t
here.

Not
now.

High above her, a streak of lightning flashed across the charcoal skies with a clap of thunder riding closely in its wake. Hoping she wasn’t about to get soaked, she stopped for a moment, unsure of where she was going. The snow had almost entirely melted and there were only small patches of it here and there. The air felt wet and cold, as if it was just above free
zing.

Glancing to her right, she didn’t see any guards at their usual stations up on the wall. Most of them had probably been ordered to watch the execution. Their absence would be an advantage, but she still wasn’t sure how she could get inside the citadel. The main gate wasn’t an option at this point and she had never seen or heard of another entr
ance.

Overcome by a spell of dizziness, she leaned back against the stone wall, her body shivering. She felt her forehead. It was hot and her fingers were chilled to the bone. She was coming down with something, but there was no time to rest on her laurels. If she didn’t find Arrie soon, he would be dead. Maybe she could rest for a few minutes before pressin
g on.

Lowering herself to the base of the stone wall, she loosened her braid and leaned back in silent thought. She plucked the damp strands from her sweaty cheeks and gathered her hair into a ponytail. Something was niggling at the back of her mind but she couldn’t quite place it. Somewhere she was missing a critical detail. But what was it? She blew on her hands and rubbed them together, glancing around at her surround
ings.

The tall evergreens clustered near the wall with their long, thick branches were in stark contrast to the rest of the trees that had long since shed their leaves before the start of winter. Gazing up at their long, spiky branches above her, they reminded her of the same trees she’d seen near the rear gate of Abbadon Castle on the day that Savino had taken her on the hike up to the water
fall.

Something cli
cked.

The rear gate.
Was it possible that Crocetta Castle had another entrance? Just then, she remembered Cinzia telling her the story of how her parents met and said that she and her mother had snuck into the castle through the rear gate. There had to be one at the citadel, even though she had never seen or used it be
fore.

With renewed energy, she pulled herself up and continued along the wall. The rampart around the castle was miles in circumference, so there was a lot of ground to cover. She squeezed through some thick scrub brush, its prickly branches scratching her legs as she passed. It became difficult for her to stay next to the wall in certain spots where thick, tangled vines climbed up the st
ones.

When she had followed the wall for three quarters of an hour, the snow-capped Crocine Peaks finally came into view along with a sight that made her feel the rhythmic pounding of her own heart in her throat. Knowing that it would be a mistake to look down, she did it anyway and immediately regrette
d it.

Several hundred feet beneath her, a meandering river twisted at the bottom of a canyon. Meanwhile, the path that she was following had narrowed down into a two-foot-wide strip of ground—barely enough for a person to pass. After that, it plunged down a rocky embankment at a steep angle and it didn’t stop until it reached the river at the very bo
ttom.

Wiping the sweat from her forehead and inhaling deep breaths of cool air, she noticed that she was trembling all over. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting to subdue the panic that threatened to hijack her
mind.

This is my worst nightmare. How can I ever survive
this?

Opening her eyes again, she slowly glanced up. There was no way she could scale that high wall. And so, with only one way to go, she turned back to the wall and, flattening her body against it, she began to move slowly, sidestepping her way around the northern
face.

Keep your eyes fixed upward—towar
d me
.

After moving along for what seemed like hours, she spotted a wooden bridge just a few hundred paces ahead, spanning the ravine from the mountains to the citadel wall. It was old and rickety, and it looked as if it hadn’t been used in years. She quickened her steps until, finally, she reached the point where it met the ca
stle.

Sure enough, the bridge ended at a small gate on the northern side of the citadel, barely wide enough to accommodate a small wagon or carriage. She reached for the handle of the gate and tried to turn it but it wouldn’t budge. Then she tried to turn it again, but it still wouldn’t open. The gate looked ancient, almost in disrepair, but, to her chagrin, the lock stubbornly stood its gr
ound.

She looked at the far end of the bridge on the opposite side of the chasm. There was a decrepit gate house with a path leading up and away into the mountains, but it appeared deserted with no sign of a guard who might have a
key.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, suddenly reminding her of something. On the day of Gregario’s funeral, Arrie had given her a tiny skeleton key before she had left for Beauriél. She had slipped it into a pocket on her holster for safekeeping, but since then had forgotten she still had it. She reached under her skirt and felt for the holster around her thigh. Her fingers reached down into the pouch and felt around until they touched a small, spiral-shaped ob
ject.

It’s still there! Could it possibly
work?

She pulled out the key, carefully replacing the dagger in its holster. She stuck the key in the lock and turned it, her lips mouthing a silent prayer. The lock didn’t budge. She tried again and groaned. On the third try, she jiggled it slightly and the lock released its
grip.

“Thank you!” she sho
uted.

Pushing hard against it, she winced as the rusty gate slowly screeched open. Hoping that no one had heard the sound, she closed it again with a clang, locking it back up behind
her.

Up until then, she had never been on the northern side of the castle. With no public or private rooms in the northern wing, there had been no reason for her to be there. And unlike the imposing main entrance on the south side with its ramparts and portcullis, the rear gate of the citadel seemed basic and straightforward, appearing as if it were nothing more than a simple supply
door.

