The Headsman Commeth

The early morn was heralded by avian choirs in rejoicing chorus, as the darkness of the night was cast aside to the favor of a new day. Amidst a winding road, though well laid was little more than earthy composition, two horsemen rode at the gallop scarcely seen amidst the auroral haze of the sunrise.

Riding slightly ahead of the other was a man of five-and-twenty, clad in blake and sable attire, masked and top-hatted, equipped in dark leather armor that fit well to his stout frame. Only a white cravat contrasted this ensemble save for his fair complexion, stone-gray eyes and umber mane. His mount was a mighty destrier, tireless and stalwart, upon which hung saddle bags containing supplies and ammunition as well as holsters for a rifle, shotgun and a mighty blade that signified the manner of his office: A Sword of Justice.

Yes, this was Konrad Mydlar. Imperial Executioner of Magvaria and Adjutor of the Prince-Regent. Trailing and to his right was his Lictor, Rayk, an apprentice and servant who was a plucky lad of fourteen. He had come into the service of Konrad following his condemnation as a thief and cut purse, offenses that normally would have seen his hands parted from him. When offered the chance to spare himself this mutilation, in exchange for fealty to a headsman, Rayk took the mercy of a social outcast rather than live life as a man maimed.

They had arrived at the border to Nordemars. Demesne of Count Alarik Eisenvary, an austere man of immense prestige and influence whose lands were now beset by a most troubling pestilence. At the personal behest of the Prince-Regent Bohdan, Konrad and Rayk were to render whatever assistance they could in aiding the Count in restoring peace and order to his fief. The Prince’s words still hung in their minds when he stamped his Imperial Seal upon the warrant Konrad now carried in his breast pocket.

“Count Alarik will not receive you well, at first, macabre figure that you are. But if his dispatches are as desperate as they seem, that desperation may yield the fruit of appreciation at your presence.”

May yield but very likely not. Unlike many of his station, Konrad was respected in a way of speaking. Peasant and noble alike approved of the manner in which he carried out the duties of his mantle. With piety, decorum and competence. Judged well by the verity that he pursues not the supplements of income characteristic to his colleagues: which is that of whore-mongering, racketeering and knackery. Rather he was always well employed in the auxiliary professions of thief-taker, beast-hunter and ironically: physician. Disposed towards healing either those not of adequate means or those who wish to keep their ailments surreptitious. Above all he is the Crown's man, an agent who will carry out missions of such hazard and sensitivity that His Highness would trust none other. The Ecclesia too, seeks him out, for he is a premier exorcist. Yet for all this he is cautiously ostracized.

And for what reason? Partly be for his sullied trade, mostly be that he is a Corbanite. An adherent of the Cult of Saint Corban, a controversial veneration of the Kalarian Ecclesia. This, and the powers gained by such veneration, garners the suspicion of his co-religionists and outright hostility by the Metarytes. For as a Corbanite he is able to harness demons using his own soul as a spiritual bind to enslave malevolent spirits. Utilizing their energies, in turn, for his own designs: restoration of wounds, diabolical strength and infernal magics to name but a few.

In short, Konrad was an enigma. A source of curiosity, but a guarded one. For he is respected, but not loved.

***

They stopped, reining in their steeds to scan the landscape ahead of them. To their right, a river flowed down a gentle slope before ending at a pond in the midst of a village roughly a score and twelve in domiciles. To the left of the main road a Kalarian Church resided, it’s spire modest yet reaching towards Elysium. And further beyond were farmsteads and fields as far as the eye could see until the slight silhouette of mountains could be observed along the verge. To the west was a great wood. From their vantage point artificial groves could seen pockmarked throughout the forest, the stubs of felled trees indicating the work of busy woodsmen.

“Steinovice,” Rayk said simply, gesturing towards the village with a map in hand. “Count’s manor shouldn’t be far from here.”

Rayk inhaled roughly before casting forth a rheum onto the road. “One of them anyway.”

