[WordFlower]: 689.Traitor'sGate

Traitor’s Gate

   It was tall, and its faded, peeling paint was black. There was a heavy iron bar securely fastened across it, although it was more for show than to keep anyone in or out. Nobody ever returned once they’d been taken beyond the Traitor’s Gate. Everyone knew that. He was no exception.
   His hands were chained. Heavy manacles adorned his ankles, making the walk there heavy and slow, dragging out the torture of not knowing his fate far longer than it had any right to do.
   He knew what he’d done – he’d known he would be punished if caught. You didn’t give vital tactical information to the enemy without considering the consequences. But he’d never really expected to be caught. He’d never believed it would actually happen. It had seemed impossible then – at that time, only the thrilling reality of rebelling against those who had beaten and insulted and broken him since childhood had been real – and, even when he’d been sitting in his cell waiting to be taken away, death had seemed far off and unreal. In fact, none of it had seemed like anything more than a bad dream before now, standing before that gate with its steel bars and bolts and straps.
   The gate should have creaked when it opened, but apparently it was kept very well oiled, and slid open without a sound. For a moment he stood staring out into the plains, covered in a thick blanket of mist in the gray morning light, slightly confused. The confusion grew as his guards marched him out into the tall grass, and an ugly steel key was produced from a ring of seemingly identical keys, his manacles unlocked and slung over the shoulder the biggest guard. He started to speak as the four big men turned away and headed back for the gate, but one of them interrupted first. “We don’t ever want to see you again, traitor; you’ve seen this side of the Gate, and in this land, that had better be the last sign of civilization you see. If we ever find you again, you’re dog meat.”
   He watched in shock and awe as they walked away. The big, black gate slid silently closed behind them, and he heard the iron bar pulled back across it. Then he turned and looked out across the plains, just as the sun peeked its tip over the edge of the horizon, turning the mist all gold and pink. And all he thought was, ‘Freedom.’ He started walking. Walking away from what he’d thought was certain death, from a land and a people he hated, into the unknown, beautifully golden future…
   There was a quiet sound. It was 'thud.'

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   The archer chuckled and slung the longbow over his shoulder. “I like the face they make when they actually think we’re gonna let ’em go, and then they realize they’re dead,” he grinned and punched his partner companionably in the arm. They laughed as they walked away.
   Nobody ever returned once they’d been taken beyond the Traitor’s Gate. Everyone knew that. And they were definitely no exception.

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