Sabira could only hope that same breakdown of votes would hold true when it came time to hear Aggar’s case, but even ancient clan rivalries might dissolve in the face of a murdered priest.
Finally, an indeterminate amount of time later, Hrun finished recounting his genealogy.
“… who, in the heart of the Endworld Mountains, begat Chamette Steepslope, who was my mother.”
Sabira had never heard of many of the families mentioned, but from what she’d gathered by intermittently listening to Hrun’s litany, a small group of Noldruns had escaped the still-unnamed cataclysm that destroyed the clan four hundred years ago by fleeing south through the depths of Khyber and resettling in the mountain chain just north of Q’barra. They’d intermarried with the dwarves already living there, who were themselves the descendants of criminals and outcasts long-exiled from the Holds.
“Thank you, Hrun,” Torlan said from his throne. He then turned to look at the seated priestess, who stood to address him.
“He speaks the truth as he understands it, my Lord.”
“Very good. Our thanks, Jhuddona.”
As the priestess inclined her head to him, the arbiter surveyed the other members of the Council.
“Does anyone have any additional questions for Hrun?”
“I do.” It was Kiruk, who’d apparently been paying closer attention to the Noldrun’s recitation than Sabira had at first thought.
“The Council recognizes Kiruk Tordannon,” Torlan replied, nodding at the other dwarf.
Kiruk stood and addressed Hrun.
“You’ve mentioned several families unfamiliar to us in your lineage, which we must assume are not affiliated with any Mrorian clan—the Steepslopes, the Firewrights, the Coldforges, and a handful of others. While breaking from your family and clan to start anew is not unheard of, you’ve listed far too many for that to be the explanation in every case. So that begs the question: If they’re not Mrorian, what are they?”
Sabira wasn’t at all surprised to hear Kiruk use the word “what,” and not “who”—to a Mrorian, any dwarf who wasn’t from the Holds was, almost by definition, something lesser.
“And you are familiar with every family in the Holds?” Hrun asked, his mild tone doing little to temper the impertinence of the question.
Even from where she sat, Sabira could see Kiruk’s green eyes narrow. “I know every family ever associated with my clan, now and in all of our illustrious past,” the councilor said coldly, “as I’m sure my colleagues do, also. If we haven’t heard of them, they’re not Mrorian.” He looked to his fellow Council members for support.
“Actually, I believe the Coldforges may once have been related to our clan,” Viggo Laranak offered after a moment, casting a dark glance at his counterpart from the hated Londurak clan. “The whole family was exiled from our hold after their matriarch, Yelen, entered into a forbidden marriage with a Londurak.”
“As were the Steepslopes, from our hold, for Roddri’s indiscretion,” Londurak replied, returning Viggo’s look, glare for glare.
Another perfect example of why dwarven matrimony was usually contracted—marrying for love could be the downfall not only of the individual couple but also of both of their entire families.
“Which leaves the Firewrights, and four others, who are not from the Holds,” Kiruk continued, turning his sharp gaze back to Hrun. “Are they duergar? Are you? You’ve got those black eyes, after all. Have you come here before us to claim the throne of Noldrunhold with the blood of the gray dwarves tainting your veins?”
As soon as Aggar had mentioned that Eddarga had had black eyes, Sabira had wondered how long it would take Kiruk to bring up the fact that Hrun shared that same eye color. Personally, she thought it was a bit of a stretch. Though rare, dwarves with black eyes were no more uncommon than humans with green eyes. Even Gunnett had them, and if Kiruk tried to suggest the Stonebloods—a family affiliated with his closest allied clan, the Toldoraths—were part duergar, he would get laughed off the Council.
Hrun apparently didn’t see it that way. He’d already been standing tall, but now he straightened, his spine going stiff and his chin lifting. He’d obviously taken umbrage at Kiruk’s question, but whether the insult came from being called part duergar or from having that duergar heritage disparaged remained to be seen.
