The Master Executioner

Book 5: The Executioner's Song

by D.K. Holmberg

Genres: Coming of Age; Mystery; Sword & Sorcery

Synopsis

A dangerous power returns to the city, and only the master executioner can stop it.

Finn has served the king as journeyman executioner, but the time has come for a testing with the executioner court. Regardless of the outcome, he will no longer serve in Verendal.

Strange attacks in the city lead Finn to believe that witchcraft has returned, but he’s the only one who suspects. He must find the answers before his testing, and fears that Master Meyer does not understand the truth.

He must be the Hunter one last time to save the city—and the kingdom—but he faces an insidious power that’s been active for far longer than he ever imagined.

The thrilling conclusion of The Executioner’s Song fantasy series.

Release date: December 21, 2021

Publisher: ASH Publishing

Print pages: 424

Sample

Chapter 1

The wind caught the rope of the makeshift gallows, leaving it swinging in the late
afternoon air. Crows circled overhead, cawing occasionally, and the buzzing of summer
insects filled the air. A fly landed on Finn’s arm. He swatted it away, though not before it
managed to bite. The stench nearby seemed to attract them.
He looked out over the small village in the distance. Nestled into the valley such as it
was, it would be almost scenic were it not for the gallows serving as a sentry, warning off
anyone who might attempt to visit.
Finn inspected the rope. The knot from the end of it was crudely made without the
skill of anyone who had the necessary understanding of what was required to create a
hangman’s loop. He paused long enough to trace his fingers around the knot itself. Were he
to need to use it, he would have to tie his own. This would serve to snap a neck, though at
the height they’d hung it, he wasn’t even certain that would be effective. The loop was too
wide as well, so it was possible the condemned would fall free from it.
At least the branch they’d suspended it from looked solid. Simple, but it would be
effective. There wasn’t the need for anything more than a place to fix the rope and a small
ladder or step stool for the condemned to climb.
Getting out of Verendal should have been peaceful for him, though these days it only
felt as if there were many things that he neglected by coming out and taking these side jobs.
They paid well, especially of late as his reputation had improved, and Finn now made more
doing some of these additional jobs than he could’ve in several months before. Still, there
was much in Verendal that needed doing, especially now that Meyer had started to show
his age. Not that Finn would ever tell him that. Meyer was a proud man and had served the
king as his executioner for a long time, long enough that he would be given the opportunity
to decide when he was ready to retire.
Finn guided the horse forward, holding onto the stout mare’s reins as he trudged the
last distance into the village. Walking gave him an opportunity to clear his head and
prepare for what must be done when he arrived in the village, and it also rested his

backside. He still didn’t love riding if he could avoid it, though he no longer suffered the
indignity of getting the fattest horse in the stables.
Coming in the daylight afforded him the opportunity to see the village for himself
and to get a sense for the people who lived within it, but it also gave him a chance to gauge
how they would react to him. There were too many who saw a hangman and expected only
violence.
The houses within the village were simple. Mostly wooden construction with
thatched roofs, there were only a few larger, and they were all toward the center of the
village. It looked like most of the villages within the kingdom he’d visited.
He’d barely reached the outer edge of the village when the first of the villagers
noticed him. Finn expected to be noticed.
The man straightened from where he had been working with a long post, setting it
into the ground in front of a house, and he wiped his hands on his pants, eyeing Finn for a
moment. He was a large man, solid of build, and could easily have been mistaken for a
blacksmith—or within Verendal, one of the palace Archers.
He said nothing as Finn moved past, though his gaze not only lingered on Finn’s
horse, but also on the sword strapped to his back. Finn kept his gaze straight ahead of him.
He had learned that was for the best. There was no point in trying to engage any of the
villagers in simple conversation. He needed to reach the council. They were the ones who
had summoned his services.
The farther he went along the hard-packed road leading through the village, the
more people began to congregate. He heard hushed words around him, things like
“hangman” and “killer,” words that Finn had heard in other places and had long ago learned
not to take any offense to. Even the procession no longer troubled him the way that it once
would have. He was accustomed to people watching him during his work. At least in
aspects of his work. Most people had little idea just how much he did, thinking instead that
the primary responsibility he had was to carry out the sentencing of the condemned.
A building near the center of the village caught his eye. It wasn’t any taller than the
other buildings, though it was larger, over a hundred paces in either direction. There was
no ornamentation along the face of the building, nothing to suggest that he was coming to
the village council, or town hall, or whatever they considered this building, but Finn

