by Andy Roberts
‘But under the circumstances—’
Gelfroy leaned close. ‘Let me tell you this, Bishop. The people of our land believe that demons walk among us. Our forefathers saw fit to build a wall around the city, separating us from whatever lives out there in that forest. Our citizens feel safe only because of the ritual of the Winter’s Day Festival. To deny them such an event would have them fret all year long.’ Tarunkeep looked away as a young clerk of the court handed them both a copy of the case particulars, at the same time answering questions of general housekeeping when asked. Opposite, and shackled to the bars of their separate cells were Lanista Belb and the Reaban, Bhushar.
Gelfroy knew the shorter man; had discussed combat strategy with him on many an occasion at the Oval. The other was a monster, easily three hands taller than the lanista and a full sack of grain heavier without a doubt. Belb held his head bowed, a look of sad resignation on his face. Bhushar, on the other hand, brimmed with self-confidence and stalked his cell as far as the ankle chains would allow. He stopped pacing and forced his head against the cold ironwork, looked the chancellor’s way and grinned.
Gelfroy had no desire to play along and turned to check the room. ‘Where’s Gendrick?’
The clerk stopped what he was doing only briefly. ‘The minister says he’ll be here when he can, My Lord.’
Gelfroy clawed at his seat. ‘When he can?’ he spat the words. ‘This is all his doing.’ He hammered his fist into the leather and ignored the attention it drew from the pews.
Tarunkeep placed a hand on the Chancellor’s. ‘With due respect, My Lord, Vaspar Gendrick was nowhere near the Oval when the prince was murdered.’ The bishop nodded in the general direction of the prisoners. ‘And Lanista Belb has after all taken full responsibility.’
‘Of course he has,’ Gelfroy said. ‘A seasoned soldier doesn’t question a direct order from a superior.’ The chancellor had, for a very long time, sought to remove the Minister for Punishment from office and have him tried for Crimes Against the People. But Gendrick had always managed somehow to garner sufficient support from his fellow politicians to keep both his seat and liberty. The wretched man was either blessed, or something more underhand was afoot in the House.
The bishop swept a red sash across one shoulder and twisted against his wayward spine until he’d reposition the silk just right. ‘He met with Minister Bevis and there are ministerial documents to support the claim.’
‘Why ever would Gendrick meet with the Minister for Transport?’
‘To seek approval to charter a sea vessel, My Lord. Minister Bevis signed the licence and Lord Gendrick left in possession of the document.’
‘Gendrick going to sea. Whatever for?’
‘Rumour has it the minister wishes to import a pair of breeding dragons.’
Gelfroy coughed loudly. ‘The man is totally obsessed with the creatures.’
‘He has his ancestry to blame for that,’ the bishop said with little more than a sideways glance.
‘Well I’ll have them impounded at the dock before they reach dry land.’ Gelfroy chewed on his bottom lip. ‘I’m not having dragons loose above the city.’ He searched the room for Bevis, but couldn’t as yet see him amongst the crowd. ‘What had the idiot sign the papers?’
The bishop waved a crooked finger under the chancellor’s nose. ‘There was no mention of dragons in the application, My Lord. None at all.’
A knocking sound of gavel on wood put an end to their conversation. ‘We’ll finish this later,’ Gelfroy said with a serious frown.
Lord Finis Emory was the judge appointed to hear the case. A bookish owl of a man, he sat on a throne-like seat at the far end of the room, dressed in his black robes of office. Emory was positively ancient, yet in possession of the sharpest legal mind in any of the near-lands. He peered over the top of his half-rim spectacles, challenging anyone in the Law-Room to make the slightest of sounds. ‘State: name, occupation and charge,’ Emory instructed without looking up from his particulars.
‘Tyram Belb. Lanista. Conspiracy to Murder.’ Belb stood upright, his shackled wrists and ankles joined by a short length of heavy chain.
‘And how do you plead, Lanista, Tyram Belb?’
Belb didn’t hesitate, his voice confident. ‘Guilty.’
Emory removed his spectacles and nibbled at their scratched temple-tips. ‘Mitigation and, or aggravating factors?’
The lanista searched the audience, unable to find who or what he was looking for. ‘That I acted on the orders of Lord, Vaspar Gendrick.’
