High treason

  Teron the elf descended his stairs. They were magically grown fungi, having long since crystallized into white glass. He ran his fingers through his hair. Pacing his gnarled wooden floor, he glanced at his enchanted hourglass on its shelf. The last grains of sand fell through. Nothing happened. Teron blanched. All that work, and yet no reward. He leaned against the living wall of his home, sweating and trembling.
  He thudded his head against the wall. He had put the enchanted ring in Lilith’s own jewellery box. The ring should have been absorbing the origin of all the magic. Or to put it another way, hiding Teron’s trail. The doorway to Eleckorsynth’s study should have activated Eleckorsynth’s sandals. The sandals should have alerted Teron’s hourglass, which should have turned over itself.
  But the hourglass did not turn itself over. Either Eleckorsynth didn’t wear his sandals, or he didn’t go to his study today. Either meant trouble. Eleckorsynth, stuck in his traditions and routines, always went to his study this time of day without fail.
  If the hourglass turned over, it would have counted down the hour. When the hour was up, it should have woken the enchantments Teron put in Eleckorsynth’s pen. Then pen should have activated the recording device, which recorded all magical activity in the study. The recorder should’ve misreported and said the experiment did the impossible and worked.
  And finally, the recorder should have activated the final piece: Eleckorsynth’s necklace of rank. It was fine piece of ancient work. It started as an elaborate, golden choker, but with a v running down of gold wires and plates with rubies the size of Teron’s large eyes set in the gold.
  The choker, being a choker, should have choked Eleckorsynth to death.
  Eleckorsynth was always tugging on it. Sometimes, it was a nervous habit. But lately, it was a blatant reminder of Teron’s lower rank every time Teron argued with him.
  Teron clenched his fists. There was something in the North, curse it! Eleckorsynth blindly refused to take a look. Teron tried to himself, but out of his many talents, seeing far away dangers was not one of them. Not without a crystal ball. Teron had no crystal ball and Eleckorsynth refused to look or simply let Teron look.
  So Teron left the crystal ball out of his plan. As irony.
  Eleckorsynth had long worn out his usefulness. He was the personal wizard to the king, yet he rarely did anything. Teron pounded his desk, groaning. Curse it! He would’ve served the king. He would’ve done something about the threat in the North. Teron was next in line for Eleckorsynth’s position.
  Hence all the effort to make it look like Eleckorsynth’s own research killed him. He tugged on that stupid choker often enough. He always claimed that moving an object one direction too much led to an opposite reaction sooner or later.
  Teron growled. In his many, many trivial, mundane duties, he learned what the foolish, deaf Eleckorsynth refused to acknowledge: the dratted object broke! If moved too many times, it broke! Get a new one! Be done with it!
  The water pump Teron magically manipulated for the irrigation system broke. The multiple, enchanted pens Teron used to copy fading books broke. The various desks, tables, chairs, curtains, doors, and windows everybody kept using magic to open broke. Then Teron had to fix them all.
  But it didn’t matter know. Teron wondered how one prepared for their arrest and imminent execution. Should he fight back? Seal his imminent death sentence for sure? Should he put himself in jail and let them arrest him there? Should he go find them and surrender?
  He wiped the sweat off his face. He could feel it running down his back and other places.
  Unbidden, tears came to his eyes. What on earth possessed him to use Lilith’s jewellery box as a safe place for the ring to hide his trace? She was never going to forgive him. She might’ve married him in a couple decades too. Not now.
  He pounded his desk again. Curse it, five days wasn’t nearly long enough to plan an assassination and make it look like an accident.
  He got up, irritated. He stomped to his front door. Shouldn’t the arrestors be here by now? He opened the door and looked out. From his quiet, little-used corner by the crystal and fungus palace, no guards were in sight. He frowned. They were on to him then. Usually, there was at least one in sight at all times.
  He slammed his door and marched upstairs to his bedroom, just large enough for a bed, dresser, closet, and round window. His bed was made. His robes were put away. His plants had enough water. He went downstairs to his living room with the desk in it. His desk in the corner was a slight mess, only a few papers were not copied yet. The pillows on his couch were straight. The two chairs by the fireplace were clean and dusted. He went to his storage room. The shelves moulded out of the wall of the living tree were all straightened out. Every carving tool, watering can, book, and spare ink wells were all tidy.
  He turned around. His knees weakened and threatened to give way. There, stood the king’s personal guard, Hygorim. Hygorim wore his full set of armour, leather and mail held together with bright, silver studs. He wore two steel short swords, both enchanted.
  Hygorim straightened to his full height. Teron didn’t react. Hygorim arched an eyebrow over his gray eyes. “Is that all? Or should I look for more traps?”
  Teron shrugged, surprised he could still move. “Not in here.”
  Hygorim yanked out a thin, strong rope and tied Teron’s hands together, rather tightly. Hygorim slapped a sticky mushroom across Teron’s mouth. It stuck there. Coupled with the rope, Teron had no way of casting a spell and catching the dangerous Hygorim off guard. No way to chant and no way to sign.
