Whichever Way The Wind Blows

Whichever Way the Wind Blows

  By Jericho Ambrose

  Cover by Joleene Naylor

  Cover textures by Allyksa & Joleene Naylor

  Copyright 2011

  More information on Jericho Ambrose can be found on the official website:

  www.jerichoambrose.com

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright and License information

  Whichever Way the Wind Blows

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  West of the city of Yon, the sun neared its peak as Pietro, two guards, and their prisoner reached the execution grounds. Duty rarely required the young lord venture this close to the Gale Wall, and Pietro filled with an awe he couldn’t suppress.

  According to the legend, as long as a wall of stone surrounded the Sacred Grove, a mighty wall of wind would protect the city of Yon. It was called The Pact. Now that he was close enough for bits of flung grit to sting his face, Pietro couldn’t ignore the growing panic in his chest. Only a few paces away, and he still couldn't see through the undulating wall of dirt and air.

  Pietro remembered when Badland raiders once tried to push through the Gale Wall. None had penetrated the magical barrier, they merely turned the wall pink for a time. His stomach churned before he could banish the image from his mind.

  His cloak was heavy and unadorned, provided by the guards. Yet, for all their assurances it didn't protect him entirely from the ferocious winds near the city’s magical defense. The thick wool flapped viciously at Pietro's legs, letting in gusts of cold air. The golden embroidery on his cuffs flitted in and out of view as he tried to keep his brown hood secure over his black locks.

  Pietro turned to Edgar, the guard with a pointed goatee his right, and complained in a near whisper, “For the love of The Pact, Edgar. I wasn’t prepared to oversee an execution today.”

  “I believe that is the point of an execution lottery, my lord,” interrupted Marlon, the second guard. “Ever since that rebel’s successful escape, your fellow nobility want to make sure no one was over burdened with such a taxing duty.”

  By the Damned Breeze! Marlon has ears as sharp as he is ugly, Pietro thought. And with that pocked face and broken nose. the man must be able to hear a rat skitter on the other side of the city.

  “I meant, I’m dressed for a day of desk-work, not trekking out to the Gale Wall,” Pietro gestured at what had been freshly laundered, blue linen trousers. Now they were covered in sweat stains and a layer of dust, “It would’ve only required a quick detour for me to change.”

  With a stroke of bad luck, Pietro had drawn the black stone and by current law, he had to watch an execution. Frustration bloomed within him at the prospect of ensuring another rebel died. I didn't even have time to write a note telling the Wind Tamers to attempt a rescue.

  As the group ventured closer, the Gale Wall's howl made it difficult for Pietro to concentrate. The sight of rusty patches of ground made Pietro struggle with his breath for a moment. Edgar, stopped playing with his foolishly pointed goatee -the newest fashion statement to take hold of Yon’s military- and he moved closer to Pietro.

  “My lord, these executions rarely take too long, but we can pause a moment if... you are feeling taxed.” Edgar raised his eyebrows and Pietro felt touched at the concern. Edgar’s daughter had died from the same wheezing disease Pietro still struggled with. Apart from his family, only Edgar knew of Pietro’s condition, and he wished to keep it that way.

  “No Edgar, I am fine, the wind is fierce but not troubling me further than these minor annoyances.”

  Pietro’s gaze turned to the prisoner before him. Flanked by Marlon and Edgar, Kelera looked smaller than she was, though she easily met Pietro’s eyes. Chin up and shoulders straight, she looked calmer than the young lord felt. She somehow managed to look proud with her paltry cloak and bound arms and feet.

  Time to get on with it, I supppose. The young nobleman motioned the guards to a halt so he could speak the words of judgement.

  "Kelera," Pietro shouted to be heard above the winds of the Gale Wall. "Your actions placed every citizen of Yon at risk and threatened The Pact that protects us from the Badlands.

  “You have been judged guilty of high treason by the Council of Yon. The penalty of which, as set forth by the Council, is death by Gale."

