Chapter XX

“It was a brilliant idea, Gili,” said Yashen, as the two of them overlooked the conquered city of Nox from the city hall’s balcony.

“It s-seemed s-s-simple to me, G-G-Grand Inquisitor,” said Gili.

Yashen nodded. “We had no siege equipment, so we knew that the best way to take the city was to somehow get over a hundred of our people in without a fight so that they could open the gates for the rest of us. How do you get over a hundred people into a city that’s the center of the slave trade all at once? Well, you pretend you’re bringing them in the back way as slaves. Keep their manacles unlocked and hide weapons under their sack-cloth tunics.”

“R-really, it's t-t-too easy,” Gili said.

Yashen patted Gili on the head. “If you’re brilliant then of course it’s easy. Use your enemy’s sins against them. It’s poetic justice, really.”

In the streets below the balcony the Inquisition’s witch-hunters dragged slavers and patrons alike in chains, off into holding cells where they would await either re-education or whatever harsh punishment Yashen sought to bring down upon them. Thick smoke lingered in the air from the slavers and pagan priests already burned at the stake, and from their charred homes. After all the times that the Vice Queen’s underlings had beaten and abused her Yashen felt a smug satisfaction in seeing so many of them now facing such harsh fates, though she fought to suppress her vengeful glee.

“Grand Inquisitor,” said an inquisitor who had just walked out onto the balcony.

“Yes?”

The inquisitor saluted and then said, “We have a prisoner who had nothing to do with the slave trade, as far as we can tell, but you may wish to punish him anyway.”

“Another pagan priest?”

“No. This one…well, I’m not sure how to describe him, really, but others have testified that he’s the worst of all blasphemers.”

“A Nihilite?”

“Worse.”

Yashen raised her eyebrows at the inquisitor. “How could anyone be worse than those who actively choose to serve demons?”

“I’m afraid that if I repeated his words I would be a blasphemer myself.”

“Interesting. Take me to him, then.”

What had previously been the inn was now a prison, with chains and bars over the doors to each of the bedrooms. Yashen followed the inquisitor to room 13, or cell 13, as it had become. The door was open and four witch-hunters stood guard, each with weapons drawn and pointed at the prisoner. The prisoner himself was chained to the floor, with shackles around his wrists, ankles, waist, and neck.

In spite of the discomfort he must have been feeling, the prisoner looked up at Yashen as she entered the cell and smiled. “Good day, Grand Inquisitor.”

“Who are you?”

“A man who is free though his body is in shackles. Master to myself and slave to none. One who does not fear the darkness because-“

“Spare me your speeches, just tell me your name!” Yashen barked.

“Emylas, my lady.”

“Emylas.” The name sounded familiar to her, but she couldn't place it. “From what I hear you speak blasphemy.”

“It’s my first language, actually.” Emylas chuckled at his own joke.

“I’ve been told you are some manner of sorcerer. What faith do you serve?”

“Faith? I have no need for faith, only my own will. I am my own god, and the gods of others worship me. Demons bend to my will. The spirits of the dead seek to bring me honor. In time even Sandalphon will serve my will.”

Yashen spat on his face. “Filth and lies.”

Emylas let the saliva run down his cheek, seemingly unaffected by it. “Lies are what spirits tell you in order to get you to do their will. Even Sandalphon traffics in lies, Dream Merchant.” Yashen cringed at the sound of her former title. So this man knew her. Why did she not know him? “Why else would Sandalphon have chosen you, a purveyor of illusions, as his Grand Inquisitor if not so that you could spread his falsehoods?”

“Watch yourself, Emylas!” Yashen pointed a finger in his face. “You may believe however you will, but if you continue to spread your lies we will be forced to silence you, lest others fall from grace because of your falsehoods.”

“Did Sandalphon convince you that the Inquisition would somehow end slavery?” Emylas giggled in an almost effeminate way. “Silly girl. The Inquisition is but a different form of slavery, one that benefits Sandalphon rather than the Vice Queen. You haven’t set anyone free, you’ve simply sold them to a new master, and tricked them into praising you for it.”

Yashen drew her sword and touched the point to the back of Emylas’ neck. “I don’t think you realize just how serious your situation is.”

Yashen heard a voice whisper in her ear. “I don’t think you realize just how serious your situation is,” which caused her to arc her sword out at the source of the sound, only to have the blade cut nothing but air.

Emylas chuckled. “Still as tense as you were when you killed the old man I see.” Yashen's face turned white. How could he possibly know about that? “I thought Sandalphon taught you not to fear anymore. Fear is a sin, yes?”

“Shut your damn mouth!”

“As is rage.”

“I said shut it!” Yashen shouted as she grabbed him by his hair and held the sword blade up to his throat. “Clearly you’re some sort of sorcerer, loyal to some god or demon I’ve never heard of before. Even now, with a blade to your throat, you smirk at me as if you know more than I? It's obvious I cannot trust you to keep your blasphemies to yourself, and you seem dangerous to me, therefore you are sentenced to die.”

The witch-hunters guarding the room all breathed a sigh of relief. Yashen released Emylas’ hair and shoved him away.

“Is it to be burning, then?” Emylas asked, the smile never leaving his face.

“No. Not in this case,” said Yashen. “There’s so much smoke in the air that if we burn anyone else I fear the air we breathe will be toxic. Besides, a slow death allows time for you to be rescued before it’s over.” Yashen turned to the witch-hunters. “Take him and behead him. Make sure he cannot speak any more of his blasphemies. Don’t even let him look anyone in the eye, lest he's a hypnotist or something of the like.”

“Yes, Grand Inquisitor.”

Yashen's skin crawled as Emylas began to sing a song with a happy tune, but such awful lyrics.

“The still-beating heart of the Father's son

Fills a fountain in which blood doth run.

The shadows of those dank, dark caves

Hide within most murd'rous knaves...”

The witch-hunters tied a cloth gag around Emylas’ mouth, then shoved a burlap sack over his head, all the while keeping blades pointed at his chest and back in case he struggled. He did not struggle, but continued to hum the song. They unlocked the shackles, put his hands in manacles behind his back, and escorted him from the cell to the city square, where Yashen followed.

No more executions held in the bloody amphitheater while the slaves were forced to watch. No, all executions would be fully public now so that all would know that justice was done. The witch-hunters pushed Emylas up the stairs to the gallows. He stumbled along as he could not see the ground beneath his feet. Yashen could hear his muffled voice under that sack. He wasn't humming anymore. It sounded like he was trying to either scream or beg for mercy. Such a change in tune now that his fate was real? Too late for that now. He had his chance to cooperate. She could not let such a dangerous man live.

The executioner soon joined Yashen at the gallows, with a black, leather mask over his face and an axe in his hands. Yashen addressed the crowd. “At the block you will see a blasphemer, one who refused to keep silent his lies. Let this serve as a reminder of the penalty for blasphemy.”

Emylas’ muffled screams under the sack grew louder as he was tied down, with his neck upon the chopping block. The executioner nodded to Yashen and stepped up to the block. He raised his ax high over his head, and all in the crowd watched as the blade came down and chopped through the prisoner's neck. It took three swings, but finally the ax cleaved through. The head, still wrapped in the sack, tumbled into the basket, and the executioner promptly left the gallows, bloody axe slung over his shoulder.

Yashen had turned away from the sight, still put-off by violence and bloodshed, in spite of all the execution's she'd ordered. The whole experience of taking the city had been trying, to say the least, but she’d stayed strong by constantly telling herself that it needed to be done. This was the only way her people would be free and the True Way would survive the world’s persecution.