by Plague Jack
“Yes, they do!” Shrike continued. “They read everyone’s mail. They’re a spy organization. That’s really their main purpose. I know because I founded it.” Another shocked murmur went up from the crowd.
Shrike is either very confident he’s never working for the Queen again, or very, very mad that someone else stole his job, thought Pendragon, amazed that the dwarf would reveal such information to a room packed with hundreds.
“And because I used to spend my days spying on you, I know all your secrets!” Shrike announced happily. He reached into a coat pocket behind him and pulled out a notepad. “I wrote some of them down before the Queen bitch tried to murder me. There’s one in particular I think you might want to hear.” Mordigan was silent. “Darius began supplying the gilnoid settlement, the Fells, with a potent drug called crystal. In return the people of the Fells would send young men and women to fight for Darius. Eventually Darius became stingier with the crystal and the gilnoids of the Fells started making their own. Does that ring any bells, Mordigan?”
“N-no,” said Mordigan.
“One of the symptoms of crystal abuse is the decaying of tissue around the nose, and the destruction of its cartilage. Did you know that?”
“Get off the stand, Mordigan,” said the judge, his voice tinged with annoyance.
Shrike closed his book. “The notebook’s blank,” whispered Pendragon with a smile. Shrike replied with a wink.
“You have called your witness,” said Shrike. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to call one of mine.”
“Go on,” said the judge.
“I call Duchess Veronica Evrill to the stand.” There was a rustling murmur from the crowd. A few people clapped.
“Evrill. Famous Duchess of Harpy’s Point. Also a renowned scientist who invented the repeating ballista. Take a seat,” the judge ordered as the old woman walked up to the podium and sat with grace.
“Her inventions aren’t limited to ballistics,” said Shrike. “You’ve also studied medicine, haven’t you, Duchess?”
“That’s correct,” said Evrill, pushing her half-moon glasses up her nose. “I developed the vaccine for dog rot at our sanctuary back home. We’ve also made huge progress with yeast-based anti-bacterials.”
A few more hands began to clap before the judge silenced them with a raise of his hand. “Your work at Harpy’s Point has made you friends here, Duchess,” said the judge as Pendragon listened intently. “Can you explain why the vaccine failed to reach Norfield?”
“I cannot,” she replied. “My sanctuary was only responsible for its manufacture, not its distribution. That fell upon Queen Roselock and the Queensguard.”
“Go on, then,” said the judge, putting his hand back down.
“You knew Pendragon back in the Green War, did you not?” asked Shrike.
“I did,” said Evrill. “I knew him very well.”
“Knew him well…” said Shrike, pondering her words before looking down at the imaginary words in his notebook and crumpling his brow. “You two were romantically linked, were you not?”
“If I make it through this alive,” said Pendragon, “I’m going to throttle you.”
“Duly noted,” said the dwarf as Evrill squirmed uncomfortably in her seat.
“That was a long time ago,” said Evrill, her gaze meeting Pendragon’s. “But, yes, we were, albeit briefly. A mutual disagreement drove us apart.”
Indeed it did, Pendragon thought, remembering the fight they’d had after the destruction of Capricorn. The only reason we met again was because we both want to fix what we’ve done wrong. Another good thing ruined with this city.
“Would you give us an explanation of his character, then?” asked Shrike. “As someone who has known him”—Shrike met Pendragon’s death glare—“intimately, perhaps you could give us some insight. Could you explain to our dear friends”—he turned to extend an arm to the audience—“why Clark Pendragon deserves his life when he has ended so many others?”
“Indeed I could,” Evrill responded, looking past the mask and into the judge’s blue eyes. “You have killed men, have you not? If no, you’ve surely had them killed?”
“Of course!” said the judge. “The price for the elfkin’s freedom will be paid in blood. It’s something every Huntsman understands when he joins our fellowship.”
“But that’s a choice you made,” she replied. “That’s a choice all of you have made. Clark was born of nobility, to a life where every action, no matter how small or innocent, can have untold and horrific consequences. It was not a life he chose for himself, and compared to the mistakes and crimes of other nobles, Clark here is practically a saint. If you want someone to hang for the destruction of your cities, why not kill me? Pendragon’s not the only one to have failed the elfkin.”
