When the freed boxers had cleaned and donned the slain city guards' garb, they affixed the chains to Hirodias' neck and wrists. They had to be believable. They trotted down the empty alley until they found the main road.  From there they walked a quickened pace.  

They went over the plan again. They were going to march up to the Magister’s offices as soldiers with Hirodias chained as the slave, and then they would unchain him and let loose on the Magister. Then they would meet with the rest of the slaves at the reed fields at the edge of the city. Together they would go to the Republic of Aredun and seek refuge.

They were greeted by people who recognized Hirodias but the group focused on making their way through the streets. The streets of Isimil were wide and dimly lit by lantern. Hirodias thought of the slaves and hoped they had made their way to the fields safely. 

When they arrived to the walkway to the Magister's office, they found over thirty of his Red Guard standing in position on both sides of the path to the office.  The Red Guard donned red capes with full helms and spears. The Isimil red triangular flag flew bearing the sigil of a black snake coiled to attack. Hirodias took a breath and did not break his stride.  He hoped that the Gamesh boxers remembered what they were to say.

One of the Red Guard with a red tassle on his helm stopped the group.  "Where are you bringing him?"

"The Jester won great victories," Palimedis said.  "He defeated all challengers at his lordship's son's wedding.  The lordling wanted to offer the champion to his lordship to escort him to the banquet.  He wants a parade for his father."

"A nice gesture," the Red Guard captain said.  "Escort the gutter guards to Magister Tsetsurg."

The Red Guards laughed.  "Follow me, gutter guard," one of them said, chuckling.  They followed the Red Guard into the office, where there were a dozen more guards in the lobby of the Magister's office.  The guard knocked on the door to the office.  "Magister Tsetsurg's in there." 

Vasilis opened the door and Hirodias marched in.  The Magister was standing by a mirror adjusting his gold and silver cap.  "What is this?  I am preparing for my son's banquet.  Why have you brought the Jester here?"

"To escort you to the banquet hall, my lord," Palimedis said.

Hirodias turned to Vasilis and extended his wrist shackles.  Vasilis stared at the shackles.  "Unshackle me!" Hirodias whispered.

The other boxers glanced at Vasilis.  "You have the key, Vasilis!" Symian said.

Hirodias scowled at Vasilis.  With his wrists still shackled he pulled the sword from Vasilis' scabbard and lunged at the magister.  Vasilis grabbed the chain linked to Hirodias' neck and pulled on it, snapping Hirodias' neck back and forcing him to tumble.

"Vasilis!" one of the boxers gasped.

"Red Guard!" Vasilis shouted.  "There is a plot to murder the Magister!"

Magister Tsetsurg shouted commands and the Red Guard poured in from the lobby.  They pointed their spears at the Gamesh boxers and at Hirodias, who was still shackled laying on his back.

"Why, Vasilis?" Palimedis asked.

"You think this is the first time slaves have revolted?" Vasilis snapped.  "I've witnessed many attempts.  It always ends in death.  Twenty years ago a boxer in Gamesh raised a great rebellion against his master.  He escaped but nearly all who were left behind were executed.  I was spared then, and we will be spared now.  What else have I taught you if not of preserverence?"

"So you're all in this together," Tsetsurg said, removing his cap.  "What a day you've chosen to try this, Jester.  For all I have done for you, fed you, kept you warm and dry, and instead of gratitude, you aim to murder me on my son's second wedding day.  I expect to be drunk and asleep in an hour and this will not make me late.  Take him to the judgement post.  Nail his hands and feet to the post."

Four Red Guard pulled Hirodias to his feet and the boxers were pulled out to the courtyard where a twenty foot post stood at the center.  Hirodias shrugged off the guards but was soon swarmed by a dozen guards who tied him to the post and took turns beating him.  

The Red Guard captain brought the hammer and spikes.  "What about them?" the captain asked about the boxers.

"Nail them all to the same post," the Magister ordered.

"My lord!" Vasilis protested.  "I have saved your life!  Spare me and I will serve your house!"

The Magister nodded and approached Vasilis.  "This is true, I should spare you.  Do your people believe in our gods? If so, then you should know I am the hand of Kharanthar. I am the passer of his sentences in Isimil and my word is law.  And my judgement is one of torment for those who violate my law. To thank you, I shall spare you from torment."  The Magister pulled the sword from the scabbard of his captain and shoved it into Vasilis' heart.  "You are a traitor to your brothers.  Why would I want a traitor serving my house?"