A wave of gasps and surprised chatter made its way around the room, Emory calling for order, striking his gavel with increasing amounts of force. Gelfroy had to grip an armrest just to stop himself punching the air in triumph. He wriggled in his seat. ‘Let’s see him get out of this one.’
Tarunkeep turned as far as his twisted spine would allow. ‘I don’t see him at all.’
Judge Emory took a moment to straighten the mitre-style hat he wore on his freckled head. He leaned into his seat and returned his spectacles to the bridge of his nose. ‘Proof?’ he asked with a sideways tilt of the head.
‘I have none.’ Belb thought a while and grasped suddenly at a glimmer of hope. ‘Perhaps a seer could examine my memories?’ he said thinking fast. Nervous whispers rustled around the room like autumn leaves in the Senate garden.
‘Magic is expressly forbidden in the Law-Room, Lanista Belb—you know that already.’
Gelfroy rose to his feet. ‘Forgive me Lord Emory, but this is no ordinary case. If what the lanista says is true, then—’
The judge struck his gavel and sent the first minister to his seat like a scolded child. ‘Chancellor, I needn’t remind you of all people that ministers in possession of a gift are in a minority at the Senate. Just how would those unable to view the memory vote on such an important matter? They simply couldn’t,’ he said with a logical authority.
It was unfortunately true. The previous year’s electoral roll had returned worrying results, that little over ten percent of Randor’s population admitted to having any skill in magic that could be explained beyond slight of hand. Ministers had gone as far as discussing arranged marriages and financial incentives for each gifted child produced. But implementing such drastic measures had been so enormously controversial—particularly among non-gifted citizens—that for the time being at least, the proposal had been placed on hold.
‘And to the additional charge of Causing Death to an Employee of the City.’ How do you plead?’
‘Guilty.’
‘Mitigation and, or aggravating factors?’
‘It was him or me,’ Belb said to another chorus from the audience.
‘Very well. Guilty on both charges.’ Emory tapped his gavel one final time.
Gelfroy was on his feet again. ‘My Lord, I move that the decision on method of punishment be delayed in the continued absence of the minister.’
The clerk of the court took his cue, stepping forward to deliver a roll of sealed parchment to the open hand of the waiting judge. ‘From the minister himself, My Lord. Came by courier just a few moments ago.’
Gelfroy shook his head. ‘How very convenient.’
‘Chancellor, are you questioning the integrity of the clerk?’ Emory asked over the rim of his spectacles.
‘Of course not, My Lord.’
‘Then I’ll ask you to next time think before you speak.’
‘My sincerest apologies, My Lord.’
‘Noted and accepted.’ Without further ado, Judge Emory unrolled the parchment and checked that the charges, dates and signatures were all in good order. ‘Death by Bleeding,’ he said without emotion. ‘To be carried out at the opening of the Winter’s Day Festival.’ Bleeding involved hanging the prisoner by their ankles and cutting only the more superficial veins of the neck. It was slower than an arterial bleed, and as such, allowed the victim opportunity for reflection.
Gelfroy bit his tongue in anger, while Bhushar hamm
ered his head against the bars, demanding attention all of his own.
‘State name, occupation and charge.’
‘Fik yot.’ The Reaban’s grasp of Eanbish was less than impressive, though the judge appeared to get the gist of it.
‘How do you wish to plead?’
‘Fik yot.’
‘Mitigation and, or aggravating factors?’ Emory asked without listening to the reply. ‘Guilty as charged,’ he called with a single tap of his gavel. He unrolled the parchment and read for the second time. ‘Punishment to be decided by the Threskan government.’ He lay the parchment on the stand alongside him and allowed it to roll itself shut.
‘You chose to mention nothing about the shipping licence?’ Bishop Tarunkeep tried to keep up as they left the Law-Room. ‘Letting the dust settle for now, perhaps?.’
‘I’ve no intention of doing any such thing,’ Gelfroy said, striding off ahead. ‘I’ve issued a warrant for Gendrick’s immediate arrest.’