“Maybe we should!” shouted the dolled-up elf woman who had spat at Pendragon. She was quickly booed into silence by the crowd.
“Pendragon has made his mistakes, but given the circumstances, he has performed admirably. There were those among the loyalists who would have had you all exterminated.”
“Death to the Blood Queen!” someone shouted.
“No,” said Evrill, shaking her head. “Executing Minerva would only cause more chaos and killing. Were it not for Pendragon many of you would likely not be here today. Call off this foolish charade.”
The judge looked Evrill up and down. “No. Not yet.”
“She did very well,” Shrike said to Pendragon before turning to Calcifer. “When we get to call another witness I want it to be you.”
“I’ll testify,” said Pierah.
“No, you won’t,” the dwarf responded. “I need someone up there I can trust.”
Calcifer stared blankly at Shrike for a moment. “Fine,” he said reluctantly. “You trust me?”
The dwarf shook his head. “More than her,” he said, pointing at Pierah before turning to Evrill. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said as she left the stand.
“Chima!” said the judge. “You’re up next. Get up here.” The elf woman named Chima walked down the aisle, her brown hair awkwardly cut and sporadically combed over patches of baldness. Her frame was narrow and bony, and she twitched as she walked. Chima shook slightly as she sat down in the chair. “You were a serving girl for Brarian Ashen during the Green War. You witnessed his death at the hands of this man,” said the judge with a nod at Pendragon.
“Y-yes,” said the jittery elf woman. “Brarian was…” She paused. “Brarian was good to us. He paid twice what the other dukes paid—at least, that’s what I hear, anyway. Then one day the Queensguard came to the Ribcage led by him.” She pointed at Clark and pulled at a loose strand of hair. “He accused Brarian of supporting Darius, of sending him troops and supplies, and then he...” Chima was on the verge of tears. “And then he cut off his head for being a traitor. All of Norfield mourned Brarian. He was beloved by all of us. You had ruined Norfield and put that fat pig in charge of the city.” Phineas’s head dripped black ichor onto the stone. “Phineas ruined Norfield.”
Brarian was a good man, thought Pendragon, but he was also a traitor who supported the mad prince and would have let Darius burn Voskeer to the ground. Phineas hardly ruined Norfield. If his death proved anything, it was that he was all that stood between Norfield and total anarchy Perhaps I never gave him enough credit. Perhaps no one did.
“How did you say you knew Brarian Ashen, again?” asked Shrike, eying the mess of a woman up and down.
“I was a servant working at the Ribcage,” she responded. “I also took care of his children. Such sweet little babes they were… They cried for days after the Elf Butcher killed their daddy. The Blood Queen sent the family into exile after that. I miss them terribly.”
“Of course, you were a servant!” said Shrike. “Brarian used to keep a harem; did you know that?” Chima remained silent. “I’ll take that as a yes. He was quite fond of his harem, and he wasn’t afraid of sharing his girls with his underlings ei
ther. Do you know what happened to the girls who got pregnant?”
Chima shook her head. “I—I heard he paid them a dowry and sent them on their way.”
“Well, he did,” said Shrike. “Until Darius started buying them.” The dwarf faced the crowd. “Darius’s depravities are notorious enough that I’m sure you are all quite familiar with them. Needless to say, Brarian was hardly a saint.”
It pays to have a spymaster on your side, thought Pendragon, unsure of what to believe.
“No, no, I don’t believe it! Brarian was a kind soul,” said Chima, her shaking becoming more violent.
“Was he, now?” asked Shrike, pointing at a page in his notebook. “My intelligence says otherwise.”
“Liar,” shouted Chima. “You’re a fucking liar,” she shrieked. “Let me see it! Let me see your notebook! He’s lying!”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said Shrike, shaking his head. “You look quite the mess, hardly the type who can keep a secret.”
“You’re an evil, lying man!” Chima yelled, pulling at her hair. “He lies! I swear it,” she said, shooting a mournful look at the judge. “Don’t believe him.”
“That will be all,” said the judge. “Chima, you are excused.”
