The hooves of Rassen's, Morta's and Lengmach's horses pounded desperately across the cobblestones as they galloped with all haste for the escape that the Northern Gate offered. From behind, the sounds of chaos, of an advancing ill that meant them harm, could be heard. Fires at some points lit up the dusk sky. Rassen didn't have time to contemplate the ironic and philosophical implications of what was happening. Lengmach was though.
"And so the cycle continues turning..."
"Shut up." Rassen was not in the mood for such prattlings, as if he had ever been. "Just keep riding- ah..."
Hooves now skidded on the cobbles as the three came to a sudden stop before their destination at the North Gate. Rassen hollered upwards.
"Open the gate! The Prime Minister himself commands it!" A pause, and then the reply. It was not what Rassen had been expecting, and certainly was far worse.
"We serve the Emperor and Heaven, not the traitorous Prime Minister!" The speaker now appeared on the ramparts. Accompanying him was a company of archers and arquebusiers, their weapons glinting with an unnatural menace in the moon's light.
The scene fell like a dead and heavy wait in the Prime Minister's stomach, a wait that seemed to keep him pinned in place as he watched that terrible glint rise up and take aim in one smooth collective motion...
"Fire!" cried the figure. The twang of bows and the burst of ignited gunpowder replied as a hail of arrows and bullets rained down like a hissing swarm of wasps to their unfortunate figures below. Beside him, Rassen could hear Morta give a weak and pathetic cry as one of the projectiles felled him. He had only an instant to consider this, as a fiery pain moment later cut through his right arm. His horse panicked, he fell amidst the continuing fire from above. Unconsciousness took jealous hold of him.
Dawn rose on an uncannily deep and complete peace the following morning.
In one short night, it was over. Barely a single man had raised their weapons against Osmar and his forces, instead joining with them. The siege at an end, people crawled out from their homes and whatever crevices and nooks they had stolen away in to breathe the air again, to see the light. To see the Emperor's return and to give him an eager welcome. The entire atmosphere seemed to overflow and ooze in oppressive quantities hope, joy, exuberance.
Rassen was being suffocated by it.
Morta had been killed by an arrow through the neck. Lengmach it seemed had escaped the trap, and returned to his home where he had calmly taken his own life. Rassen alone remained to face his indignant grandson.
"So it comes to this Grandfather?"
Rassen said nothing. He looked and felt pathetic. His cloth, hair and beard were all a mess. He felt his very dignity and soul impugned as he kneeled there on the floor, hands bound behind his back. The silence continued. Osmar frowned. Then he shrugged.
"So be it." A motion from the boy, and the old man was unceremoniously dragged from the room and out into the waiting light of day. There the executioners stand awaited him, a wooden monstrosity looming before him. The executioner was waiting, a wicked grin on his face as he idly twiddled with his keen blade. The sober and unmoved bureaucrat who was to read the sentence. Drawing up his last ounces of pride to steel himself for the moment, Rassen knelt before them and waited.
The bureaucrat produced a scroll from his sleeve and unfurled it.
"In this year 2215, the 24th day of the 9th month, his divine majesty and son of Heaven Osmar Anson Dalēn does sentence to death Haryhīn Ismal Rassen, Prime Minister, to death for treason. Such is his divinity's will. Let it be executed swiftly and dutifully."
The executioner raised the sword, and let it fall on its victim. The assembled on lookers cheered, confirming that the will of the Emperor had indeed been executed.
