It was a clear day. A perfect day to see some bloodshed.

As far as Roland could remember, Kindeance had several methods of capital punishment, that would be by hanging, decapitation, execution by firing squad being the most recent, and quartering, which was the most ancient, most gruesome, and reserved only for the most terrible traitors and their conspirators. It was so cruel that for many decades, nobody was executed that way, and the only account that told the details of the execution was dated so old it was almost apocryphal. 

And now here he was. The prospect of seeing such cruel and unusual death had attracted people all around Rascade to gather in the public square. Beers will be provided and musicians be summoned. He should have known that this kind of occasion should be seen more as public entertainment rather than a way to instill fear. 

But there was something more today. The mounting hatred after the failed assassination of King Fredricus had made the crowd even more roused. 

They wanted blood. They wanted justice. 

Four masked men ushered their condemned from an enclosed wagon that had been parked there since early this morning. Geralt had had his arms and legs chained, and he was brought out without any resistance. He was modestly clothed, too modest for the criminal imputed with the worse crime possible, his head however was left unhooded for everyone to see.

The crowd jeered. Yet the condemned followed quietly, his face feigned no emotion and his black eyes glanced down. His skin had been heavily powdered nobody save those who had the keenest eyes would notice the liver mortis  

Though the wound he received was still throbbing, it was still a fascinating sight to behold. Roland wondered where Doctor Solomon was, earlier he had rejected the proposal of being a part of the team that carried out the execution so he could observe the process as close as possible. He wanted to ask how his spell managed to overcome the stiffness of rigor mortis, how the undead no longer spasmed and walked like a sedated normal man.

A master of ceremony, someone he wasn't acquainted with stepped forward, addressing the crowd after the condemned had been brought to his knee. 

[b]"Hear ye! Today I speak for the crown, and I will be brief. We gathered here to see the wretched squashed under the hammer of justice. To see him pay for--"[/b]

[b]"Shut up and snuff that King slayer already!"[/b] one of the citizens shouted, to which the crowd replied with a chorus of an angry agreement

The master of the ceremony beckoned the executioner to fast ropes on Gerralt's appendage and the man would be suspended with head facing down. Four horses, the best in the entire Rascade waited solemnly, unagitated by the screaming crowds or wayward debris that was intended for the convicted...

..who merely stood there like a clay statue. Metal cuffs linked with ropes, now flaccid, but that won't be long. 

[b]"Gerralt of Black Serpent, you have been charged of crimes against the Sovereign Crown of Kindeance and crimes against the Nation and its people. The charges are as follows: Attempted Regicide. Murder. Enforced disappearance of individuals."[/b]

Roland could see the Jailer shudder.

[b]"Enslavement. The abduction of children. Torture. Rape. You will be torn apart and your remains gibbeted. May Gods Have mercy on your soul."[/b]

In an instant, the ropes tensed. Geralt fell, but before his face could touch the ground he already hovered above ground, legs, and arms outstretched in four equal directions. A masked executioner watched not far, armed with a hatchet. Roland watched in morbid curiosity how the undead screamed in a piercing shriek before his body was torn in two, then into four. 

Black putrid blood littered the earth and sprayed the unfortunate onlookers who watched too close. The smell was so horrendous some of them threw up on the spot. It happened so fast so brutal, nobody could have imagined that less than a minute ago there was an intact, walking human being before being turned into four lumps of meat. Silent for a while, then a mixture of confused murmurs until the master of the ceremony exclaimed. 

[b]"Behold! The blood of the wicked!" [/b]

Then the crowd cheered, applauding. The music played again, the folks danced, beer chugged and they yelled Long Live the King. It didn't matter whose blood was spilled, or if the trial was fair at all, Or if the preparation had been a pure fabrication. The state had eliminated a monster from their lives, and it was worthy of a celebration.