by Jim Butcher
The Merlin had been in the game a while, and he knew exactly what I was up to. He didn’t seem too happy about it. He beckoned the Council’s secretary, a dried-up old spider of a man named Peabody, and put his head together with the old man in whispered conference.
“Order,” the Merlin called after a moment, and the room settled down immediately. “Warden Dresden,” the Merlin said. “May we continue with your explanation for the necessity of this conclave?”
I stepped back into the circle, tugging Molly along with me until we were standing on the heavy bloodstain where the boy had been executed. There was a psychic remnant of the death there, a cold, quivering tension in the air, an echo of rage and fear and death. Molly shuddered as her feet came to rest atop the stained concrete. She must have felt it, too.
I had a sudden flash, a horrible image of the future, where Molly’s body lay in spreading scarlet a few feet from a black cloth bag, so bright and detailed that it almost replaced the reality before me.
Molly shuddered again and whispered, so softly that no one but I could hear, “I’m afraid.”
I squeezed her hand and answered the Merlin’s question in the manner prescribed by protocol. “I have brought a prisoner before the Council, one who has broken the Fourth Law. I have brought her here to seek justice, Merlin.”
The Merlin nodded at me, his expression serious and distant. “This woman with you is the prisoner?”
“This girl is,” I replied, and put no emphasis on the correction. “She comes to face the Council openly, of her own will, and in open admission of her wrong.”
“And this wrong?” the Merlin asked. “What has she done?”
I looked at Morgan. “She broke the Fourth Law of Magic when she imposed a fear of drug use upon two addicts in order to protect both them and their unborn child from the damage of their addictions.”
Morgan stared back at me as I spoke. I thought I saw a faint frown in his eyes.
The Merlin remained silent for half a minute, then slowly arched one brow. “She violated the free will of another human being.”
“She did-but in ignorance, Merlin. She knew neither the Laws nor the side effects of her actions. Her intentions were only to preserve and protect three lives.”
“Ignorance of the Law is never an excuse, Warden Dresden, as you well know, and has no bearing upon this judgment.” The Merlin glanced at Peabody, then back to me. “I assume you have examined the victims?”
“I have, Merlin.”
“And have you had their condition confirmed by another Warden?”
Ramirez stepped forward. “I have done so, Merlin. The psychic trauma was serious, but it is my belief that both will recover.”
The Merlin eyed Ramirez. “Is that your opinion, Warden Ramirez? Based, no doubt, upon your extensive experience?”
Ramirez’s eyes glittered with anger at the Merlin’s tone. “It is the opinion of the duly appointed regional commander of the western United States,” he replied. “I believe that the Merlin should remember that he personally appointed me. If it hasn’t faded into a blur of senility.”
“Warden,“ Morgan barked, and his tone was one of absolute authority. ”You will apologize to the Merlin and moderate your tone. At once.“
Ramirez’s gaze smoldered, but he glanced at Fix and Lily, and then a little guiltily at Morgan. “Of course, Captain.” He drew himself up and gave the Merlin a proper, polite bow. “I ask your forgiveness, Merlin. The last days have been difficult. For everyone.”
The Merlin let it hang in the air for a minute. Then his rigid expression softened somewhat, and I saw a flash of bone-deep weariness in the old man’s eyes. “Of course,” he said in a quieter voice, and bowed his own head. “My choice of words was less polite than it could have been, Warden Ramirez. Please do not take it as a slight upon your performance.”
Clever old snake. Establishing himself as oh-so-reasonable and understanding with the younger members of the Council. Or maybe he really was apologizing to Ramirez, who was the unofficial poster boy of the younger generation of wizards. Or, more likely, he was doing both. That was more the Merlin’s style.
The Merlin returned his attention to me. “To continue. Warden Dresden, have you soulgazed the prisoner?”
“I have,” I said.
“You are convinced of her guilt?”
I swallowed. “I am,” I said. “But I am also convinced that her actions do not represent the malice that defines a true warlock.”
