Richard Ford - The Shattered Crown

A last circuit of the amphitheatre, just to ensure the rest of the Sentinels and assembled Greencoats were in place, brought her to the tree that had grown in the centre of the arena. Where once gladiators had fought for their lives, now stood a single leafless ash. Kaira found it symbolic that such a thing should grow where so many had died. She laid a hand on the bark, feeling its weathered surface. Before she turned away, her fingers traced something in the bark. Two nails had been hammered into the trunk and below them someone had carved a symbol. By the looks of it, this had been done quite recently. Kaira could make no sense of the marking. Perhaps it was some foreign language, or perhaps a message from one young lover to another significant only to them.

Well, there were no lovers here today.

Durket hurried into the amphitheatre, breathing heavily, his face red and moist.

‘She’s here,’ he managed to say through his wheezing.

Moving past him, Kaira made her way to the entrance of the amphitheatre. Several dignitaries were already making their way inside: district commissioners, courtiers, stewards. Seneschal Rogan was there, of course, along with the High Constable and Baroness Magrida, though it appeared her son was not. Three mercenary captains were amongst the spectators, their coloured livery stark against the formal attire of the courtiers. Even Lord Marshal Ryder had chosen to attend with a contingent of his Wyvern Guard.

Kaira moved past them as she made her way towards the queen. Janessa stood surrounded by Sentinels, Merrick at her side, waiting for the crowd to enter.

Each one of her subjects who filed past gave a cursory bow or curtsy, but none of them tarried. They all seemed eager to enter the amphitheatre, to watch the coming show.

‘Whose idea was it to hold the executions in this place?’ said Janessa, whilst still acknowledging the fawning sycophancy of her court.

‘Seneschal Rogan,’ Odaka said. He was beside the Sentinels in full armour, his massive curved blade at his side. ‘Had I the chance I would have advised against this whole-’

‘You have already said. I am aware of your feelings on this, Odaka, but the decision has been made.’

‘I must agree with Odaka,’ said Kaira. ‘This execution compromises your security, and I believe it serves little purpose.’

‘Enemies of the Free States must be punished,’ Janessa replied. ‘No matter how distasteful we find the deed.’

‘But here? In this place? And before a mob hungry for blood?’

‘I like it no more than you,’ said Janessa, as Magistra Gelredida and her apprentice followed the last of the spectators in. The boy acknowledged the queen with a nervous bow as they entered. ‘Here is as good a place as any. And we have presented a perfect opportunity for any would-be assassin.’

‘Offering yourself up as a sacrificial lamb is madness,’ said Odaka.

‘I am well protected,’ Janessa replied. ‘Isn’t that right, Kaira?’

No you’re not. You’re baring your neck in the hope of luring out the wolf and I don’t know if I, or anyone else, will be able to stop it before your throat is ripped out.

‘Yes, Majesty,’ Kaira said.

Janessa gestured to the entrance of the amphitheatre. ‘Shall we?’

Kaira led the way to where a special section of the arena had been cordoned off for the queen.

No sooner had they taken up their position than the first of the Zatani was brought in. He did not struggle, but walked proudly. His hands were chained, his mouth covered by some kind of steel mask, his neck manacled to a long pole. Kaira’s heart sank to see the man brought so low. It sank further still at the crowd’s response.

They began to boo and hiss like a bunch of children at a puppet show — this proud warrior reduced to the rank of villain in some mummer’s farce.

Five more of the Zatani were brought out, four of them as tall and proud as the first, facing their fate with honour. The last one, huge and powerful with piercing blue eyes, writhed and bucked against his bonds, snarling behind the metal mask that bound his jaws.

All six were walked to the wooden scaffold at the far end of the amphitheatre and forced to kneel. Kaira could see the axeman standing to one side, checking the keenness of his weapon.

Once the Zatani were in place, Seneschal Rogan climbed up to the scaffold and silenced the onlookers with a gesture.

‘Majesty,’ he said, bowing across the arena to Janessa. ‘Lords and ladies. We have come to observe an ancient rite — the execution of Steelhaven’s enemies. Here are six men of the direst kind. Enemies of the Free States who would see our beloved city brought low. Traitors to the Crown and servants of the dread enemy Amon Tugha-’

‘Gods, but that man makes me sick,’ whispered Odaka, turning to one side rather than watching Rogan’s performance.

‘-the Elharim warlord who even now is only a few days’ ride from the city.’

Some of the crowd had obviously not heard that news and began chattering in panic. Some even made for the exit from the amphitheatre, clearly eager to leave the city before the Khurtas arrived.

‘It is with regret,’ continued the Seneschal, ‘that we have to carry out this necessary duty. Bring the first of the condemned.’

With difficulty, a trio of Greencoats forced one of the Zatani to rise to his feet. The warrior, on seeing the block and the executioner, began to struggle, but with his neck held fast there was little even one so powerful could do.

Before they could bundle him to the block, Kaira’s attention was drawn by something curious — a movement in her peripheral vision. She looked towards the ash tree, its empty branches reaching up towards the pale sky. As she watched they shuddered, even though there was no wind. No one else had seemed to notice, so enrapt were they in the proceedings, but Kaira was unnerved by it. She took a step forward — the tree seemed to be swaying, although its trunk looked sturdy. As she came closer she saw the sigil cut into the bark beneath two hammered nails, that she had thought was some lover’s carving, was now alive with writhing maggots.

Kaira stepped back. A wave of nausea hit her as she witnessed the corruption.

Again the tree shook.

She could hear Rogan in the background ordering the first execution.

The trunk of the tree creaked and groaned as it moved, bark snapped, branches shuddered into life.

With an ear-splitting crack, the ash tree broke in two along its trunk.

The amphitheatre fell silent.

As though rearing its head, half the tree rose up. The branches, which before had reached up towards the sky, were now draped down its back like some ghastly mane.

‘To arms,’ Kaira cried. She recoiled, dragging her sword from its scabbard as screams rose up from the crowd.

With a violent wrench, the tree pulled itself from the ground. Loose soil and stone were dragged up as its roots formed a dozen rudimentary limbs, hauling it from the earth. Its branches writhed — like the tentacles of some colossal squid — and it raised its eyeless head, opening a toothless maw in a silent newborn wail.

The arena broke into uproar as the sight of the creature struck terror in the spectators.

Someone rushed past Kaira, a Sentinel knight, his spear held out to attack. With a growl of fury he pierced what seemed to be a leg of the monster, and Kaira stared in horror as white cruor spewed from the wound. The hellish monster spun round, its mouth wide in a silent cry of pain. With a swipe of one thick branch it smashed the knight across the arena and into the fleeing mass of spectators where he landed with a sickening thud.

Kaira saw the ash tree turn ominously to face the queen. It seemed to lock her in an eyeless stare until, with the grinding of massive limbs, it moved towards her, dragging itself across the arena as those thick roots dug into the earth.