Dragon Heartstone > Chapter 13–Execution

---

Gall rode into the Preytar’s camp, dismounted, and assisted Katun to a nearby campfire. Several Preytars appeared out of the darkness and moved to help. Nikolas emerged from his tent. Gall said, “I need your people to care for his wounds.”

Nikolas nodded, then looked behind Gall. “Where is the Princess?”

“She did not make it out of the camp. I fear they have taken her prisoner.”

Jaw tightening, the First Preytar replied, “What do you plan to do?”

Gall stared into the campfire for a moment. “I cannot leave her in the hands of Edwyn. I will seek to parley with him.”

“He is not sane, Brin Shar,” Nikolas said. “It may not be possible to negotiate with him.”

“I understand, my friend,” Gall shot back. “But I lack a better alternative.”

Nikolas placed a hand on his shoulder. “You need not do this alone. We can help.”

Gall sighed. “I have nothing to give you.”

“We shall see,” Nikolas said with a wink. “On this, accept our support.”

“Gladly,” Gall replied.

* * *

The night grew bitterly cold, and despite her best efforts, Britta could not keep warm. Sleep came and went as uncontrollable spasms seized her limbs. When she did drift off, Fitz’s face leered at her. Tears stung where Edwyn had slapped her as they traced across the raw skin.

“Princess,” a voice called to her. She opened her eyes to find Riasean looking down at her. “You are cold,” he said in that same matter-of-fact tone from earlier.

She tried to speak but could only stutter, “N-, N-, No.”

He disappeared, but then she felt her blanket move and something warm press against her back. In an instant, her muscles calmed, and her body relaxed. The warmth spread throughout as sleep tugged at her consciousness. “Thank you,” she whispered in her dreams.

* * *

Britta opened an eye as a spot of sunlight lanced through the trees. For a moment, awareness eluded her. Where am I? The coldness of the morning air dug at her, yet she remained warm and comfortable. Maybe just a bit longer. Drifting off, she burrowed into her pillow, only to feel it rise and fall. The realization came swiftly, and her eyes shot open. Gently probing with her fingers, she traced the ribs in her ‘pillow.’ Slowly, she lifted her head and looked sidelong at Riasean’s smooth angular face.

Eyes shut, face skyward, he had such a peaceful look that she couldn’t help but admire his features. Angled brows and ears gave evidence of his Elvish heritage. A low hum came from him as he breathed out. His arm pressed against her back, and a hand ran along her side. She chewed her lower lip as another thought sailed through her mind. This was the first time she’d ever woken up next to a man. The realization made her start, and at the sudden movement, his eyes opened.

“Oh, good morning,” he said.

She stared at him, unable to speak. We just slept together.

He placed a hand on her forehead. “Why is your face so red? Are you sick?”

“Uh, no,” she squeaked out, sitting fully upright. “I was warm … from sleeping.”

He studied her for a moment before speaking. “I have something for you,” he said, rolling over and standing up.

He walked over to his horse as she rolled up the bedroll. “What is it?” she asked.

He turned around and held up a sword in a scabbard. “Your crown,” he answered with a smile. With a wave of his arm, it sailed toward her.

She caught it mid-air and stood. The polished green scabbard gleamed, as did the pommel, which bore platinum inset with a yellow Lilly. A gold vine traced down the haft. Her heart thumped wildly. “You know the colors of Cazidor, white and yellow.”

“Bretagne, too. Green and gold,” he added.

She buckled the sword on then drew the blade. Sunlight struck the metal and refracted a thin white mark on nearby rocks. She measured the weight and balance with a few twists of the wrist and a couple of flourishes. “This is an excellent weapon. Whoever forged it knew what they were doing.”

“That would be the Caretakers,” he said. “I have one more gift.” He held out a small sheathed dagger as she slid the sword into its scabbard.

She looked at it curiously. “If the sword was my crown, then what is this?” she asked, taking it.

“Merely an end to a means. In a close fight, a short, sharp knife makes all the difference.” Then he spied the sun peeking over the tree line. “It is almost time. Are you ready?”

Tucking the dagger into her waistband, she answered, “Yes.”

* * *

Dawn came, reluctantly it seemed, as the sun clawed back the cover of darkness, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange. Edwyn clenched his fists and stared at the bodies next to a mass grave. Two intrusions and escapes during the night. How pathetic could this army be? Into the pit, he kicked the last corpse of those killed by the intruders. Enemies, outside and inside surround me. He had to send a message to those who would oppose him.

“Bring forth those charged with guarding the prisoners,” Edwyn shouted. Eight soldiers stepped forward, their eyes darting between the grave and the King. “Count off by twos,” he ordered.

A series of “one” and “two” rose from the guards. “All the ones will line up here and kneel,” he called, pointing to the pit’s edge.

The men balked, and Edwyn’s face reddened. “Do it, or you will all die.”

Cowed, the group of “ones” lined up. Some sobbed as they did so, and others had to be pushed and shoved by their comrades into obedience. “Number two’s, line up behind the number ones.” They did so but with little enthusiasm.

“Two’s, draw your swords.” As blades sailed out of their scabbards, the air rang with metal upon metal. “On the count of three, strike.” Some raised their weapons high, others barely so.

“One.” Sobs and outright crying erupted from the kneeling men, and tears formed in the eyes of those standing.

“Two.” Shouts and pleas flew upon Edwyn’s deaf ears.

“Three.” The air whistled as metal sliced through it, followed by the sickening sound of steel against flesh. Scattered cries and groans competed with dull thumps as bodies fell into the pit. Of those guards remaining, a couple vomited, and a collective gasp escaped from the onlookers.

Edwyn looked around at the astonished faces of his soldiers. “Let this be a lesson to you that those who avoid or fail to do their duty will meet the same fate.” He turned to the burial detail. “Cover the scum. We leave within the hour. Curoth awaits our cleansing.”

Despite recent setbacks, the King smiled. He got the execution he had been promised.