The judge drummed his fingers on the desk in front of him, sizing Orlla up for a long moment before turning back to Arnulf. “And where did your fellow Kingsman suspect this woman hailed from?”
“He has a sister in Dorsching who knew a girl with a white streak in her hair just like this woman has,” Arnulf answered. “She and her mother, Enndolynn, were captured by Pegonian traders over a decade ago. This woman you see before you today may well have been raised in Pegonia from a young age, and consider herself Pegonian, making her the perfect spy for Brufus’s cause.”
“Do you deny this charge?” the judge barked, glaring at Orlla.
She lifted her gaze and stared unflinchingly back at him. “I was not raised in Pegonia, Your Honor.”
“Do you hail from Dorsching?”
Orlla hesitated. Maybe she could turn the truth to her advantage. “I do, Your Honor.”
“At last we make progress,” he said, with a dramatic flourish of his hand and loudly enough for the entire court to hear. “And have you witnesses that can be called upon to verify this?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Orlla responded, her voice unwavering. “The woman I shared a prison cell with last night knew my mother, Enndolynn.”
The judge beckoned impatiently to one of the guards who had brought Orlla to the courthouse. “Fetch the witness at once.”
The guard whispered something to the bailiff, who approached the bench and leaned in to the judge. After a few minutes of back and forth, he straightened up and glared at Orlla. “Do you intend to waste the court’s time by calling upon a lunatic to corroborate your lies?”
“She is no lunatic, and I am no liar,” Orlla retorted.
The judge threw up his hands in dramatic fashion and then turned to Arnulf once more. “Do you wish to present any more evidence to add to your testimony?”
“Indeed, Your Honor. When my fellow Kingsman and I began to question this woman more closely, she took it upon herself to flee in the middle of the night. An innocent woman does not take to the roads alone under cover of darkness on the brink of war. A spy, on the other hand, favors traveling when no one is astir.”
A murmur of consensus ran around the court.
“Very well,” the judge said. “We have heard more than enough evidence at this point to secure a conviction, and the accused has not offered any kind of valid defense to the charges. If there are no more witnesses to verify this woman’s identity, this court is adjourned until sentencing tomorrow.”
He rose with a swish of his robes just as a voice called across the courtroom.
“I know who this woman is.”
Chapter 15
Orlla’s heart leapt into her throat. She turned her head to see Samten pull down his hood and step into the center aisle.
The judge squinted down at him from the dais where he stood, still poised to exit the courtroom. “And who, pray tell, are you?”
“I am Samten, of the house of Radmount, and this woman is my sister.”
Arnulf whipped his head around, his startled eyes roving over Orlla like he was seeing her for the first time.
She clenched her jaw, willing what was happening to be a nightmare from which she would momentarily awake. If Samten revealed Efyllsseum’s existence, nothing would induce the judge to release either of them until he had tortured them into giving up its secrets.
The court erupted in debate as the spectators turned around on their benches to gawk at the witness.
With scarcely concealed exasperation, the judge gestured to the bailiff to bring Samten forward, before resuming his seat at the bench and silencing the courtroom with a decisive strike of his gavel.
Orlla held her breath as the bailiff escorted Samten up the aisle. He grinned at her in passing, but she spurned tendering even the faintest nod of acknowledgement in return. She would deny everything in a bid to protect him. Her heart drummed loudly as Samten fixed his gaze unswervingly on the judge.
“You claim to be the prisoner’s … brother?” the judge asked, inserting a skeptical pause in his question as his flinty eyes scanned Samten’s disheveled appearance.
“I do, Your Honor.”
“He’s lying, Your Honor,” Orlla shouted, yanking her wrists in a desperate attempt to free them from the shackles that bound her. “I’ve never seen this foolish lad before. Perhaps he is an imbecile and knows not what he says.”
The guards restrained her, holding her in place with an iron grip.
“You can see for yourself we don’t resemble each other,” Orlla spat out, taking another valiant stab at freeing herself. “I am pale and he is dark-skinned.”