“No,” said the elf girl her voice shaking. “No, I won’t leave until that dwarf admits he’s lying.”
“Huntsman,” said the judge. “Please remove Chima from the stands.”
“No!” shrieked Chima as a pair of Huntsmen grabbed her by the arms and led her away. “Fuck you! Get your hands off me!” A few people laughed as Chima was led down a hallway and her screams became fainter and fainter.
“That bit about Brarian selling girls to Darius—that’s true, right?” Pendragon asked Shrike.
“There may have been a few girls who met unfortunate ends,” said Shrike after seeing Pendragon’s worried expression. “But does it matter? It got her off the stand and now no one will believe her. No one will take her seriously. And that man up there,” said Shrike, pointing at the judge, “he’s embarrassed. He’ll be bringing out the cavalry soon. You ready, boy?” he asked Calcifer.
Calcifer rubbed the bridge between his eyes. “Very well, but let’s make this quick,” he said as he took a seat beneath the podium and Nemesis’s shadow.
“I am humbled before my next witness!” said Shrike, his voice booming loud enough to grab the attention of everyone in the room. “I present to you Calcifer, although you may know him better as conqueror of not one, not two, but twelve hellions! Monsters the likes of which would make most of you wet yourselves in fear. Boys and girls, I give you the Bottler!” The audience’s clapping turned Calcifer’s face a bright pink.
“It’s an honor to see you have joined us, Bottler,” said the Judge. “You will be a great asset to our cause.”
“I’ve made no allegiances,” Calcifer responded.
“But you are welcome here regardless,” croaked the judge before Shrike began.
“You’ve made a career out of hunting monsters, haven’t you, Bottler? Monsters that were once men of power like yourself?” said Shrike, leading Calcifer on before his audience.
“Yes. I guess you could say I’m familiar with the darker creatures,” said Calcifer.
“Would you tell the courtroom, then, what is a monster?”
“Where to begin?” Calcifer muttered rhetorically. “Well, there are the subspecies of elfkin, those that have failed to reach sentience. Faelings in their natural unaltered state were considered monsters, but there are also harpies and rippers, burrowlings….”
“All fairly manageable,” Shrike interrupted. “We don’t need to hear about the little fish. Tell us about the big ones.”
“In Amernia, Cambrian selects my kind when we are close to death. He comes to us in our moments of defeat and offers us the ability to tap into his power. Some of us”—Calcifer’s eyes met Pierah’s—“take more from Cambrian than we can handle. Under the strain our bodies mutate and our powers amplify. At first the mutations are reversible, but they eventually melt away sanity and reason. The thirst for power is an ugly thing.”
“So by your definition, monsters are created by mutation?”
“No,” said Calcifer. “The physical mutation is mirrored psychologically. Hellions are the worst types of madmen and sadists rolled into one. Toratian, for example, used to hide in the Whitewood and wait for prey. When he finally found an unexpected traveler or rogue trader, he would tie them to a tree branch with their own entrails. Kira would slice the limbs off people who looked at her and then spend days crying over how she couldn’t piece them back together. Eventually she would try sewing their limbs back on, but her claws could hardly hold a needle, so she just made a complete mess of things. Hellions are just as monstrous on the inside as they are on the outside.”
Not all, thought Pendragon, remembering the sour wine he had shared with Eldred long ago.
“Indeed they are,” said Shrike. “Now, would you mind explaining to our dear friends why Clark Pendragon here is as far from a monster as they come?”
I’m dead, thought Pendragon. There’s no way Calcifer will vouch for me. Not after what I let happen to his sister.
“Is Pendragon a monster?” asked Calcifer, gazing intently at the old man while he pondered. “He’s a byproduct of a militant hierarchy, where men and women are encouraged to be honorable and chivalrous in a society that fails to respect either virtue. In that regard he is a certain type of monster. Regret is something no hellion ever had, and Pendragon has regrets in droves. He is a good man inside, and he wants to make life better for the elfkin.” Calcifer’s blue eyes met the judges. “Which is more than can be said for me.”
An honest answer from an honest man. I never expected such high praise from the Bottler, thought Pendragon, touched by Calcifer’s defense. It was hard to guess the judge’s emotions from behind his faceless mask, but the robed figure hardly seemed the type to welcome defiance.
