This wasn't going to be easy.
Evening light cast the town square in a rosy glow, but to Tatiana the color was more a hint of things to come, of blood and fire. Around her, the thick crowd gossiped in excitement as a small group of soldiers piled wood and hay around a wooden pole mounted to a low, makeshift stage, and checked that all was secure and sturdy. It was almost time for the execution; all they were waiting on was the night.
Couldn't have a proper burning without the drama of the darkness to make the flames brighter and the shadows longer.
Tatiana took a deep breath and for the dozenth time went over the plan. It wasn't foolproof. It was downright crazy and risky as hell. There were soldiers everywhere--but there was also the crowd and the dark. Several of her friends were spread out among the crowd so they could help divert attention and cause distractions during the escape, because the risk didn't all lie in the soldiers; the crowd could also turn against her. She was hoping they would freeze up instead, as so many bystanders did, but she couldn't count on it. They had to plan for the worst, and hope for the best.
Whatever the case, for better or for worse, she was not going to stand idle while an innocent kid died.
Vultures, all of them. All these people here just for the entertainment of it all, telling themselves they were good people. They would watch a child scream in agony and burn to ash, and they would do nothing about it--many would even enjoy it. And then they would go home, kiss their children good night, make love to their partners, and go about their daily lives, all the while believing they were good people.
It was sick. Connlaoth was ill.
Tatiana took a deep breath. Calm down. She just needed to wait and focus. She couldn't waste her energy on anger. She needed to set up.
She had planned her route days ago, and she broke off from the crowd then, slipping off into an alley. There was a tavern right behind where the stake was set up, and she navigated her way down the alleys she'd memorized days before until she found the building, and used a discarded keg as a step-stool to climb onto the roof.
By then, the sun had set entirely, helping to hide her in her dark clothing. Still she moved slowly, careful of the places where the roof was weak or slippery but also not wanting to draw attention. She kept herself low, almost flat against the roof, and carefully drew her short bow.
As darkness settled, the chatter of the crowd turned excited, then gave way to angry shouts as, finally, the young mage was escorted into the square by a Mordecai. He couldn't have been older than eleven, bruised and dirty, his filthy face streaked with tears. And then he saw the stake surrounded by kindling and he blanched, stumbled, and went limp. One of the Mordecai caught him and delivered a sharp slap to his face, jolting him awake, but they still had to drag him the rest of the way as he sobbed and begged, his words swallowed by the clamor of the crowd.
Monsters.
Tatiana's hands tightened around her bow, knuckles white, but she couldn't act yet, as awful as it was. She bit her cheek and waited, waited as the soldiers tied him to the post, as they piled more tinder and straw up to his knees, and soon a priest stepped forward to give him his last rites.
Fuck Ansgar.
It was done. The Mordecai took up a torch and dipped it into the straw. When it burst into hungry flames, the soldiers stepped back and pushed the rest of the crowd back, urging them to move a safe distance even as the mage's terrified screams filled the air.
It was time.
Nocking an arrow, she let it fly while the townsfolk were distracted, hitting the Mordecai in the neck. No one noticed at first, with all the noise and bright flames, and she let another arrow fly, and another, downing the two closest soldiers before they had figured out what was happening. Then she was dropping from the roof and rushing for the stake, knives sliding out of their sheaths as she leapt up onto the stage. The heat was incredible, flames licking at her boots, but she ignored the pain as she sliced through the ropes binding the boy and yanked him down off the stage.
“Go!” she urged as she gave him a push toward the crowd, where one of her friends, Caspian, had shoved his way to the front. Dazed and weak, he hesitated, but she gave him another shove and he stumbled into Caspian’s grasp.
He would take it from there. There was safety in numbers and chaos, and safety I. splitting up. Her group knew how to capitalize on the ruckus, and knew how to hide a child. She just had to trust them to do their job.
She’d done hers.
Now she just had to get out alive.
Turning on her heel, she ran the opposite way, ducking into an alley, the footsteps of pursuing soldiers loud in her ears.
It was worth it.
It always was.