“Gag her!” the judge ordered impatiently. He pursed his lips and propped his elbow on the desk, an apathetic look on his pockmarked face as he waited.
The guard to Orlla’s left grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back while the second guard stuffed a rag in her mouth.
Arnulf took a half-step toward her, squeezing his hands into fists, straining to control himself.
The clerk scribbled furiously, his delight at this unanticipated development in the script spreading across his face. He mopped intermittently at his glistening forehead, careful not to let even a drop of sweat spill on his vellum.
Orlla’s knees shook as she heaved each breath with difficulty. Whatever transpired in the courtroom now, she had no hope of influencing the outcome without a voice. Why had Samten not fled when he had the chance as she had instructed him to do? She groaned inwardly in frustration. She shouldn’t be surprised. He had never listened to reason or done her bidding. He was reckless enough not to realize that this was bigger than both of them. If he let anything slip about Efyllsseum or the Opal of Light, he would bring war to their shores and death to their father and Akolom, among many others.
The judge cocked an eyebrow at Samten. “Now that order has been restored to my courtroom, perhaps you would deign to inform us where you now reside as it appears your sister has vowed to remain mute on this issue.”
Samten pulled his shoulders back, never taking his eyes off the judge. “The island kingdom of Efyllsseum beyond the Angladior mountains.”
The clamor in the room was instantaneous—bursts of uproarious laughter, heated commentary and deafening debate. People leapt up from their seats, jostling for a better view of Samten, shouting incoherently over one another in their excitement. The judge gave several hearty thumps of his gavel, but it was a pointless gesture amid the uproar. Seething, he stood and snapped his fingers at the bailiff who instantly hurried out of the courtroom.
Within minutes, guards began pouring in from every direction. They went to work, beating people into submission and hauling away several loudmouths who refused to be silenced. Out of the corner of her eye, Orlla spotted Arnulf arguing with a guard, but the guard soon moved on once he realized he was contending with a Kingsman.
As soon as the remaining spectators had resumed their seats, the judge got to his feet and motioned to the bailiff. “Arrest this lad for wasting the court’s time with fantastical hogwash. Next, he’ll be telling us he’s a dragon rider.” He glared menacingly around the room in warning to all and sundry. “Anyone who lies to protect a spy in time of war will be hanged along with them.”
Dread curdled in Orlla’s gut. With a last-ditch effort, she managed to work her tongue behind the rag and spit it out.
“He speaks the truth,” she yelled in one rushed breath. “I am a Keeper of Efyllsseum.”
A cavernous silence eclipsed the court. Guards tensed, resting their hands on the hilt of their swords, anticipating another uproar. This time, the crowd held a collective breath, captivated by the unraveling story, as they awaited the judge’s response to the accused’s stunning admission.
Samten’s gaze flicked to Orlla, but she ignored him as she fought to regain her composure and face the inevitable questions. Samten had already divulged their island’s existence. She had been left with no choice but to trade his life for Efyllsseum’s secret
s—a trade that only a few hours ago she would never have dreamt of acceding to.
The judge’s face had taken on a sheen of uncertainty. “Efyllsseum is a legend. Macobite soldiers have searched for a pass through the Angladior mountains for over five hundred years. It does not exist.”
“For you it does not exist,” Orlla corrected him. “You are unable to see it because of the veiling runes that hide it from all eyes, save those of Keepers.”
Frowning, the judge smoothed out his robes in an agitated fashion. “What are these runes you speak of?”
“They are remnants of ancient secrets taught to the human race by the dragons many centuries before the fifty-year war. The rune-making annals on the island kingdom of Efyllsseum have been preserved and we still practice the art of rune weaving.”
The judge rubbed the tip of his finger back and forth over his thin lips, studying her with a covetous glint in his eye. “Where is this hidden pass through the mountains?”
Orlla jutted out her chin. “I will only speak of it with King Hamend in attendance.”
