Reflections in the Void: Book Two of the Demon's Blade Saga

by Steven Drake

  Nia accompanied him far less than he would have liked. He would have preferred to have more help with studying the library, and some company in his explorations. He did manage to spend one evening with her. They watched the rising of Lumina, the great moon, over the city, while sharing some kind of wonderful fruit flavored pastry. It was every bit as marvelous as Nia had described it. Jerris tried to use the opportunity to pry information out of her, about Darien first, and when that failed, about her own history. That effort proved equally fruitless. Nia had grown more guarded and cautious around him, though he was not sure why. The evening was pleasant, but mildly disappointing, as he did not succeed in either gaining useful information, or getting closer to the attractive young woman personally.

  Over several days, he tried a half dozen times to get to the Hall of Judgements, where he guessed Darien was held, but it was always guarded, and as long as he had some hope of seeing the Archmage, he was unwilling to do anything dangerous. In the end, he was one mage in a city of trained knights, and he had no chance of sneaking Darien out, or fighting his way out. His teacher had emphasized caution, and patience. Though frustrating, simply watching and waiting was often the wisest course. Jerris took comfort knowing Darien must have his own plan, he always did, and could take care of himself.

  About a week had passed since Jerris had come to the city, and he was wandering the streets looking for booksellers, on the miniscule chance he might find something other than what was in the Hall of Histories. He wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings, and was taken completely by surprise when a firm hand gripped his shoulder and whirled him forcefully around.

  “There you are. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?” Ceres, damn, I’d forgotten all about her. Jerris started to speak but was stopped by the truly frightening scowl on his bodyguard’s face. “I don’t want to hear your explanations. That damned Shade has gone too far, teaching you to manipulate minds. Galen would never agree to that, and if the people ever found out, well, you wouldn’t be the prince of anything. Now, come along quietly and I won’t say anything about this.”

  Jerris jerked away forcefully, and took several steps back. “No, I’m not going back now, and you can’t stop me.” Suddenly, he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, too fast to be a random bystander. He turned to see a cloaked figure running towards Ceres. His mind leapt into action, but it was already too late. Ceres slumped and fell, then he felt a sharp pinch on his neck near the throat. He started to open his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The world dimmed, Jerris started to move but only fell forward. Then everything went black.

  The next thing Jerris knew, he was looking up at the ceiling of his room at the White Star. His head hurt, and he felt like his body was filled with heavy syrup. He stared up at the ceiling without making any attempt to get up, judging such an effort likely to be unsuccessful. “Ugh… What happened?” he managed to ask

  “Oh, you’re awake already,” a man’s voice answered. “You are safe now. Your attacker has been dealt with. I apologize for putting you out for a bit, but with your level of magic, we weren’t sure how much damage you might do battling in the street.”

  “What?” What was he talking about, Jerris wondered? The events immediately before he fell asleep began to return to his groggy mind, but it still didn’t make sense. If this person didn’t attack him, who had? “What’s going on. I saw this cloaked person running at me, then I got knocked out. Who attacked me?”

  “Oh, I had assumed you knew her. She seemed to recognize you.” The voice seemed confused now.

  “No, all I saw was someone in a cloak running at us, and then… wait, who are you?”

  “Ah, my apologies,” the voice answered. “I am Nielas of the Golden Shield, personal attaché to the Archmage, and a good friend of Niarie. I have been traveling with her for some time on an unrelated errand. When she sensed a powerful mage in Galbedin, I instructed her to follow you, while I watched from out of sight. I’ve been assigned to continue shadowing you while you remain in Trinium. Seems it was a wise precaution.”

  “Wait, then who was the man in the cloak?”

  “You saw me, I assume. You have good eyes to react that quickly. I incapacitated the elf woman who assailed you first, then as I said, I incapacitated you as a precaution.”

  “So you were the man in the cloak.” It was beginning to make sense now. This person had mistaken Ceres’ angry confrontation for an actual attack. Jerris pushed himself up on the bed, nearly blacking out again. He needed to learn who this was and what was going on.

