Lord of Avalon

by J. W. McKenna

  “High Priest Kendam will explain.” The captain hauled Rydah to his feet and pushed him toward the door.

  “What about my breeder? Who will watch her?”

  “She will be well taken care of, for the time being,” the guard said. Turning to Jenya, he told her she should remain in their quarters until further notice.

  Jenya wanted to protest, to stay with Rydah, but she knew it was hopeless. Quaking, she headed down the corridor toward their rooms.

  * * * * *

  Rydah was escorted to a large chamber, where Kendam and Bandar sat on a high dais. They looked down sternly as Rydah approached. It succeeded in intimidating the third-tier Damon.

  “My priests—” he began, but was cut off with a wave of Kendam’s hand.

  “You have been charged with one of two serious offenses,” Kendam said. “Both are blasphemies. We must decide which one is true.”

  Rydah shook his head—what madness was this? “I don’t understand—”

  “Silence!” He bellowed. He leaned forward. “Is it not true that you brought to the Acolyte a document claiming to be written by High Priest Nidlet himself?”

  “Yes, I was asked—”

  “Stop! You will have an opportunity to explain later. What we’re trying to determine is whether you are to be charged with forgery of a church document in order to give Acolyte Lepdar false hope, or theft of an original document from the church’s own vaults.”

  Bandar leaned in close to Kendam and whispered. “I thought you had already determined it was a forgery?”

  “I did, my priest. I am merely trying to discover if Rydah will admit to one of the blasphemies.”

  Bandar nodded, but remained puzzled. Still, he was happy to let Kendam discipline this hapless fool before him.

  Lord Rydah stood there, mute.

  “Well?” Kendam demanded. “Which is it—theft or forgery?”

  “Neither charge is true.”

  Kendam rocked back in his chair. He had an urge to order the guard to whip this man where he stood. The impudent wretch! “You question the wisdom of the high court?” His voice dripped with malice.

  “I can prove my innocence, my priests,” he said, looking at Bandar, not Kendam. “With High Priest Bandar’s approval and expertise.”

  Bandar was taken aback. “What? My expertise? How can that possibly help you?”

  “Because my priest, I have been your scribe for eight rynes. In that time, I’ve learned that you are quite a scholar of High Priest Nidlet. I ask that the High Priest examine the document and determine for yourself if those are Nidlet’s own words.”

  “That won’t be possible at this time,” Kendam jumped in smoothly. “You can save this court a lot of time by just confessing to one of the two charges against you.”

  “My priest, in all good conscience, I cannot lie before such an august tribunal. That in itself would be a blasphemy.”

  “Perhaps a taste of the lash would free your tongue!” Kendam barked.

  “I don’t understand, High Priest Bandar.” Rydah turned partially away from the underling priest, knowing it would irritate him. “Why can’t you be allowed to examine this document?”

  “Because it’s been destroyed!” Kendam blurted.

  Rydah swayed in his stance, stunned. “You destroyed a church document?”

  “It was a forgery!”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because if it had been authentic, I would not have destroyed it,” Kendam crowed gleefully.

  The room grew quiet.

  Bandar turned toward his second-in-command. “Then there really is only one charge before this scribe, is there not?”

  Kendam narrowed his eyes.

  To Rydah, it was obvious the priest’s ploy had failed.

  “Very well,” Kendam continued. “You are charged with forging a church document. You have Acolyte Lepdar in an uproar over his slut, er, his concubine. You gave him false hope. I’m sure there are some related charges in that regard we can come up with, perhaps lying to a member of the Cabal.”

  “I did not lie, my priest,” Rydah said with more calm than he felt.

  “I had the offending document in my very hand!” he thundered.

  Rydah shrugged. “I can clear this up if the good priests will accompany me to the holy vault.”

  “You don’t tell us—”

  But Bandar already had placed his arm on his subordinate’s arm. “Wait. I want to get to the bottom of this just as much as you do. Pray tell, Lord Rydah, why should we do this?”

  “Begging your priest’s forgiveness, I’d rather show you than tell you, if I may.” He hoped to Rand that he could find what he needed.

