"You shall have your wish." Elthrinn could hear how Dorll had to drag the words from his throat. "I will send for him. Let the trial begin."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
With his left eye swelling shut, courtesy of a few punches from Reyks, Gorren found it hard to see everyone gathered in the room he was being dragged into, without fully turning his head. He recognised the room well enough, despite the sea of people; it was the throne room of Cranak Hall. Gorren was honestly surprise that he'd been dragged from the jail so soon. He hadn't even been left to rot for one night. He had been sure, beyond certain, that the next time that he saw daylight would be the day of his execution, or that his father, unwilling to risk the scorn of his people, would simply keep him imprisoned for the rest of his life.
The jail was an almost forgotten structure in Dorvek. There wasn't much need for it in a civilisation that was founded on the principles of pack structure. Everyone knew and valued their place in their society. Those that did reject it, those who stole from their neighbours or who murdered, were dealt with swiftly and comprehensively by the heads of their communities. There was generally little need for trials. A thief or murderer could be caught by the scent that they had left. That any passing person could detect a trail or smell guilt was wonderful motivation for remaining honest. The building had been dilapidated, and crumbling in places. It had hardly progressed from the first founding of Cranak. It was unsophisticated and crude. The walls and floors were bare, cold stone, strewn with mouldy straw. Gorren would not have kept a rat in such conditions, although the jail was infested with them.
He looked around, seeking the only face that he needed to see. He found Elthrinn, at the forefront of the crowd that had gathered before the throne. He was beyond relieved to see that she was flanked by his friends. His brothers in arms, stoic and still, nodded when they saw him looking their way. When Elthrinn saw his face, which he knew was swollen, and was sure was colourfully bruised, she gasped, and her hand flew to her throat. He wished that he could say something to reassure her, to let her know how insubstantial the damage was, but Reyks was shoving him in the back, pushing him forward. Gorren made a promise to himself, that if he survived whatever followed, Reyks would regret the day he'd allowed his ego and self-importance to get the better of him.
His mother and father were seated on their thrones. Their chairs from the great room had been moved in to accommodate Serwren and Jorrell. They were smaller, less ornately important, but ostentatiously more regal than any other furniture that the hall boasted. Cael was standing behind them, obviously at guard. Gorren didn't see the children. He listened, but he could not hear them. He resisted the pressure that Reyks was applying between his shoulder blades, long enough to scan the room again, and to note that that Dechard was nowhere to be seen. Good, the children were with someone who could be trusted.
Gorren allowed himself to succumb to Reyks' physical demand, and dropped to his knees in front of the thrones. Noridan was standing at his father's right hand. Athine was by Noridan's side, an insult to the occasion, and to Dorll's judgment. Gorren didn't consider it a reflection on Noridan's common sense; he'd realised that his brother had none.
He saw the bruise on his mother's face. Only one man in all the world would have dared to lift a hand to her. He determined, in a promise that felt so strong that it could have been hewn from stone and iron, that the man who had injured his mother would regret such impetuosity.
Gorren knew that it was not possible for the whole of the town to be gathered inside the hall, but from the feel of the press of the people there, it felt as though that was exactly what they had attempted to achieve. He wondered if his father had called them, or if they'd come of their own free will and curiosity. He wondered if they had come to witness his trial, or his death.
He shifted on his knees, knowing it was futile. There was no way to be comfortable when kneeling on a hard floor with your arms bound behind your back. As part of his attempt, he tried to relax, fully and completely. He needed to let his muscles find their level. By fighting his position, by tensing, it would be harder to endure, and more painful. As he relaxed the muscles of his body, his mind and wolf senses roamed freely; they were sharper without the distractions of the aches of his uncomfortable body.
Gorren realised that not all of the tension that he was feeling was internal. There was an undercurrent of dissatisfaction in the room. It wasn't coming from Dorll, but from the crowd. He could feel his mother's fear, a low beacon. He could feel Noridan's pride, and Athine's unreasonable hatred. Elthrinn's terror shone from her like the brightest star on a dark night, but below it all, or over it, was the rippling of wonderment at Dorll's actions, and the general current of disagreement and wrongness.
The king stood, but did not step away from his throne "You are all here to witness the testimony against Captain Gorren, who stands accused of the attempted assassination of the First Mother of Felthiss, and her husband, General Jorrell, who have both been guests in our household."
The tide of discontent took the form of a rumbling whisper, but no individual opinion could be discerned.
"The situation is thus: that Captain Gorren tried to assassinate the First Mother by placing a poisonous snake in her bed. Since we have no evidence that anyone else might have been responsible..."
The First Mother stood, and interrupted the king, whose irritation was plain to see on his face. "We might not have the name of the culprit, but it is my assertion that Captain Gorren cannot possibly be guilty. He spent the morning with me and my family. He would have had no opportunity to carry out such a nefarious plan."
Dorll turned, and barely restrained himself from snarling at Serwren. The look of anger on his face caused General Jorrell to rise to his feet. "You have no voice here."
"But I do." Elthrinn's voice was thready, but her words were certain. "I have a voice here."