An angry scowl darkened the judge’s face. When he spoke, his voice was low and menacing. “You would dare to bargain with me when you are on trial for your life.”
Orlla raised her voice, ensuring that everyone in the courtroom heard her next words. “And you would dare to hang the only person who can lead your king to the hidden pass that Macobite soldiers have spent centuries searching for?”
“You overestimate your worth, wench!” the judge spat out, his face blotchy with rage. “What makes you think Efyllsseum is of interest to King Hamend?”
Orlla’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “I am confident King Hamend will be well-pleased with what I have to tell him. If you hang me today, he will never learn the island’s secrets, and this court will bear testimony to what you have kept from him.”
Contentious murmuring rumbled around the courtroom. The guards exchanged unsettled looks, shifting in position as they readied their weapons yet again.
After a tense moment, the judge signaled to the guards holding Orlla. “Take the prisoner to the courthouse cell. I will request an audience with King Hamend forthwith.” He fastened a threatening glare on Orlla. “If you are lying, you will rue the day you stood before me. I will have you flailed within an inch of your life before the noose tightens around your neck granting you release from your agony.”
“What of the lad?” one of the guards asked.
The judge pursed his lips disapprovingly. “Lock him up with her. He too will pay with his life if it transpires they are lying.” He slammed his gavel down on the desk in front of him and strode from the room, robes flapping behind him.
To Orlla’s surprise, the guards didn’t take her and Samten to the prison but locked them up instead in a tiny, empty cell at the back of the courthouse. Evidently, the judge expected them to be granted a speedy audience with King Hamend. She contemplated their situation as she observed the guards milling around outside. Escape was no longer an option—she would be forced to negotiate with the king himself. The only question now was how much she was willing to concede.
Orlla turned her attention to Samten, seated in the straw at the back of the cell, knees folded to his chest like a child. She sighed wearily, her bound hands limp in her lap. “Why did you come here, Samten? You didn’t have to betray Efyllsseum. You could have had what you’ve always wanted—freedom from the Conservatory, the life of a soldier.”
He lifted his head, his dark eyes reflecting a depth of emotion she had never glimpsed before. “Efyllsseum betrayed the mainland by hoarding the light dragon stone for centuries. This place crawls with death while we linger in lives that are never spent.”
Tears pricked at Orlla’s eyes. “That life of yours is on the line now.”
He shrugged. “Maybe it always was.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was running from the future ordained for me before I was running from the assassin.” He gave a hollow laugh. “It was only a matter of time before Efyllsseum tired of me. Now Hamend will have his shot at me.”
“You had a chance at freedom on the mainland,” Orlla reminded him.
“And I took it.” He grinned. “I chose to appear here today as a witness in your defense. You are no spy, and you will not hang as one.”
“It’s not just our fate bound up in this trial anymore,” Orlla said quietly. “You realize what you’ve done, don’t you?”
“Exposed a nefarious King Ferghell to the outside world,” Samten replied with venom.
“And put our people’s lives at risk—our father’s, too.”
“Depriving the mainlanders of the Opal of Light put their lives at risk. If it takes sacrifice to right that wrong, so be it. If you don’t tell King Hamend what we’ve been hiding, I will.”
Orlla sighed. “I don’t disagree with your sentiments, but with forethought we could have found a better way to bring the blessings of the Opal of Light to the mainland. King Hamend is just as greedy a monarch as King Ferghell.”
They both turned at the sound of the cell door rattling. A guard unlocked it and waved them out. “You have an audience with the king.”
Orlla raised her brows. She had expected the king’s curiosity to be piqued by the judge’s report, but she hadn’t expected him to grant them an immediate audience. “King Hamend must be extremely eager to learn what we know,” she said under her breath to Samten. “We will be negotiating for our lives. Leave me to conduct the discourse. I beg you to hold your tongue.”
Two more guards ushered them over to waiting steeds and hoisted them into the saddles. Mounted guards, armed with swords and lances closed ranks around them.
