Caledan had paid a visit to the Prince and Pauper the night before to get some information and to make a few arrangements for today. Cormik had been happy to oblige.
"Anything to put a little vinegar in Lord Cutter's wine," he had said with a raucous laugh. He gave Caledan the name and residence of the priest who was to speak the final rites over the prisoners before the execution. The priest was a disciple of Cyric, a god devoted to murder and lies as surely as Oghma was the deity of knowledge and illumination. Cormik had learned that many of the Zhentarim in the city worshiped Cyric in secret, abominable ceremonies of blood and fire. Ravendas herself was rumored to be a follower of the dark god, though Caledan doubted that. Ravendas was not the kind of woman who would kneel before anyone, even a god.
The priest's tower stood on the east side of the Tor. Caledan rapped on the door, and a scar-faced guard answered. Scant moments later Tyveris was muttering a prayer over the guard's body while Caledan quietly shut the door. He bent down and pulled his dagger from the man's chest, cleaning it on the guard's uniform.
They found the priest of Cyric sleeping in a lavishly decorated bedroom high in the tower. They had encountered a few servants on the way up, but these had hurriedly scurried away after one look at Caledan and Tyveris. Apparently there was little bravery among followers of the evil god.
The priest was in for a rude awakening.
"What in the Abyss!" he cried, throwing off his bedclothes and trying to scramble to his feet. "In the name of Cyric, I command you to-"
“To what?" Tyveris asked a moment later, standing over the priest's limp body. The big Tabaxi's fist hadn't left much of the man's now-bloodied nose intact.
Caledan regarded Tyveris curiously. "I thought you said you had given up fighting."
"The gods didn't give us swords, Caledan, so I won't use one," Tyveris said solemnly. "But the gods did give us fists," he added slyly.
They bound and gagged the groaning priest of Cyric, then rummaged through a cherrywood wardrobe until they found his dark purple ceremonial robes. Luckily the priest had led a soft life, and his garments were rather roomy. Tyveris tried on the garb. The fit wasn't perfect, but it would do.
"Let's get out of here," Caledan said, stuffing the priest's robes into a sack.
The sun stood high overhead in the azure sky. It was time for the execution.
Caledan lay low against the stones of a weathered, lichen-covered bridge that spanned from tower to tower high above an open plaza. Thirty feet directly below him stood the gallows, a tall platform reached by a set of narrow wooden steps. A half-dozen nooses dangled from the stout crossbeam. It was to be a multiple hanging. Ferret was just one of the unlucky ones.
Seven years ago the plaza had been called the Fountain Square, but it had been unofficially renamed under Cutter's rule. Now it was called the Scarlet Square, for all too often the gutters ran, not with water, but with blood.
Two gigantic statues carved of ancient gray stone stood facing each other at opposite ends of the square. These, too were Ravendas's additions. Each of the statues stood at least fifteen feet high on a basalt throne. The Gray Watchers Caledan had heard them called. One was carved in the image of a stern-looking man, the other a regal woman. The king and queen of cruelty, both wore circlets of stone upon their brows. Rumor had it Ravendas had discovered them in the ruins of an ancient keep in the Sunset Mountains to the west and had them transported here to keep watch over her executions.
Caledan turned his gaze away from the forbidding statues. They chilled his blood just to look at them.
A crowd was beginning to gather in the square. Eight guards led by a Zhentarim captain stood before the gibbet, keeping the folk away. The crowd's mood was hostile, and it was clear they would have torn the gallows down but for Cutter's guards standing there, hands on the hilts of their swords.
Caledan squinted up at the sun. It was almost time. Cor-mik had made his promised arrangements. Even now, a man-one of Cormik's agents-stood by one of the three archways leading into the square, hawking ale for the hanging. Several wooden casks were stacked around him, though he did not seem to be doing a very good business. Perhaps it was because he was closer to the guards than to the cityfolk.
An angry murmur rose up from the crowd as four heavily armed guards led a half-dozen shackled prisoners into the square. One woman counted among the unfortunate Prisoners, all of whom looked pale and wan. The last prisoner who came into view was Ferret.
The old rascal hadn't changed a bit. A small, wiry man, his dark, beady eyes glittered sharply, and his thin nose almost visibly twitched as he looked from side to side- obviously searching for a means of escape. One of the guards shoved him brutally from behind. A grimace of pain crossed his face, but despite the hobbles about his ankles Ferret managed to keep himself from falling. Caledan swore under his breath.
The prisoners were pushed up the narrow steps of the platform. A monstrously obese, black-hooded executioner covered their heads with hoods of sackcloth and slipped nooses about their necks. The guards returned to the plaza to help keep the crowd away.
A startling figure strode into the square then, a massive man clad in the thick, deep purple robes of a disciple of Cyric, his face lost in the shadows of his cowl. A pall fell over the crowd. Even the guards exchanged nervous looks. Caledan bit his tongue to keep from laughing aloud. He hoped this little masquerade wasn't going to get Tyveris in trouble with his god.
The massive figure made his way through the crowd and ascended the steps of the gallows ceremoniously. He paused before each of the prisoners in turn, weaving his hands in arcane patterns and whispering strange words.
Finally Tyveris arrived at his place next to the executioner. He turned and spread his arms out to the crowd in a gesture of benediction. "Let this be an example to you all!" he boomed to the crowd. "In the end, the gods will punish all transgressors, and there is but one punishment!" The cityfolk murmured with fear. Taking this as his signal, the executioner reached for the lever that would drop the floor of the platform out from beneath the prisoners.
Only his hand never reached it. With a swiftness impressive in one so huge, Tyveris grabbed the executioner by the belt and heaved him off the platform. The man's scream ended in a wet, sickening thud as he hit the cobblestones fifteen feet below. Shouting, several guards clambered up the steps to the platform. Tyveris gripped the top of the steps and pulled, his straining muscles ripping through the purple ceremonial robes. Nails groaned. Tyveris wrenched the steps loose and with a grunt heaved them to the pavement. The guards fell in a tangle. The crowd erupted in screams as people tried to flee the plaza.
Abruptly a hissing sound cut through the air. A flaming arrow sped from the window of an abandoned tower on the edge of the square, striking one of the ale seller's wooden casks. The ale seller himself was suddenly nowhere to be seen. Caledan looked up in time to see Mari, her face hard with concentration, loose a second arrow from her perch high in the derelict tower. The Harper's timing was as good as her aim.
The second flaming arrow struck another wooden cask. For a moment the arrows burned into the wood as the guards nearby stared in puzzlement. Then the casks exploded in a blossom of brilliant, fiery light. The towers around the square swayed on their foundations. A half-dozen guards flew through the air like strange, dark birds, and when they landed they did not rise again. The square plunged into chaos. Half of the guards were dead, the others stunned. Tyveris was cutting the prisoners free of their nooses and lowering them down to the ground, where they escaped easily in the confusion.