The sun rose over Marchand casting a sickly yellow light across the soot-stained rooftops. To Lord Hoff the morning was nothing short of glorious. He stood on the high stone balcony of the Governor’s mansion, breathing in the crisp air. True, it was tainted by the smell of woodsmoke and the scent of the funeral pyres burning in the courtyard below, but Hoff knew the smells for what they represented. Victory.

Today was the day Lord Brock would finally hang.

Hoff felt a warm, bubbling excitement in his chest, a physical sensation not unlike the heat of a strong drink. He adjusted the stiff collar of his spotless tunic, smoothing the fine fabric over his chest with a sense of pride. He had spent years enduring Brock’s insults, his public ridicules, and his constant attempts to undermine the Governor’s authority. Brock had been an ever present thorn in Hoff’s side, a loud-mouthed champion of the so called commoners who possessed far too much influence for a man of such disgraced lineage. But now, at last, the thorn was pulled.

Beside him, Governor Risha stood still as a statue. Usually a man of loud tempers and grand gestures, the Governor was strangely quiet this morning. His face was pale, his eyes never resting as they darted back and forth seemingly unable to focus on anything . He looked smaller in his robes of office, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides in a way that betrayed his nerves.

On the other side of the Governor stood Governess Heidi. She was the picture of regal calm, her back straight and her expression frozen in a mask of indifference. She didn't look at the crowd, and she didn't look at the gallows. She simply existed in her space, a monarch judging the ants below.

Hoff felt his own gaze drawn towards the courtyard. A massive crowd had gathered at the border of the garden grounds, packed tight against each other, thousands of them trying to get a sight of Brock’s execution, some climbing nearby trees, others standing on roof tops peering over the wall . It seemed the entire city had emptied itself out to witness this moment.

Hoff saw the crowd and didn't feel fear; he felt opportunity. This was a moment in history that would not be forgotten, and he, Lord Hoff, would be at the center. A perfect Imperial example of royal justice and iron resolve. He wanted every peasant, every laborer, and rat to see what happened to those who dared to betray the Empire. There would be no mercy today. No matter the station, a traitor was a traitor, and the law of Marchand was absolute.

"Look at them," Hoff whispered, leaning slightly toward the Governor. "They’ve come to see us. To see the Emperor’s own justice handed out. This will be a reminder long remembered that none are above our law. Not even that waste of flesh Lord Brock. Soon they’ll be thinking, ‘if they can hang him, how much easier would it be to hang us’. We will be untouchable!"

 

Risha didn't answer. He didn't even seem to hear. His eyes were fixed on a spot near the gallows where the wood glistened with the morning dew stark against the grey stone.

Hoff’s mind drifted to Inquisitor Ash. He felt his heart rate pick up slightly at the thought of the thin man, and Hoff swallowed down the uncertainty as best he could. He had tried to find the Inquisitor earlier that morning to invite him to the execution, wanting the Emperor’s representative to see how efficiently he had handled the conspiracy. But the thin man had seemingly vanished. His quarters were empty, and no one had seen him since the night before.

Admittedly, Hoff hadn't tried very hard to find him. Easier to hang Lord Brock, and then present the confession after the fact than have Lord Brock speak with Inquisitor Ash first. Deep down, he was relieved. It was better this way. Yes, that was the best way. He would carry out the sentence and convince Ash later, once the body was already cold.

Hoff hadn't told the Governor about the Inquisitor’s absence. The man was already far too worried, his temperament swinging between rage and despair in a breath. Hoff told himself he was doing it for the Governor’s benefit, a kindness, really. If Risha knew the Inquisitor was missing, he might call off the hanging, and Hoff couldn't let that happen.

This execution would be proof enough for the Emperor. Decisive justice. That was what the capital wanted, and it would be good enough for the Inquisitor.

Risha muttered something under his breath. Heidi leaned in close to him, her lips moving in a silent whisper. Hoff felt his ears burning, trying to catch the words despite already knowing it would be nothing more than her allaying the Governor’s concerns. Governess Heidi knew what had to be done and would undoubtedly convince her husband; she was after all the architect of this city, and Hoff merely its hands.

At least for now.

Who knew what the future held for him, perhaps he could find his way to power if he could show the Emperor he was the true backbone of justice here. He let the thought simmer a moment then quickly pushed it down; that too would come to pass, in its own time.