recognized it. He paused outside, tying his horse up to the post, straightening himself and
fixing his coat before glancing behind. The people who had been watching his entry into the
village turned away from his gaze. It was as if they feared drawing his attention. Finn
almost smiled at that. There was no need to fear attracting his attention if they had done
nothing wrong.
He strode toward the door, preparing to knock, when it came open. A younger,
golden-haired woman with a long face and thin lips stared out at him. She frowned,
glancing over his shoulder before turning back to him, regarding him in full. Her gaze
seemed to linger the longest on his sword, though that wasn’t uncommon.
“I’m Finn Jagger, executioner from Verendal. We received word that you needed the
services of the court.”
The woman watched him for a moment longer before stepping off to the side. “It’s
about time. We sent word three weeks ago. Had we known that it was going to take this
long to get anybody to come, we would’ve taken care of it ourselves.” She glanced past Finn.
“Run along, Tyson. You don’t need to pay any mind to this.”
Finn glanced back and saw a young boy, probably no more than ten, watching. He
paled when Finn turned his attention to him and went racing off down the street.
He stepped into the town hall. It seemed as if the village of Ironald would have a
town hall rather than a council chamber. It was a wide-open space. Massive wooden posts
staggered around the inside had lanterns hanging from them, and there was an enormous
hearth at one end of the room, though it was darkened and cool. He swept his gaze around,
noting the small flag hanging near the hearth, signifying the king’s colors. It was still
smaller than the other flag hanging on the opposite side of the hearth, this one in the shape
of a wolf.
“I am sorry I took longer than you anticipated. I came as soon as word reached us in
Verendal and I had an opportunity to slip away.”
Finn had grown accustomed to apologizing for any delay. Outside of larger cities,
most of the people felt an urgency to have their summons answered. Finn had come to
learn that it wasn’t because they had a thirst for vengeance, at least not most of the time.
Usually it had more to do with their inexperience holding prisoners. Rarely did any of these
villages have a dedicated place to hold violent prisoners for very long. They had places for

minor criminals—thieves, adulterers, and the like—but having a place to hold somebody
who was more dangerous was not something that the typical village was equipped to
accommodate.
“You saw the gallows,” the woman said.
Finn nodded, holding her gaze. “I saw it. Is that the sentence?”
“The village elders have met and agreed Jonah should hang.”
“Very well.” He looked around. “Shall I presume you are one of the village elders?”
He wasn’t certain. She was young, but he’d found that youth often didn’t necessarily
mitigate a person’s ability to serve in leadership, especially in these outlying villages. When
he turned back to her, holding her gaze, he found her watching him, furrows creasing her
brow.
“I’m Ellen Darlen. I’m the wise woman here.”
He nodded slowly. “Not one of the elders, then.”
She shook her head. “Do I look like I would be one of the elders?”
He resisted the urge to smile. She might not look like it, but she certainly sounded
like it. “Why did the village wise woman need to meet the executioner?”
He watched her, anticipating her answer, but was uncertain what she might say. He
honestly had no idea, but the fact that she had pulled the door open to greet him suggested
that it had been predetermined to be her. Either that or it had been merely chance. Finn
didn’t think so though. With the procession he’d faced coming into the village, he wouldn’t
have been terribly surprised that somebody would have run ahead to warn the village
elders of his arrival.
“That damn fool Jonah decided to get tangled up in a gypsum bush while running. I
had to make sure he survived long enough to face judgment.”
A gypsum bush injury could be painful, though Finn had never known it to be fatal.
His experience with it suggested that the wounds would be caustic, and a combination of
tolthar flower and oland oil would often be enough to soothe it. “I see.”
She arched a brow at him. “Do you? Do you know what it’s like when a man gets
infected with a gypsum bush? Have you seen the way that the redness works beneath the
skin?”
Finn nodded slowly. “I’ve seen it.”