  Hygorim grabbed Teron’s robe and thrust him through the front door and held him there. Nothing happened. Teron sighed, but didn’t resist being yanked down his front stairs.
  No one was near Teron’s house. He was grateful for that. His execution was going to be enough of a public spectacle already.
  Hygorim led Teron around the back of the palace, where several guards joined in escort duty. They entered a hidden door and through to the palace’s stone dungeons. The only other entrance to the dungeon with the guards quarters. No one got in unseen and no one got out.
  Hygorim shoved Teron into a cell and abruptly left. Teron knitted his eyebrows. They caught the trap. Why the rush? Deflated, Teron sat on the stone bench and ripped the mushroom off his face. Now it was time to wait.







  Sitting on a bench, Teron pressed himself against the solid stone wall. Behind the curtain, he could hear the crowd of elves, quietly murmuring. He was in a plain, little box carved into the stone base of the palace where doomed prisoners waited to be killed. There was a wooden bench and a table, but nothing else.
  The curtain brushed aside. Teron killed the look of dismay before it showed on his face. Hygorim coming to see him in his final moments was bad enough. But him, the king, and Eleckorsynth? So much for the elves being merciful.
  The king knelt down in front of Teron. Teron didn’t want to meet his gaze, but really didn’t want to dare look away. The king stared a moment longer and sighed, shaking his head sadly.
  Hygorim drew his sword. Teron looked up at him, startled. “Where is it?” Hygorim said, drawing his sword across Teron’s face, almost hard enough to draw blood.
  Teron swallowed. “Where’s what?”
  “The rest of the trap.”
  Teron blinked. “You haven’t found it all?”
  “A ring, an hourglass, sandals, a pen, a doorway, what else?” Hygorim laid the objects out on the table, except the doorway.
  Teron raised his eyebrows. “Just the noose.”
  Eleckorsynth rushed forward, angry and tugging on his choker nervously. “Well? Don’t be sly. Where is it?”
  Teron couldn’t help himself. The laugh started quietly, but got louder. Teron closed his eyes and leaned against the corner of the room. When he opened them, all three of them were staring at him. Teron sobered in the face of interrogation and torture and pointed at Eleckorsynth’s choker.
  They frowned, not understanding. Teron stood up. All three of them tensed. Teron motioned for Eleckorsynth’s choker. He handed it over, glaring at Teron.
  Teron wrapped the choker around his wrist. He activated the sandals, since the doorway wasn’t there. The hourglass flipped itself over. Teron magically hurried the sand down. The pen activated. Teron poked the recorder with it. The recorder played out the misinformation and activated the choker.
  Making sure they were watching, Teron tugged on the choker. It closed tight around his wrist and kept getting tighter. And tighter. It was cutting off circulation.
  The king’s eyes were wide. He raised his eyebrows. “That is almost funny. Except for the part where it almost killed him.”
  Eleckorsynth started to reach up to tug at his choker, but stopped, visibly blushing.
  Teron deactivated the choker. He laid it on the table. Rather pitiful, really. All that stressful work for this. He wondered if the threat in the North was going to come down and sweep his people away. Out of the corner of his eye, Teron studied Hygorim’s leather boots. At least somebody important wasn’t delusional. Hygorim would fight. He would meet the threat in the North.
  Hygorim grabbed him and pushed him through the curtain.
  A wooden stage was there. So was a crowd. They were all watching him. Teron looked for the noose. That would almost be funny too. Except for the part where being hanged would kill him.
  Teron swallowed. No noose. They meant to run him with a  sword through then. Hygorim pushed Teron into a chair.
  With the king standing behind him, Eleckorsynth on his left, and Hygorim on his right, Eleckorsynth read the charges to Teron loud and clear so everybody could hear. 
  “And so, for high treason, your left hand shall be cut off at the wrist.”
  Teron blinked. Then he turned around to look at the king. “I’m not dead?” Then the implications set in. He paled. “I’m not dead.”
  With no left hand, all the spells that took two hands to complete would be useless. Teron tried to stop shaking. That meant eighty percent of his spells were useless. He would only be able to cast one-handed spells or spoken spells.
  A heavy wooden table was placed in front of him. It was stained with blood, mostly from captured man criminals and orcs. Heavy axe marks showed where they were beheaded. Teron considered putting his head on it instead of his hand.
  Hygorim approached with a heavy war axe. Teron choked. And even then, his people were kind and used a sharpened axe.
  Teron obediently put his left hand on the table. He frowned. It was shaking heavily. He grabbed his arm with his right hand, but that was shaking too.
  Hygorim sighed. He lifted the axe. Now Teron was paralysed and couldn’t move. The axe flashed in the sunlight as it swung down.
  Thunk!
  Teron forgot to turn away at the last moment. His face was gray. It didn’t seem possible. Surely at the other side of the bloody axe was his hand. It was surely attached. The pain surely meant nothing.
  Hygorim looked and Teron, and shook his head sadly. He pried the axe from the table.
  Teron stood up. Without glancing at the king or Hygorim, he started to walk off the stage. He collapsed in a dead faint before he reached halfway.