Hoff thought back to the night before in the dungeon. He remembered the sound of the jailer’s tools and the way Brock’s screams had filled the narrow corridors. He felt a warm sensation in his stomach. He had dreamed of this for so long, clawing Brock from his damn pedestal and watching the man realize that his charms meant nothing in the face of cold steel. Even more sweet, the wealth and properties Brock had held would be free to claim. The estate of a traitor truly should belong to the crown after all, and who better to dole out the properties than Hoff himself? The Governor certainly wouldn't have the time. He could not stop his smile from blossoming at the thought.

"Let's get this bloody show on the road!" Risha barked abruptly.

The Governor’s voice was loud and jarring in the quiet morning air and Hoff jumped. Risha was looking at him now with a mix of anger and impatience, his face flushed, the paleness replaced by an all too familiar heat.

Heidi turned her head slowly toward her husband. Her composure cracked for just a second, a flicker of something like disdain crossed her features for the barest moment before she turned to face Hoff.

"Lord Hoff, I do believe it is time to commence the festivities," Heidi said, her tone not matching her words. "Please instruct your men to bring out Lord Brock. I don't believe the crowds will grow any larger, so I see no benefit in dragging out the inevitable."

Hoff nodded his self satisfied grin returning to his face. Was there a reason to hide it? He couldn’t think of any. Let the crowds see him. Let them see he was ruthless. Let them see what true power looked like. He turned to the nearest guard, a man standing at attention by the balcony door.

"Fetch the prisoner," Hoff ordered. "Bring Lord Brock to the gallows."

The guard saluted and spun leaving Hoff to bask in his own anticipation. Only a few moments longer and Brock would be dancing to Hoff’s tune, a melodious and wonderful thing.

With the guards departure the three of them stood in silence. The commoners below were mostly quiet, a low murmur rising from them like the sound of distant water. But like distant water crashed on a beach, so too did their words crash without effect against the stone railing that Hoff looked out from. The Governor might be the Emperor’s anointed, but that wouldn't last forever. Hoff was made for greatness, he could feel it within him, a boundless energy.

After what seemed an eternity three guards appeared from the side entrance of the mansion, down in the courtyard. They were dragging something between them.

Hoff squinted, leaning over the stone railing. The figure was slumped, head lolling against its chest. He supposed it must’ve been Lord Brock, but from this distance, Hoff could see little more than a broken mess of meat. His fine clothes were little more than rags, and his limbs hung limp with an unnatural looseness, twisted and ungainly.

Hoff wondered briefly if the jailer had gone too far the night before after he had left with the confession. Brock didn't look like he could even stand, let alone understand what was happening. But Hoff shrugged the thought away, in a way it made his revenge even sweeter knowing that Brock wouldn't have the chance to waste their time with one of his long-winded, arrogant speeches about imaginary rights and perceived injustices.

He imagined Brock trying to speak with a ruined mouth, trying to make sense to a confused crowd. It would have been a hilarious sight, but this brought his smile to full bloom. A perfect irony. Hoff craned his neck, trying to see which of the blows had finally shattered the man’s body. He would need to make use of the jailer more often and give the man a few of Brock’s trinkets. It was hard to find good men, and when one was found it was important to retain their skills.

Down in the crowd, the murmur began to change. It grew louder, taking on a sharper tone. Hoff felt a thrill. They were seeing their hero now, the total humiliation of the man they had cheered for.

"Look at him," Hoff chuckled, voice low. "The great champion of the Council. Reduced to a sack of meat not even worth pissing on."

Beside him, Governor Risha let out a sound that wasn't a laugh. It was a low, incredulous grunt. Hoff felt the Governor’s eyes boring into the side of his head.

"Bastard," Risha roared. “You couldn't even wait a day to see him swing?”

Hoff blinked, startled. He turned just in time to see the Governor’s fist.

The blow caught Hoff square in the jaw. Stars exploded in his vision and his head snapped back. He stumbled, his boots scuffing against the balcony floor. He pulled back instinctively, raising his hands to protect his face, expecting a second strike.