  “Easy, easy,” Nielas cautioned. “You took a full dose. I’m amazed you’re already awake, but you shouldn’t be moving.” Jerris felt a hand behind his back, lifting him up to sit with his back against a wall. “There, are you alright?”

  “Yes, yes I’m fine.” Jerris regarded the man who he now realized must have used some kind of poison on him. Nielas wore a dark cloak not unlike Jerris’. His clothing beneath was some shade of deep brown, loose fitting and airy, making it difficult to guess the man’s build. He might have been average, or quite thin but wearing armor inside his outer clothes. He looked like a thief or perhaps an assassin, even more than Darien usually did. Some sort of scarf or shawl was wrapped around his head, concealing his mouth and nose, so that all that could be seen were his eyes and a shock of wavy brown hair that drifted down near his eyes. “Why did you attack us? What happened to Ceres?”

  “Ceres? Oh, is that her name then? I thought she was attacking you, and that’s why I moved in.”

  “Oh, well, no, she wasn’t, well, not exactly… It’s a long story. Is she alright?”

  “She’s still sleeping. We darted her with the same poison we used on you, but she doesn’t seem to have quite the same constitution.” Jerris breathed a sigh of relief. This must have been a misunderstanding. “Why don’t you just explain who she is.”

  Jerris head still throbbed, and the room seemed to be tilting slightly to the left. Coming up with a coherent lie was beyond his capability at the moment, so he sighed and just told the truth. He explained everything that had happened since he had left Kadanar. Much of it he had already told Niarie, but he wasn’t sure how much this Nielas had heard from her. The man sat and nodded calmly, though his eyes widened when Jerris got around to explaining how he got free from Ceres in Lagura.

  “Well, that explains why she was upset anyway,” Nielas said. “Niarie did not mention that. Understandable I suppose, as she seems to be interested in you.” Jerris heart skipped a beat at the mention Nia might be “interested” in him, though Nielas seemed less than thrilled about the prospect. “What you did would be considered a fairly serious crime among my people.”

  “I only did it because she wouldn’t listen to me. I’m the crown prince and she’s supposed to listen to me, not tell me what to do.” Jerris let his frustration show more than he had meant to, but Nielas only gave a light chuckle.

  “I’m not interested in arresting you, if that’s what you’re worried about. We have larger problems to worry about these days than rogue dominators, which you aren’t anyway.” Nielas scratched at his stubbly chin and smiled. “I’m more impressed than bothered. There aren’t many who can use domination magic like that. You really are the Executioner’s apprentice.”

  “I told Nia I was.” Jerris rubbed his head, and noticed he had a sizable knot on his forehead. He felt a wetness like blood, and started to say something, but Nielas grabbed his hand and pulled it away.

  “Easy, you’re alright,” Nielas confirmed. I cleaned the wound, and put some salve on it. It’s not as bad as it feels right now.” Then Nielas got up and poured a cup of something that steamed like hot tea, but with a much stronger scent. “Here, drink this.” He handed Jerris the cup. Jerris took a drink of the thin brown liquid, and coughed at the bitterness. “Never had coffee, eh? Not surprising. It’s rare up north where you come from. Not cheap to get here, but the Archmage said I shou
ld treat our guest well. The taste can be a shock if you’re not used to it, but it does wonders to clear the head.”

  “So where is Ceres?”

  “Well, we took her into custody. We will release her if you ask, but if she’s set on returning you to this Kadanar, perhaps we should leave her where she is.”

  Jerris thought a moment. He wished no ill on Ceres, but then he couldn’t have her try to drag him back to Kadanar again. “Hmm, well, I don’t want her to be stuck in a cell, but I also don’t want her to interfere, at least not until I can meet with the Archmage.”

  “Well, we can assign her a room in the Hall of Judgements and keep her under guard. She won’t be allowed to leave, but she’ll be comfortable.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” Jerris took another drink of the strange drink Nielas had called coffee. It still tasted terrible, but he did seem to feel his head clearing. “Thank you.”

