by J. P. Ashman
The colourful windows portrayed pictures of kings and queens of old, mixed with famous knights such as the revered and worshipped Sir Samorl. There was no other furniture bar the King’s throne and four smaller, antique chairs, which sat two advisers either side of the King. Those advisers included the Lord High Chancellor, Ward Strickland, who held a title historically reserved for the Samorlian Church’s representative up until Barrison’s father’s reign.
Also present was Will Morton, Duke of Yewdale and Lord High Constable of Altoln, the King’s highest military advisor and commander of Altoln’s armies. Will Morton was brother-in-law to and a close personal friend to Barrison, and was known for speaking his mind, even to the King himself.
Another chair was taken by Hugh Torquill, Earl of Royce, Lord High Treasurer and Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal, a man whose physical stature didn’t seem to fit his many titles, although his burgundy stalked soft cap and matching tunic, along with multiple silver chains hung about his pale neck certainly made him look the part.
Finally, on Barrison’s far right sat the Samorlian Church’s highest representative and owner of the previously unrecognised third voice: Archbishop Corlen.
Severun was surprised to see Corlen in his chair. His place as an advisor to the King tended to be more of a tradition than a practice, yet he was known to attend councils regarding humanitarian and festival, or – as the group now realised – arcane matters.
Severun swallowed hard despite himself. He was no coward and had stood up to bullies as a child, and to foul creatures as a man, but the Samorlian Church scared him more than almost anything else. It was that fear, rooted in his past, that had caused his attempted escape back in his chamber, or so he imagined, since the memory of the event seemed vague to him with all that had happened in the short time since. The thought of facing King Barrison with what had happened had not scared Severun, indeed he knew it to be his duty and responsibility, but the thought of the Samorlian Church and its fanatical followers drove a fear so deep in the man it stole his breath and plucked at his nerves like nothing else. He now wished the shroud had been maintained by Ward Strickland so he wouldn’t have known of the church’s involvement. Had that been what the tall scout had pulled Fal to the side at the coach crash to explain, that their attackers had been Samorlian followers? Severun had no idea and it was too late to ask now.
By all that is magical and all that is not, I am sure the Archbishop is staring right at me, into me. He knows it all, he must, but how?
Lord Severun did his best to shake away the fear, ignore the Archbishop and look directly to Barrison, the man he knew.
As the group’s eyes finally adjusted to the bright hall and its multitude of colours cascading through the stained-glass of the many windows, it became apparent there was a full unit of King’s halberdiers and four crossbowmen in the chamber, as well as two knights wearing maille hauberks under long surcoats, which displayed the green and white quartered field of the Duke of Yewdale.
All weapons were trained on the group, bar the Duke’s two knights who stood casually by pillars, one on either side of the group, their hands resting on the hilts of their sheathed swords.
Severun could understand the precaution, but it ate at him all the same, especially now he suspected the Samorlian Church was involved. He realised Barrison surely knew by now about the failed experiment, but he wished he’d been the one to explain it from the start, not those biased and twisted by their religious fanaticism.
‘Lord Severun… all of you, please approach,’ Barrison said, still leaning forward in his throne, clearly struggling to see the group in detail as he addressed them. Will Morton leaned across to whisper into Barrison’s ear, but the King waved away whatever protest his brother-in-law had made.
Severun set off first, and slowly walked down the hall with the others following close behind, all bunched together like frightened children. Errolas was the most confident of them all, his race seemingly a shield of protection against whatever claims were being made by the King of Altoln and his advisers, yet the elf stayed respectfully behind the tall wizard as they made their way towards Barrison’s throne.
Iron plate clanked all around the group as the heavily armed and armoured halberdiers followed the group up the hall, their weapons remaining levelled at the group. The crossbowmen also moved to keep the group covered, but Will Morton’s two knights remained where they stood, seemingly unconvinced their services would be required, or more than likely unconvinced the group posed a serious threat to anyone in the room considering the number of soldiers surrounding them.