But the violence stopped. Hoff slowly opened his eyes, his jaw throbbing with a sharp agony. He saw Heidi clutching Risha’s arm, her thin fingers digging into his sleeve to restrain him. She was looking at Hoff, too, but her expression wasn't one of concern. It was a look of cold, murderous fury that made Hoff’s blood turn cold; this was a look far more terrifying than the Governor’s punch.

"You damn fool," Heidi snarled, her voice unlike anything he had heard from the normally reserved woman. “No one who sees this will feel fear, or see that justice is being done.”

Hoff touched his jaw, his fingers coming away with a smear of blood. He didn't understand. Why were they angry? He had done exactly what they wanted. He had broken the traitor, and now held the pieces up for the crowd to witness.

The murmur in the crowd was rising to a roar now. It wasn't the sound of ridicule; it was something else, an angry, chanting that Hoff couldn't quite make out. He looked back down at the courtyard. The guards and the executioner were hoisting the body onto the gallows platform.

"What is the problem?" Hoff spoke, a feeling of indignity spurring his words on. "Lord Brock is a traitor. He’s being executed. This is no more than what we planned."

"He’s dead, you idiot!" Risha yelled, his face turning a dangerous shade of red. "Look at him! He’s already dead!"

Hoff looked. He really looked this time. The body on the platform didn't move. Even as the executioner placed the noose around its neck, the head did not lift, nor did the chest heave with the fright of a man facing down death.

"You've turned a traitor into a martyr," Heidi said, her voice trembling, something Hoff could not place. Some emotion dredged up and plastered across her face that did not suit her.

Hoff looked out at the crowd. The commoners weren't just watching anymore. They were jostling the guards at the perimeter, shouting obscenities, and glaring up at their balcony.

Hoff shook his head, still not sure why the two were so worked up. "It doesn't matter," he insisted. "My guards can handle anything a few peasants can throw. A little steel will settle them down. We’ve seized hundreds of them already; they won't dare move."

The executioner stood on the platform, his scarred face looking up toward the balcony. He looked uncertain. He held the lever in his hand, but he was hesitating, his eyes darting toward the angry mob separated only by a thin line of guards.

Risha and Heidi were occupied, staring out at the crowd with growing horror. The executioner was waiting for his orders, and they were not giving it.

Hoff felt a surge of ambition. If they wouldn't lead, he would. He would show them that he wasn't afraid. He would show the crowd that the Governor’s office still had teeth. He didn't need a poetic speech. He didn't need to read the charges. Everyone knew why they were here. They were here for a show, and he was going to give it to them.

What did it matter if Brock was already a corpse? A body swinging in the wind was a message that everyone could understand, even the dullest lowborn. The bloodlust Hoff felt was a hot thing in his veins, and he knew the crowd felt it too. They wanted blood, and damned if he wouldn’t give it to them.

Hoff stepped to the edge of the railing, his chest swelling. He took a deep breath and screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice carrying over the roar of the mob.

"Let's let him swing!"

The executioner flinched at the command. He looked at the broken form of Brock, held up only by the two guards flanking him. Then, without a word, the executioner pulled the lever.

The trapdoor dropped open with a sharp, wooden crack that echoed impossibly around the plaza, and the body fell. It didn't kick. It didn't struggle. It simply dropped through the hole and snapped to a halt at the end of the rope.

Despite his earlier excitement Hoff found the sight oddly underwhelming. It wasn't the dramatic image he had seen in his mind. The body just hung there, limp and grey, swaying slightly in the breeze. The crowd went deathly silent for a single, long heartbeat.

Hoff could hear ragged breathing beside him. He turned and saw Risha sitting down in a stone chair, clutching his chest. The Governor’s face had gone white, and sweat was pouring down his forehead. Heidi was fawning over him, her own face a near perfect match to his, her own hands shaking as she tried to loosen his collar.

They were weak, Hoff thought. They were getting worked up over nothing. He felt a swelling of triumph. This was his moment. He would be the one to show the city his true quality. He would be the strong one. If the hanging alone wouldn’t sate their violence he could give them something different.

"Let's give the crowd some blood!" Hoff screamed, his voice cracking with excitement at his own words. "Chop that traitor to pieces! Feed his body to the crows!"

The executioner froze. He looked up at Hoff with an expression of pure, unmasked disbelief. He made no move to touch the body.

