It was the same one that had been there two decades ago, rebuilt after the war. Taranisäii bodies had hung from it before. Today, though, there was no noose set up. A block had been laid out, and an axe, with a burly man to wield it. Now-a-days, a Taranisäii could have a more dignified execution, as if that made any difference. A crowd had gathered to watch, and it was much louder than those Torc had seen at past executions. Louder . . . or angrier? It was hard to say. Standing up on the platform, he looked at them, then at the block that stood ready for his neck, and felt his soul fall away inside him. So many years, and so much life, all leading to nothing but this. An axe and a jeering crowd. All for nothing. He felt like vomiting. Looking away from them, he saw Laela there, watching him through those hard blue eyes. In that moment, no matter how much he tried to deny it to himself, she looked so much like her father.