Entering a small courtyard, she spotted some narrow, stone steps leading up the side of the wall. She wanted to get a better view of the layout so she ran up the steps, taking them two at a time. Panting heavily by the time she reached the top of the wall, she only saw one warrior on the eastern wall, standing with his back toward her at another hundred paces or so away. His attention was focused to the south, near the main
gate.

Without warning, lightning struck the fortress tower and the wall trembled under her feet. Deciding that it probably wasn’t a good place to be during a lightning storm, she hurried back down the steps, spying a large door leading into the northern side of the citadel. She hurried over to it and pulled on the handle, but it was locked. Fishing around for the small key, she stuck it in the hole. The door unlocked on the first
try.

Peering inside, her jaw dro
pped.

There was a large loading bay as big as an airplane hangar. Vaulted wooden beams ran along the ceiling and attached to them was a tangled network of wheels, pulleys and ropes. Lying on the ground in a haphazard fashion were stacks of wooden crates and planks, stones, bricks, burlap sacks and rusty tools. A wooden cage-like object was suspended a few feet above a square-shaped hole in the floor. Everything was covered in a mountain of dust and thick cobwebs stretched across every piece of equip
ment.

She entered the bay, stepping carefully around the objects strewn across the floor and trying not to trip over any of them. The massive chamber appeared deserted and forgotten and she wondered what it had been used
for.

Spotting a flight of stairs on the far side of the wall, she made her way toward it, weaving her way around rusty wagons with broken wheels and other strange contraptions that had fallen into disrepair. For extra light, she pulled out the amulet from underneath her cloak and watched it pulsing rapidly. With only the small lavender glow to light her way, she descended the stone steps into darkness until they stopped at a heavy wooden door. Turning the metal door ring, she pushed against it but immediately met heavy resist
ance.

Throwing her entire weight against it, the door groaned, but only budged slightly. She fell against it again, catching herself from falling when it gave way, bursting inwards with a loud creak. Beyond the doorway, the stone-walled corridor sloped downwards at a steep a
ngle.

Her feet were light as she jogged down the slippery steps into the darkness. But when she tripped over some uneven cobblestones and lost her footing, she slammed into the unforgiving
wall.

“Oww!” she yelled, rubbing her shoulder. She leaned back against the stone wall and felt the cold air blowing past her, penetrating her cloak and causing her body to shiver. Her cheeks were flaming hot, her head still poun
ding.

Arrie, where are you in this p
lace?

She continued to move down the corridor and reached a flat landing with two doors on either side. There was an additional case of steps descending into yet another deeper layer of darkness. The tunnel had already started to make her feel claustrophobic, but she couldn’t stop until she found the dungeons at the bottom l
evel.

At last the steps ended, emptying into a wide chamber with rough-hewn walls and consisting of ten prison cells. The space had only a single window with bars in front of it, high on the wall and located in the center cell. The only other source of light was a single lit torch on the wall. Hearing a man’s cough, she stopped, peering cautiously into the dun
geon.

One lone soldier with a bored expression sat on a wooden stool in the corner, guarding his only prisoner in the middle cell. His helmet rested on the ground next to him as he quietly stared at the floor. The prisoner was reclining on a wooden table with his back toward her. It could have been Arrie, but the chamber was so dim that she couldn’t be
sure.

Feeling for her dagger, she remembered Bruno showing her how to knock a man unconscious without killing him. During the lesson, she had never imagined that she would actually have use for the method, but was grateful now for his instructions. Her heart ached once more, realizing she would never see Bruno a
gain.

Clutching the knife in her fist, she crept along the passage as quietly as possible. Her heart raced as the dagger’s stock squirmed in her sweaty palm. She whispered a silent prayer for the courage to do what had to be done. Standing just a couple of paces away from the warrior, she hesitated. Gauging his enormous size, she’d have to hit him pretty
hard.

Just like she had done at so many of her track meets in the past, she took several steps back, gathering all the strength she could muster. Like a high jumper preparing to run, she focused on the target and rushed forward, leaping high up into the air. Coming down on him with as much force as she could gather, the handle of the dagger slammed onto his temple at the hair
line.

Without a kick, he slumped to the ground, unconscious. She bent over to examine him. He was bleeding, but he was still alive. The poor guy never even saw it co
ming.

“Marisa?” Arrie shouted, jumping up and grabbing the bars of his cell. “You are a
live!”

“Boy, am I ever glad to see you!” She moved to the door of his cell and stuck the small key in its lock. “We’ve gotta get you out of here! Eman is being executed and now’s our only chance.” She jiggled the key, hearing it finally c
lick.

As soon as the door swung open, Arrie’s strong arms pulled her into a tight embrace. “I am so happy you are alive!” Glancing over her shoulder at the key still stuck in the lock, his lips spread into a wide grin, and he gently took her face in his h
ands.

“Is that the key I loaned you which you never retu
rned?”

She smiled at him. “Aren’t you glad now that I di
dn’t?”

Thunder rumbled in the skies above Darian and his men as they watched the horrific proceedings from the top floor of the inn. Now that Matilda had left, he had a clear shot at Savino as he sat on his makeshift th
rone.