The village was little more than a charred spot left on the earth; not a building stood, not a sheaf of grain remained unsigned. Smoke hung heavily over the cold ruins under a leaden gray sky that hinted at rain. No animals wandered the ruins, their corpses lying alongside those of their once masters. Malger staggered among the skeletal beams of smoking wood and coughed. His mistress had been here, coming on some errand for her husband the Raj of the kingdom.
Not my mistress, not my land! Malger struggled to escape the clutches of the strange memory. The writing on what few shreds of fabric or pottery he saw was not familiar to him but he could read it nonetheless. The cut of the fire savaged timbers was nothing like anything he had seen before. He knew not where he was but the name came to his mind unbidden; Tokanyi, a settlement of one thousand souls. It had been a peaceful settlement of farmers and artisans. At the far end of the charred wreckage he could see what remained of the pagoda that his mistress had visited.
No, he felt the fist of pain that clutched at his heart as he staggered toward the collapsed heap of burnt wood where his mistress had been staying. She had sent him on a small errand at one of the settlement's outlying farmsteads a day away by foot. Even such a distance away he had seen the fires that ravaged Tokanyi lighting up the night. The storms that settled over the lowlands toward the morning had slowed his return flight considerably but he had slogged through the mud with horrified tenacity. No, not me! Someone else, not me! Not my mistress!
"Mosha! Nocturna, hear me! Why do you not answer!" He cried out into the smoky ruin but only the name of his mistress escaped his lips. Ash blackened mud sucked at his wooden sabot as he reached the stone rim of the patio that had once graced the front of the pagoda. Now the carefully laid stone only supported fallen timbers and charred bodies of man and beast alike. He stumbled through the ruin until one corpse, of the numerous sprawled about like negligently discarded toys, brought him to a halt. On one blackened, skeletal wrist the gleam of bronze caught his eye.
Few nobles would deign to wear something so common as bronze, but his mistress had cherished the simple bracelet given to her by her husband when he was little more than a wandering noble brat looking for a home to conquer. He fell to his knees with a mournful cry that ended in a choked expulsion of startled breath when the corpse's eyes flicked open.
"You do not belong here." The corpse rasped with a sepulchral hiss. "This is not your dream."
Lurching back Malger fell onto his rump on the cold grass. Heavy smoke drifted across the charred ruins and, when it cleared, they were gone. An orchard stretched out around him but the corpse remained. Slowly it sat up with a creak of burnt tendons and dry bones. "This is not the path you seek."
"No… Nocturna, do you answer me?" Malger stared, aghast, at the charred husk of a once-woman and yearned to see his goddess, his love, in those sparkling golden eyes. "Mosha?"
"No." the corpse shook its head, "I am not she."
"Who, then, are you?" There was a strange, subtle sweetness on the air that tickled his nose. He could not place it, but it was far less unpleasant than the sweet stench of charred flesh and reek of burnt wood. White blossoms drifted lightly on a gentle, cool breeze. The grass under his hands, and rump, was damp with morning dew.
A rictus line broke across the skeletal face, "Your guide."
"By the dark gods… my guide? To where, some charred hell?"
"To life."
Malger chuffed and frowned, "I am not yet dead." He sat forward and wrapped
his arms around his knees, strangely nonplussed to be speaking with the charred
memory of someone's lost mistress. "Though I wish I were."
Murikeer pushed the door open while Elvmere held the tray of food and held it as the priestly raccoon in the guise of human minstrel-in-training sidled into the cell past him. Upon the cot Malger sprawled as if thrown; akimbo. He mumbled wordlessly while his erstwhile students filed into the small room. While Elvmere carefully lowered the tray onto the stool cum table Murikeer crossed over toward Malger.
Murikeer was surprised at Malger's condition. Physically he was in remarkably good shape for having been in a life-or-death bloodbath only three days previously. His bruises were for the most part little more than fading yellow splotches on his illusory human torso. The worst of them were the sickly greenish pallor of half healed bruises weeks old, not days. Kneeling he leaned forward to examine the stitches on his wounds but a sudden outburst drew his attention away.
"I am not yet dead." Malger muttered flatly and then heaved a great sigh, "Though I wish I were." Even as he spoke the last word his eyes opened and he twitched upon finding Murikeer's human face hovering close by. "Ugh… now I suffer nightmares even as I wake." He grumbled. Raising an arm weakly he grasped Murikeer's shoulder and tried to sit up, succeeding only with his apprentice's help.
"Your humor seems to heal as swiftly as you do." Murikeer quipped once he had gotten Malger righted and stable. The minstrel's exhaustion was so great he could barely remain upright.
"I was making a joke?"