"You do not." The king showed Elthrinn none of the deference that he'd graced on Serwren. "You are not one of us."
"I carry Gorren's child."
Gorren wondered whether he had suddenly become deaf, so absolute was the silence that consumed the room.
"A lie," the king snarled.
"It is the truth," Lorch called out, coming to stand by Elthrinn's side.
"I concur," stated Doctor Costerev, working his way through the crowd to stand by Lorch. "I will certify that the lady is with child."
"It... it cannot be Gorren's." The king's certainty was faltering.
"There is no one else who could be the sire," Lorch stated. "Elthrinn, and Athine," the General looked pointedly at Noridan's consort, "Were the only foreigners in Cranak at the time of conception. Should we believe that the Grey Wolf is the father? Perhaps that would make it all the more miraculous."
"Such news only strengthens my assertion." Dorll was beginning to recollect himself. "Captain Gorren panicked, he thought his wife was leaving with her family, taking his child away from him, so he determined to keep her by his side by murdering the First Mother, and her consorts. We cannot allow such an action to stand."
Gorren tried to stand, but Reyks shoved him back down. Elthrinn's voice rang out, truer now.
"Not so. We were planning to leave Cranak together."
The queen stood now. "Explain yourself," she demanded.
Gorren did not need to look up to see Elthrinn walking to his side. He could feel her approaching, he could even detect the tremble in her limbs, but she was gaining strength and assuredness with every step. She stopped when she reached him. Even Reyks did not try to push her away. That was a good thing. Gorren would have taken the man's throat if he'd laid hands on his wife.
"We knew that the king could not be easy whilst Gorren was in Cranak. We knew that the knowledge of our child placed us in danger." Elthrinn fiddled with the buckles on her leather belt, she unfastened it, and as she did so, she shrugged off the shawl that was wrapped around her shoulders, and allowed both accessories to fall to the floor. She spread he
r hands across her belly. Without the concealing elements of her disguise, and with her palms flattening the material of her outfit to her swollen stomach, it was impossible to deny her condition. "We intended to leave, both of us, with the First Mother and my brother. We did not intend to remain in Dorvek."
Gorren regretted that his mother had to find out of their plans this way. It seemed that all the blood had left Rehan's face. She collapsed back into her throne, her hand to her heart, as if she might be able to stop it from breaking with her own touch.
Noridan strutted forward. Gorren tried to stand again, but Reyks offered him none of the consideration that he'd shown Elthrinn, and pushed him back to his knees. "No, my brother would not have left his precious country. You lie. He is sentenced to death."
Lorch spoke up again. "That is not for you to decide, pup."
"I believe," Elthrinn drew in a deep breath, and pulled her spine straight. "That it was Athine who planned to assassinate my brother."
"More lies." Dorll sneered, but his voice was drowned out by Athine's. The tall woman stalked forward, seeming at once to be both brittle and deadly; Gorren supposed that was true, she quite possibly held the key to his life. Her voice, when she spoke, was as bitter as salt water.
"Your brother deserves to die for what he did to my people. All of Felthiss deserves to rot for what was done to us. The horrors... Shall I tell you what your precious brother is capable of? Shall I tell you about the bodies spitted on pikes and hung over castle walls? Shall I tell you of the heads lined along roadside? Shall I tell you of the women raped, and the children murdered? Shall I tell you all of it, child?"
Gorren looked hard at Cael and Jorrell, and in their unblinking gaze he knew that what Athine had said was truth. They may not have perpetrated the actual horrors themselves, but they had knowledge of them, and had not stopped them. But Gorren had heard the tales of the war in Litt, he had heard of the resistance that had been brought to bear, and he knew what it was to fight under a command, to be told that you will do a thing, and to have to do it. If Jorrell had been told to conquer Litt, then that was a thing he had had to do. Gorren regretted that Elthrinn should find out about the harsh realities of war so abruptly, but Gorren had little sympathy for Athine. Whatever the woman had suffered, and her fragile arrogance indicated in no uncertain terms that she had been victim to the rampaging Felthissian army, she had tried to destroy his life. He had no forgiveness for her.
"No one could allow such crimes to go unpunished," Dorll exclaimed.
Lorch stepped forward. "That is not for us, least of all not for Noridan's wench to decide. You have no cause to hold your son to trial, and you know it."
Dorll was stuttering his rebuttal. The king had ruled, unquestioned, for decades. He was not used to defending his decisions, or explaining his actions. Gorren tried to stand then, and found that this time, Reyks did not try to hold him back. There was only one course of action left to him, unless he was willing to risk allowing the country to devolve into a civil war, or unless he wanted to witness Lorch challenge the king. Gorren supposed that there had never been a time when the foundations of this dispute could have been settled in a civil manner.
"I challenge you."
The words hung in the air, weighty, and with a presence all their own.
"You what?" The king asked incredulously.
"I challenge you for the throne of Dorvek." Gorren felt Elthrinn stiffen at his side, but she did not falter. His mate was making him proud.
The queen was on her feet again, but now her eldest son was holding her back. The king began to walk towards Gorren, shedding his cloak as he did so. "Very well. I accept your challenge. I shall remind you who is the pup."
