"Do you have any last words, sorcerer?"
The courtyard is still, waiting. They want to hear this; they need to hear this. They know this criminal, this half-grown man, this traitor. They need to understand why he could betray them so.
No one needs to know it more than the man who accuses him.
The sorcerer's voice is sure.
"I die for you, Arthur. I have told you before that I was honoured to be your servant. I still am. And if it is your wish, I will die a hundred deaths. For you."
Still, he cannot stop his screaming.