by Carol Berg
Year 4 in the reign of King Evard —late winter
I awoke before dawn on the day of the trial and, as on most mornings, found Karon hovering on the edge of my dreams.
“I’ll be close to you today,” I said.
I wish you wouldn’t come .
I understood why. He was afraid I would get myself into worse trouble when I saw what they’d done to him. He didn’t realize that I already knew.
“You know I must have a chance to open my mouth. I’ll tell them that if you’re truly a sorcerer, then why did you not quiet your argumentative wife years ago? You will have abundant sympathy.”
They’ve not stoppered my ears, so at least I’ll be able to hear your voice.
“You see? They think that’s the worst thing they can do.”
I almost didn’t recognize Karon when they brought him into the Hall of Judgment. In less than two months the strong, vigorous man I knew had become a bent, blind scarecrow, shackled so heavily he could scarcely drag himself into the prisoner’s dock. How did they expect him to stand through the day’s proceedings? They had covered the ragged remnants of his eyes with a strip of cloth so as not to offend the sensibilities of the onlookers, but the blackened, twisted claws that had once been a healer’s hands were left visible as a comfort for the fearful. I could not bear to look at his ravaged body, yet could look nowhere else. As soon as he was in his place, I felt him with me.
Are you here?
I am. It was difficult to merely think the words, rather than speaking them aloud.
Where? I can’t see you… with this blasted rag…
Across the room to your left, surrounded by six stone-faced warriors, ready to defend me from your fiendish forays. Listen. … I coughed aloud quite vigorously and saw his head turn slightly toward me.
It’s probably just as well you’re that far away. If you thought I reeked of the barnyard in Threadinghall… well, my nose still functions properly, and I wish it didn’t.
They’ve only let me see priests and inquisitors, and so my sensibility to foul stenches is perhaps not so refined as it was.
A nice way to put it.
It’s so good to see you. I think you look quite dashing, you know, like some wicked pirate.
I don’t think you can see any better than I can.
I see only what I know. My distress must have overflowed my words. There would be no miraculous escape that day. He could scarcely move.
Don’t fret too much, Seri love. Things are not so bad as they must look.
But I can’t help you.
Not so. You are life to me. Don’t look at me at all. Look deep inside yourself, at the beauty you’ve stored there, the life you hold, the spark that is no other. They cannot touch it. It is where your love lies, that you can give and take as you please. You’ve let me in, for which I bless all spirits of earth and sky, and they cannot touch me while I live in you.
I tried very hard to believe him.
Karon was momentarily overcome by a wracking cough. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth after it, and a young woman sitting behind me cried out, “The devil slavers blood!” Her companions fanned her, and a young nobleman demanded that the guards cover Karon’s head so the ghoulish creature would not frighten the ladies. It took several moments to calm the crowd.
It’s very hard to sort out what’s going on. You must tell me who’s here and what’s all the commotion. I gather it has something to do with me.
And so instead of screaming or weeping, I set myself to provide him a commentary on those in attendance: a large crowd of courtiers, many of whom we knew, and an even larger group of commoners let in to witness the great events. Not one man or woman among the spectators would meet my eye. Interesting to inspire such terror, especially in ones who had shared our table such a short time ago.
Once Evard arrived in full regalia, and the Council of Lords was seated in the raised box to the side—Martin’s place conspicuously empty—the proceedings moved quickly. The first witness brought forward was Maceron, the fish-eyed sheriff. He had dedicated his life to eradicating this greatest of evils from the world, so he said, and had relished his post in eastern Valleor, as rumors of sorcery had always been strong there. Tales of supernatural events had drawn him to Xerema: victims pulled from the ruins, alive beyond all reason, victims ready to be lured into the hellish legions. The devil was obviously recruiting himself an army of slave spirits from under the stones of the fallen city, servants of chaos who would challenge the Twins for control of the world.