"I certainly trust that you were, droll as it was." Elvmere chided as he leaned over to extend a mug toward Malger and another to Murikeer. They had foregone breaking their fast at the Earl's table to share the morning with their master. "Chicken stock, Malger, and some freshly prepared fowl if your stomach can handle it. I would like to check on your stitches once we're finished with our meal."
Murikeer accepted the cup, of tea rather than broth, and moved to sit cross legged on the floor in front of the open door. Cool morning air, touched with a bit of dewy mist, cascaded through the grate above and down the stairwell beyond the door. Raising the cup to his lips he stopped abruptly and stiffened in surprise. Reaching out with his free hand he circled his fingers around Elvmere's arm and squeezed, urgently but not harshly. Elvmere cast a look back over his shoulder, his brows arching when he registered the mage's cautionary glance.
His good eye then slid from Elvmere's gaze toward the floor below Malger's cot. Slowly Elvmere turned his head to follow his gaze and, leaning back slightly to see more fully beneath the cot, spied what had caught Murikeer's attention; a lush length of russet red fur tipped with white. Over the top of that bush of fur gazed a pair of vertically slit black pupils in fields of striking gold.
"Company." Murikeer muttered and set his cup down. A startled, bird-like chirp escaped the owner of fur and golden eyes when the skunk's magic seized it. Malger started at the sound and yanked his legs back up onto the cot, almost falling over as he did. Waving his mug away from himself with one arm he used the other to brace against the wall and look down toward the floor in surprise as the intruder was dragged out from under the cot with a skitter of claws on stone.
It was a fox; a normal red hued member of the species common to the region. "Let go!" it shrieked in a high, piping yelp equal parts canid and bird, both aspects of which were surprised and offended at the rough treatment. All three of them twitched to hear the fox speak but Murikeer did not release it.
"Name yourself!" Murikeer hissed. Elvmere jumped to his feet, almost upsetting the tray as he did, and backed away from the irritated furry interloper.
"Misanthe!" the fox quailed, writhing against the invisible bonds of magic Murikeer had wrapped about it with implacable strength. "Sheyiin!" With a slight motion of his head and one hand Murikeer released his magic. The fox, Misanthe or Sheyiin depending on who addressed her, hastily scrambled back to the shelter beneath Malger's cot.
"What are you doing here, and how is it you speak in that form?"
"I come to my master!" she snarled from the shadows under Malger's cot. With a groan the minstrel dropped his head back against the wall and rolled his eyes. "The monster he slew forced me to learn many things. Speaking in my minor form one of the least!"
"Master?" Murikeer grunted, shifting his gaze up to Malger and back down. "Come out from there and present yourself in your normal form."
"No more crushing?"
"If you come out, no. If not, perhaps." Murikeer wiggled his fingers threateningly toward her and retrieved his tea.
Cautiously Misanthe crept out from under the cot, shifting her untrusting golden gaze from Murikeer to Elvmere and back. Settling back onto her haunches the vixen grew rapidly, fur shifting like water over her body as she did. After only a few moments Elvmere gave a choking gasp and shoved past Murikeer as he fled the cell.
Even in her fully realized form the vixen was not particularly big, standing considerably shorter than Murikeer, who was not particularly tall by even Metamor standards at three inches shy of five feet. Only his illusion gave the impression that he was taller, if not terribly much, still shorter than pretty much any adult human they encountered. Even Malger and Elvmere were shorter than the norm among humans, a trait common to Keepers who were cursed with forms smaller than natural humans. Only those, like Duke Thomas, who became larger species stood as tall, or much taller, than typical humans.
And she was quite bereft of clothing. Murikeer noted that lack only in some masculine corner of his brain but did not look away and Malger was too exhausted to much care. He merely sat on his cot clutching his mug of broth with both hands and shook his head irritably. Turning she crouched to reach under the cot, looking up at Malger as she did, and fished out a tightly wrapped bundle of cloth. Deftly untying it she gave the bundle a shake and it unrolled into a hooded shift of pale bluish gray silk that she slipped on smoothly.
"She's dressed now, Elvmere." Murikeer cast back over his shoulder without ever taking his one-eyed gaze from the vixen. "Now, what are you doing here, and why do you think Malger is your master?"
Moving to the end of Malger's cot she squatted and draped her forearms demurely over her silk clad knees, "He slew the beast who called himself my master, the monster who changed me into this." One hand raised to stroke across her muzzle and head, flattening one ear back briefly. "I serve him now."
"Why not go home?" Murikeer shifted slightly to one side as Elvmere cautiously sidled back into the room, staring at the vixen. Rearranging the upset tray he crouched near Murikeer keeping the tray between himself and the new member of their motley band.