  “You may not—” Kendam sputtered.

  “Very well,” Bandar interrupted. “We will accompany you. But I warn you, scribe, this had better be good or your tenure as my employee will end at the blade of a sword.”

  Bandar rose and headed out of the room. The guards flanked Rydah as he followed. Fuming, Kendam jumped up and trailed behind.

  * * * * *

  The holy vault filled a large arched room in the basement that extended into the first floor. It could be accessed from either level. Murals graced the high walls, depicting famous events in Damon history. The vault contained the writings of every High Priest for the last two hundred rynes. Monks worked fulltime to keep it organized, by priest, by date and by subject.

  Bandar led the group into the first floor access, then turned to Rydah. “Upstairs or down?”

  “Up. May I, my priest?”

  Kendam looked stricken. “Surely, sire, you’re not going to let this criminal root through our precious files.”

  Bandar halted for only a moment before nodding. He signaled a guard to accompany the scribe. Rydah walked around the catwalk, looking at the files with his head turned sideways until he came to the section he sought. His hands shook as he began pulling out some documents. For several long lapars, he looked at papers, careful to put back the ones he didn’t need. His heart pounded. He knew Kendam would not give him much time.

  Just a few more lapars! It’s got to be here!

  “Enough of this charade! He’s stalling!” Kendam’s voice startled Rydah. He turned, seeing the mottled face of the priest. Kendam seemed ready to throw Rydah off the catwalk himself.

  Rydah noticed the dour expression of Bandar and knew time was running out. He felt the sweat form in his armpits as he worked quickly through Nidlet’s writings. His greatest fear was that the document he sought would be misfiled, only to be discovered after his execution.

  Bandar’s voice cut the tension. “I’m afraid Priest Kendam is right, Rydah. We can’t—”

  Rydah’s eyes raced over the rare documents, trying to focus. Suddenly, familiar writing jumped into his field of vision. “I found it!” He held up an old, brittle parchment, then handed it carefully to Bandar. The High Priest began to read.

  Suddenly, Kendam looked nervous.

  “It appears Rydah was telling the truth,” Bandar said finally. “This lays out precisely what he had been saying all along—that a sham marriage was permitted more than seventy rynes ago to solve a political problem between priestdoms, just like we have presently. High Priest Nidlet himself drew up the ruling.” He held it out to Kendam.

  As Kendam reached for it, Bandar pulled it up for a moment. “Please don’t burn this one.” He smiled thinly.

  Kendam took it, his hands shaking, and scanned the ancient writing. “But-but, this just proves what I was saying all along! That the scribe forged a church document.”

  “Not forged, copied,” Rydah replied. “I needed a copy in order to complete my work for High Priest Bandar. What you burned was merely the scribblings of a lowly scribe.”

  “I agree,” Bandar said. “What’s more important is that we have proof that the scribe speaks the truth. If we can get Princess Wenelle to agree, I believe we can let my son marry whomever he wishes.”

  Kendam visibly p
aled. His eyes darted around nervously.

  “Um. Has Lepdar returned yet from Goren?” Kendam asked.

  “I haven’t seen him. But he should be here shortly. I trust Symal was well taken care of?” Bandar looked pointedly at Kendam.

  “B-but of course, my priest,” he said, though his eyes gave him away. Rydah hoped Symal was all right.

  Bandar took possession of the sacred document as everyone turned and filed out of the vault and into the corridor. Kendam, who had been the last into the vault, now led the way. They had walked just a few paces along the stone floor when they heard the approach of a small group of men.

  Kendam visibly quailed when he saw who it was: Acolyte Lepdar, walking with two guardsmen. The Acolyte’s face was a bleak mask. Kendam cast about for an escape.

  Bandar called out to his son. “Lepdar! Did you find Symal?”

  “Yes, my father. She is resting.” His eyes never left Kendam, who faltered now and backed against the wall of the corridor.

  With a swift movement, Lepdar strode forward and placed himself squarely in front of the cowering priest. “Father,” he said evenly, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Is your third-in-command available?”