Chapter
— 17 —
The room smelled of pan-fried sausages, beeswax and the ash residue of the previous night’s fire. Pew stirred a pot of steaming tea, while Molly set their dirty plates in a lopsided pile on the bar. ‘Not at the table,’ she said loudly, a look on her face fierce enough to halt an invading army in its tracks. Griff moved gingerly to the wooden bench opposite and swore loudly as the half removed sock tore a length of broken skin from his heel. He pulled the ankle closer and examined the damage. The surrounding tissue was white as the milk in Pew’s jug and as wrinkled as wet sand at low tide. He rested his foot on a threadbare cushion and let it dry in the weak, morning sunlight.
‘So what kept you out all night?’ Pew asked and handed the innkeeper a mugful of slopping tea. Molly was back from her trip to the bar and gave Philly a suspicious once-over for the second time since breakfast. Philly stood and asked if there was anything she could do to help but Molly ignored her and went about straightening tablecloths and busying herself with unimportant things. She raised a questioning eye at Brae, who in turn looked away without speaking.
‘Where to start is the thing?’ Griff gave Pew’s question some proper thought while he blew on his tea.
‘At the beginnin’,’ Brae told him. ‘No better place to be had in story-tellin’.’
Griff turned his attention to the druid. ‘Then you’d best tell us everythin’ there is to know about the Dragon Lord.’
Tamulan stood in front of the fireplace, the crook of his elbow resting on its broad, oak mantlepiece, a dirty boot heavy on the edge of the hearth. Philly fought hard to stay awake, lack of sleep and the druid’s latest withdrawal remedy mostly to blame. She lay her weary head on folded arms and tried to not dribble as she listened to a voice that was as intoxicating as any pill she’d ever consumed. ‘Oak Knowers are the most ancient of all druids,’ he began, ‘and are divided into three orders. Ylay, are those of the earth. Alu, of the wind. And Rofa are born of fire.' Philly’s eyebrows rose and settled again, the expression passing lightly from face to face. Griff slurped his tea and Pew sat in silent bewilderment. ‘There can be no mixing of orders,’ Tamulan told them. ‘Offspring are born pure and gifted with one ability only.’
Pew leaned closer, hands resting on his knees, fingers fidgeting with strands of worn material. ‘Ability?’
‘Ylay can open the land and cause whole cities to disappear in an instant. Rofa have command over hot flame.’ Tamulan looked towards Brae. ‘And Alu can summon the wind and set it against you.’
‘And you?’ Philly asked, her voice barely audible. ‘What’s your ability?’
‘He’s an Eiyl,’ Brae said before Tamulan could answer. ‘Eye—eel.’ He broke the word into two. ‘It’s a meld of all three orders. Like a metal alloy—the sum of its parts being far stronger than the individual components.’
Griff lay his empty cup to rest and dipped his foot in another puddle of shifting sunlight.
‘And was Thamnoch an Eiyl?’ Philly asked.
Tamulan shook his head. ‘Am-Thamnoch was only a student when the Oak Knowers cast him aside. Now the wind has command over all that is. It can fan fire’s flames, or extinguish them when it so wishes. It lifts the deserts and buries entire civilisations. It pushes against men and halts them in their tracks, just as easily as it fills their sails and sets them on their way. Am-Thamnoch was no fool and sought the wind with all his heart.’
‘And did he achieve his heart’s desire?’ Philly wanted to know. She took a mouthful of tea. It was luke-warm but deliciously sweet and helped ease a mounting headache.
The druid wasn’t yet ready to answer such a question, preferring instead to maintain the chronological order of things. ‘Am-Thamnoch was a brilliant academic who pushed the most knowledgeable of masters well beyond their capabilities, but when there was nothing left to learn, he searched for alternative interpretations of the classic texts. At first, the elders were patient and reminded him of what it meant to be an Oak Knower. When he refused to respect their teachings, they punished him. And when that too failed, they had no choice but to banish him with only the clothes he wore and an amulet fastened around his neck.’
‘The one Brae found at the greystones?’ Philly asked.