But the jailer, Ruthard, had no such hesitation. A good man that one; he was already on the platform, eyes wide and hungry. He drew a small knife from his belt and stepped toward the swinging corpse and began to carve with a practiced efficiency..

Hoff grinned and rested his hands on the railing, just taking in the sight. Now this was a show. This was what Marchand deserved. He watched as the first pieces began to rain down into the dirt below the gallows. He had always liked to watch Ruthard work; the man had a real way with steel.

The murmur of the crowd returned, but it wasn't a murmur anymore. It was a roar that shook the very foundation of the balcony. Hoff didn't look at them. He was focused on the bloody heap on the platform. He felt joy then. He should have done this years ago to the bastard.

A sharp, piercing scream split the air.

Hoff’s heart jumped. For a second, he thought Brock wasn't dead after all. He felt a thrill course through his body, so the bastard had been faking!

But then there was another scream then, and another. Then came the sound of metal rending, the clashing of steel on steel, and the frantic shouting of men in pain.

Hoff turned his head, confused. He scanned the sea of faces below.

Only then did he understand the Governor’s terror, only then did he feel the color drain from his own face. The crowd was no longer contained, his iron wall of soldiers had broken and even as he watched they were being swept away as easily as leaves in a storm.

At first, it was only a few dozen commoners breaking through. The guards cut them down easily, their swords flashing in the sun. But for every peasant who fell, three more appeared. They were climbing over the breached walls. They were rushing the inner gates. They were coming from everywhere.

"You've killed us," Risha said.

His voice was different, there was no rage now. Only a flat monotone, as if he were discussing the price of grain or the weather. He just sat in the chair, staring blankly at the chaos below.

"So this is how we fall," Risha continued. He let out a short, dry chuckle that turned into a strained laugh.

"A rat. A worthless, trash-eating rat has brought my world to its knees. We don't have the soldiers to fight the entire city, Hoff, we never have. Certainly not all at once."

Heidi was shaking now, her regal mask completely shattered. She was clutching Risha’s arm so tightly her knuckles were white.

Hoff now felt his fear falling into a deep panic, a cold, paralyzing thing that seized his body. He looked down and saw the mob moving through the last of the courtyard guards. The commoners were armed with scythes, hammers, and rusted swords. They weren't a crowd anymore; they were monsters.

Hoff tried to swallow, to alleviate the tightness. But he could not. He rubbed his eyes furiously, a strange feeling of dissociation settling over him. It felt like he was watching a play, like he wasn't really standing on this balcony.

Heidi finally found her voice. It shook, but some of her old steel had returned. She didn't look at Hoff. She looked at a guard standing near the door.

"Find Captain Arella," she commanded. "Find him now. Tell him to watch over my daughter. He is to get Ester out of this city, whatever the cost. Do you understand?"

Risha let out a strangled sob, reaching out to clutch Heidi’s hand. His eyes were brimming with tears. The guard hesitated, looking toward the Governor for confirmation.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Risha snapped, his old voice returning for one final flash of authority. "The Governess gave you an order! Get out of here while your head is still attached!"

The guard didn't wait for a third order. He turned and fled from the balcony.

Hoff looked down at the base of the mansion. The last pocket of elite guards was holding the main entrance, but they were being pushed back. The doors wouldn't hold for long. The sound of the mob was deafening now, drawing nearer with every breath.

In that instant Hoff realized he did not need to die here. He didn't have to sit in a chair and wait for the end like Risha.

He turned to the Governor and gave a stiff nod.

"I will assist Captain Arella," Hoff lied, his voice steady despite the hammering of his heart. "I will make sure the Lady Ester is safe."

Risha didn't answer. He didn't even look up. He was just gazing at his wife, and she was gazing back at him, their hands locked together as their world burned.

Hoff didn't give them a second thought. He turned and fled the balcony, his boots thudding against the carpeted hallway. He wasn't thinking about justice. He wasn't thinking about the Empire. He was thinking about the secret tunnels in the wine cellar and the small house that he owned under a different name, useful for the occasional tryst, and even more so in the event of revolution.

He was Lord Hoff, and he was a survivor. As he ran through the darkening corridors of the mansion, the screams of the crowd following him like a rolling tide. In that moment he knew only one thing for certain: the rule of monarchs was over. But he didn't have to be. He would find a way to turn this to his advantage. He always did.