  Nielas laughed and smiled as he stood, and reached out a hand. Jerris took it and shook it as strongly as his woozy state allowed. “Thank you for taking this so well,” Nielas said. “Nia was right when she said you were harmless. You may be Darien’s apprentice, but you’re obviously no Shade. They can be clever and subtle, but they have certain habits that give them away. No Shade could duplicate your innocent disposition.” Nielas smiled gregariously, and Jerris smiled politely back. He was not particularly happy that Nia thought of him as ‘harmless’, but perhaps that had saved him a lot of trouble. Darien certainly would never have approved of openness or honesty toward complete strangers, but then perhaps those secretive and cautious ways had their own pitfalls as well. Jerris was still pondering the issue when Nielas spoke further. “Well, now that we’ve met, I don’t have to follow you in secret. Perhaps you would like an escort.”

  “Tomorrow maybe,” Jerris said. “I would prefer Nia, actually, but if she’s not available, then you’re welcome to accompany me. I think I’ll stay here today.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Try not to move around too much for the next few hours.” Nielas then turned and left. Jerris was once again alone. He finished his cup of coffee, and then laid down on the bed to rest. He had never suspected that he was being followed, but it did make sense. It explained why Nia had been following him in the first place. She never really intended to fight herself. She would confront him, as a distraction, while Nielas, the real threat would have gotten the element of surprise, a good plan. He had noticed the inconsistency, but been too polite to ask Nia about it, and had not thought of the possibility of a hidden attacker.

  Darien would have thought of that, Jerris chastised himself. He wouldn’t have been so easily swayed by a pair of pretty eyes. I really thought she liked me. I suppose this is what I get for trusting her for no good reason. Darien would have known better. I guess I’m not really cut out to be like him. Ah well, at least I didn’t get killed yet.

  He sighed and laid down on the bed to rest. His head was clearer, but still hurt, and the sluggishness in his muscles remained. He thanked the light that he hadn’t died today, and wished he had the kind of mind his teacher possessed. Darien always knew what was happening, never got caught off guard, always could come up with a plan at a moment’s notice. Jerris wished he could be like that, but as it was, all he knew was that he wasn’t really ready to be out on his own. Luck had saved him so far, but how long would it last?

  Chapter 11: The Tribunal

  The morning of the tribunal began rather roughly for Darien the Executioner, as a group of no fewer than half a dozen soldiers crowded into his tiny cell, kicked him awake, and placed him in irons, hand and foot. They then led him from his cell, up a dozen flights of stairs, down a hallway, to an iron gate, which they raised by turning a crank on the wall. Then the men pointed, seemingly afraid to even speak, and Darien sighed and walked through the gate into a central pit in the center of a circular room. Like the rest of the building, the walls and floors were polished white stone. Iron bars separated the inner pit from the rest of the room, which was raised several feet above, so that the questioners could look down on the accused. There were four podiums around the room outside the bars, and behind each was a tapestry bearing the crest of one of the divisions of the Golden Shield.

  The small room and lack of an already gathered audience was enough to confirm that the proceeding, and probably his capture, had been kept secret. If a public trial had been held, it would certainly have been quite the spectacle, but the Order of the Golden Shield might justifiably fear what he might reveal about their order, not least of which the fact that an Inquisitor had admitted just two days earlier that the order had been infiltrated by the Demon King’s spies.

  After a few minutes wait, people began to fill the room, taking seats along benches that lined the outer wall. Most of the figures were unknown to him, but two he recognized. One was the Inquisitor, Traiz, who had visited him two days previously, and the other was Geoffray, the knight who had arrested him. There were no more than a dozen onlookers, who might have been witnesses, but more likely were simply important officials viewing the proceeding. After perhaps an hour, a bent, nearly bald, elderly man stepped to the central podium. Traiz, Geoffray, and another man whom Darien did not recognize occupied the others. Silence filled the room as the elderly man cleared his throat, adjusted the spectacles on his long, narrow nose, and then squinted down at something on the podium.