  “What? Why, yes, High Priest Tulan is nearby. Why? What happened?”

  Lepdar slid the sword from its sheath and placed the point against Kendam’s throat. “Because he’s about to get a promotion.”

  “Wait! Wait! What is the meaning of this?”

  “Your second here ordered Symal to be whipped, then bred to a Warrior.”

  Rydah’s fears for his niece had been justified. His heart sank.

  Bandar’s head swiveled around to lock on Kendam. “Is this true?”

  “Sire! You must understand! Lepdar had to marry Wenelle for the good of the priestdom! There was no other way. I mean, at that time, we knew of no other way.”

  “So you decided if Symal was sullied, my son would agree to marry Wenelle and live happily and well? Was that your brilliant plan?” He turned to Lepdar. “How is she?”

  “She is being treated for her whip marks. Fortunately, I got there just in time, before she could be bred.”

  “Thank Rand for that!”

  Rydah breathed easier. He couldn’t imagine telling his brother that Symal been raped. Being whipped was bad enough.

  Kendam looked relieved as well. “Yes, that’s good news, my Acolyte. Now if you’ll just—”

  The sword didn’t budge. If anything, it pressed harder into his throat. “I haven’t decided if I’m just going to kill you now, or have you whipped first,” Lepdar said.

  Kendam’s eyes beseeched Bandar. “My priest! You can’t allow this! I was trying to solve a difficult problem in the best way I knew how!”

  “He has a point, my son,” Bandar said. “Had Rydah not found this document, you would have been forced to marry Wenelle, just like your brother married Princess Tymir. The priestdom demanded it.”

  Lepdar’s eyes narrowed.

  The priest was clearly terrified. A small stain appeared on the lower front of Kendam’s robe, followed by an acrid whiff of urine.

  Rydah almost smiled at the thought that of Kendam so terrified. He should be scared. He set up Symal to be beaten and raped.

  “Father,” Lepdar said evenly. “Will you arrest me if I kill this man?”

  Bandar didn’t want to make that decision. “Wait, my son.” His eyebrows knitted together as he decided the priest’s fate. “Kendam, how would you feel about a transfer?”

  The priest’s eyes shifted in his head toward Bandar, his neck still pinned by the sword. “Transfer?” he squeaked.

  “Yes, I’m thinking, for health reasons, you might prefer a warmer climate? Yes?”

  Kendam tried to nod. “Oh, yes, sire. Yes, I think I’m ready for a change.”

  “Good. There’s an opening for a priest at Hobsdor.” Kendam’s eyes widened. Hobsdor, adjacent to the mines of Durok, was rife with thieves, bandits and corrupt officials. “It seems the last member of the Cabal that I sent ran off after losing most of the fingers of one hand in an unfortunate altercation with a miner.”

  Kendam’s eyes watered. “Nooo! My Priest!”

  Lepdar leaned in. “If you stay another lapar, I will take your head.”

  He stepped back, releasing the quaking priest. Kendam scurried off down the corridor.

  Chapter Twenty

  That night High Priest Bandar hosted a triumphant celebratory meal with the Acolyte. Lepdar insisted that Lord Rydah sit with him “as befits my new scribe,” he had said. Rydah was honored, but he worried about Jenya. Slaves, of course, did not eat with Acolytes and priests, yet Rydah knew he would not be there if it weren’t for her.

  Explaining that to the Acolyte would be awkward, so Rydah had to be satisfied to hear that she would be well-fed and protected in the kitchen with the other slaves. Still, he missed her. He’d only been with her a short time, and already he felt incomplete without her.

  Symal sat next to the Acolyte, although she did not feel like eating. Her back still ached and she just wanted to go to bed. She agreed to attend to please Lepdar, and to show Bandar she meant to marry his son. She guessed that Kendam had not acted totally alone in sending her to Goren. Perhaps Bandar had not specifically ordered it, but he had to know she wasn’t being well treated. She wasn’t sure she could ever forgive him for that.