"I cannot." Misanthe shook her head slowly, "I came to this land by a ship long on the sea. I was sold and moved and sold and moved and sold again, finally to the one he slew." A nod toward Malger, "I know not how to make my way back to my homeland and, kitsune that I now am, I fear they would not accept me."
"Kitsune?" Murikeer and Malger said at the same moment, both glancing toward her single tail.
"In my homeland that merely means fox." She pointed out rather blandly. "And, were I able, I would not." Her head turned toward Malger and bowed slightly, "I serve you, now, master."
"Gods no!" Malger retorted, ending with a choking cough that nearly caused him to spill his broth. "I do not need some infatuated child dogging my heels in the afterlife!"
"Child?" Misanthe chirped in surprise.
"Afterlife?" Elvmere intoned curiously at the same time.
"Where is your homeland, then? Or, was?"
"Os'var'kai." The word was accented strangely but Murikeer understood it. He regarded her for several long moments and then let out a heavy sigh.
"Bin lom?"
"Min lom a'jhes mihahi, khr'es." Misanthe intoned softly with a bow of her head. She pressed both palms together, fingers upward with her thumbs against her chest between the subtle curves of her breasts.
"Ahh, I do not speak the tongue, lass, I merely know what I have read in books."
"I am bin lom, yes. Of the lom there are three houses; the spirit, the house, and the body. A'jhes is of all houses. I was trained to serve the one to whom I was granted; body, spirit, and house in equal measure."
"We would call that a retainer."
"I do not want a bloody body servant!" Malger groused angrily but without much force. He was too exhausted to give full measure of his ire. He glared at the vixen as if that alone might banish her. Misanthe frowned expressively with her slender, tapered vulpine muzzle, whiskers adroop and ears backed.
Turning her gaze back toward Murikeer and then Elvmere she tilted her head slightly, still frowning in discomfort at Malger's repudiation. "You are curious to me." She breathed softly as her golden gaze caught and held Elvmere's stare. After a moment he coughed self-consciously and looked down to the tray. "He was distressed at my nakedness, but not that I am kitsune. Nor you, nor he." Her eyes flicked to Murikeer and then back to Malger who was glowering at the empty mug in his hands wondering when it had become empty.
Murikeer only shrugged slightly and glanced up at the grate overhead. His ears did not tell him that there was anyone above, nor did his nose catch the hint of any company on the cool air spilling in from above. "Malger, show her why we are not frightened of what she is."
Malger scowled at him and thrust his mug toward Elvmere. Diffidently the priest accepted it if for no other reason than to busy himself doing something. Misanthe leaned forward toward him as if she might do something but desisted at his startled stare. "Why me?"
"Because we need to check your wounds? You'll need to take off the amulet anyway."
"Why don't you?" Malger huffed petulantly with a glare.
"And blind her with my scent? Perhaps later."
"Do not even look at me!" Elvmere snapped in alarm. Murikeer could imagine how tightly the priest's illusion concealed tail was wrapped around his ankles if not tucked so far between his legs it could have been tickling his chin.
With a growl Malger shook his head in defeat. Grasping his amulet he wrenched it over his head and threw it down upon the cot. Misanthe leaned back in surprise when his true appearance was revealed, her jaw hanging open while she made a strangled bird-like chirp. "He is… he is…" she tried to speak but her voice was, for the moment, stolen away.
"A marten." Murikeer offered with a quirk drawing up one corner of his muzzle. He took a sip of his tea and let the vixen regain her wits.
"A pine marten." Malger snapped. When Elvmere offered his mug back, along with a hank of bread, he took both with an irritated snatch. "What does this prove?"
"We are like you, Misanthe; cursed into the forms of animals. I have created amulets of illusion so that we can pass through human lands without undue fuss." Murikeer took a bit of cut meat from the tray and nibbled on it while Elvmere refilled his tea. "I am a skunk, which is why I did not wish to offend you with my natural musk, and Elvmere is a raccoon."
"The man, men, my master slew did this to you?"
Murikeer shook his head, "No. He did not do that to you, either. You were taken to the edges of a place that causes this change. It is a magic limited to that place. Many call it a curse, but others call it a blessing." The skunk shrugged his shoulders expressively and bit a chunk out of the fowl they had brought up. "It changes, but it heals, so it's a mixed bag."
"Can it change me back?"
Elvmere and Murikeer shook their heads, "No." Elvmere sighed and drank from his own cup, his ill ease fading as the vixen made no move to approach. "That is why it's a curse. Once it has you, that's it. It's a one way trip."
Misanthe's ears backed and she sighed, looking at her hands. They, like her footpaws, were gloved in short black fur. Her fingers and toes were tipped with perfectly tended black claws. There was a small diamond of white nestled in the hollow of her throat between her clavicles and the tip of her tail. All of her other markings were black. "I long ago made peace with what he turned me into. I guess it shall suffice."