The Magister handed the captain's sword back to him.  "Take care of this, and fetch my chariot.  Make sure they all share the post, captain.  I will come back in the morning to inspect the quality of your work.  My son's guests await me."

A lone horseman galloped up the street.  "My lord!" the rider screamed.  "Death, death!"

The city guard stopped at the foot of the courtyard and fell off the horse.  The Red Guard helped him up.  "Your son, his bride, your family and guests...they are dead, all dead!"

Tsetsurg slapped the hysterical guard.  "Tell me again, but this time tell me slow and true."

The guard began weeping.  "All at the banquet hall, they are all dead.  Slaves, it's the slaves that done it!  We caught them all trying to escape.  They had food and supplies with them.  Young, old, men, women and children.  We didn't know where to put them so we are bringing them here."

Hirodias closed his eyes as he heard.  

"I'm sorry we failed you," Andreus said.  "I am glad that we did not fight each other, but we were able to fight with you. You’re right. This was a bad idea worth dying for. At least we die together, as it was meant to be."

Soon the crowd was filled with all the slaves of the city.  There were over hundreds of them.  Some were so old that other slaves had to carry them.  

"Bring them forward to me," the Magister instructed.  The Red Guard poked the slaves with their spears, prodding them forward.  Several of the slaves fell from the stabbing, but other slaves helped them to their feet and kept moving forward.  "You are descendents of animals.  Barbarians, all of you, remnants of a long forgotten jungle disease.  Kharanthar offers you a lit path to salvation.  Through Him I gave you all a home when no one else would take you in.  You think there is something out there for you?  The Smote is full of roving bandits.  You would all be raped and killed outside of Isimil.  The Aredunians would leave you to starve, if you even got that far.  You have cost me a great deal tonight, but I am prepared to lose a great deal more.  I will bind you all to this false hero of yours, and I will burn you all and start over. All of you! Every last child!"

The slaves began to wail. 

“Is there anything you have to say for yourselves, you ungrateful lot?" Tsetsurg asked.

One of the slaves stepped forward, bearing the old blind man on his back.  He lowered the old man before the magister.  The Red Guard pushed the man back but allowed the old man to approach the Magister.  The old man leaned on his cane and felt his way through the guard.

"And what do you have to say, blind bat?" the Magister asked.

The old man shook his head and muttered something as he sobbed.

Tsetsurg leaned in toward the old man.  "What did you say?"

"One day he will be Yon!" the old blind man cried, stabbing the Magister in the eye with the sharpened wood he still had in his hand. The Magister fell back as three spears ran through the old man.  The crowd of slaves shouted and pushed forward, ignoring the stabs and cuts.  They fell but they continued pushing forward, past the Red Guard.  

"Cut them all down!  Cut them all down!" cried the Magister, blood streaming down his face. 

The Red Guard formed a line and started cutting all the slaves down, women, children and all.  "Stand down or help them!" Palimedis shouted.  The Gamesh boxers grabbed at the Red Guard and pushed them away from the slaves.  Palimedis secured a sword and cut Hirodias' rope.

Hirodias grabbed a spear and broke the pole in half.  He jammed the spearhead into the back of one of the Red Guard and into the neck of another.  The slaves would not relent.  There were only half of them left standing, but they kept pressing against the Red Guard.

"Run, please!" one of the slaves cried to Hirodias.

"Run, my Yon!" another cried.

“We are dead, save yourself!”

Hirodias shook his head.  "We are a people. We stay together.”

Palimedis grabbed Hirodias by the iron collar.  "We are all your people, which is why you must run.  Gamesh!  To me!"

Andreus and Symian took positions around Hirodias.  "Maletias?" Palimedis asked.  Symian shook his head. 

"We get Hirodias out of the city!" Palimedis ordered.

Hirodias grabbed Palimedis' arm with the force of a bear. “There is no running.”

“There is surviving," Palimedis said, tears streaming. “For all Arkromenyons.”

“Then that will be our burden,” Hirodias said, “to survive and tell others what has happened here.”

Hirodias and the three freedmen from Gamesh turned and disappeared into the night, but the sounds of the dying lingered.