Free Weapon of Fear by Chris A. Jackson, Anne L. McMillen-Jackson

poor woman.  Have your men catch her.  They
are to treat the body with respect , do you hear me?”
    “Milord
Prince!  Why?”  The captain stared up at him with wide, questioning eyes.
    Otar’s
surprise made Arbuckle realize that he had misinterpreted the captain’s mindset. 
He hadn’t been upset to learn that his former master was a sadist and disagreed
with the notion that commoners deserved any consideration whatsoever, let alone
respect.  Time to educate him , Arbuckle resolved
    “Because
it is her due!  Now do as I say or I’ll have you removed from your post,
Captain!”
    “Yes,
Milord Prince.”  Otar’s voice was sullen, but he gave the requisite orders.
    Arbuckle
leaned out over the open trap door and gripped the rope, sawing the keen blade
through the strands.  The prince realized his mistake as the rope parted and
the rough hemp ripped through his blistered palm.  A hand grasped his shoulder,
and another snatched the rope beneath his fist.  One of his blademasters had
saved him from dropping the body, and maybe tumbling after it.
    “Thank
you.  Lower her gently.”  Arbuckle released his grasp, his hand bloody.
    Another
murmur swept the crowd as the blademaster lowered the body into the arms of two
imperial guards waiting below.  Easing the woman to the ground, one removed the
noose while the other unclasped his own cloak and wrapped the forlorn figure in
a makeshift shroud.
    “Very
good!”  Arbuckle returned the dagger to his bodyguard, then called down to Otar
again.  “Captain!  Have your people take her to her husband.  Release the rest
of the prisoners to their families.  Use your cloaks to wrap the dead.”
    “Milord,
this sets a bad precedent.”
    “Carry
out my orders, Captain!”  Arbuckle warned. 
    Otar
shook his head.  “I cannot countenance this action.  It’s foolhardy and
dangerous!”
    Arbuckle
bristled.  If he couldn’t control his own Imperial Guard, how could he hope to
govern an empire? 
    “Very
well, Captain.”  The man relaxed for a moment before Arbuckle bellowed,
“Commander Ithross, relieve Captain Otar of command and place him under
arrest!  You are acting captain of the Imperial Guard as of this moment.”
    Ithross
moved forward with a squad of guardsmen.
    “What? 
You can’t—”
    “I
can and I have, Master Otar.  You’re under arrest.  Hand over your weapons, or
you’ll be taken by force.”  To Arbuckle’s immense relief, the captain unclipped
his sword belt and handed it over to Ithross, though his face darkened with
rage.  Unclasping his cloak of office, he flung it to the ground and allowed
himself to be led away.
    A
cheer rang out from the commoners in the fore of the crowd.
    “Commander
Ithross, did you hear my orders to your former captain?”
    “I
did, Milord Prince.”  Ithross saluted smartly.
    “Carry
them out at once.”  He looked around.  “Sir Fineal!”
    The
knight rode his charger forward.  “Milord Prince.”
    “I
want the knights to assist in the release of the prisoners.”
    “At
once, Milord Prince!”  Fineal snapped orders, and soon the knights and their
squires dismounted to join the Imperial Guard.
    Sparks
flew as steel cleaved chains and struck locks from stocks, but the soldiers
took the greatest care with the prisoners, helping them to the waiting arms of
their grateful families.  The effect on the crowd was gradual but profound. 
Murmurs of disbelief swelled to shouts of elation and cheers.  Those receiving
bodies wailed, but many more wept tears of joy.
    Arbuckle
raised his hands.  “People of Tsing!”
    Silence
fell.  Arbuckle’s heart raced at the sight of their upturned faces, no longer
fearful and despairing, but hopeful.  A new eagerness and spirit shone in their
eyes.
    “I
know you have suffered long under my father’s rule, but I’m here to tell you
that I will not perpetuate his policies.  As a pledge upon my word, I
grant full pardons to all those who were being