"What the dark hells are we supposed to do with her?" Malger flicked his fingers toward the vixen, "We don't have the time, or materials, for you to make another illusion for her, and the caravan is gone."
"Right now we have other concerns." Murikeer pointed out, "That other Earl is supposed to arrive tomorrow and give his account of your little sword dance. Tathim has told us that he will make his decision once he has heard his fellow's side of things."
Malger scratched at his stitches and then bent to worry at them with his clawtips. With a hiss Elvmere leaned over and swatted his hand away before bending closer to look at the wound. "Once you're done poking me." He winced and twitched away from Elvmere's touch, "Be kind and shave my neck. Headsmen are not known for especially sharp axes."
"Oh, do shut up, Malger." Elvmere groused. Misanthe's ears pricked up and the corners of her vulpine muzzle turned upward in a feral grin.
"Malger, a good name."
"Oh, ye dark gods curse me!"
During the day the Silver river did not so much live up to its nickname, but on a night with any moonlight at all it glistened in all of its magnificent silver glory. There were numerous parks and plazas along the riverbank beyond the city bounds and even in the wee hours of the morning the citizens of Silvassa could often be found wandering the secluded paths alone or in pairs.
The wise would seldom wander them alone, but when one is in love they often forego wisdom.
"NO!" Such carelessness was only to the advantage, he felt himself thinking with cold, evil joy. He struggled to escape this latest and darkest nightmare, but Malger was enwrapped in the sleeper's glee. It was powerful, close, and amazingly electric. "Nocturna, spare me!"
There was a single form silhouetted against the moonlit silver glow of the river. She wore a diaphanous silken gown that flowed about her like a morning mist; sometimes translucent showing off the youthful curves of her lithesome body, at others opaquely mysterious. In one hand she carried some manner of flower, a rose by its long stem and lush bloom, which she brushed under her nose while she walked and gazed at the glistening surface of the river.
Steeling from the shadows of his concealment Malger felt himself carried forward and strove to draw away. In one hand was a slender length of polished steel that gleamed in the moonlight just as brightly as the river. The nobly clad walker heard his approach and turned, the moonlight sketching her comely face in a beatific, ghostly light. "No, no, no! Gods, no!" Seeing the approach of her death the woman's eyes went wide and she thrust out her hands to ward off the coming attack.
"Nocturna! Release me of this foul darkness!" Silver rose in the moonlight and flashed like a bolt of lightning from the sky, downward and across the woman's outstretched hands. A rush, almost orgasmic in its intensity, exploded triumphantly in Malger's breast as the woman fell back with a shriek of horror and pain, her severed forearms fountaining blood like ink into the moonlit night. "Repudiate me, cast me down! Turn your back on me, but do not torture me so!"
Moving close to the woman, blood still surging with the heat of murder, he caught up the bodice of her gown with a strong hand to draw her close. The young noblewoman's eyes were wild with fear, pain, and the realization of her own death. "The heir of Sutt sends his blessings." He whispered softly, voice quavering with the intensity of his release, and then thrust her away. The woman tripped upon the blood stained hem of her gown and toppled backwards. Tumbling in a tangle of diaphanous white silk she slid down the steep bank and fell into the river with a splash.
He stood there, nursing the orgasmic high of death delivered, and watched the panicked woman thrash about in the water. The silver darkened with blood as her floundering became weaker with each passing, racing breath of her murderer. Futilely the dying woman hauled herself onto the rocks at the river's edge but that was her final act. Within moments the loss of blood dragged her down into death.
"You do not belong here." A hissing voice whispered close at hand. It was the sound of death given breath and Malger lurched around in horror. A shadowy form stood close at hand, the moonlight sketching its skeletal frame as a pool of dark against dark. Only the eyes, burning and golden, offered some measure of color to the darkness. "You have lost the path."
"Who are you?" he spat with the dreamer's voice. He tried to bring up the sword but only found a flute in his hands, it's polished silver stained with the dead woman's blood. With a charred, skeletal hand the corpse reached up to grasp the flute and draw it down. A circlet of bronze, burnt and stained, gleamed upon the dead thing's wrist.
"I am your guide." The charred remnant hissed through a mouth drawn into a rictus leer by the heat which claimed its life.
"Who are you? Death? Are you given to ferry me into the damnation of the hells?"
The corpse burbled something, some name or title, in a language Malger could not understand, but he heard the words clearly, "I am your guide, I bring you to the proper path."
"Bedamn you, visage of death. Take me, then, release me from this torture."
The corpse lifted a fire shrunken hand, more bone than flesh, "Take my hand, I will lead the way." Fearfully Malger found himself reaching out. His fingers closed over dry bone and crusty, burned flesh, and the silver gleam of the river faded away. First at the edges of his vision, lastly the blood streaked glow close before him, and darkness closed about him utterly.
