Soldier cont.

The garrison commander had just given the order to break the legs of the criminals. The soldier was glad that it wasn't his job anymore, one of the benefits of rank. He remembered that the cursed mallet was heavier than any steel he wore at his side. It was easy to kill a man, it wasn't so easy to break their legs. He had learned the hard way, that you wanted to break their legs with one blow. Quite a few times he had to swing the mallet two or three times. Some of the older soldiers mocked and laughed at him, many years ago. The strike had to land just below the knee and the force of the hit would snap the bone off. He knew he was doing it right when the bones snapping all started to sound the same. Many times as he had approached the condemned with the mallet they begged and pleaded with him to stop. Well, anyway it would make the poor men die quicker.

Before the soldier bringing the mallet came the king began to move, to struggle in a way. As the king looked into the still dark heavens he began to speak. The soldier was still very close, so close he could still hear the rasping as the king struggled to breath. this time the words were easy to understand and they were filled with a certainty, an inner knowledge of something beyond the present. The soldier drew closer to the king. It was as if he was compelled to be near the king. The words that came from the king cut right through the soldiers armor and his cold heart. From the dry and bloodied lips of the king came the words, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit. It is finished." As those words escaped the king's mouth he sighed and gave a short gasp and died. The king's chest stopped its struggle for air and his eyes were looking far beyond the earth.