News about them had spread throughout the town. As they clip-clopped over the cobblestone streets, townsfolk clustered on street corners to gawk and whisper. Tavern bartenders and shop owners along the route stepped out from behind their counters to get a better look.
Despite the inquisition that awaited them, Orlla felt relieved when they finally arrived at the castle, no longer subject to the scrutiny of the masses agog to catch a glimpse of them.
Pennants fluttered from the castle battlements as they entered the courtyard under a carven archway. The guards were expecting them and quickly ushered them through the main entryway into a shadowy hallway filled with dusty suits of armor, gilt statues and limestone busts of Macobin’s monarchs. After a few minutes of waiting, the judge who had presided over their trial appeared, looking more harried than before. His eyes swept over their disheveled appearance, his tongue clucking in disapproval. “You could have cleaned them up a bit,” he grumbled to one of the castle guards.
“They just arrived, Your Honor.”
“Very well, they will have to do,” the judge replied with a dramatic sigh. “We dare not keep the king waiting any longer.”
He led the way down a dark-paneled hallway hung with worn tapestries and faded paintings. Unlike King Ferghell’s castle, an aura of decay hung over everything—a reflection of a dying kingdom, Orlla mused.
As the judge swept along the corridor, he fired out a rapid set of directions. “Bow low to the ground, always from the waist … wait until the count of five … do not address the king until he has spoken … always end every sentence with Your Highness … What else? Ah, yes, do not let your eyes wander around the room. Give the king your fixed attention at all times.”
He pulled up short outside the gilded throne room doors and took a deep breath before nodding to the sentries to announce them to the king. They flung open the doors and heralded his arrival, stomping their halberds in unison on the stone floor. The judge struck a confident stride as he approached the throne, trailed by the guards escorting Samten and Orlla.
Following the judge’s lead, Orlla bowed low from the waist, relieved to see that, for once, Samten was adhering to the rules of propriety. When she straightened up, she stared curiously at Macobin’s king, the monarch she had been born under, but no lon
ger swore allegiance too. His drooping skin had a gray undertone to it, his downy, white hair too thin to cushion the dull crown that sat atop his head. Orlla frowned. Although she was no expert in such matters, the king looked decidedly sick to her.
On his right, stood a small group of advisors in rich robes and plumed caps. Courtiers decked out in their finery surrounded the throne, men in breeches, stockings and surcoats of blue, green, and scarlet, while the women wore richly-ornamented silk gowns with tight bodices, their hair elaborately coiffed atop their heads. Orlla’s eyes widened when she spotted Arnulf standing with a party of Kingsmen behind the courtiers. She couldn’t help but wonder if he regretted arresting her and bringing her here now that he knew the truth. Regardless, she would not hold it against him. She would have done the same for Efyllsseum had the situation been reversed.
“I understand you are presiding over a most unusual case,” King Hamend said, addressing the judge in a quiet, yet commanding voice.
“Indeed, Your Highness,” the judge responded, the long scar on his jaw distorting into a ragged scowl. “This woman, an alleged Pegonian spy brought before the court by the Kingsman, Arnulf, claims to reside in the island kingdom of Efyllsseum beyond the Angladior mountains.” He threw an irritated look at Samten. “And this lad professes to be her brother.”
The king steepled long, bony fingers together and eyed Orlla thoughtfully, an air of melancholy in his eyes. “The island kingdom of Efyllsseum indeed. We all wish we hailed from such an enchanted place, a realm untouched by sickness and where there is no death to mourn.” He sat up in his throne, a mocking smile upon his lips. “Tell me, is it true that the islanders are halflings descended from dragons?”
Several courtiers standing around the throne tittered.
Orlla’s chest tightened. She would not allow herself to be provoked, but neither would she grovel before the king. “Do you see any scales on my body, Your Highness?”
Horrified gasps erupted from the courtiers.
Opal of Light: An epic dragon fantasy (The Keeper Chronicles Book 1) Page 14