Lurching up Malger flailed about and tumbled from his cot. The cold stone of the floor met his elbows, and muzzle, with painful intensity as his upper body came down heavily and his legs remained on the cot. Misanthe, the crazed vixen that had attached herself to him with the tenacity of a hungry tick, scrambled up from her perch at the end of the cot and jumped down. Quickly she shifted from her diminutive vulpine form to her full size and helped him back up onto the cot.
"The dark dreams claimed you, master?" she asked diffidently, squatting before him and holding his hands. Angrily Malger thrust her away and drew his legs up to his chest. Hugging his arms about them he bowed his brow to his knees and shuddered. Feeling a prick at his chest he reached down to tug it away but it clung about his neck. Raising it up he found that it was his pendant of Nocturna, the points of the crescent moon had dug through his fur to poke at his flesh. With a snarl he yanked it over his head and hurled it across the cell. The pendant tinged against the stone and flashed briefly before coming to rest on the floor.
"Malger!" he moaned, breathless and dizzy from the exertion. "I am Malger! I am not your master!" He looked up at the gleaming golden gaze of the vixen. An atavistic shudder raced through his breast when he saw, for a moment, the charred skeletal monstrosity from his nightmares. "I release you. You are free, go, on pain of your own life."
Misanthe withdrew slightly with a backing of her tall triangular ears. "You would kill me, mas— Malger?" she quailed fearfully.
"No, not I." He tightened his arms about his legs and huffed for breath. His head swam and his nose ached painfully. "An assassin has sought me. She has found me." He bowed his head to his knees again and felt so bone weary he thought he might weep but his body was too weak to put for the effort. "She kills any who are close to me; a torture to prolong the suffering of my death."
"I am a fox, Malger." Tentatively she reached out to rest her fingertips upon his forearms. He could not bring himself to push her away again for fear of fainting. "Foxes are cunning. They are adept at avoiding any who might hunt them."
"I don't want to find your hands gifted to me, woman." He growled plaintively, "Begone. Find that caravan and travel to Metamor. Leave me in peace."
"To seek your own death?" the vixen chuffed, tightening her grip on his forearms and prizing them from around his legs. "I serve you, your life, not your ignominious death." Gently she eased his arms open and then shifted forward onto her knees to reach up and grasp his shoulders. Pulling him to one side despite his weak resistance she helped him lie back down upon the cot. Reaching under the cot where her gown was folded she brought up a blade that shone silver in the wan moonlight. Malger jerked back against the wall and his breath caught in his breast at the dichotomy of her blade and his recent nightmare. Holding the blade up she clasped the hilt between both diminutive black hands. "Show her to me and I will carve out her heart, for you."
"If she leaves you hands with which to carve." Malger sighed, already feeling the weight of sleep hauling against him. Misanthe drew herself up onto the cot and stretched out close against him on its narrow confines. She tucked the dagger between them and pushed her muzzle under his chin.
"Sleep, master." She admonished gently, her voice muffled in the illusion masked fur of his throat. "I will guard your dreams. Give me your nightmares that I might slay them."
Malger felt a grief ridden giggle burble up from his breast, "Would that you could, you annoying vixen, would that you could."
"Malger," Murikeer knelt beside the cot and shook his master's shoulder. The sun had not yet risen and the cell was dark but for the dim witchlight Murikeer summoned to hover just within the grate above. Malger grumbled and twitched at the touch, his eyes blinking open in alarm. After a moment he groaned and shifted to sit up, with Murikeer's assistance, and lean back against the wall. "Earl Tathim has sent a summons, the tribunal will begin shortly after dawn."
Rubbing his face with his hands Malger nodded and sighed, "Good. Let this be done."
"Where's the fox?" Elvmere asked after a glance around the small chamber. He had noticed that she was not under the cot when he put the tray brought to them by the Earl's servants down on the stool. Malger looked around briefly and then shrugged.
"Was here last night, must've snuck out while I was asleep." Drawing up his legs he crossed them on the cot and scratched at his chest. His bruises, even the worst of them, were dim yellowish blotches on his illusory flesh. Under that illusion his fur itched abominably. "How long before sunrise?"
"A candlemark or so. We brought water so that you might bathe and fresh clothing. You need to be presentable, and right now you look like you've been wrestling in an abattoir."
Malger looked at his arms, still soiled by the old blood and mud of his fight. He had been too hurt to bathe, or suffer to be bathed, when he first arrived. In the time since he had been, and still was, simply too exhausted from poor sleep. As it was he felt weak as a babe. "What does it matter? My guilt is plainly evident, the Earl will have no choice in his verdict."
