The Unseen Hand

Ch 15: The Dragon of Reyza

Ristor, Ninth of Sund'im, 445 A'A'diel

The setting sun surrendered the city's streets to shadow. Braziers sprang to life, illuminating a row of buildings nestled along the base of the cliffs below the palace. The government offices along Governors' Row were designed in harmony with the palace, but with a modest grandeur to distinguish their lesser stature. A single structure broke the architectural harmony; a brutalist, granite keep that was as incongruous as a brick among porcelainware.

For over three hundred years, the Justiciary fortress had stood unchanged while more fanciful architecture rose up around it. The monolithic building had been built by the city's original settlers, and as such, it had become an icon of Reyzan resilience.

Behind the keep's wall, wrought-iron braziers illuminated the flagstone courtyard at the base of the tower. The wavering pools of light gave the quadrangle a festive flair as a cool breeze blew in from the ocean.

In the center of the courtyard, Sodke the Executioner leaned against his tall iron rod and surveyed his work. Flat on the ground before him, a sobbing wreck of a man was tied spreadeagle upon a wagon wheel.

The condemned prisoner was old. The gray in his beard spoke of seventy winters. Thick loops of hemp rope bound the man's waist to the hub of the wheel. His bony ankles and left wrist were secured to the rim with loops of rawhide that bit deep into his flesh. The man's right arm lay twisted, the pale skin marred by oblong purple blotches where Sodke's rod had smashed flesh and shattered bone.

Sodke nodded to his assistant; a lithe young man called Owl after his large, intense eyes. "Quickly now, the evening is fading. It will be night soon, and I've yet to sup."

"Hurry, hurry," Owl grumbled to himself as he bent over the moaning man. "Always on about food. Never about women." Owl grabbed the wrist of the broken arm. The tranquility of the Justiciary courtyard was dispelled by an agonized howl.

Ignoring the scream, Owl threaded the old man's ruined limb between the spokes. He performed the grisly duty with disdain; as if he were weaving a ribbon through a wreath on festival day. A few expertly knotted loops of rawhide secured the arm in its tortuous position.

"And you're always on about the women." Owl's efficiency earned a nod of approval from Sodke. For all his laziness and complaining, the boy was a deft apprentice. "Let's do the right leg next."

Owl moved to kneel upon the unfortunate man's right leg, pinning it under his weight. He pulled a loose end of the knot securing the ankle. "Ready?"

"Aye, pull hard and hold it steady. Three blows." Sodke held the rod like a lumberjack holding an axe. He raised his arms above his bald head, ready to swing. "Now!"

Owl ignored the gibbered pleas for mercy as he grabbed the man's ankle with both hands and rolled to the side. He pulled hard on the ankle, bracing his feet against the tread of the wheel until the captive's leg was fully extended. "Strike!" he grunted. "Strike him now, for the love of Ven. This codger is stronger than he looks."

Sodke's rod whistled downward three times in swift succession. The prisoner's shrieks took on a hopeless, warbling note like some macabre bird singing at sunset.

Owl rolled his eyes, mimicking the sobbing man as he twisted the broken leg through the spokes. As Owl finished securing his handiwork, Sodke stepped to the other side of the wheel. "Left arm."

The prisoner writhed and pulled at the bonds of his undamaged arm with animalistic desperation. Foul curses exploded from the old man's mouth.

The unexpected outburst sent Owl tumbling backward onto the flagstones. He landed on his rump with a startled laugh. Sodke scowled-he had no patience for nonsense, not while dinner awaited. A nudge with the rod spurred his assistant to action. "Left arm."