Ahrek mouth pressed into a thin line.
“Can’t you see that this is what I want?” Daylen sighed, and his head sagged. “I’m so tired…”
Ahrek didn’t reply.
Daylen lifted his head. “Swear to me, Bringer! Swear to me that you will not bring me back!”
He still didn’t say anything.
Daylen looked at him with accusing eyes. “You bastard. That’s exactly what you’re intending.”
Ahrek bowed his head and turned from Daylen, walking to the door.
“Don’t you dare,” Daylen growled ferociously, running to the bars and pressing his face to them, “If you resurrect me, I’ll hate you forever, you hear me! You. Will. Let. Me. Die.”
Ahrek opened the door and left, not uttering a single world.
“Don’t walk away from me, you blackened bastard. You will let me die! You will let me die!”
Chapter Forty-Eight
I wanted to die and escape the horrible pain of my guilt. I decided on many occasions to turn myself in and face the justice of the world, only to stop, knowing that if I did I would definitely be executed, which would grant me the very thing I had desired for years. So instead, I chose to prolong my pain, and it has been exactly that: years of pain, suffering, and regret.
* * *
Ahrek didn’t return, and Daylen didn’t know what that meant. Regardless, the falls passed slowly with only the odd visitor, until the time came that Daylen was marched out of his cell and flown to the trial.
The Fair Grounds were the largest clearing within the city, and were completely enclosed by buildings.
When the van landed, Daylen could hear the rumblings of what must have been an unthinkably massive crowd.
The doors opened and Daylen stepped out to see an innumerable number of people blanketing the clearing, all standing shoulder to shoulder watching him. Hundreds of skyships had also been flown in and were sitting low around the grounds, their decks packed with people.
Incredibly, the near-deafening chatter quickly died as Daylen appeared.
The people and ships surrounded a large wooden platform that had been erected toward the northern end of the Fair Grounds. It was on this platform where the van had landed. On the left, right, and back of the platform were rows and rows of pews, each consecutive one raised higher than the pew in front.
In these pews sat the dignitaries and rulers of what appeared to be every nation in the world. With these rulers sat other high-ranking officials, including some of the Hamahran Guild Masters and higher ranking Archknights.
The whole Hamahran Senate was there, as well as the minister of the Mayn republic. The Tuerasian Yonsen, the Head Matriarch of Frey, the King of Toulsen, the Lourian Jhan, the Delavian Council of Dukes—Daylen had to restrain a chuckle at seeing them—as well as many more. Light, even the Magnate of Lee’on’ta was present, who rarely even left his secluded palace, his braids of ridiculously long purple hair falling all around him.
Daylen had conquered most of the nations these people represented, killing so many of their sons and daughters. They had as much right to see him brought to justice as any.
Conspicuously, Daylen could see no representative from Azbanadar, once his greatest ally, which might explain their absence. They had less hatred for the Conqueror and weren’t on particularly good terms with Hamahra these days. What with how much Hamahra wanted to separate themselves from Daylen’s legacy and their strong political differences, war between the two mighty nations was beginning to look very possible.
The red-haired Freysian Matriarch was looking at him with particular venom. To say they had a history was an understatement.
Quallandra was one of the rulers who had been in power back when Daylen had been Emperor. She had been a beautiful yet naive young woman back then, sixteen years old, and had sought peace with Hamahra on many occasions, even offering herself in marriage to him. Daylen never had any intention to marry Quallandra, but he seduced her anyway. She only went along with it because she was young and inexperienced, thinking marriage was the next step before an alliance. Still, she had fallen in love with him.
Then Daylen blackmailed her, refusing any marriage proposal. With Frey’s very specific traditions and beliefs regarding sex, Quallandra’s fornication would have seen her deposed—thus, under threat of exposing their relationship, Frey finally submitted. And then Daylen told her people about their illicit relationship anyway. How she had stayed in power was beyond him.
Needless to say, Quallandra had been all too ready and willing to lead her people in rebellion when the time came.
Light, Daylen had been such a bastard. He had justified those actions to himself, having still been pissed at Frey for not honoring older treaties with Hamahra and not backing them in their war against Delavie.
Of course there were one or two Delavian Dukes present who were old enough to remember him, too, as well as several members of their Senate.
So many of these leaders were scowling at him.
Daylen’s life had been such a mess.
Seated on benches in front of the pews were ten scribes who had portable desks assembled. Clearly everything in the trial was going to be recorded, and it seemed that every ruler would have a say in Daylen’s fate. With people like Quallandra included in that, the verdict was very obvious.
There was a single steel chair in the centre of the platform that faced the crowd. Daylen was directed to sit in it. Once he had complied, his manacled hands and feet were locked to the chair.
To the side of the chair was a phonotrack with darkstone vibronic amplifiers attached.
Two other amplified phonotracks were set up, one on a small dais five meters in front of the chair and the other behind a desk to the left of Daylen’s seat.
It seemed that every word spoken in this trial would be broadcast to the crowd and telegraphed to many other cities as well.
It was a very elaborate setup.