“If there is duergar blood running through my veins, I do not know of it. Though I have lived my whole life outside their boundaries, I was raised as a child of the Holds, and that is what—and who—I am. First and last, always and only, a Noldrun.”
Jhuddona opened her mouth to verify the statement, but Kiruk waved her words away.
“Just because he doesn’t know, doesn’t mean it isn’t so,” the Tordannon clan leader quipped. “And just because he can spout a barely remembered clan motto doesn’t mean he’s part of that clan, or that he has any idea what those words even mean.”
He sat back in his seat without waiting for a response from either priestess or claimant. He didn’t need to pursue the line of questioning any further; he’d already done what he’d set out to do: sow suspicion.
Sabira didn’t pretend to understand the Mrorian hatred for duergars. She knew little about the so-called “gray dwarves.” To her, they were just dwarves, albeit usually smaller and less likely to be found aboveground—and possessing the distinctive physical characteristics that Aggar had mentioned and with which Kiruk was so obsessed. Sabira had even heard rumors that the duergar possessed mental powers on par with the likes of mind flayers, their own minds having been twisted and changed by long servitude to the daelkyr in ancient times. She doubted those tales had more than a grain or two of truth to them, though—it was far more likely that the Mrorians despised the duergar simply because they were different.
Some of the other Council members asked questions of Hrun, as well—Hilgg Narathun asked him to expound on several branches of his genealogy, apparently looking for a connection to her own clan, while Garrek Soldorak asked what his plans were for retaking Noldrunthrone, should his claim be accepted. Sabira soon grew bored of this discussion as well, and she amused herself by counting beads in the male dwarves’ beards and trying to determine who had the most. The female dwarves had as much prowess on the battlefield as their male counterparts, of course, but they wore their war tokens in their ears, on their fingers, and about their necks, making the pricy baubles much harder to tally.
She’d just about decided that Kolkarun was the unlikely winner when Torlan stood, signaling the end of Hrun’s interview. The Noldrun aspirant dressed quickly and donned a gray cloak. Then another guard appeared from a side entrance to lead him back to his waiting room while the Council tabled further discussions on his claim in favor of Aggar’s trial.
“Aggar Tordannon, step forward and take your place on the eye of Aureon, please.”
Aggar rose and walked to the front row, gesturing for Sabira and Rockfist to follow him. The Narathun guard trailed them, still fondling his urgrosh. Once in the front, they retook their seats, with the guard standing in the second row just behind Aggar. As soon as the Tordannon heir stepped onto the eye, he’d become the problem of the chamber guards and the Narathun could either leave or sit and be just another spectator to what promised to be an entertaining trial, especially for someone who hated the Tordannons. Sabira had a feeling he’d be staying.
Aggar slowly stripped down to his breeches, taking care to fold his garments and place them in a painstakingly neat pile on the bench. As he divested himself of his multicolored clothing at a near-glacial pace, he spoke to his defenders in a low, urgent whisper.
“Once I’m on the eye, they can ask me questions about anything, not just the murders, and I’m obliged to answer. You’ve got to keep the questioning confined to the case at hand. There are things I know that it would be better if they didn’t.”
Sabira had no doubt of that. Even before Aggar had become a member of the Aurum, there’d been things in his past that, for the sake of
his clan, shouldn’t be aired before the Council. But with him joining the Aurum and rising through their ranks so quickly, he had to have left a wake behind him, one that probably included many shady deals and possibly even a body or two. The Iron Council would have no choice but to prosecute him for any crimes uncovered during the course of their interrogation, even if the bodies in question weren’t the ones for which they were originally seeking justice.
“We’ll do our best to keep them focused,” Rockfist promised, as Aggar removed his gold Aurum rings and handed them to the barrister for safekeeping. Rockfist’s eyes widened behind his spectacles and he pocketed the jewelry almost reverently. Sabira wondered, then, if the advocate didn’t aspire to join the ranks of the powerful organization himself.
Then the perceptor was standing next to them and all conversation ceased as Aggar held his arms out to his sides while she examined him for any trace of lingering magic.