Elvmere shot him a scowl from where he crouched preparing their food. "Don't think that way, Malger. We must see this through. Why not simply reveal your noble rank? Your caste is far superior to any that can be brought to bear, and those were nothing more than commoners." He growled, "And brigands for that, as well. They deserved justice, though I am still dismayed at the method of it."
"They deserved far worse, Elvmere." Malger growled irritably, pulling at the stitches that Elvmere had not cut away the day before. His injuries were, like his bruises, well on their way to being only pale scars. "Had I the time I would have killed them much more slowly… weeks at the very least. A piece at a time."
"Malger!" Elvmere gasped, aghast.
"This is not the time, both of you." Murikeer chuffed. Kneeling he pushed Malger's hand out of the way to examine his stitches. With a few deft plucks of his claws he cut the knots and carefully pulled them loose.
"Gods!" Malger cursed and writhed in an effort to escape the sharp, plucking stings as each stitch was pulled loose from mostly healed flesh. "Have some gods be damned care, Murikeer! That hurts!" His head spun dizzily and he had to desist fighting the stronger youth's touch to brace his arms against the wall behind him.
"To each a little pain." The illusion masked skunk quipped. "You're the one who earned each scratch, master. You're healing far faster than I would have ever expected."
"For what little good it does. Maybe it's just another of Metamor's little oddities."
"Mayhap. Now, eat. We'll get you bathed and dressed after we break our fast." Flicking the last of the stitches from his claws Murikeer turned to take a trencher from Elvmere. "Maybe your little pet will return while we prepare."
"If the girl has any sense she's gone to rejoin the caravan. I told you two that you are not safe with me already."
"Of this assassin you fear we have seen not a hint, Malger. Perhaps she has found some wisdom as well."
"She got cursed trying to kill me, Muri. Do you think her wrath would be so
easily given up?" Malger found himself famished beyond measure and his stomach
much more settled. He set to the food presented to him with gluttonous abandon.
At the base of the tower the three were met by six guards. Two had been posted outside the chambers shared by Murikeer and Elvmere, while the other four were those assigned duty watching the only way into our out of the tower. They fell in around the trio and led them toward the main building, to the feast hall where the tribunal was going to be held. The only outwardly visible change to the main courtyard was a fancily ornate carriage, sans the horses that had drawn it, sitting empty in the middle of the yard. A couple of guards wearing colors different from the locals lounged on stools near the wagon. Beyond that nothing marked the day as any different from those that had come before. Life went on, despite the gravity of the proceedings about to take place within the hall.
When they entered their guards escorted them to one of the tables dominating the center of the long room several paces in front of the dais. Most of the others, some dozen all told, had been pushed to the outer walls where a loose assemblage of familiar and unfamiliar faces watched while the trio settled at the central table.
Tathim was seated in a large chair, not quite a throne but certainly more ornate than any other in the room, upon the dais. To his left was another similarly ornate chair in which the Lady Ganet, a thin but matronly looking woman in her late fifties, sat. The Lady was conversing to her handmaiden while Tathim's senechal simply stood slightly behind and to the right of his chair. Tathim was conversing with two men on his right seated in less ornate chairs. Both were richly clad, clearly the two nobles the house guard had spoken of earlier. One of them was familiar, the same man who had challenged Malger at the caravan, while the second was an unknown. He looked bored with the situation and frowned at something the visiting Earl said, with much gesticulation, to Earl Tathim. A long-haired golden dog, some breed of collie, sat beside his chair and while he waited he stroked its head. The visiting Earl was clearly agitated at something but there was a general susurrus of conversation filling the room that prevented either Murikeer or Elvmere from hearing his argument.
Glancing up Tathim saw that they had arrived and, with a slight staying motion of one hand toward his guest, sat up in his throne. "I see that all have arrived, so let us proceed without undue delay. Our visitors are Earl Motense of Fendshill who will stand in witness, and Baron Vareshad of Harington who will bear witness of these proceedings for Duke Thargood and see that the justice we arrive upon this day is upheld." He nodded to each of the men in turn. "Will the accused stand and present himself to the tribunal."
It was not a request. Laboriously Malger levered himself up from his chair, the minstrel's once proud shoulders slumped in exhaustion. His rich garments hung from him loosely. In the past few days he had lost a considerable amount of weight that Murikeer had discovered only once he was dressed. "I am Malger son of Fendil, traveling minstrel, your grace."
"Very well. You have been accused of the crime of murder, what state you?"