A senator left the pews and walked to the desk on Daylen’s left. It was Darenlight. Once seated, he spoke into the phonotrack’s microphone. His voice sounded across the whole field of people, amplified and carried by hundreds of phonotrack speakers assembled through the grounds.
“We will commence the proceedings,” Darenlight said. “We find ourselves in unique circumstances, and as such this trial won’t follow regular procedure. As the crimes committed by the defendant are so numerous, the charges against the defendant will be issued in rounds. Also, because there are many crimes not officially known, those who wish to charge the defendant with a crime that has not been listed, committed in the time period of the given round, may do so and give testimony of the same. This trial is to also provide those who feel wronged by the defendant an opportunity to confront him and express what sentence they feel appropriate to his crimes, for all people deserve a say in the fate of the man that oppressed the world. Because of this, it has been decided that the plea of the defendant will be taken after all charges have been issued for a given round and the witnesses who wish to testify have done so. If the defendant pleads not guilty, he will be given the chance to make his case.
“Presiding at this trial are the state heads of every nation with grievances against the defendant—and I, Darenlight Brighten, will be acting as moderating judge. The defendant is Daylen Namaran, more commonly known as Dayless the Conqueror. Daylen Namaran is accused of numerous war crimes during his tenure as Emperor of the Dawn Empire that will henceforth be presented. It is the sixty-seventh fall of spring, year fifty-one of the Fifth Day. Does the defendant wish to make any opening remarks?”
Daylen shook his head. He would make no excuses.
“I will offer opening remarks on behalf of the defendant,” an all-too-familiar voice called out from the side of the platform.
Daylen looked to see Ahrek walking toward him.
Once Ahrek was at his side, Daylen glared at him. “Ahrek, I’ll have nothing to do with you until you answer me.”
�
��Very well,” Ahrek said. “If you are sentenced to death, I will accept it as the Light’s will and not bring you back.”
Daylen sighed contentedly. “That’s all I wanted. It’s good to see you. I need a friend right now.”
“What are friends for otherwise?”
“Now, why do you want to give my opening remarks? You won’t change anything.”
“It might not change the verdict, but it will change people’s perception. They need to know who you really are, and by the looks of it, you certainly aren’t going to tell them, are you?”
Daylen tsked and looked to the moderator, nodding. Darenlight raised an inviting hand to the small dais.
Ahrek stepped atop it and gazed out to the crowd, saying into the microphone, “I am Rayaten Leusa, Leader of the Second Revolution.” Gasps of shock and awe erupted all around them. The officials seated on the pews were looking to one another in confusion, those Hamahran senators old enough to have lived during the revolution nodding in dumfounded confirmation.
“I speak on behalf of the man I once fought to destroy. Why? Because the Light directed me to this man before I knew who he was, and in that time I learned of his goodness. The man seated here isn’t the same as the tyrant who oppressed the world. He has changed. I say that knowing full well that it was this man who murdered my family.” Ahrek gazed at the many faces in the crowd. “I know what he has done…and after the greatest trial of my life, I have forgiven him. If I can, then so can you. Daylen Namaran bears more guilt and sorrow than any man alive. That is why since becoming young again he has dedicated every moment of his new life to help people and fight back the darkness that is so rampant in the world. And ultimately, his change of heart is why he is on trial right now. It was he who turned himself in, and nothing but his own submission keeps him seated. He has chosen to answer for his crimes—the greatest sign of true penitence there is.
“Does his change of heart undo the crimes we will hear in this trial? No. But will his death?” Ahrek asked, to grumbles from those arranged before him. “What is true justice? Is it revenge, so that we can inflict the same pain and suffering on he who gave as much to us? Or is it restitution? Would justice not want to teach those who do wrong of their own evil, to make them truly penitent? If so, then justice has already been done. Only when the hearts of villains cannot be changed can I see the need to protect the world from such unrepentant evil. As for Daylen, I understand that there is still a debt to pay for true restitution, but I implore you to consider carefully: will this man’s death pay more than a life dedicated to such a cause?”
It was amazing that even with such a huge amount of people, silence filled the air. Ahrek paused a moment before adding, “You will find greater peace in forgiving this man for what he has done than you will trying to punish him more than he already punishes himself. Believe me. I know.”
The silence continued even after Ahrek had finished speaking. The Bringer left the dais and walked to stand beside Daylen.
“You did more than tell them who I am, Bringer,” Daylen said. “You’re still trying to save my life. I thought I made it clear that I don’t want you to.”
“No, you made it clear that I wasn’t to bring you back if you’re executed, not that I couldn’t try to save you beforehand.”
“Whatever,” Daylen said dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not going to change the verdict.”
Ahrek nodded. “Perhaps.”
Daylen nodded to the moderator, who then announced, “Let the first round of formal charges commence.”
A Hamahran senator rose from his pew and walked to the dais with a large ledger in hand. He opened the book and began reading. “We, the Hamahran people, formally revoke the authority of the Dawn Empire and classify the previously sanctioned executions of the aristocratic children and extended family members of the former ruling officials as murder in the first degree, and charge Daylen Namaran with two thousand five hundred and eighty-four counts.”
