The not-so-spanish inquisition
“You will make your confession,” The executioner growled, throwing aside the whip and closing his hand about the newly sharpened axe hanging from a peg on the wall. Oryn arched an eyebrow at the weapon, noticing it for the first time. In the shadows of the dank chamber, he had missed the cruel crescent moon of steel. The executioner held it up in the dim torchlight, allowing Oryn to examine his bloodied reflection in it.
“Do you see this?” The executioner asked.
“Of course I can see it,” Oryn retorted.
“No. Do you really see it…a new axe, fashioned specifically for the removal of your head. No other man has been slain by it. No wood has been chopped, no recruits trained in its use. This axe has been recently fashioned by the palace smiths to execute. Do you understand the significance of that?” Oryn remained silent, eyeing the dark maw of the spiral staircase leading upwards curiously. He thought he had seen a flicker of movement, a brief flash of light, but cast his eyes away before the executioner noticed he had seen something.
“No,” Oryn growled. “I don’t see how it’s significant. It’s only a piece of steel with a haft. It’s you who are the executioner…not the axe.”
“Do you see this?” The executioner asked.
“Of course I can see it,” Oryn retorted.
“No. Do you really see it…a new axe, fashioned specifically for the removal of your head. No other man has been slain by it. No wood has been chopped, no recruits trained in its use. This axe has been recently fashioned by the palace smiths to execute. Do you understand the significance of that?” Oryn remained silent, eyeing the dark maw of the spiral staircase leading upwards curiously. He thought he had seen a flicker of movement, a brief flash of light, but cast his eyes away before the executioner noticed he had seen something.
“No,” Oryn growled. “I don’t see how it’s significant. It’s only a piece of steel with a haft. It’s you who are the executioner…not the axe.”