Konrad said nothing but stared intently at the forest for a moment before spurring his horse into a trot. The sun was setting by the time they arrived in the village proper, the quieter rhythms of rustic life on display as smoke curled from chimneys with the evening fires. The scent of stewed meat, bread and ale danced throughout the cobbled streets and many a man stopped by the local tavern while wives and women called children back from play and resigned themselves to their sewing circles. Konrad and Rayk’s presence was noticed immediately, for no small reason of course. Villagers peered at them openly, some with awe, others guarded and many more disdainful at the presence of a headsman, yet even the latter seemed to have a dark curiosity.

Stopping at the tavern which also served as the local inn, Konrad and Rayk dismounted and tethered their horses. Before they could enter however, the tavern keeper erupted from the front door.

“By the saints! Come, come I gotta nice spot picked out for ya in the corner away from everyone else. Ya’ll be wanting drink eh? Meat? Aye I’ve got it all. Just sit over there by the window eh? Yes, yes perfect!”

Konrad was somewhat relieved, a feeling mutually shared by Rayk as he gestured towards the tavern keeper who was buzzing around like a man who struck gold.

“Guess we lucked out eh?” he grinned. “He’ll be selling every tankard that touches your lips. Black-bent fucker.”

It often went one of two ways whenever Konrad and Rayk entered a town. Either they would be begged to leave for fear of their uncleanliness and corruption, or they would be welcomed heartily by entrepreneurs who would sell souvenirs of their visit to morbid clients. There would also be those who would pay to be able to look at an executioner without having to be on the receiving end of corporal punishment. In such instances Konrad played along. Even selling grim trinkets of his own to those in the market for hands of glory, rope from a hanged man’s noose and medicines among other things.

A barmaid approached nervously with plates of food and mugs of ale. Konrad, with his index finger, drew down the mask that covered the lower half of his face, revealing a most handsome visage that was both regal and statuesque. The poor girl stopped a beat, brown eyes transfixed for a few moments before laying the plates and mugs before them as Konrad removed his hat.

Smiling, Konrad offered her an Aurum Sol, a gold coin that was worth twenty silver Argent Lune that was in turn worth twelve copper Cuprum Celests. Though most folk simply referred to these coins as Sols, Lunes and Celests respectively. The barmaid smiled and accepted the coin eagerly, not just because of it’s worth as currency but because a coin touched by the hand of an executioner was said to carry powers that could drive away disease and evil spirits. She could sell the coin herself for twice it’s actual worth and thus was worth a small fortune.

Outside, people watched through the window unashamedly while Rayk and Konrad ate, all the while the tavern keeper bellowed:

“Come and see! Come and see! He’s here! The Purveyor of the Block! The Lord of the Noose! Bearer of the Torch! Master of the Wheel! Come and see Konrad Mydlar, the Imperial Executioner!”

Rayk could not help but chuckle.

“Strange, isn’t it?” he asked. “Not a few moments ago some of them were looking like they’d sooner gut us than feed us. Now, they all gawk like we’re a couple of peacocks on stage.”

Konrad was silent. He usually was and Rayk had made peace with that long ago. He often joked that he was merely talking to himself most of the time, but Konrad spoke more with his eyes than with his tongue. And so Rayk could often tell what his master was thinking just by his mannerisms alone. It wasn’t that Konrad was mute, it was just that he only spoke if there was something that truly needed to be said.

They ate their meal peacefully, trying their best to ignore the onlookers until a man approached them in haste and desperation, falling to his knees before Konrad.

“Sir, sir I beg you. For all I’m worth!”

Konrad gestured for the man to stand.

"Be at ease man.” He finally said, his voice low and bass.

The man took a moment to breathe and collect his thoughts, but his panicked gaze remained.

“Master Headsman, it’s my daughter. She’s…there’s something not right with her. You’re wise in the ways of these things, can you help her?”

“Anika,” he answered.