‘Close enough,’ Morton said in a gravelly voice, which matched a face criss-crossed with scars, one of which pulled at the right corner of his mouth giving him a permanent grimace. The Duke wore a knee-length green tunic with silver embroidered trimmings on both neckline and cuffs. Black and white striped woollen hose covered his thick legs leading to black, open topped shoes buckled in front of the ankle – which revealed the top of his feet – before ending in a ridiculously long point. Although he wore no armour, an ornate scabbard lay across the arms of his chair, within it a bastard-sword with an equally ornate cross-guard, hilt and pommel. The weapon was clearly old, a family heirloom no doubt, and Fal couldn’t help but stare at the weapon appreciatively.
How many bastards have been created by that blade? Fal knew it wasn’t the real reason for the name of that type of sword, but thought it might as well be.
Morton sat forward in his chair, but unlike Barrison’s relaxed manner, the large man’s hands wringed themselves eagerly in his lap as he stared at the group.
Aye, and you’re ready and willing to use that on any one of us should we so much as look at the King wrong. Fal shifted his gaze up to Morton’s stern face. And I don’t blame you, Lord Yewdale. Even I’m not sure what we’re up against here and I’m part of it, flay my soul. Fal struggled to keep his eyes on the older warrior, the Duke’s rich and fancy attire doing nothing to soften the hard eyes that looked back at him briefly before moving on to Severun.
‘No sudden moves and no silent mouthing of anything at all, wizard!’ Morton’s dislike of mages was clear as Lord Strickland, never mind Lord Severun, flinched at the words. ‘We’ve been informed by sources I’m not willing to disclose at this time,’ Morton continued, ‘that you, Lord Severun, and you, Master Orix,’ Morton pointed accusingly at the two mages as he spoke, his dark eyes flicking between them, ‘have obtained, enacted and spread through the King’s city of Wesson, illegal magic resulting in the deadly sickness now infecting all districts…’ There was a dramatic pause in which no one dared make a sound. ‘What say you both?’
Orix’s mouth opened but Severun held up his hand to silence the gnome as he stepped forward.
Several of the halberdiers swiftly moved forward with their blades stopping dangerously close to the wizard’s body, but surprisingly, the Lord High Constable waved them back.
And you two finally lifted your swords from their scabbards, Fal thought, glancing quickly between the two knights to either side, even if it was ever so slightly.
‘Your Highness,’ Severun said, his tone dire, ‘what Lord Yewdale says, what you and your advisers have been told, is in effect true, sire.’
Barrison sunk into his throne, his eyes closing briefly and his hand moving up to cover his mouth before he composed himself and looked from left to right; to each of his advisers, all of whom showed mixed emotions. The Archbishop struggled to hide his elation at the admission whereas Ward Strickland looked mortified and could not compose himself enough, bringing both hands up to his face before letting them fall back to his lap. Will Morton showed no change to his hard, accusing stare, and Hugh Torquill seemed quite shocked indeed, looking from Lord Severun to the King and back again several times as if waiting for either of them to correct him on what he'd heard.
Severun had known all of these people for years, some more than others and some on much friendlier terms, but all of them non
etheless, and he was not surprised to witness their shock and horror at his blunt admission.
It was the King who spoke next, which surprised all in the room since it was Will Morton who'd opened his mouth to speak.
‘Lord Severun, I must ask you to think about whatever you are going to say next very carefully indeed. You must know the consequences for such actions are of the utmost severity? You have, if your admission and our information is indeed true, committed grand treason towards the kingdom of Altoln, your home and birthplace.’ Barrison paused to take a deep breath before continuing. ‘You were an advisor to my father and have been a friend and mentor since my childhood. I do not want to see you handed to the Samorlian inquisitors, but should you admit your actions with no reasonable explanation, that will be the inescapable outcome.’ Barrison leant forward in his throne again, eager for some scrap of information to explain why his known world was being torn apart by people he was sure he trusted and knew well. He swallowed repeatedly and his eyes bored into Severun’s own.