“May the witnesses come forward,” Darenlight said.
Around twenty people were lined up off to the side of the large platform and they came to the dais one at a time. The first few were simply Hamahran officials reading from the Dawn Empire’s execution records. It was a lengthy process, and they were honest enough to admit that there must have been many executions that were justly carried out in the name of legitimate crimes. The problem was the charges of treason, for it was a known fact that Dayless the Conqueror had charged people with treason for merely annoying him. For that reason they decided all treason executions, as with all executions sentenced to people for opposing or fighting against the Dawn Empire, were murders committed by the defendant. Naming all those victims would have taken weeks, so they summarized them with the estimated civilian and military casualties of the Empire Wars. The final estimate accused Daylen of some twenty-eight million murders.
Hearing the staggering number sent a pain into Daylen’s heart so sharp that he gasped and then panted for breath.
Twenty-eight million people. People with lives and loved ones, many young with their own hopes and dreams, all killed by a genocidal madman. As horrible as Daylen’s guilt was, it seemed too small in comparison to the magnitude of his crimes.
The next witness was an older man with faded gray hair.
“State your name for the record, and then offer your testimony,” Darenlight said.
“Augusday Felentius the Third.”
Daylen didn’t expect to hear that. Felentius was an aristocratic name.
“I am the son of Augusday the Second who served Queen Jasmeena as governor of trade. This man,” Augusday, said pointing at Daylen, “sent his soldiers into my home where they murdered my parents and sisters, and would have murdered me had I not escaped. I was forced to live in hiding for most of my life.”
Daylen had honestly thought he had hunted out and executed every member of the aristocracy.
The old man looked at Daylen through tears of hatred. “You ruined my life, and for what? What did I ever do to you? What did my sisters ever do? They were just children! What did my parents do? My father was the governor of trade!” he screamed bitterly. “I’ll never forgive you for what you did to me. This man is a monster and must die. Saving the city doesn’t change what he’s done. Let the world be done with him—and good riddance.”
Daylen expected the man to say as much, but hearing the words cut deeper than he expected. He couldn’t hold back his tears of shame.
“You see, Ahrek,” Daylen said, “few people are as forgiving as you, and I don’t blame them.”
The six other surviving aristocrats shared similar stories to the first. They all called for Daylen’s execution, and though one acknowledged that Daylen seemed to have changed, he claimed that he was too dangerous to go free regardless. They ultimately felt that he would go back to his old ways if he was allowed to live, and the world would be safer with his death.
Once all the witnesses had given testimony, Darenlight asked, “How does the defendant plead?”
“Guilty,” Daylen said softly.
“Has anyone come forward to lay additional charges against the defendant that were committed during this time?”
There was another moderator standing off to the other side of the platform where four people stood. The moderator nodded.
“Let the first witness come forward and make their charges.”
It was a very elderly woman who took the stand.
“State your name for the record, lay your charge, and bear your witness.”
“My name is Maratess Telatell. I was a livery maid on the serving staff to the Queen. When the Conqueror took the old palace, he also executed each head servant and many of the lesser ones. They didn’t do anything to deserve it. I went into hiding, which is why I survived. So, I, um, accuse this man of murder. Ten people at least.” And she listed their names.
Well, Daylen had executed them, that was true, but it wasn’t for doing nothing. One had tried
to kill him—the Head Mistress of the serving staff if he recalled correctly—so he had promptly executed her. He then placed spies on each former upper servant, having seen how loyal they were to their former masters and found that several were working together to smuggle aristocrats out of the city. That’s why he had executed them, as well as the aristocrats they had been protecting. Even though Daylen felt he had acted justly at the time, they were still murders. Those servants had only been trying to save the innocent lives of the aristocratic family members that Daylen had sentenced to death.
“How does the defendant plead?”
“Guilty,” Daylen replied.
“Let the next witness come forward.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
But I cannot live forever. Beyond my control, death finally draws near. I wonder what it will be like. Will my existence end as some claim is the fate of those destined for Outer Darkness? If that’s the case, I see it as a gift.
I’ll soon find out.
* * *
It took four falls for all of the charges to be laid out and the witnesses to give testimony. If every single person who could have given testimony against him had done so, it would have taken months, but only those most wronged felt the need to confront him on the stand.
Daylen had never cried so much in his life, had never felt so wretched or so remorseful than he did during those falls, where each of his most terrible sins were listed before him. Light, did it paint a truly horrible and tragic picture; and throughout it all, Daylen’s voice echoed:
“Guilty.”
Amongst the worst and most painful list of charges were those of rape against the girls forced into his bed. There were four hundred and twenty-seven girls in all, multiple counts of rape against each.
From that deplorable number, only seventy of those girls had appeared to stand witness against him. As they had all been in their teens when Daylen had abused them, they now ranged between thirty and fifty years old. Confronting them was as painful and difficult as it had been when he had come face to face with Lyrah.
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