“Thank you for your opinion, Warden Dresden.” His voice turned drolly unapologetic. “Doubtless offered to us out of your own extensive experience.”
“I beg your pardon, Merlin. But when it comes to the Council sitting in self-righteous, arrogant judgment over a young wizard who made an honest mistake, I believe I have more experience than anyone in this room.”
The Merlin’s head rocked back as if I had slapped him. I wasn’t as subtle and proper as him when it came to insults, but if he was going to do it, I saw no reason not to return fire. I pressed on before he could speak, stepping forward and turning to address the room as I spoke.
“Wizards. Friends. Brothers and sisters in arms. You know why this is happening. You know how thinly stretched our resources have become. In the past three years, the Council has tried and condemned more warlocks than in the past twenty. Children who are raised in societies that do not believe in magic suddenly inherit powers they could hardly have imagined, and certainly cannot control. They have no support. No training. No one to warn them of the consequences or the dangers of their actions.”
I reached out and jerked that fucking black hood from Molly’s head, and the girl suddenly stood blinking at the light. Tears had streaked her makeup into dark stains running down her face. Her eyes were red with crying, her expression haunted and terrified. She shuddered and lowered her eyes, staring down at the bloodstained floor.
“This is Molly,” I said to the room. “She’s seventeen years old. Her best friend had already lost one unborn child because of the drugs she’d been addicted to. She knew it was going to happen again. So to protect that child’s life, to protect her friends from their addiction, Molly made a choice. She used her power to intervene.”
I faced Morgan. “She made a wrong choice. No one denies that. She admits to it herself. But look at her. She’s no monster. She understands that what she did was wrong. She understands that she needs help. She submitted herself to this Council’s judgment freely. She wants to learn to control her power, to handle it responsibly. She came here hoping to find help and guidance.”
Morgan didn’t look at me. He was staring at Molly. His fingers kept drumming on the hilt of his sword.
“I’ve soulgazed her. It’s not too late to help her. I think we owe her the chance to redeem herself,” I continued. I looked at the Gatekeeper. “For God’s sake, wizards, if we are to survive this war, we need all the talent we can get. Molly’s death would be a foolish waste.”
I drew in a breath and turned to face the Merlin. “There’s been enough blood spilled on this floor. I beg you to consider clemency. Levy the Doom of Damocles, if you must, but I beg you to spare her life. I will take personal responsibility for her training and accept the consequences of any actions taken under my mentorship.”
Silence fell.
I waited for the Merlin to speak. Molly began trembling harder, and small whimpering sounds came from her throat.
The Merlin’s eyes narrowed, and with that single revealing expression I suddenly knew that I’d made a terrible mistake. I’d outmaneuvered him. I’d startled him with my insult and delivered my speech effectively to the wizards present. I could see it on their faces; the uncertainty, the sympathy. More than one wizard had glanced at the bloodstains at my feet and shuddered as I spoke to them. More than one looked at Molly’s face, and grimaced in sympathy for her fear.
I’d beaten the Merlin. He knew it.
And he hated it.
I had forgotten to take into
account his pride, his ego, his self-image. He was the mightiest wizard on the planet, the leader of the White Council, and he was not accustomed to being insulted and manipulated-and especially not in front of outsiders. I, a mere puppy of a young wizard, had stung him, and his wounded pride sprayed arterial anger. He had it under control, but it was no less terrible or dangerous for that.
“Warden Dresden,” he said in a deadly quiet tone. “Your compassion does you credit. But as you yourself pointed out, our resources are spread too thin already. The Council cannot afford to have a regional commander of the Wardens burdened with a hazardous rehabilitation of a warlock. The duties of the war and of containing the increasing occurrence of black magic must have your full attention.”
Oh, God.
“The Laws of Magic are clear. The prisoner admits her guilt. I am not unmoved by the prisoner’s plight, but we are involved in a war for our very survival.”