Gorren looked to Elthrinn. She reached up, framed his face in her so-small hands, stretched to her toes, and kissed him. Then, without his urging, and in perfect acceptance of what needed to happen, she stepped back to the safety of the company of his friends. Gorren felt hands at his wrists. He tried to wheel to see as he scented that it was Lorch. With two sharp pulls, his bonds were broken, and his arms were free.
"Fight well," the General murmured, before retreating to Elthrinn's side.
Gorren turned to face his father.
This fight had been building for years, a lifetime. Never had Gorren not felt the sting of his father's disapproval. They continued to strip efficiently, and once naked began to change. Gorren found he was in his wolf form before his father, a sign that the king was growing weak. He could have attacked then and there, but he decided that if he was going to have one moment of chivalry, this should be it. He waited until the king stood on four paws, and then he attacked.
The fight was a blur to Gorren. It was a fight for survival as much as supremacy. Given the choice, he would never have challenged his father. He would not have shied away if the challenge had been presented, but that would have been different. All he had ever wanted in his whole life was to be allowed to live peaceably. After he had changed his immature ways, he had recognised the dissolution of his youth for what it was, but he didn't think it should have carried the weight that his father had assigned it. He would have grown out of it eventually; a trusting parent would have been assured of that. His mother had been.
The only thing Gorren would ever have credited his father with was the decisions that had brought Elthrinn into his life. If not for the deal that Dorll had struck with Erkas, he wouldn't have his wife, or their impeding child. Gorren would risk everything, would sacrifice himself, to keep his family secure.
Their fight was a fury of snapping teeth and swiping claws. More than once the king struck true on his target, and Gorren felt the hot, tangy spill of fresh blood over his fur. But soon he realised that the king was weakening, his stamina was fading. Gorren pressed forward.
The king was not without his defences, or offences. Gorren was bleeding from a deep cut over his working eye, his ear was torn, his shoulder was agony from a full set of claw marks that had scoured the flesh along his side, but he could not give up. Too much rested on his success; the safety of too many people depended on him. Gorren moved forward, and in a flash, as the king reared for attack, he saw an opening. He took it, fastening his teeth around the king's neck, and jerking backwards. He almost fell over himself; between the bruising, and the cut, and fresh, hot, coppery, spurting blood he was blinded. Gorren blinked, and spat, and swiped his muzzle with his paws... and saw his father lying motionless on the floor before him, in a pool of his own blood.
His mother rushed down from her seat, and threw herself over the bleeding, still warm, body of her mate, and wept. Gorren tried to feel something for the fact that he had shattered his mother's heart, but he could not, not yet. He felt a nudging at his side, and looked round to see Elthrinn. She fed her fingers into the thick fur of his neck, undaunted by the gore that coated him, and he knew the peace of her touch.
Gorren allowed the hyper-focus of battle to leave him. If he had been human, he might have disintegrated, but he was a wolf, through and through. The thing that he had done had been a right thing, a true thing, the foundation of his instincts. He was sorry for the family he should have known, the family he might have known, the family that his child would be deprived of. He would always regret the fear and heartbreak that would accompany this moment in his memories, but he could not regret the thing itself.
Gorren scanned the room again, noting friends and foes. Noridan and Athine were gone. That was no surprise. They were guilty, and they had fled rather than face punishment. Gorren would not have been lenient. Athine had tried to strip him of everything that was essential in his life. His brother had attacked his wife. If Noridan had still been in the room, he would have had to face Gorren's challenge. Reyks was abasing himself as much as his human form would allow him to. Gorren didn't doubt that there was still a challenge to be settled there, but it would not be fought on this day.
Gorren cast his wolf eyes around the room again, seeing the crowd of people, his people.
Slowly, like the coming of the dusk, a cheer began to chatter, to crescendo, until a full throated roar was undulating around the room.
Gorren reclaimed his human form, and redressed. His body was a twisted knot of agony. He was filthy and bleeding, and his clothes were soon soaked where they lay over his wounds, but now was not a time to show weakness. He needed to exhibit strength, to give the people who supported him faith in his abilities. He could do nothing for his mother; he had to leave her in a sad, pathetic heap, huddled over his father's body. However reluctant he had been when he had hitherto considered this possibility, he could not deny this moment. Gorren took Elthrinn's hand, and, surrounded and overwhelmed by the cheers of his people, ascended to the throne of his country.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Elthrinn was dizzy with adrenaline. Her legs were shaking so badly that she could barely walk. She took a deep breath, and held it, hoping that it would sustain her. She was scared that she would trip and fall on the steps before the thrones, but when Gorren took her hand, leaning on her more heavily than she knew he would want to, she steadied. Her husband needed her. She had just witnessed the most horribly brutal thing that she might ever have seen, and she had been truly in fear for Gorren's life, but she tried to concentrate on the immediacy of their situation. They were safe. Anyone who wanted to do them harm, at least that they knew about, was dead, or gone. They were safe, for the time being.
Searching the Darkness (Erythleh Chronicles Book 2) Page 32
