In the Name of Betrayal
Fire.
Beautiful. Welcoming. Agonizing. Horrifying. Uncontrollable. Hungry. Just.
Not a word was uttered as the criminal was brought to his death. What was there to say? So as the victim was taken to the unlit pyre, silence covered everyone like a thick fog. From the balcony where a man stood head held high, his face unreadable, to the mourning people who had known the one sentenced today.
The old wood spoke of a painful, excruciation death. Yet nobody said anything. Nobody intervened, except for one of the knights who apparently didn't care about betrayal. Didn't care about lies. Didn't care about secrets. But there were too many guards. And if he couldn't prevent it, no one could.
But that wasn't true. There was one person who could end it all in the blink of an eye. Who could stop this whole thing, the only price being a burning sensation in his body. Just a burning sensation. A warm fire. Friendly fire. It was inviting, spreading through his veins, making him feel powerful. But if was fire nonetheless, and fire could consume you. It was trying to persuade him to let it overcome him. To let it stop this. To let him escape a terrible death. Because he could. But he didn't.
"Do you have any last words, sorcerer?" The question had been asked a thousand times before, but when the king said it, it had a sense of hopelessness in it. It signified that after all, he was his father's son. That there was no more hope to cling on to.
The warlock smirked, his blue eyes filled with madness. He let out a laugh. As if it was the funniest thing in the world. A shiver ran down the king's spine and he wondered what had happened to his friend. To the one without eyes full of hatred, the one with a goofy grin and clumsiness no one could outdo.
"I wonder how long it took you to come up with that one." He sighed. "I've got nothing important to say, really. What about you? Got anything to add? Want to tell me how you thought I was your friend, how this is what I deserve? How you will feel no remorse, no regret, once I'm nothing but a piece of ashes being carried away by the wind?" Silence. "That's what I thought."
And as the sorcerer stood with the wind in his face, his neckerchief hanging loosely around his neck, his piercing blue eyes were the worst thing the king had ever seen. But he didn't protest, he didn't stop it, and he found himself signaling for the pyre to be lit. His face was empty, no emotions visible. But nonetheless, when the warlock's eye fell on the king he once thought would be different, he seemed to be amused.
Amused at the situation. Amused at the people gathered to see him dying. Amused at the flames, burning him by order of the king. Amused at the betrayal in the king's eyes. Amused at the uncertainty.
The fires were growing slowly, threatening to devour him. And for a second, just for a second, a flicker of desperation made the warlock think of rain and how he could easily call upon it. But just for a second.
The unbearable heat was there long before the flames even touched his feet. His brow was covered with sweat as the world seemed to be fading away. He heard his name being called. He only had time to recognize that it wasn't the king's, his former friend's voice. And as the flames devoured him, and his remaining piece of sanity was lost in the fire, he wondered. What did I do wrong?