Ohgodohgodohgod…
“I therefore take no pleasure in pronouncing the prisoner’s fate. It is the judgment of the Senior Council that the prisoner is a warlock, guilty of breaking the Fourth Law.” He lifted his chin and said, very calmly, “The sentence is death. To be carried out immediately.”
Chapter Forty-six
“Morgan,” the Merlin said quietly.
Morgan stared at Molly. Then at the Merlin. He drew in a sharp breath and took a grip on the sword, lifting it vertically before him.
I looked frantically around the room. Ramirez, like most of the rest of the wizards there, had a stunned look on his face. He looked back at me with a blank expression, and gave me a little twitch of his shoulders. Lily looked remote and troubled. Fix’s expression was blank, but his jaws were clenched hard, muscles standing out and creating shadows on his face.
“Harry?” Molly whispered, shaking so hard she could hardly speak. “Harry?”
I turned back to the Merlin. His eyes were hard, his face as unyielding as stone. Morgan looked as if he might be about to throw up-but it didn’t stop him from moving toward Molly with a steady, dreamlike slowness, sword in hand.
“Harry,” Molly sobbed.
I promised Charity.
I took my staff in both hands and stepped forward, putting myself between Morgan and the girl. “Morgan,” I said. “Stars and stones, man. Please don’t do this. She’s a child. We should be helping her.”
My words slowed him, and he froze in place for a terrible heartbeat. Then he closed his eyes and swallowed, his face twisting with nausea. He opened his eyes again and whispered, “Stand aside, Dresden. Please.”
I looked wildly around the room for someone, anyone to help, for some way to stop this madness. I felt a sudden pressure against my spine, and I looked over my shoulder.
My eyes fell on the Gatekeeper.
I whirled back to Morgan and lifted my hands. “Point of order!” I cried. “Point of order! The Senior Council has not yet made its decision.”
Morgan paused, head tilting, and frowned at me. He lowered the sword and glanced back at the Merlin.
“The Senior Council has decided the issue,” the Merlin snarled.
“No,” I said. “The Senior Council must decide any capital crime in an open vote.” I pointed my finger at the Gatekeeper. “He has not cast his vote.”
The Merlin spoke through clenched teeth. “I hold six of seven votes. However the honored Gatekeeper decides, it will not change the outcome.”
“True,” I said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that he gets a damned vote.”
“Why are you doing this?” the Merlin demanded. “It is over. You only torment the prisoner with this unnecessary charade.”
“He gets a vote,” I repeated, and folded my arms on my chest.
The Merlin stared at me hard, and I could actually sense the pressure of his rage, like the end of a baseball bat poking steadily at my chest.
Morgan said, very, very quietly, “He’s right, honored Merlin.”
The Merlin narrowed his eyes. Then he turned his head to the Gatekeeper. “As you wish. We shall play this farce to its conclusion. Gatekeeper, how find you in this matter?”
And the Gatekeeper said… nothing.
He just stood there, face almost invisible beneath his cowl.
“Gatekeeper!” the Merlin called. “How find you?”
“I find the need for deliberation,” the Gatekeeper responded. “I beg the Council’s indulgence while I ponder this matter.”
“Ridiculous,” the Merlin said.
The Gatekeeper tilted his head. “Death is rather final, honored Merlin. I must consider carefully before I consign a soul, any soul, no matter how guilty, to that end.”
“This is nonsense. It will make no difference how you vote.”
“True,” the Gatekeeper replied, very gently, the faintest shade of rebuke in his voice. “But that does not change my moral obligation to make this decision with care.”
The Merlin took a deep breath and then said, forced calm in his voice, “I suppose a few moments for thought are not unreasonable.”
“Thank you,” the Gatekeeper said gravely.
Five minutes went by like five thousand years. Molly sagged against me, so frightened she could barely stand.
“Enough,” the Merlin said, finally. “This travesty needs to end.”
“On that point,” the Gatekeeper said, “we agree.” And then he stepped forward to the circle marked on the floor, and smudged it with his boot, breaking the circle. He flicked a gloved hand, and the lock on the chained door sprang open and fell away, followed closely by the chains.