The druid nodded. ‘But the night before he left the village, Am-Thamnoch took something that wasn’t his to take. When all were sound asleep in their beds, he forced his way into the monastery and removed the oldest of books from its cellar.’ Tamulan fingered the scar on his left cheek and traced the roughened line to its very end. ‘He stole the Book of Demons.’ Brae wrung his hands and looked away when the druid tried to catch his eye. ‘On the road, Am-Thamnoch read while he rested, devouring every last page, committing its unfamiliar text to memory. When he reached a crossroads, he saw a man stood waiting for him.’
‘But how could you possibly know that?’ Pew asked.
Tamulan forced a thin line of a smile. ‘It is my place to know all things.’ He ignored the snigger that came from the direction of the innkeeper and continued with his tale. ‘The man had Am-Thamnoch make a choice from one of four options.’
‘And which way did he go?’
Tamulan stepped away from the mantlepiece. ‘There were no place names or directions on that particular sign,’ he said quietly. ‘Am-Thamnoch chose immortality, and being born of fire, he became a Dragon Lord.’
It was Philly’s turn to frown. ‘Not an Alu?’
‘The wind is not Lodan’s to give,’ the druid told her.
‘Lodan?’ Griff put his foot to the floor and whistled as he forced himself upright. ‘And what did the devil seek in return?’
A merchant’s wagon rattled by on the road outside, disturbing the silence that weighed heavily upon the room. Tamulan let it pass before answering. ‘Genocide of the Oak Knowers in the first instance and a living hell for all thereafter.’
Pew took the lid off the teapot and dipped his finger in the dregs. ‘Thank Amaethon they didn’t succeed.’ He replaced the lid with a clink and pushed the tepid pot away.
‘The Oak Knowers didn’t give in without a fight.’ Brae rolled his sleeves to his elbows as though readying himself to join in. ‘They called the Dragon Lord to trial and had him imprisoned, so they did.’
Tamulan settled on the far edge of the innkeeper’s bench. ‘Yes, but it took two hundred years and many deaths before that day arrived.’
‘Two hundred years?’ Griff polished his head and contemplated such a long time-span.
‘Only an Eiyl has any chance of dealing with such a powerful demon, and there wasn’t one to be found in any of the near-lands.’
‘The trial then,’ Pew said. ‘Tell us about that.’
Tamulan sat with his hands resting on open knees. He lowered his head and sighed deeply. ‘The Ylay came and tore great slabs of granite from the mountain quarry, setting them on end in a circle that was to be used as an open-air courtroom. Rofa fired the braziers with embers born from their own bare hands; a hundre
d or more flames burning brightly against the night sky. But the Alu were remiss in their responsibilities, the wind learning of Am-Thamnoch’s trial only through conversation with the travelling stars.’ Tamulan looked up just then, his eyes flicking back and forth from innkeeper to farmhand. ‘Did you ever see the wind in a true rage?’ he asked.
‘At sea, I’ve seen winds that could move mountains,’ Griff told him.
‘Then you’ll know not to anger it.’ Both men nodded in unison at the druid.
‘But have you met them all? Each of the gentle breezes that cool hot summer days? Or the winds with more substance—those that carry heavy rain and the winter snows?’ He leaned towards them. ‘And dare I ask if a deceitful wind has ever held you close and whispered in your ear?’
Brae swallowed. His heart galloping in his chest.
Griff shook his head. ‘If it’s the Foolish Wind that you speak of, then no.’
Philly tapped the table several times, bringing them to an abrupt halt. ‘But why would he agree to a trial?’ she asked. ‘It doesn’t make any sense?’
‘I told you the Dragon Lord was clever,’ Tamulan said. ‘What need would there be to search for the Oak Knowers, if he gave them every reason to come to him?’
Philly sat up. ‘He tricked them?’
‘Underestimated them, so he did.’ Brae puffed his chest. ‘The Eiyl imprisoned him in the most powerful of magic and it all happened right there at our greystones.’
Tamulan went to the far window and to a place where he might have been able to see the the circle of stones were it not for the trees. ‘That’s not exactly true. The Dragon Lord was taken to Ocantis after his trial.’
Griff dropped his head. ‘Not that again?’ he said with an edge of irritation. ‘The place is myth, so it is.’ He pushed himself more upright on the bench, swearing loudly when his heel dragged against the joint between two flagstones.
Pew took hold of the teapot. ‘And even if it did exist, the Gods would never let you return through the strait.’