Corlen stood up suddenly, his balding head flushing red as beads of sweat appeared. He turned his outraged face from Severun to the King. ‘Sire, there is no explanation for such treachery, such evil debased and horrific deeds—’
‘Sit down!’ Morton bellowed, turning to face the Archbishop. ‘Your King will not be spoken down to by anybody, least of all you, Corlen. Now be seated before I decide you need assistance in doing so.’
The Archbishop looked terrified of the warrior at his side and so swiftly took his seat, offering a muffled apology to the King from his bowed head. Fal noticed the Duke’s knights on either side move briefly in his periphery, and assumed they were there to keep more than just Fal’s group in check.
‘Thank you, Will. Archbishop Corlen, please,’ Barrison said with an exaggerated sigh, ‘do not take it upon yourself to address me like so again, not unless it is clear I am in the wrong and we are in private council. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes sire, my apologies, sire,’ the Archbishop grovelled, his head remaining lowered and angled slightly away from Morton, who continued to glare at him openly.
‘As I was saying, Lord Severun, please think about what you are to say next, because I am asking you now to explain yourself fully.’
Clearing his throat and holding his hands together tightly, Severun explained to his King and all present what he had planned all those months before. He asked if Orix was allowed to speak, to confirm his story and to fill in the blanks about the potion the gnome had created. Severun also admitted that although his intentions had been for the betterment of Wesson, unknown to Orix, the wizard had used the base spell of an arcane scroll shipped to Wesson from the far south.
From Orismar? Fal wondered, thinking back to his birthplace, if only briefly.
Severun explained how he'd believed he could harness the arcane magic to do the work of good, ridding Wesson and hopefully all of Altoln of its numerous violent criminals and gangs, thus making the King’s lands a safer place for all.
Both Severun and Orix explained how Fal had been used to deliver and release the potion, but how he'd been unaware of the consequences of his actions, merely following orders.
So why do I still feel such guilt. Fal’s heart pounded in his chest. All the lives lost because of my actions, whether I knew it or not. And how many more will follow?
‘But who are the other members of your group?’ Barrison asked, seemingly taken aback by the flood of information. ‘You have an elf with you, who is he? Are the elves involved? I should sincerely hope not, Severun?’
Errolas was learned enough in court life not to open his mouth until asked to do so, even when his presence was questioned, and so he kept quiet.
Severun opened his mouth to speak, paused, and then continued. 'I admit, sire, that I do not know. I believe they are companions of Sergeant Falchion.' Severun indicated Fal before carrying on. 'It was he, in fact, who discovered what I had done, and so had been escorting me here when we were attacked on Kings Avenue by Samorlian forces.'
Corlen bristled, but a swift glance from Morton silenced him, before Lord Torquill asked Severun how he could be sure the attackers were Samorlian soldiers.
‘It would be best my lord,’ Severun said, ‘if a soldier took over now. Sire, if you please, I would like you to hear from Sergeant Falchion and his companions.’
‘Of course,’ Barrison agreed. ‘Sergeant, please proceed.’
Great! I’m addressing the King of Altoln… about who knows what, but I’m at the centre of it and everyone’s looking at me now. Oh for all the gods’ sake, Falchion, swallow it down and say something, damn you.
Falchion stepped forward and bowed deeply, his stomach churning as he looked up at his King. Despite those blue eyes kindly willing him on, he’d rarely known such fear.
‘Sire, when I arrived at Tyndurris today, I confronted Master Orix regarding the sickness throughout Wesson. I explained my suspicions, suspicions proven the night before by Errolas.’ Fal presented the elf stood at the back of the group, who now came forward. ‘As an elf ranger, he’d been sent to Wesson to investigate arcane magic detected here.’
‘Why weren’t we informed?’ Ward asked quickly.
Barrison held his hand up and asked the magician to hold such questions until he'd heard all of the details.
‘Errolas told me,’ Fal continued, upon the King’s request, ‘I’d been witnessed by both he and an unknown person on the night I released the potion. Since then I’ve been followed not only by him, but by Samorlian witchunters too.’
Go on Archbishop, just try and say something about that. I’d love to see Yewdale put you in your place. The Archbishop made no move, although Fal could tell he was strained not to, and so Fal continued.