She clutched an amulet of some sort that she wore beneath her robes, and a look of concentration creased her face. After a moment, she frowned and pointed to Aggar’s beard.
It was the charm Rockfist had given him, a small gold bead that he’d added to a string of similar bibelots on one of his braids. Reddening, Aggar quickly removed the shiny sphere and handed it over. The perceptor examined it for a moment, then turned to address the Council and Jhuddona.
“It’s a cantrip to disguise odor.”
Torlan said, “We have no objection to him keeping that one, Dorro.” A small ripple of laughter descended from the dais at that, and Dorro returned the charm to Aggar with a shrug. She continued her examination as he replaced the bead on his braid. When she was satisfied, she nodded to Jhuddona, who stood and reactivated the eye with a few whispered words. Once the mithral sigil was glowing again, the perceptor gestured for Aggar to take his place on it. He did so, and the trial began.
Unlike most of the trials Sabira had witnessed or been involved with in the past, cases adjudicated by the Iron Council only involved a single barrister who acted on behalf of the accused. After a summary of the crimes committed, including the presentation of any evidence or witnesses, Aggar would be allowed to tell his side of the story. The Council members would question him, and once they were satisfied they had enough information, they would confer and make a ruling. Their decisions were always final and irrevocable. If the Council decreed death, the accused’s heirs could begin mourning—or celebrating, as the case might be—the instant the sentence was uttered, for there would be no appeals.
Torlan began by addressing the Council.
“I know we are all familiar with this case, and since we have no witness statements to hear, I’d like to waive reading the charges and skip right to questioning the accused, if that’s agreeable to everyone?” Though the arbiter’s words were ostensibly meant for the entire Council, his gaze strayed to Kiruk, and Sabira understood he was extending the older dwarf the courtesy of asking for his permission. The other members understood Torlan’s intent, as well, and none of them signaled their agreement until Aggar’s father had nodded his own.
“Very good.” He gestured to the priestess of Aureon. “Jhuddona, if you please?”
Jhuddona stepped forward, taking the perceptor’s place.
“Aggar Tordannon, did you kill, or cause to be killed, Haddrin Goldglove?”
Aggar’s voice rang out, strong and utterly confident. “No.”
“Did you kill, or cause to be killed, Cerese Silvervein?”
“No.”
The questions droned on as the priestess listed all thirteen murder victims, ending with Mikos Deepshaft. When Aggar’s final denial came, firm and resolute, Sabira thought she heard the veiled woman stir restlessly, but a quick glance in that direction showed nothing amiss, at least as far as Sabira could tell. Who knew what the woman might be doing beneath those veils, though? Best to keep one eye on her and the other on Aggar. A Defender’s habits die hard.
“He believes what he says to be true, my Lord,” Jhuddona said, much as she had with Hrun Noldrun. But while the priestess had offered nothing further with the would-be heir to Noldrunhold, this time she continued. “Certitude is not, however, a guarantee of accuracy.”
“Meaning?” It was Kiruk, and he clearly wasn’t happy that the priestess was overstepping her bounds.
“Meaning that just because he believes his words to be true, it doesn’t necessarily follow that they are true. Those suffering under the affliction of insanity often believe themselves or their surroundings to be other than what they actually are. And a very skilled and disciplined deceiver can train himself to believe his deceptions, for as long as necessary, to fool those who seek the truth.”
Sabira had to suppress a snort at that last suggestion. While Aggar was a canny businessman and strategist with a head for both numbers and tactics, the idea that he was some sort of master of the mental arts was simply ludicrous. Kiruk apparently agreed, for he made no effort to address that veiled accusation. The implication that his son might be crazy, however, was an insult that the Tordannon chief simply could not abide.
“So you’re suggesting that my—that the accused is … insane?” Though weapons were not, as a matter of pride, forbidden in the audience chamber, by tradition, none of the Council members wore them. And seeing Kiruk’s face darken and the way his hand curled reflexively around an axe-haft that wasn’t there, Sabira thought that was probably a very good thing, at least for Jhuddona.
