cabinet concealed in the corner of the room between two large shelves. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he produced a long, thin key. He unlocked the door, reached inside, and pulled out a black bottle the size of my pinkie finger. After locking the door, he came over and carefully placed the bottle on the palm of my hand.
“I have some advice for you,” he said, drumming his fingers on the counter. “This man disposes of people for a living. Try to avoid asking him any questions, and don’t make eye contact.”
My heart pounded just thinking about the task before me. “I understand.”
“You better be on your way. He’s expecting someone to deliver it at any minute.”
With shaking hands, I hid the bottle under my leather vest. The apothecary crept out from behind the counter, shoving me out of his shop and onto the street, closing and bolting the door behind me.
I shivered, wanting to forget the feel of his fingers digging into my shoulders. Folding my hands under my arms, I took the main road that led straight to the center of town. Nearing the Town Square, the street became unusually packed.
Walking shoulder to shoulder with dozens of people filtering into the Town Square, I tried to listen to the conversations of those around me. Many whispered the word execution . I froze, not wanting to witness something so heinous. People bumped into me, pushing me forward into the open cobblestone area.
The Town Square was approximately one hundred feet by one hundred feet wide, surrounded by shops. A wooden platform was situated in the middle. A man dressed in black holding an ax stood atop it. My stomach lurched. I’d never witnessed an execution before. There hadn’t been any gossip in my building and, hopefully, it was no one I knew. This was another reason my father insisted the area be avoided at all cost.
Making my way through the crowd of at least three hundred people, I searched for the man dressed in a fur-trimmed jacket, hoping he’d stand out and I’d find him before the prisoner was brought forth.
A hush descended over the crowd as the king’s personal guard—men dressed in solid black with the royal crest embroidered on their tunics—marched into the Town Square, clearing a path between the people, directly to the execution platform. A clattering sound arose as a shiny black carriage with its curtains drawn shut rode through the open area the soldats had created. When the carriage turned, the painted crest of the king, Morlet Forseve shone. Even though we lived in the capital where the king’s primary residence was located, Morlet rarely made public appearances. He spent most of his time scouring the various towns in the kingdom of Nelebek, searching for the Krigers.
The carriage pulled to a stop before the platform, and a footman opened the door. A figure dressed in a black cape that covered his head and body emerged. He glided up the stairs and spoke briefly with the executioner. I stood on my toes, trying to get a better look.
No one in the Town Square spoke.
“What’s going on?” I whispered to the man standing next to me.
“The king ordered the execution of the man who aided Kriger Henrik before he was imprisoned two seasons ago.”
Legend stated that when Morlet used dark magic and came into power, twelve warriors, known as Krigers, were born. Krigers had special abilities and magical weapons. When all twelve Krigers came together and united their powers, they would be strong enough to defeat Morlet. Papa told me that at first, Morlet hunted down and killed the Krigers. However, every time he killed one, a new one was born. The only way for him to end the Krigers was to kill all twelve at the same time, when their powers were linked, thus ending the Order of the Krigers forever.
And now, the king had eleven of the twelve imprisoned.
Although I’d never known or met a Kriger before, every night I wished I’d see the day they came together and killed the king. If Morlet was
“I have some advice for you,” he said, drumming his fingers on the counter. “This man disposes of people for a living. Try to avoid asking him any questions, and don’t make eye contact.”
My heart pounded just thinking about the task before me. “I understand.”
“You better be on your way. He’s expecting someone to deliver it at any minute.”
With shaking hands, I hid the bottle under my leather vest. The apothecary crept out from behind the counter, shoving me out of his shop and onto the street, closing and bolting the door behind me.
I shivered, wanting to forget the feel of his fingers digging into my shoulders. Folding my hands under my arms, I took the main road that led straight to the center of town. Nearing the Town Square, the street became unusually packed.
Walking shoulder to shoulder with dozens of people filtering into the Town Square, I tried to listen to the conversations of those around me. Many whispered the word execution . I froze, not wanting to witness something so heinous. People bumped into me, pushing me forward into the open cobblestone area.
The Town Square was approximately one hundred feet by one hundred feet wide, surrounded by shops. A wooden platform was situated in the middle. A man dressed in black holding an ax stood atop it. My stomach lurched. I’d never witnessed an execution before. There hadn’t been any gossip in my building and, hopefully, it was no one I knew. This was another reason my father insisted the area be avoided at all cost.
Making my way through the crowd of at least three hundred people, I searched for the man dressed in a fur-trimmed jacket, hoping he’d stand out and I’d find him before the prisoner was brought forth.
A hush descended over the crowd as the king’s personal guard—men dressed in solid black with the royal crest embroidered on their tunics—marched into the Town Square, clearing a path between the people, directly to the execution platform. A clattering sound arose as a shiny black carriage with its curtains drawn shut rode through the open area the soldats had created. When the carriage turned, the painted crest of the king, Morlet Forseve shone. Even though we lived in the capital where the king’s primary residence was located, Morlet rarely made public appearances. He spent most of his time scouring the various towns in the kingdom of Nelebek, searching for the Krigers.
The carriage pulled to a stop before the platform, and a footman opened the door. A figure dressed in a black cape that covered his head and body emerged. He glided up the stairs and spoke briefly with the executioner. I stood on my toes, trying to get a better look.
No one in the Town Square spoke.
“What’s going on?” I whispered to the man standing next to me.
“The king ordered the execution of the man who aided Kriger Henrik before he was imprisoned two seasons ago.”
Legend stated that when Morlet used dark magic and came into power, twelve warriors, known as Krigers, were born. Krigers had special abilities and magical weapons. When all twelve Krigers came together and united their powers, they would be strong enough to defeat Morlet. Papa told me that at first, Morlet hunted down and killed the Krigers. However, every time he killed one, a new one was born. The only way for him to end the Krigers was to kill all twelve at the same time, when their powers were linked, thus ending the Order of the Krigers forever.
And now, the king had eleven of the twelve imprisoned.
Although I’d never known or met a Kriger before, every night I wished I’d see the day they came together and killed the king. If Morlet was
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