More than that, he had actually used it a time or two during interrogation. It wasn’t
one of the more typical tactics he took while questioning, but occasionally he needed to be
creative, especially with particularly challenging captives. There had been a few times
when he’d been outside of the city where he had needed to use alternative means of
questioning, after all his equipment had failed at the task. Within Verendal, it was a simple
thing to bring a man or woman in for questioning. He had places within the prisons
designated for such, and it was easy enough to extract the information needed, at least with
most. Outside of the city was a different matter. There he had to rely upon what he brought
with him—and he preferred to travel light—or on what he could find. It required that he
come up with creative measures.
“I doubt that,” she said. “Most from the city aren’t familiar with gypsum.”
“I know to be careful with the barbs. They’re small, but the hook on the end can
catch in flesh.” It made it useful for other reasons as well. Not only would it catch, but it
created the faintest of lines along the skin, barely drawing any blood. It burned as if fire
were worked beneath the skin, and that had value to him when performing some of his
questioning. “You need to work to clear the oil from clothing, along with skin. It lingers. It
can be boiled off, but you need extra lye in order to completely eradicate it from fabric.”
“That’s right.” She barely managed to hide her surprise.
“In larger injuries, gypsum can get into the bloodstream. When it does, it can give off
the appearance of a fatal wound. The heart slows. Breathing nearly stops. If supported,
though, a person can pull through.”
It was painful but not fatal.
“What did you say your name was?”
Finn nodded to her. “As I said, I’m Finn Jagger, executioner to the king.”
“Do all executioners know so much about gypsum bush?”
She asked it with a suspicion laced in her words, which left him wondering whether
she understood the reason behind the depth of his knowledge. Perhaps she did. Perhaps
she understood the purpose he had in using gypsum in that way, or perhaps it was merely
suspicion in the knowledge he’d demonstrated.
“I know about many things. Gypsum bush, only because you mentioned it, but you
have quite a few plants around your village that have interesting properties. Why, on my walk into the village, I saw deliander and marson berries.” He’d been tempted to harvest
both, as they were difficult enough to acquire within Verendal. The apothecaries he
frequented supplied him with most of what he needed but not everything. Unfortunately,
they ran into trouble stocking some of the most exotic plants. “Not far beyond your borders
I saw pherthal flower and jasmel. There were a few others, but—”
“I see,” Ellen said.
He nodded. “Now, as I’ve said, I came here because of the summons. Am I to discuss
my needs with you, or do I need to meet with the village elders themselves?”
She eyed Finn for a moment, and curiosity began to fill him about whether she was
going to end up being the person he needed to interact with anyway. It wouldn’t surprise
him. A village wise woman had considerable power. In places like this—nearly five days of
steady riding south of Verendal, just on the outskirts of the forest and near enough the
border to Yelind that he wouldn’t have been surprised if some of the villagers had relatives
there—they were isolated from much of the kingdom. Having somebody with the kind of
knowledge that a wise woman possessed put her in a position of leadership. At least, it did
in almost every place Finn had visited. He suspected the village of Ironald was no different.
“You can certainly meet with them when they gather at dinner. Until then you are
with me. I imagine you intend to visit with Jonah yourself.”
She might’ve asked it as a question, but she said it something like a statement. Finn
smiled to himself. She was far more educated than he had initially assumed. There weren’t
many people in the outlying villages who understood that an executioner didn’t simply act
on the recommendation of the town leaders. He wouldn’t serve the king very well if he
were to do so.
“I would. Would you mind leading me to him?”
“I figured you'd want to see him. He’ll probably tell you all about how this was not
his fault and that he ended up in the gypsum bush because he was running from some
pursuer, but we saw the blood on his hands and found his footprints at the scene. He might
think we’re backward and foolish here, but he will face the judgment of the gods
regardless.”
She nodded for him to follow, leading him through the town hall and to a door off
the side of it. It was a simple stout wooden door with a heavy lock on it. Ellen fished a key out of her pocket, the metal jangling briefly and reminding him of his time within prisons,
and paused before pushing the door open.
“I will be fine,” Finn said.
She glanced back at him. “I have no doubt that you will be.”
“Do you worry for your prisoner?”
She glanced back at Finn. “He might not be from town, but that doesn’t mean that we
don’t protect our own.”
“Where was he from?”
“Jonah has been within Ironald for nearly a dozen years. He’s a part of the village. Or
he had been before all of this.”
As she pushed the door to the cell open, Finn realized that he hadn’t even learned
what Jonah stood accused of having done. He knew it had something to do with
murder—most crimes outside of Verendal that required the services of an executioner
were capital offenses, and they were rarely anything as simple as repeated theft. Those
criminals were typically just run off so they could continue their crimes in other places. Not
like in Verendal or other large cities, where repeated criminals were put through increasing
punishments before they either learned their lesson or paid the ultimate price.
All he’d learned prior to answering the summons was that Ironald had a man
accused of murder. He’d been convicted by the village leaders, who had sent a missive to
Verendal, the city closest to them, enquiring about the services of an executioner to carry
out the king’s justice. Finn might have declined the request were it not for Meyer’s
insistence. Now that he’d fully established himself as a journeyman, he didn’t need to
answer the call for every small village that wanted an executioner to come, choosing to
allow a more junior journeyman to take the assignment, but Meyer claimed he could still
manage in Verendal without him, and he was still the master executioner.
The inside of the cell was a small space with little more than a closet. The lock on the
door proved the most important defense, as inside there was only a narrow cot, a basin of
water, and a lantern resting near the door for light.
The man lying on the cot had to be a few years older than Finn, though it could be
that he only looked older. He was thin, his eyes drawn, a long beard covering his jawline. He was dressed in rough brown burlap, but it was clean. That was better than many places that
Finn visited.
“Jonah,” Ellen snapped. “Sit up. This is Finn Jagger. He’s here to visit with you.”
Jonah looked over at Finn, his gaze lingering a moment, before he shook his head.
“He’s not here to visit. He’s here to hang me.” He rolled off to the side, avoiding looking at
either of them.
“When you committed your crime, you knew this day would come. Now look over at
the executioner and answer his questions.”
Finn cast a sideways glance at Ellen. She’d called him executioner, not hangman.
That surprised him.
“You answer his questions.” Jonah’s voice was muffled, as if he were speaking into
the thin blanket. It seemed as if he was sobbing as well. That wasn’t surprising. Finn had
seen many men come to tears when their time came to answer for their crimes. “It seems
you’ve got all the answers anyway.”
Ellen glanced briefly to Finn before taking a seat on the cot next to Jonah. “This is
your opportunity to explain to the king why you did it. Don’t give up a chance at
absolution.”
“He’s not the king.”
“He’s a servant of the king himself,” Ellen said, looking over to Finn. “All
executioners are. When you speak to him, you have to think that you’re speaking to the
king. I bet he’s even met the king.”
She looked over to Finn, and the expression in her eyes told him that she didn’t
expect that he had.
Finn smiled, then nodded. “I’ve met the king many times.” Turning to Jonah, he said,
“She’s correct. I am here to ask you questions, though I can’t guarantee I will offer you any
absolution. I seek understanding. Nothing more and nothing less.”
Ellen shot him a hard look, as if to intimidate him, but Finn ignored it, keeping his
gaze on Jonah. He continued sobbing, and after a while he rolled back, looking over to Finn
and wiping tears from his eyes. Some of them had dripped down into his beard and left it
moistened. Snot ran from his nose.
“What did she tell you?” Jonah asked, looking over to Ellen.

