“You see? They think that’s the worst thing they can do.”
I almost didn’t recognize Karon when they brought him into the Hall of Judgment. In less than two months the strong, vigorous man I knew had become a bent, blind scarecrow, shackled so heavily he could scarcely drag himself into the prisoner’s dock. How did they expect him to stand through the day’s proceedings? They had covered the ragged remnants of his eyes with a strip of cloth so as not to offend the sensibilities of the onlookers, but the blackened, twisted claws that had once been a healer’s hands were left visible as a comfort for the fearful. I could not bear to look at his ravaged body, yet could look nowhere else. As soon as he was in his place, I felt him with me.
Are you here?
I am. It was difficult to merely think the words, rather than speaking them aloud.
Where? I can’t see you… with this blasted rag…
Across the room to your left, surrounded by six stone-faced warriors, ready to defend me from your fiendish forays. Listen. … I coughed aloud quite vigorously and saw his head turn slightly toward me.
It’s probably just as well you’re that far away. If you thought I reeked of the barnyard in Threadinghall… well, my nose still functions properly, and I wish it didn’t.
They’ve only let me see priests and inquisitors, and so my sensibility to foul stenches is perhaps not so refined as it was.
A nice way to put it.
It’s so good to see you. I think you look quite dashing, you know, like some wicked pirate.
I don’t think you can see any better than I can.
I see only what I know. My distress must have overflowed my words. There would be no miraculous escape that day. He could scarcely move.
Don’t fret too much, Seri love. Things are not so bad as they must look.
But I can’t help you.
Not so. You are life to me. Don’t look at me at all. Look deep inside yourself, at the beauty you’ve stored there, the life you hold, the spark that is no other. They cannot touch it. It is where your love lies, that you can give and take as you please. You’ve let me in, for which I bless all spirits of earth and sky, and they cannot touch me while I live in you.
I tried very hard to believe him.
Karon was momentarily overcome by a wracking cough. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth after it, and a young woman sitting behind me cried out, “The devil slavers blood!” Her companions fanned her, and a young nobleman demanded that the guards cover Karon’s head so the ghoulish creature would not frighten the ladies. It took several moments to calm the crowd.
It’s very hard to sort out what’s going on. You must tell me who’s here and what’s all the commotion. I gather it has something to do with me.
And so instead of screaming or weeping, I set myself to provide him a commentary on those in attendance: a large crowd of courtiers, many of whom we knew, and an even larger group of commoners let in to witness the great events. Not one man or woman among the spectators would meet my eye. Interesting to inspire such terror, especially in ones who had shared our table such a short time ago.
Once Evard arrived in full regalia, and the Council of Lords was seated in the raised box to the side—Martin’s place conspicuously empty—the proceedings moved quickly. The first witness brought forward was Maceron, the fish-eyed sheriff. He had dedicated his life to eradicating this greatest of evils from the world, so he said, and had relished his post in eastern Valleor, as rumors of sorcery had always been strong there. Tales of supernatural events had drawn him to Xerema: victims pulled from the ruins, alive beyond all reason, victims ready to be lured into the hellish legions. The devil was obviously recruiting himself an army of slave spirits from under the stones of the fallen city, servants of chaos who would challenge the Twins for control of the world.
To support this ridiculous contention, the prosecutor called the Vallorean singer. The girl was commanded to tell why she made obeisance to Karon in the very presence of her king. Not realizing what it was she did, Misara spoke eagerly of the rumors and stories that had circulated Xerema in the summer, of the blessed one who was said to bring life and hope beyond death. Her father had sworn to her that he had seen her mother, brothers, and sisters die, one by one, until the Dispore had appeared in their living tomb and coaxed them back to life.
Had she seen her family recently, to judge of their moral bearing since the events?
No, she’d been brought to Leire to sing, but—
The prosecutor did not let her continue. I don’t think the girl realized that the grotesque remnant of a man in the prisoner’s dock was her family’s savior.
The constant assumptions and speculation, the lack of any real evidence, the coloring and manipulation of events were beyond all rational belief. Surely the judges could see it.
The most telling witness was yet to come. Evard did not descend to the witness box, of course, but spoke from his gold-leaf chair on the dais to the left of the Council. With simple sincerity he described the episode in Sir Geoffrey’s study. Lady Seriana was renowned for intelligence and honesty, so said the king. When aides brought him the dreadful suspicion that her husband was one of the demon sorcerers, he did not wish to believe it. She was the sister of the Duke of Comigor, his own sword champion, and she confirmed her opposition to sorcery in the very moment of his questioning. But then the demon had struck. He himself had not seen who stabbed the knife into the lady’s back, but had seen the devil bring her back from death. A hundred honest witnesses could vouch that Lady Seriana had been irrational, hysterical, completely mesmerized since the event, spending all her energy defending the sorcerer beyond all reason. How could anything serve as more profound evidence of the prisoner’s guilt?
Angry murmurs rose from the noble observers, and from the commoners standing at the back came cries of “Burn the devil!” The bailiffs did not quiet the clamor until Lord Hessia, the head of the Council, commanded it.
The king concluded his testimony with a dramatic recapitulation of the ill-fated Kerotean campaign, and, in an explosion of righteous anger, proclaimed that, as the protector of his people, he would allow no such sorcerous fiends ever again to torment the good soldiers of Leire. The place was in frenzy when he was done, and I thought the farce of a trial was to be halted. But calm was restored, and I was called to witness.
I could see now how it was supposed to read. The king had vigorously proclaimed my honesty, and now I was to demonstrate how thoroughly Karon had corrupted me by defending him in front of the assembly. Evard had unleashed such a tide of emotion that he believed no one would give me reasonable hearing, and he knew how easy it was for my spiteful tongue to get out of my control. Well, he would not get what he planned.
Vycasso, the Lord High Prosecutor, was a wrinkled old man who combed his long thin hair from left to right in an attempt to obscure his balding forehead and chewed anise I seeds that failed to cover the smell of onions on his breath. He was also a wily prosecutor who had skewered many a witness. I would need to be careful. Once my guards had escorted me to the witness box, he began to skip around from topic to topic, while pacing, halting and turning abruptly, back and forth in front of me like a fencing master trying to keep his student off balance. “How long have you been under the influence of the beast in the prisoner’s dock?”
“I think there are many people in this Hall of Judgment who will note that I am rarely under anyone’s influence. My honored father, the late Gervaise, Duke of Comigor, was not the last to remark on my independent turn of mind.” Amid the shocked murmurs at my levity, I glimpsed not a few nods and smiles. The Lord High Prosecutor had never jousted at Windham.