‘Sav, a border scout,’ Fal presented Sav, who stepped forward, bowing his head as he did so, ‘along with Errolas, have only this morning discovered a man in the room above my own. They gave chase, but he managed to escape them both, something Errolas assures us only a small number of humans could do. He recognised the man he chased as a Samorlian witchunter. Then again, when we were ambushed on the way to the palace, in which a guild coach driver and several citizens were murdered, Errolas confirmed those attackers to be witchunters too, and their acolytes of course.’
Barrison’s eyebrows rose and he stole a sideways glance at Corlen.
‘Is this true, Corlen?’ Torquill demanded, catching the anger in Barrison’s eyes and giving the King time to compose himself.
‘I… I doubt it… I would have to ask,’ stammered Corlen, as he looked everywhere but his fellow advisers and King.
Will Morton finally lost his patience. ‘Is this true?’ he shouted, hammered his fist down onto his chair’s arm, his sword clattering along the wood as a result.
‘Yes, yes it’s true!’ Corlen snapped, turning finally to face both Morton and Barrison. ‘The Grand Inquisitor gave the order to have the traitors torched before they reached the palace. He may not have told me himself, but I know he feared they were going to attack you, sire. It was done in the name of Altoln and you, my liege.’
Morton turned to Barrison, silently begging permission to strike the Archbishop from his seat, and Fal again noticed the Duke’s two knights moving forward, their hands playing impatiently with their sword hilts. Barrison, however, gave the slightest shake of his head and Morton reluctantly sat back in his chair, clearly angered further. It seemed to Fal the Duke disliked the church more than he disliked mages.
I’m starting to admire you all the more, Lord Yewdale.
‘I take it by your being here, Sergeant Falchion, the attack was a failure?’
Gods my throat is dry; of all the days. ‘Yes, sire, but not through lack of effort on their part. After they shot our driver, Master Bevins, and the coach turned over, Godsiff Starks, a young crossbowman under my command, as well as Sav and Errolas here, kept the attackers at bay with bolts and arrows. One of the witchunters did manage to set l
ight to the inside of the coach, but Lord Severun used magic to engulf the flames and us for a short time, with a sudden…’ Fal struggled for a word, ‘rush I suppose, of water.’ Which I could use now, to stop my voice breaking. He cleared his throat and continued. ‘It was Lord Severun and the bowmen, sire, that saved Master Orix and me. I don’t believe Lord Severun or Master Orix to be evil, as the church claims, but misguided in their attempts to help their King and his kingdom.’
‘Yes, thank you, sergeant,’ Morton said. ‘The King wasn’t asking for your opinion. Facts man, that’s all, facts.’
‘It’s alright, Will,’ Barrison said soothingly. ‘I appreciate the sergeant’s honesty and input since he’s been caught up in all of this more than any of us, and unwillingly as far as I see it.’
Thank the gods, no, thank the King!
‘Thank you, sire.’ Fal bowed again, relieved he hadn’t overstepped the mark.
‘It seems to me, Archbishop,’ Barrison continued, ‘that your Grand Inquisitor’s attempts failed, and I am thankful of that. I am quite sure I can protect myself in my own palace from a small group of men without his help. Even if he'd given the order to burn these men for my protection, which I seriously doubt anyway, it is certainly not his jurisdiction. He should have notified the Constable of Wesson, Lord Stowold, immediately upon finding out this information, not taken it upon himself to execute people on my streets.’ Barrison’s voice had risen as he directed his words to the red-faced Archbishop, and it continued to rise and fall as he struggled to keep his own anger in check. ‘Innocents have died, and yes, I am aware they are dying all over Wesson due to the actions of these two.’ He pointed to both Severun and Orix. ‘But I for one believe they did not intend it to happen like this. Your Grand Inquisitor, however, takes the law into his own hands and for his own reasons far too often for my liking. You will tell him I want answers for today’s actions and you will bring me them, then the magistrates will decide if there is any punishment to be given out to his men. Those who survived the poor attempt at an ambush anyway.’