  Pietro loosened fists he didn’t know were clenched when he saw the guards shift nervously. Most people didn't have the stomach for this particular punishment. Those who did always made Pietro’s uneasy.

  "The Council of Yon allows you one last opportunity to save yourself from this sentence," Pietro continued. "Give us the names of your comrades, and we will be gracious and let you live the rest of your treasonous life in the towers."

  The prisoner lifted her head, and the hood of her own thin cloak flew back. Kelera moved her bound hands to the flimsy protection, yet seemed to think better of it. Instead, she stared defiantly at Pietro, forcing him to see the pink lines that criss-crossed along her dark, farmer’s face.

  Knives of the Peace Keepers had not made this rebel talk, Pietro doubted the threat of a painful death would motivate her. He was surprised when she cleared her throat.

  “The Gale Wall has been a great defense for Yon,” Kelera spoke, “but over the last century it has become a cage for those under the Council's rule. You lack the cruel face of those on the Council. Surely, you can see that it is time for the Gale Wall to come down?”

  The Gale Wall couldn’t be dug under, the winds always collapsed attempts to tunnel out. Only a small section of granite had proven stable enough: the easily defendable Trade Tunnel. The magical wind had made a gilded cage for those trapped in Yon.

  Pietro stood there as Kelera’s words were swallowed by the tempest. He blamed Georo for his current predicament. Georo’s escape prompted the Council to institute this wind-blasted lottery, and now Pietro couldn’t warn rebels ahead of time to thwart these executions.

  “I wish I could debate the finer points of this with you, but you merely condemn yourself further,” Pietro let the words roll off his tongue, but he needed no convincing. Kelera might be shocked how much he agreed with her. He was, after all, the only nobleman assisting the Wind Tamers in their goal to damage the wall around the Sacred Grove.

  She spat at him and a cruel wind carried it to his face, surprising Pietro. He raised his hand instinctively to slap her, but stopped himself. Instead, he wiped a gloved hand across his nose, clearing the spittle.

  Some instincts are hard to break, he thought, unsure whether he meant the thought more for Kelera or himself.

  “Take her to the edge,” Pietro ordered to Edgar and Marlon. Things were about to get messy, but it was his duty to watch and be sure the winds and dirt did their job. It took only a few minutes for one to succumb to the Gale Wall, but a prisoner could scream for much of that time.

  "No!" she yelled. "No, no! Let me go! Let me go!"

  Pietro firmed his resolve. Twice before, he had watched each rebel act so calm and sure, but always they struggled in their final moments. Pietro had been ill-prepared for today and he would sleep little tonight with a woman's death on his hands.

  "I will speak their names," she cried out, a hair’s breadth from touching the Gale Wall. "I swear it, I will speak their names and I will speak them true!"

  This won't be good, he thought.

  Pietro barked an order to stop the guards. They shoved her to her knees, only a pace from the updrafts of sand. Her red hair tossed violently, a flame proclaiming she still lived.

  "Oh thank The Pact" she coughed. Pietro thought that praise would make the Wind Tamers cringe. "Sweet, merciful winds."

&n
bsp; Pietro knelt down to her and lifted her chin.

  "The names Kelera” Pietro gestured to the churning wall. “The names or the Gale Wall."

  "I only know of two who weren't caught with me in the Council's Chamber," she said, voice breaking as tears blew away. Pietro barely heard her above the whistling of the wind.

  "One is Georo Platt. He was the leader of my group. He managed to escape capture - I'm not sure how - but he should be here with me!" Tears flowed faster than the wind could snatch them. Pietro could not imagine being twice a traitor.

  Georo Platt’s name was not a surprise. The public knew little more about the carpenter-turned-rebel than his name and that he had successfully escaped prior to his execution.

  Yet, if Kelera could be broken, the Council of Yon would wring her dry to learn everything they could about the Wind Tamer’s leader. Pietro considered such usefulness a fate worse than death.

  "And the other," he spoke firmly into her ear. "You said you knew of two, who else has turned their back on their motherland?"