“What is the meaning of this?” the Merlin demanded.
The Gatekeeper ignored him and pushed open the door. One of the Wardens on guard outside stood in front of it, one hand raised as if to knock. He blinked at the Gatekeeper, and then looked over his shoulder and said, “It’s open, sir.”
“Get clear of the door, fool,” barked Ebenezar’s voice. “Get them inside. Hurry, man! They’re right behind us!”
Outside there was an eerie howl and a sudden detonation of thunder that shook the concrete floor. Young people in roomy brown robes began to hurry through the doorway, most of them around Molly’s age or a bit younger. They were led by a young woman with short, curly hair and cheeks that had a dimple even when she wasn’t smiling-Luccio, the commander of the Wardens, in the young body a necromancer had trapped her in. The kids must have been her trainees.
She was followed by more children and a tall, brawny woman with dark skin and short, iron grey hair, helping a lanky young man with a wounded leg. Martha Liberty helped the young man settle to the ground and barked out a command for a medical kit. An old man with braided hair and Native American features brought up the rear, shepherding the last few young wizards ahead of him. “Injun Joe” Listens-to-Wind made sure they were all inside, and then turned and shouted, “I’m closing the way now!”
There were several more howls, and a bell-like chime of steel. Something hit the wall of the warehouse hard enough to shake dust from the rafters. Then there was a rushing sound of wind that abruptly ended in heavy silence. Listens-to-Wind sagged and leaned against the doorway, panting. Then he rose and stood aside as Ebenezar McCoy came in.
My old mentor was wearing his usual overalls and T-shirt. His bald pate shone with sweat, and he looked tired, but he was smiling over the pugnacious set of his lower jaw. The air around him fairly crackled with intensity, a mantle of power that hung around him in a subtle haze. Ebenezar reached behind him to hold the door open.
Michael came in.
He wore his white cloak, his mail and breastplate, and he bore Amoracchius in his hands, stained with dark fluids. He glanced around the room, a smile firm on his face.
“Papa!” Molly shrieked, and threw herself at him.
Michael blinked and managed to get the sword out of the way before Molly hit him with a hug that nearly knocked him from his feet. He got an arm around her, smiling. “Ooof! Careful, girl, the
old man needs his ribs right where they are.”
“Who the hell is this?” Ramirez demanded, frowning at Michael. He looked like he didn’t know whether to be upset or disturbed that an armed and armored stranger had just waltzed in and was now standing inside all of his security measures.
“He’s a bloody hero is what he is,” Ebenezar told him. “If he hadn’t come along when he did, not a one of us would have gotten out of there alive.” He offered Michael his hand. “I’ve only heard of you by reputation, Sir Knight. But I’ve got to say that I’m damned glad to meet you. Thank you.”
Michael grinned and juggled his sword and his daughter so he’d have a hand free to shake Ebenezar’s. “I’m only a servant,” he said. “Any thanks are rightly owed to Him, not to me.”
“Aye,” Ebenezar said. “And thank God you came, Sir Knight.”
“Secure the building,” said the Merlin in a quiet voice. He walked forward to see what was happening, and stopped beside me. Michael nodded and moved out, tapping Ramirez and another Warden, and the three of them went to make sure the bad guys weren’t still coming.
“Vote isn’t over,” I said in a very quiet voice. “Which means that the three of them will need to cast their votes as well.”
“Obviously,” the Merlin said in a neutral murmur.
“That’s Michael. Knight of the Cross.”
“Which Sword?” the Merlin asked idly.
“Amoracchius,” I said.
The Merlin lifted a brow and nodded, never looking at me.
“Looks like he just saved… about forty of our young people?”
“So it would seem,” the Merlin said.
“Seems like the least we can do is save one of his.”
The Merlin’s eyes narrowed, and he did not speak.
“Look at it this way,” I said quietly. “There’s no downside to this for you. If you’re wrong about Molly, the Council gets another wizard. Fairly talented one, too.”