Finn crossed his arms over his chest, standing in front of Jonah. This wasn’t a
hardened criminal. If his time working as an executioner had taught him anything, it was
how to read people. He had seen criminals of all types over the years. There were those
who were incredibly hard, unremorseful of their crimes. Those were almost the easiest for
Finn to deal with. It was much easier on him to carry out the sentencing of a man who
showed no remorse for killing someone, raping someone, or burning their belongings. It
was much more difficult for him to carry out the sentencing of someone who committed a
crime of passion or obtained vengeance for a wrong inflicted upon them. It didn’t make the
job easy; it was only that he understood the motive.
Jonah didn’t strike him as the kind of man who would commit either type of crime.
“I’m here because I want to hear from you what happened. I find it better to hear
from the accused.”
“You won’t believe me.”
Finn shrugged. “Won’t I?”
“They didn’t.”
“Because we found your footprints near the scene of the—”
Finn raised his hand, silencing Ellen. “As I said, I would rather hear it from Jonah. I
understand your perspective, Miss Darlen.”
She pursed her thin lips together, reaching up and fingering the charm of a necklace
that Finn hadn’t seen before. It was a symbol for Heleth, which at least answered the
question for him about what god they served within the village. Each village had its own
preferred god.
Jonah watched him, and a hint of a smile curled his lips. For one moment, Finn could
almost imagine this man committing the crime that he’d been accused of, but that would
imply that he was a skilled enough actor to give off the appearance of a tearful man
claiming his innocence.
“If you don’t provide your report, then I have to go by what the village elders
provided. Unfortunately, as you know, they have shared with me that you were implicated
in this murder.”
“Implicated only because they want to believe it,” Jonas said, looking away. “They
needed a clean answer. They needed someone to be guilty. They made that person me.”

