There were many people gathered in the square.
"Executions are rare here." Gilaine informed me, her bare arm pressed against mine in throng of people. "We are too useful a commodity." she sent sadly. From a slaver's point of view, a Talented Misfit was the most dangerous type of slave: their bodies could be obeying orders whilst their minds organised rebellion. With the Entina pit available to take any regular rebels, I thought darkly, no wonder executions were reserved only for those dangerous few who must be disposed of quickly.
I shuddered, trying to remain composed enough to think of a plan. Matthew had stayed behind in the hovel under protest, and only because I had pointed out that if he were recognised, he would endanger any rescue operation I could muster. But I was not yet sure what I could do, and even if I managed to free Dameon, where could I possibly run with him in this crowd?
There was a raised wooden dais illuminated by ensconced torches. A tall machine made of wood, with a metal blade affixed to its height was in the centre of the stage, and a few squat woven stools sat to one side of it. Two burly men sat on them with arms folded, but the third was empty. "Sometimes Salamander sits there." Gilaine's mind whispered.
The younger of the two overseers looked out over the sea of faces, and then stood up, brushing the sand dust off his clothes, and came to address the crowd with a cruel smile. Silence spread like a wave."We have gathered you here to witness the death of a heinous plotter and traitor to our lands, guilty of that vilest of acts – witchcraft!" a gasp went up about the crowd. He twisted his lip. "Bring out the condemned!"
A guard brought out the chained prisoner, whose face was hidden by a black sack. I tried to access Dameon's mind, but my probe wasn't locating, there was a buzzing static which told me the prisoner was wearing a demon band, or something like it. But as they shuffled forward, I realised something was wrong. The prisoner wasn't tall enough to be Dameon!
But then who could the Misfit be? Their hands were pale, whoever they were. I looked at Gilaine but she simply sent "I do not know. I don't think it is one of us. But surely a Misfit still needs our help?"
Her gentle reproach lit a fire under me. I had been so caught up in fate and the pressing need of our quest, I had quite forgotten that a person – a Talented Misfit – was about to be executed unless I did something. I started weaving closer to the front of the crowd, dragging Gilaine behind me. The guard was now approaching the dais, and the prisoner was evidently struggling. As the whole guard train stumbled, the prisoner fell and the sack slid forward. I got a glimpse of long, red hair.
Dragon.
They pushed her roughly up the stairs and then began strapping her facedown into the tall wooden machine. I could see her wrists struggling against the bindings, and the guard gave her a sharp blow across the back of her head. I suppressed a wave of nausea as I imagined what have happened to the others waiting with her, and sent urgently to Gilaine: "That machine – what does it do?" she simply sent me back a memory of that blade, sliding down on a rope and slicing across the victim's neck, cutting head from body. There was a sickening thud as the black bag fell on the floor.
I watched in a red haze as the overseer raised his hand to the crowd, and then turned over his shoulder to see if Dragon was securely in place. The guards stepped back from her, laughing to hear the snarling sounds coming from the bag. The overseer looked out to the crowd, after a showman's pause, dropped his hand.
The blade fell.
"No!" I screamed, feeling the surge of my black sword inside me. It spun out like a whip and for a terrifying moment I thought I might have killed Dragon myself. I lurched forward, steadying myself of Gilaine, as someone screamed.
"A witch!" said one of the terrified slaves. I followed her pointing finger.
My sword had shattered the blade mid-flight into a thousand metal splinters. The overseers had jumped off the dais in fright, and were picking shards of metal out of their arms. In a flash, someone ran nimbly over the outer wall fence and swooped down on the prostrate Dragon, cutting her tetherings with a knife. It was Matthew.
"Behold!" he said, pulling the sack off Dragon's head and shuffling her forward into the light. "They were tryin' to murder the Red Queen!" He wrenched something from around her neck and then her hair fluttered out in the warm desert air. There was no mistaking who she was.
On impulse, I reached out to a mind not far from mine, and coerced them.
"Long live the Queen!" called the middle-aged slave with shaggy brown hair.
"Long live the Queen!" answered someone in the back of their own accord.
A chorus of cheers and rumbling swelled in the assembly before us, and although they were receptive, it was unclear whether they yet believed Dragon was their long lost Queen. The overseers made to scramble onto the stage and grab Matthew and Dragon, but half-way they cowered back in fright, cringing as though something fearful was after them.
I chuckled. Dragon must be coercing them.
I pushed my way to the front of the crowd, Gilaine in tow. I saw others move, and was surprised to see Jow materialise out of the shadows. We ranged around the foot of the dais, between her and the crowd.
"Elspeth!" Dragon cried as she saw me.
Matthew stood protectively beside her with a dagger in his hand, every muscle rigid. His voice rang out: "Will ye nowt hear what yer Queen commands of ye?"
Jow and Analivia pushed through the crowd and threw a bundle to me, wrapped in cloth. All at once I knew what it was, and who I needed to give it to. I scaled the stage and bowed before Dragon, letting her open the parcel and draw forth the stone sword. She held it fiercely above her head.
Silence swept through the crowd, and one by one, the slaves dropped to their knees, bowing.
"What do you want of us?" A young blonde slave at the front asked plaintively.
I was fearful of what Dragon would reply – for all she was the daughter of a queen, she was still part-wild, unused to courtesies and crowds, but a curious knowing sparkled in her eyes.
All at once, I felt certain that when she had awoken from her coma,she had remembered whatever it was she had kept locked behind the wall of her mind.
"My people." She said, her voice somehow richer "I come to fulfil a promise. A promise made by my mother, Queen Ulaanbria. I speak the words. I want you to rise and be free!"
The slaves stood as one.
"To the Palace!" she cried, waving the stone sword in the air. The slaves turned and crushed through the courtyards, thundering in the direction of the palace. Dragon sprang from the stage like a warrior with Matthew in tow, and the pair raced to the front of the surging mass.
Left alone in the empty square, Gilaine, Jow, Analivia and I looked at each other.
"Where is Salamander's stronghold?" I asked sharply.
Jow turned to look at me. "By the palace."
My eyes widened. "We must go. Now."