"Justice, your grace, is my argument. The slain were rapists, slavers, and murderers. One close to me suffered their depredations many years ago. It is in her memory I exercised justice long delayed. I do not deny that I killed, or sought to kill, them." Murikeer noted that the injured survivors had been brought in and slumped in two chairs, both still suffering the wounds he had inflicted upon them. Neither of them looked to be fit enough to have been brought from their hospice and Murikeer felt pleasure at their suffering.
"Who witnesses the crimes for which the slain are accused?"
"I do." Malger muttered.
Murikeer stood and Tathim's gaze shifted toward him. "I do, your grace."
"And you are?"
"Murikeer Khunnas, son of Justin, mage of Metamor Keep and apprentice to the accused. The woman in whose memory my master acted was to have been my wife."
Tathim merely nodded and Murikeer sat back down.
"Let it be known that the accused gives reason of justice, with one witness. The crimes for which he acted are not for this tribunal to decide, other than to understand his actions. We will now bring forward witness to the actions which he took to slay, and maim, people otherwise innocent of crimes within my demesne, from least to greatest rank. Will those who witnessed, directly, those acts please stand?"
Murikeer and Elvmere stood. A few chairs down from them two others stood; the guards from the caravan as did Earl Motense and to one side of the dais the Lothanasa stood. Her burly guards, the same four who had attended her divan, did not need to stand for they had not been seated. There had been many peasants among the caravan when Malger went on his rampage but none appeared to be in attendance.
"Thank you, sirs and Lightbringer, please be seated." Murikeer watched Malger slump back into his chair and rest his forearms on the table in front of him. A clay mug sat in front of him and he took a moment to sip whatever it contained. There were cups at every table, and ewers of watery wine, but neither Murikeer nor Elvmere had any taste for it. Tathim directed his attention toward their side of the room and held up one hand toward the two guards. "Stand and come forward, gentlemen. You are soldiers working for the caravan's guard company?"
Diffidently the two stood and made their way out in front of the table at which they sat. They did not move fully into the center of the room as that would put them nearer the focus of the Earl's justice. "Yes, your grace." One of them, the youth that Sideshow had shoved at Malger during the fight, spoke. "I am Trei Laroth, son of Grimmam, master of the company. This is March, son of Mikket."
"Speak freely, lads. What did you witness?"
"Well, sire, we saw that man," Laroth nodded toward Malger, "attack Maxamillian and his men. They were not part of our company and attended only to Max, apparently associates for some years."
"You did not attempt to stop him?" Tathim's raised one brow curiously.
"No, sire, we did, as is our duty."
"And how many of your company fell during this battle?"
Laroth looked to his companion who had a muslin swatch over his nose and secured by a string that tied behind his head giving him an altogether ridiculous appearance. "None that I know of, your grace."
"None?"
"Aye." Laroth nodded slowly, "That man took pains not to attack us directly, and evaded us rather than fight. When we got close enough he disarmed us. March got the closest to him, and the man bit his nose rather than strike him with his swords."
"So you would say that this man, Malger, strove only to attack the men he believes wronged a woman some years ago, and not you or the men of your company?"
"Exactly so, sire, yes. When the caravan master pushed me at his swords he took a stroke from my spear to get past me, rather than cut his way through me."
"Very well, I thank you, Laroth son of Grimmam. March, what have you to say to this tribunal before you are dismissed?"
March, who had been studiously looking at the floor throughout Lothar's testimony, looked up fearfully when he was addressed. "'E could'a kilt me, sire, no jus' bit me node." He managed to force out in a constrained honk due to his bandaged nose. "He jes want t' pass me bah, fer t' get aft dem as 'e did." He nodded shortly toward the two injured men.
"How did you two know this minstrel?"
"We didn't sire." Lothar offered, "He and his apprentices came to our caravan only just that afternoon and we offered space in our camp for them."
"Thank you, gentlemen. You are dismissed and may return to your master when convenient for you."
Bowing profusely both backed up and then returned around the table to sit down. Tathim then turned his attention toward the two injured men slouching in the chairs provided for them. The man who had lost his lower leg seemed barely conscious while the man who had lost his hand to mid forearm seemed more alert. Throughout the testimony of the caravan guards he had glared balefully at Malger.
"You, sir, stand if you would, and tell us who you and your companion are." The Earl said toward the more alert of the pair. The man jerked to his feet and stalked around his table, crossing half way into the hall between his table and Malger's seat.
"I am Lessan, Maxamillian's retainer, and a Master of Steel from Whitestone Tower. My companion is Boqu, also of Whitestone. We know nothing of that madman's accusations; we are merely hired guards just as those two lickboots are." He thrust his foreshortened arm toward Grimmam's guards. "Hired out by Maxamillian eight years agone, and innocent of whatever crimes that filth seeks to blind you with."
"Lessan the Fist, who pummeled her bloody before he had his." Malger growled flatly, but clearly, from where he sat. Tathim leveled a swift glare at him but Malger did not notice, his wrathful gaze was directed toward Lessan.