“You’re saying that you didn’t do it.”
Jonah started to sit up, and he winced slightly. Was that the aftereffect of the
gypsum bush still influencing him? Finn thought about how long ago he had received word
of the sentencing. It had to have been little less than three weeks, long enough that any sort
of inflammation from the gypsum would have long ago resolved.
Had the captors mistreated him?
If they believed him guilty, he wouldn’t have been surprised. He had been around
plenty of men and women over the years who used captivity as an opportunity to take out
their own form of punishment, whether or not that was right under the eyes of the king.
“I’m telling you that I didn’t do it. How could I? Mary was…” He looked over to Ellen, falling silent.
“Mary?”
Ellen nodded. “Mary Jons, Priestess of Heleth. She’d served our community for the
better part of two years. She came out of Verendal and was well respected.” She turned to Jonah, and Finn noticed the flash of anger in her eyes. “Mary didn’t deserve what happened
to her. No woman deserves anything like that.”
“I didn’t do it,” Jonas said. “You know that I liked Mary.”
There was a hitch to his words when he spoke, and Finn had a sudden
understanding. It wasn’t just that Jonah liked Mary.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Finn asked, pitching the question with
more softness this time.
Jonah just shook his head. “You don’t care. Everybody has made up their minds.
What does it matter that I was the one who found her? What does it matter that I was the
one who brought word to the elders? What does it matter that—”
“That you were the only one who had an opportunity to do it,” Ellen said.
“Why would I kill her?” Jonah threw up his hands, frustration in his voice. It sounded
as if they'd had this conversation before. “What reason would I have for killing Mary?”
“Why don’t you tell me about what happened when you found her?” Finn asked.
Ellen glanced to him. “You’re taking his side?”
Finn shook his head. “It’s not a matter of taking one side or another. It’s a matter of
me trying to gain insight and understanding about what has taken place.”