“Your opinions and allegiances are your own, Bottler,” said the judge. “We are happy to have you regardless.” Calcifer dismissed himself and returned back to the table.
“Your witnesses have done nothing but recite what’s already known,” said Shrike loudly. “I think we’ve rubbed Pendragon’s nose in his shit for long enough.”
“We aren’t finished,” said the judge. “There is one more who has yet to say his piece. Would Kaevin please take the stand?”
“I’m coming!” shouted a haggard voice form the back of the mob. “Give me a fucking minute!” The crowd parted as the dwarf stepped forward. His one good hand gripped a cane while the other lay in a sling, black and shriveled. The charred wither extended up the man’s left side, covering the left half of his face with scars. A lidless eye stared out from the fleshy and mangled mess of long-since-calloused burns. Kaevin’s gray beard covered half his chin and was tied neatly with a strip of red cloth. Painfully the old dwarf limped forward and seated himself before the podium.
“I present to you Kaevin, last master smith of Morheim,” said the judge, welcoming the burnt old man.
“And head armorer of the Wild Hunt,” Kaevin growled. “I’ve got my own story to share, and I’m going to tell it to you directly.” The dwarf pointed his good hand at Pendragon. “I’m older than him, and I don’t need a prince-slayer to talk for me,” he said, his swollen eye glaring at Shrike. “Unless the old dragon’s gone dumb?”
“Go ahead,” said Shrike. “There’s still time for you to ruin your life and get yourself killed, but go ahead—I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“How kind,” said Pendragon as his hand began to shake once again. He put it beneath the table and Shrike pretended not to notice. “Tell me your story, Kaevin.”
Kaevin laughed a wheezy laugh, grinding his exposed teeth together. “My story begins like every story from the war begins—with a stubborn royal. Edgar the Aged, as he was known in Morheim for his refusal to die, had developed a particular bre
ed of cultural philosophy that excelled at pissing people off. Every guild represented a different cog in his Great Machine, and if any cogs decided to misbehave, the Breakers would beat them into submission.” Kaevin drank heavily from a flask, turning his head to one side so the vodka didn’t spill from his scars.
“We all know this, Kaevin,” the judge reminded.
“Shut up. I’m getting to the important bits,” the burnt dwarf snapped before continuing. “There was the Builders’ Guild, which I was part of, and then there was the Artists’ Guild—bunch of fruitcakes, they were. The most famous guild was the Breakers and it was the Breakers who caused the most trouble. They were called the Breakers because they were famous for breaking two things: stone in their mines, and skulls, whenever Edgar was feeling feisty. The Breakers had tunnels in their mines that went deep—so deep, in fact, that they left Morheim and began worming their way under the sea floor. It was there they found the red dust. May the soul of the Breaker who brought that evil to the surface burn in hell,” Kaevin spat.
“Now, when touched by flame the red dust explodes bright—brighter than the sun. Some might say the red dust is as big of a mistake as Nixus, but that’s horseshit. Dust never left a city uninhabitable. As the Blood Queen’s forces laid siege to Morheim, the people started to get cabin fever. It’s hard being trapped under a mountain. Edgar the Aged agreed to let those who wished to flee leave in peace. There were hundreds of us leaving Morheim, mothers carrying children, sons carrying the elderly, young couples gone to start a new life…. When they lit the dust it flashed throughout the tunnel and burned everything it touched. Only about half had made it out before the dust went off. I was not so lucky. Dust made me the beauty I am today, and if it wasn’t for that man right there,” said Kaevin, pointing at Pendragon, “I wouldn’t be alive, and you all would be short an armorer. He personally dragged me out of the rubble, which bloody fucking hurt, but he saw to it that I was treated by Harpy’s men. He did the same for countless others. Do you remember me, Dragon?”
A tightening hit Pendragon in the chest, warm and comfortable. He wasn’t used to this. “I tried to save as many as I could, and that wasn’t very many. If I could have ended the Green War without death I would have. Darius was a monster propped up by the elfkin, their support given only out of a greedy lust for power. I am sorry for the deaths I failed to prevent. Let me help make things right.”