To support this ridiculous contention, the prosecutor called the Vallorean singer. The girl was commanded to tell why she made obeisance to Karon in the very presence of her king. Not realizing what it was she did, Misara spoke eagerly of the rumors and stories that had circulated Xerema in the summer, of the blessed one who was said to bring life and hope beyond death. Her father had sworn to her that he had seen her mother, brothers, and sisters die, one by one, until the Dispore had appeared in their living tomb and coaxed them back to life.
Had she seen her family recently, to judge of their moral bearing since the events?
No, she’d been brought to Leire to sing, but—
The prosecutor did not let her continue. I don’t think the girl realized that the grotesque remnant of a man in the prisoner’s dock was her family’s savior.
The constant assumptions and speculation, the lack of any real evidence, the coloring and manipulation of events were beyond all rational belief. Surely the judges could see it.
The most telling witness was yet to come. Evard did not descend to the witness box, of course, but spoke from his gold-leaf chair on the dais to the left of the Council. With simple sincerity he described the episode in Sir Geoffrey’s study. Lady Seriana was renowned for intelligence and honesty, so said the king. When aides brought him the dreadful suspicion that her husband was one of the demon sorcerers, he did not wish to believe it. She was the sister of the Duke of Comigor, his own sword champion, and she confirmed her opposition to sorcery in the very moment of his questioning. But then the demon had struck. He himself had not seen who stabbed the knife into the lady’s back, but had seen the devil bring her back from death. A hundred honest witnesses could vouch that Lady Seriana had been irrational, hysterical, completely mesmerized since the event, spending all her energy defending the sorcerer beyond all reason. How could anything serve as more profound evidence of the prisoner’s guilt?
Angry murmurs rose from the noble observers, and from the commoners standing at the back came cries of “Burn the devil!” The bailiffs did not quiet the clamor until Lord Hessia, the head of the Council, commanded it.
The king concluded his testimony with a dramatic recapitulation of the ill-fated Kerotean campaign, and, in an explosion of righteous anger, proclaimed that, as the protector of his people, he would allow no such sorcerous fiends ever again to torment the good soldiers of Leire. The place was in frenzy when he was done, and I thought the farce of a trial was to be halted. But calm was restored, and I was called to witness.
I could see now how it was supposed to read. The king had vigorously proclaimed my honesty, and now I was to demonstrate how thoroughly Karon had corrupted me by defending him in front of the assembly. Evard had unleashed such a tide of emotion that he believed no one would give me reasonable hearing, and he knew how easy it was for my spiteful tongue to get out of my control. Well, he would not get what he planned.
Vycasso, the Lord High Prosecutor, was a wrinkled old man who combed his long thin hair from left to right in an attempt to obscure his balding forehead and chewed anise I seeds that failed to cover the smell of onions on his breath. He was also a wily prosecutor who had skewered many a witness. I would need to be careful. Once my guards had escorted me to the witness box, he began to skip around from topic to topic, while pacing, halting and turning abruptly, back and forth in front of me like a fencing master trying to keep his student off balance. “How long have you been under the
influence of the beast in the prisoner’s dock?”
“I think there are many people in this Hall of Judgment who will note that I am rarely under anyone’s influence. My honored father, the late Gervaise, Duke of Comigor, was not the last to remark on my independent turn of mind.” Amid the shocked murmurs at my levity, I glimpsed not a few nods and smiles. The Lord High Prosecutor had never jousted at Windham.
“Yet you have been enslaved to this creature in some degenerate parody of holy wedlock?”
“I met this gentleman, whom you have treated so despicably, some five years ago,” I said. “After a seemly time, we became engaged. Two years ago last Seille, Pere Dejarier witnessed our marriage before at least fifty people who are in this room. If you remember, sir, that same good priest was a witness to His Majesty’s marriage to our queen. I don’t believe Pere Dejarier, a priest of Annadis since my father was a boy, presides at degenerate rites.”
Vycasso halted a moment longer than usual, but then whirled about and poked a finger at my face. “Tell me, madam, who are this devil’s friends?”