  Acolyte Raparn had joined them with his princess. It was the first time Rydah had seen the heir to the throne close-up. Though just twenty-six, he already was growing into the role of High Priest. He looked a lot like his father, although his hair was dark and full while Bandar’s had thinned.

  Rydah wondered what kind of leader he’d be, and whether he’d hire a henchman like Kendam to do his dirty work. He realized with his new access to the inner workings of government, he might make a difference. A small difference, to be sure, but his voice could be heard.

  As he glanced over at Acolyte Lepdar, the image of the Harpton’s burned-out farm came to mind. Would there be other Harptons under Raparn’s leadership? For that matter, would Bandar employ another man like Kendam to keep the population cowed?

  Later, when he felt comfortable in his new role, he might share the story of the Harptons with Lepdar. He wondered if the Acolyte would be as shocked as he had been. He thought of Jenya, and how her encouragement caused him to look at the positive results, rather than dwell on the worst that could happen. Right then, he decided to be a voice of fairness and compassion in this administration, no matter how it was received.

  It was after eleven when Rydah managed to slip away from the festivities. He was tired, yes, but he really wanted to check on Jenya. He missed her more than he thought possible for a master to miss a slave.

  * * * * *

  When he entered the kitchen, she was helping the staff clean up the dishes. The other slaves spotted him first and stopped working, waiting for him to speak. Some dropped to one knee, heads bowed.

  Jenya looked up, startled. When she caught sight of her lord, she smiled first, then dropped to her knees. That touched Rydah. He could tell in that first moment that she was genuinely glad to see him. He would have preferred that she not be so subservient, yet he knew that it was expected in public. More than anything, he wanted her to run into his arms.

  He approached her and helped her back to her feet. “Jenya,” he said, clearly aware of the many ears in the silent room. “It’s time for you to do your duty.”

  He saw the corners of her mouth twitch as she fought a smile. “Yes, master,” she said, her voice low.

  The other slaves remained mute, though they watched intently as the lord escorted his naked slave from the room. Even before the door closed, Rydah could hear the murmur of respectful voices behind them.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered as they walked down the corridor.

  “I missed you too, m’lord. Was the party pleasant?”

  “Yes, but I wished you could have been there too.”


  “Oh, my! That would have been a scandal!” She laughed.

  He laughed along with her. He could picture the expression on the High Priest’s face if a naked slave had sat down to eat with them!

  In their quarters, Lord Rydah and his breeder slipped quietly to bed. “We have much breeding to catch up on,” he said slyly.

  She looked down, trying to hide her pleasure. Breeding was a duty, after all. Still, she could sense their relationship changing, growing.

  Rydah reached out and touched her jaw. She allowed her head to be brought up until her eyes met his. “Have I told you how pleased I am by your help in this matter?”

  “Oh, I did nothing, master. You—”

  “No. From the start, I didn’t want to get involved. I wanted to hide from my responsibilities, let my brother fend for himself. You encouraged me to try. Now look at what we’ve accomplished in just a few short suns: I’ve saved Symal, I’ve become reacquainted with my brother, and I’ve been named scribe to Acolyte Lepdar.”

  Jenya felt tears coming to her eyes, tears of joy at having found this wonderful man. “I-I…” Words seemed inadequate now.

  “It’s all right, my slave. Thanks to you, we’ll be moving into a larger home on the palace grounds. We can even afford a servant to help us.”

  He must’ve caught the look in her eyes, for he said, “No, not another breeder, silly. A servant. A Laborer.

  “You are going to be my only breeder, Jenya. Now I understand why my father never married a Noblewoman. He found the right woman—the woman he loved—and never wanted any other. He didn’t care that she was merely a breeder. And I don’t care that you are, either.”

  He reached down and unhooked her chain. It slipped to the floor in a clinking heap. “From now on, you will sleep with me, in my bed. You will never be chained. You may wear clothes. I will treat you as a trusted advisor, not a slave.”

  Tears flowed freely down Jenya’s cheeks as she listened to her lord. She remembered seeing him for the first time in the pens, during Inspection, and wondering if he would be a good master. Now she knew.