“See?” Jonah said. “You don’t want to believe, either.”
“Tell me what happened,” Finn said, this time with more firmness in his voice.
Jonah looked at his hands, pulling at his fingertips. They were stained red, as if he
had been recently painting. “I told you. I found her out in the forest. Near a stream.”
“At midnight,” Ellen said.
“Fine. At midnight. We had agreed to meet. She was going to pray with me.”
“I’m sure she was,” Ellen snorted.
Jonah looked over to him, eyes searching for help. “It was bright out that night. A full
moon, or nearly so. It was a bit cooler. We’d gone through one of those cold snaps, and I
was dressed in a heavy cloak. She was lying on the ground near the stream. I tried to help
her. I tried to save her.” His voice caught, and he looked over to Finn. “She was bleeding
from some strange wound in her chest. Not like any knife I’d ever seen before. Almost a
triangle—”
“Jonah?” Ellen said.
Finn could tell she’d heard this before.
Jonah nodded. “I couldn’t stop it. I put pressure on it, and…”
“You had her blood on your hands,” Ellen said.
“Because I was trying to save her,” Jonah said.
“What happened after that?” he asked.
“Afterward, I ran into the village. I wanted to get help for her. I woke up Ellen and
guided her out to where I found Mary.”
Finn turned to Ellen. “There wasn’t anything you could do?”
“By the time I got to her, she was already gone,” Ellen said. “There’s only so much
that can be done when a person bleeds the way Mary had. He wasn’t wrong about the
wound. Knife must’ve twisted in her chest for her to bleed like that.”
Short of magic. Finn didn’t say that, though he thought about it. He had been stabbed
before and had very nearly bled out. Were it not for the hegen magic, he might have died.
Mary hadn’t the same benefit.
“Why did the village elders accuse Jonah?” He asked the question of Ellen, realizing
that it was beneficial since she had been the one to meet him. Perhaps she had known he
would need to question her as well.

“They were seen arguing earlier in the day,” Ellen said. “They had argued a few
times over the week before.”
Finn frowned. “I see.”
“You believe them, too,” Jonas said. He laid back, rolling away. “It doesn’t matter. I
might as well be dead anyway. Go on and do what you must. You will, anyway.”
Finn stood in place for a few moments, watching. He had other questions he thought
he could ask, but anything more would not get to the truth of the matter the way he needed.
He needed more information.
“If I have any further questions, I will return,” Finn said.
He left the room and heard Ellen speaking softly to Jonah, though he couldn’t make
out what she said. After she joined him back in the main hall, she closed the door, locking it
again, lingering there with a hand on the door.
“You will carry out the sentencing?” Ellen asked.
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” She arched a brow. “I thought that the king’s executioner carried out all
assignments.”
“Only when appropriate,” he said.
“We have him at the scene of her death. We have his hands on her. We have no other
footprints around her. Only his. He had an argument with her the day she died, along with
beforehand.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to believe that Jonah had done this either,
but we don’t have anybody else who could have.”
Finn glanced over to the door, eyeing it for a long moment. She was probably right.
They didn’t have anybody else that fit and given the story it certainly sounded suspicious.
Still, he had trained long enough that he knew better than to simply accept any story at face
value.
“I would like to see this place.”
“Which place?”
“Where the murder was committed. He said it was by a stream outside of the village.
Would you mind showing me to it?”
Ellen glanced over to the door, cringing for a moment. “Will this help?”
“Finding the truth always helps.”

“You think we haven’t found the truth?”
“I think that I need a bit more information before I am convinced.” He smiled. “If you
wouldn’t mind, wise woman?”
She sighed and then straightened her spine as she looked at Finn, eyes flashing with
irritation. “I suppose I can. It’s not much of a walk.”
Finn nodded. “Lead the way.”