“Until these scurrilous accusations were brought forth, I don’t think you could find anyone who knew my husband who would not claim him as a friend. He has been regarded as a gentleman of wisdom and scholarship by those of the royal household, as well as those in his employ. Several of you gentlemen on the Council have been guests in our home or have consulted with my husband on matters of his specialties, history and archaeology. His Majesty, whose judgment in friends is known to be impeccable, requests his advice on artifacts to display in the palace, and most generously invited us to dine with him at Seille. Several people in this room can attest to it.”
Vycasso cast a sidelong glance at the king, but Evard wore no expression. “Yes, yes, we know the beast was a secret and sly devil,” said the prosecutor, “hiding his vile craft behind a facade of respectability. But it is well known that he has practiced his depravity here in the heart of our beloved realm. Tell us, madam, of the evils he did perpetrate in your home.”
“If you account eating, sleeping, studying, entertaining, and keeping company with one’s wife to be evil, then the same evils as other men.” A few snickers erupted in the crowd, quickly silenced by a glare from Lord Hessia.
The prosecutor forged onward, undeterred. “When did you learn this man was a sorcerer?”
“Tell me, Lord Prosecutor, what is your definition of a sorcerer? Explain it to me, and then I can tell you when I knew of it.”
Smirking, he gestured toward the crowd. “Why, everyone knows that. A sorcerer is one who perverts nature, despicable filth who revels in the blood and death of human men and women and innocent children.”
“Then my husband is not and has never been a sorcerer, my lord. Your own evidence contradicts such an accusation. You have accused him of healing my injuries and rescuing Misara’s family from a dreadful death. Such acts, even if possible, could hardly be considered reveling in blood and death. Perhaps your definition of sorcery is flawed, for I’m sure you’ve no intention of slandering the honorable warriors of Leire who rejoice in the slaughter of our enemies. Do you accuse them of sorcery also?”
“Got you there, Lordship!” shouted someone from the back. Vycasso glared at a guard and jerked his head at the man, but before the soldier could move, those around him took care of the matter. A scuffle broke out amid murmurs of “Devil!” and “Devil’s whore, accusing our own…”
I could not listen to them. I had to stay in control. My words were the only defense we were going to get. “Karon reveres life and cherishes nature, and the only perversion here is what you honorable men have done to him.” Careful, careful, echoed the soft words in my mind. “Sorcerers have these exceptional abilities,” piped up Lord Hessia, an intelligent and reasonable man who had done his best to make the Council a serious body. He was clearly disturbed. “Unlike those of ordinary men.”
I held on to the edge of the witness box and leaned toward the lord, as if one hand’s breadth less distance between us and I might convince him. “Like yourself, sir, who are accounted the finest swordsman ever to carry a blade? Or like my brother, who is said to be the only man in a generation to rival you? Like this young singer from Valleor, who had half the court in tears over a song that is hackneyed drivel? Are you a sorcerer, then, and my brother and Misara also?”
“No, no,” burst out the prosecutor, brought to life once more by an impatient gesture from Evard. “Lord Hessia means abilities that are against nature. They claim for themselves powers reserved for the gods.”
“Then tell me, my lords. What has Karon done that is against nature?”
The prosecutor exhaled his foul breath into my face again, nodding in satisfaction. “Clearly the beast has deafened you, my lady. Your very sovereign king has testified that this devil healed you from a knife wound that punctured your heart. If that is not against nature—”
“But there is Lord Dumont in the Council box, who has seen something quite the same.” I pointed at a graying warrior who sat in serious contemplation, his mouth buried in one hand. “Lord Dumont, did not the respected physician, Ren Wesley, bring back your wife from the brink of death after your fine son was born last autumn? Her very heart had stopped beating, and you had closed her eyes with your own hand. How is it that nature rejoiced at your dear lady’s recovery and is scandalized at my own?”
Dumont, the most respected of all the Counselors, waved his hand as if trying to shoo away such an association. “Such healing is natural. What was done to you is but a mockery.” But his tone was thoughtful, almost a question of itself.