  “Welcome, members of this tribunal, and honored guests.” The old man spoke with surprising volume given his withered appearance. “We have gathered here to decide the fate of one Darien the Executioner, who stands accused of numerous crimes against the good peoples of many lands. The charges will now be read.”

  A short, portly mole-ish looking man stepped up beside the central podium, and began reading a long list of charges, a few of which Darien did not recognize, some of which had not even involved him, and all of which had happened well beyond the borders of what any intelligent person would consider to be the Golden Shield’s jurisdiction. After the tedious list was read, the man stepped back and sat down once again on the bench.

  “Darien the Executioner,” the elderly man spoke firmly though not harshly, “you stand accused. Do you deny these charges?”

  The accused puzzled a moment, staring straight at the old man, then looked around the room at the figures assembled at the podium, assessing each one. Only Geoffray seemed obviously hostile. After a purposeful pause, he decided on an answer. “I cannot deny that they happened. I recall some of the incidents, but not all. They happened many years ago, in faraway lands. I frankly question the right of your Order to sit in judgment over matters that occurred well beyond your territory.” Several faces frowned down at him now, clearly not agreeing.

  “That decision is not yours to make. The Order of the Golden Shield represents the lives and hopes and dreams of all men. A crime against justice and decency anywhere is a crime against us.” The voice of Geoffray boomed out. Fierce eyes, filled with a hatred Darien recognized all too well stared at him from the podium to the right of the old man.

  “You are out of order, Geoffray,” the calm, even voice of Traiz spoke out from the leftmost podium. “There will be time for our questions later. Much as I know you disagree with the decision to bring the accused before this tribunal, the decision has been made, and it is incumbent upon you to abide by the rules set forth by the Grandmaster.”

  “That’s quite enough from both of you.” The elderly man shot both the speakers withering glances. “Please refrain from speaking out of turn. We must abide by our own rules at least, or we are no better than the enemy we fight.” The old man turned towards Darien again. “You make an interesting point, Executioner, and in another time and place, it might make for an interesting debate, but the plain fact of the matter is that you are in our custody, and whether fair or not, you will answer these charges. You may send your grievances to the Seven Divines if you wish, but there is no other higher appeal. In this place, we are the final authori
ty, and questioning it will not sit well with this tribunal, nor with myself.”

  Darien nodded deferentially to the old man, recognizing that the answer showed both intelligence and practicality. “I apologize. I am unfamiliar with the practices of your order. Nevertheless, I would at least request to know the names of my judges.”

  The old man nodded. “I am Edoard Maximilian Anorus, Grandmaster of the Order of the Golden Shield.” He then turned to the other members from the far left to the far right.

  “Eldrik Valerian Kordana, Archmage of the Golden Magi,” said a tall thin man in elegant blue silk robes with thick mostly graying hair, though streaks of a medium brown remained. His eyes were grey, deep and thoughtful. He stood noticeably further back from his podium, and leaned forward into his podium, reducing his apparent height and giving him a slouched, vaguely passive impression. His eyes, however, deep grey and thoughtful, told a different story. Eldrik stared intently at the accused with squinting eyes and furrowed brow, almost as though he were looking straight through him. The look on the Archmage’s face was grave. It had to mean something, but Darien could not imagine what that might be. The man was notable also for having the strongest aura in the room aside from his own. Though the room itself, and likely his clothing as well, bore enchantments to suppress magical energy, Eldrik’s aura seemed more distinct than the others, and that suggested a deeper well of magical energy. Darien noted Eldrik as the most obviously dangerous of the tribunal.

  “Geoffray Alan Leonhardt, Grand Marshal of the Shield Knights. I believe we’ve already met,” he growled as he glowered down at Darien, who stared straight back and smiled rather wickedly, causing the stern-faced man to clench his teeth and grip his podium the more fiercely.