The platform opened, and the forty prisoners dropped until the ropes snapped taut. Necks snapped with them. He heard screams, not from the executed, but the shocked crowd. Cyrus couldn’t look away. The image burned into him with the same savage fire as when he’d witnessed his parents’ murder. The way their legs kicked. The bulging of their eyes, for none of the forty were hooded. The growing redness of faces of those not instantly killed as the air was choked from their ruined throats.

The signal to start the attack had been the signal to execute the prisoners. No pomp and circumstance. No expected traditions. Just sudden, unheralded death. A maelstrom grew in Cyrus’s breast, twisting with emotions he could not fathom. Betrayal. Confusion. Guilt. It struck his body like a physical force. Energy vibrated throughout his muscles. Time itself slowed. His anger boiled in his blood, hot enough to burn down a city. Too late. Yet again, he was too late.

Footsteps thudded upon the wooden stairs behind him. The trap door creaked open. Cyrus turned to be greeted by laughter, and a grin so wide, it matched his mask’s own.

“There you are, Vagrant,” Imperator Magus of Eldrid said. “Did you enjoy my surprise?”

Cyrus pulled his swords from their sheaths and crouched at the edge of the belfry. Magus came dressed in his full platemail, and he carried his enormous sword and shield. The trap door that allowed access to the top of the tower could not fit his girth, so he casually smashed aside a board with his shoulder as he climbed the last step.

“You monster,” Cyrus seethed in the imperial tongue. If only he had learned more curses and insults during his days in Thorda’s mansion. His knowledge of the imperial language was woefully incapable of conveying his rage.

“Now, now, there is no need for insults. Save your anger for the traitor in your midst, for this glorious day would not be possible without them.”

The sounds of battle erupted behind him, but he dared not take his eyes off his foe. What glimpses he saw from the corners of his eyes were dire. Soldiers approached from all three directions to seal off the crowd. A trap for a trap.

“Those people deserved better,” Cyrus said. “All of Thanet will hear of this cowardice.”

Magus shrugged. It seemed nothing could diminish his grin.

“I do not care if those prisoners died without appropriate grandeur. You’re the island’s real hope, Vagrant, not those wealthy fools pretending at rebellion. Is there no better stage for a duel?” He spread his arms wide. “Let us fight, here and now, while all the city watches.”

Cyrus glanced at the giant bronze bell positioned between them.

“A bit cramped, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Too true. One moment, please.”