I directed my words as if he were the only judge. “Please explain to me, my lord, why the healing is ignoble, when the act of striking a knife to my heart is left unchallenged? Though His Majesty’s sight was blocked, every other man in that room saw truer crime. The hand that wielded the knife was not the hand of my husband who was bound and restrained by the king’s own guards—no weakling recruits—but rather that of this sheriff, Maceron, who sets himself above other men. Sober consideration will expose the truth of my words, for despite the wags’ tales of spirit slaves and armies of the healed, Karon had nothing to gain by such an act. I had already defended him that night. And think of it—I had lived with him uncoerced for two years. What reason could compel him to strike me down and then heal me in front of the one witness who could be the most devastating? Monumental stupidity is not listed among the crimes of which he is accused.” I turned back to the yellow-faced Vycasso. “No, my Lord Prosecutor, you must explain to all rational observers why Maceron’s deed, the unprovoked act of attempted murder, rather than the undoing of it, was not the true perversion.”
So it continued for an hour or more. I tried to answer every charge and insinuation with reason and logic. I had clearly won several of the Council lords, especially those who were friends with Martin and had frequented his salons; they likely knew why he was not in his place that morning. Yet their grim faces told me that every one of them would vote for condemnation. A verdict of sorcery had to be unanimous, and Evard would permit nothing else. He would appeal to greed, to fear, to patriotism, to blackmail, whatever was necessary to get his way. As this harsh truth sank in, my only defense against despair was the frail satisfaction that Karon would not die undefended.
A few more witnesses were questioned after me. A workman from the Antiquities Commission claimed to have watched from hiding while Karon made boxes and chests fly about the cellars, and to have hidden his eyes when the mummified remains of ancient Isker warriors pushed their way out of their caskets at Karon’s command. A servant girl, whom I had dismissed for terrorizing a young chambermaid and stealing her wages, vowed that Karon had me thoroughly under his control, not allowing me to go out into society and forcing me to spend inordinate amounts of time reading and writing. “No great lady would do such things voluntarily,” she said.
The lords looked embarrassed at this testimony, and the prosecutor moved quic
kly to his closing flourish. To gasps of shock and disbelief, he entered into evidence signed confessions from the would-be usurper, the Earl of Gault, and his chief counselor. The documents detailed the sorcerer’s plot to murder the king and his young daughter, Princess Roxanne, to put the Earl of Gault on the throne as a vassal of the Priest-King of Kerotea. The prosecutor proposed that I be made to verify the handwriting, as the earl was my own cousin, and I was intimately acquainted with the accused.
It made no difference to claim the confessions were worthless when extracted by torture. King Evard permitted no torture, therefore, no torture was done. To allow the confessed traitors to speak before the court would only give them leave to denounce our king and give scandal to the good people of Leire.
I could not listen to these last absurdities. I fixed my eyes on Karon’s back, blocking out every other voice, every other sound and face, the better to hear him and concentrate only on his words. I could want no better counsel, he said. I wish — He began coughing again and could not continue.
Less than an hour after the prosecutor’s impassioned call for the final obliteration of the great heresy of sorcery, the Council of Lords filed back into the Hall of Judgment from the adjoining chamber where they had completed their deliberations. A red-faced Lord Hessia’s lips were a thin line. Lord Dumont fixed his eyes on the ancient candlebeam above the witness box, the fifty thick candles lit by the servants and the beam raised against the early darkness. Just past the doorway through which they had returned, Darzid leaned against a pillar with easy grace, detached amusement flickering in his dark eyes. And so was my last spark of hope extinguished.
Things do not look promising, my love , I thought.
It will be well, whatever they say. I’m ready for it to be over. After another dreadful bout of coughing, Karon sagged against the wooden rail of the prisoner’s dock. To make him stand up again his guards prodded him with spears until fresh bloodstains appeared on his filthy tunic. For the first time that day, I averted my eyes.