“I am merely offering an alternative explanation for what Aureon’s eye has revealed.”
“You mean an explanation you like better,” Kiruk snapped, his anger getting the better of him. But before the elder Tordannon could say or do anything that might jeopardize his son’s case, Rockfist jumped to his feet.
“Your pardon, my Lord,” he said, addressing Torlan, “But the priestess needs to decide what role she’s playing here—servant of the Sovereign or prosecuting barrister. If it’s to be the latter, then the trial should be moved from this venue and opened to the public. If it’s the former, then she should confine her remarks to fact and leave the theorizing to professionals.”
“And you are one of those professionals, I assume?” Torlan asked evenly.
“Perrin Rockfist and Sabira Lyet d’Deneith, counsel for the defense, my Lord.”
At the mention of Sabira’s name as one of Aggar’s defenders, there was some muttering among the Council members, not all of it welcoming.
“Ah, yes. The Iron Council is pleased that the Shard Axe has chosen to grace the halls of Ferrous House once again,” Torlan said, ignoring the murmurs. “And though it is highly irregular, in light of your past service to the Holds, Sabira, I will allow you to speak on Aggar’s behalf. Defending him is one of the things you do best, it seems.”
Sabira summoned up a brittle smile and nodded her head in what she hoped was a gracious manner, but she didn’t care for Torlan’s condescending tone. It didn’t speak well for his objectivity in this case. Not that she’d expected him to champion Aggar’s innocence—not with his wife’s cousin one of the victims—but she was concerned that his unsubtle bias might affect the votes of other Council members who had no vested interest in the trial’s outcome. If there were any—with thirteen victims, the odds that there was one tied to each clan were much higher than she’d like.
Torlan continued, addressing first Rockfist and then the priestess. “And while I’m not sure a change of venue would benefit your client, I must agree that Jhuddona’s elaborations are out of line. Jhuddona, please limit your future remarks to whether or not the defendant’s statements are true. The Council will do the work of ascertaining if his truth is the same one that the rest of us subscribe to.”
The priestess bowed her head in acquiescence, but not before casting a murderous glare that encompassed both Aggar and Rockfist.
Wonderful. Now Sabira would have to keep an eye on her, too. She hoped that was the extent of the possible threats in the room, because she’d ju
st run out of eyes with which to watch them all.
“Did you have a grudge against any of the murder victims, or a reason for wanting to see them dead?”
Aggar paused, considering. When he finally spoke, it was clear he was choosing his words carefully.
“I had disputes with several of the victims; I believe that’s a matter of record. There were even some whose deaths, under normal circumstance, I would not have mourned. But, no, I didn’t hate any of them enough to kill them.”
Sabira thought she detected the slightest emphasis on the word “I” the last time Aggar used it—almost as if he were subtly suggesting that, while he himself didn’t despise any of the victims enough to have murdered them, he knew of someone who did.
Someone in this very room, perhaps.
“He speaks truly, my Lord.”
“Does he?” Torlan asked, raising a bushy brow in mock astonishment. “Then perhaps you can clarify for me, Aggar, the nature of your last conversation with one of the victims, Mikos Deepshaft?”
The veiled woman moved again, but she was not alone this time. Everyone in the room shifted uncomfortably as the arbiter dived straight into what was arguably the most heinous of the murders. Sabira frowned. She’d hoped the Council would work their way up to the priest’s death a bit more slowly, but it seemed the killer wasn’t the only one getting impatient.
“We argued.”
Aggar hadn’t mentioned that.
“About what?”
“My nephew’s wedding.” Where Aggar had been willing to expound on his answers previously, now he was being positively terse.
“Your nephew, Orin Mountainheart?”
“That’s correct.”
“And he was marrying Gunnett Stoneblood?”
“Yes.”
“And you disapproved of the match, isn’t that right?”
The Shard Axe: An Eberron Novel (Dungeons & Dragons) Page 18