"He is mad, Earl, mad as a root smoking swamp witch!"
"Tell me, Fist, did you have at them after the curse took them, too?" Malger challenged, never raising his voice above a hard growl, but in the general quietude of the room he could be heard as clearly as if he had shouted. "How many, hmmm? Ten, a hundred?" Murikeer laid a staying hand on his arm.
"Be silent, minstrel." Tathim snapped irritably. Lessan took a stride closer to Malger as if to strike him with his good hand but stopped when Murikeer stood to face him. One of Tathim's guards stepped forward to grasp his uninjured arm firmly. The guard was considerably smaller than Lessan's muscular bulk but the warning was clear. Tathim's men at arms held sway in the tribunal and brooked no violence among its attendants. Murikeer slowly settled back into his chair.
Lessan fell back a couple of paces and glared down at the guard before glaring back at Tathim, "He came at us spouting madness and poor Boqu never had a chance. The man had his swords loosed and cut his leg from under him before he could even draw steel to defend himself." Murikeer twitched an eyebrow at the lie and would have stood to refute it but Elvmere touched his forearm lightly. When he looked down Elvmere only shook his head slightly. Interrupting the tribunal, even to clarify a simple point, would reflect poorly upon their case.
Tathim glanced again at Grimmam's men, "Was that so?"
Laroth stood hastily and swallowed, looking toward Lessan fearfully, "Aye, your grace, but the man did have his sword free. The minstrel's attack was unexpected, and too swift for him to parry."
"Thank you." Thathim's gaze flicked back across to Lessan, "Be seated, both of you." Laroth dropped back into his chair while Lessan clenched his fist angrily. He looked ready to continue his rant but the guard hauling on his arm finally brought him around. Staggering under the pain of his injuries, suppressed only by indomitable force of will, he returned to his chair and slumped with a mulish glare.
Once order was restored again Tathim sighed heavily. "You, Murikeer, bearing in mind that the matters of this tribunal are only concerning the deaths your master caused, stand and tell us of those events."
Giving Malger's shoulder a reassuring squeeze Murikeer stood. Before he spoke he looked to the Earl, the other nobles seated beside him, then the Lothanasa seated off the dais, and lastly the archivist Thomas who stood on the opposite flank of the dais before returning his gaze to Tathim. The visiting Earl only glared and met his gaze challengingly while the baron's regard was curious but bored. The Lothanasa's gaze was inscrutable and Thomas favored him with a sage nod.
"Your grace," he said levelly, "if that is the limit of this gathering then further discourse is fruitless. For all action must have a causative initiator, as a mage this is one of the basic precepts of natural law. What, then, were you to find those who attacked your vassalage in a decade's time, far from here in some other kingdom. Would you not act to bring th— "
"Damnit, boy!" barked the visiting Earl of Fendshill exploded from his chair furiously, "That raid has no bearing on the cold blooded slaughter caused by that man!" Murikeer twitched and fell silent at the angry explosion and tilted his head slightly to bring his good eye to bear on the man.
Earl Tathim quirked an eyebrow toward his peer and waited until his ire hissed to a halt. "Your grace, if you would, you are a party to this tribunal and not its justicar. If you would, please allow me to continue." He asked politely without altering the level of his voice. "He is correct, however, young man. It is already established that your master acted out of a sense of justice, or vengeance. It is that he acted that concerns us."
"Then yes, your grace, he did act." Murikeer conceded with a slow nod. "I will, then, bring to your attention the fate of the prisoners that those who were slain kept in their train. Save for one or two hapless exhibits each and every one of them were once as human as any here. They were once free peoples, captured and enslaved through torture and brutality, to be ensorcelled into the form of animals without any free choice of their own."
"Also a fact not— "
"Your grace?" this time an interruption from the Lothanasa. Tathim let out a short huff of breath and turned his gaze toward her. With an exasperated wave of one hand he surrendered the floor. "I do apologize, your grace, but the lad is correct insofar as those I saw in the wagon cages were bespelled in some manner or another. I did not have the time to give that magic any thorough examination, but they were indeed fully enwraped by magery."
Tathim looked toward Earl Motense, "Is this what you saw?"
"I saw beasts." The man acceded with a surly nod, "Foul monstrosities that walked as men walked. Some even spoke the tongue of man. Caricatures they were, but beasts all the same. I saw nothing of true men among them."
Tathim mulled that over for a few moments, "Be that as it may, thus was the reason I allowed the train no closer to my demesne than it was, and even that was by slim tolerance." He glanced at the Lothanasa to see if she had anything further to add but she only shook her head with a slight nodding bow. "Say on, lad, within only what you saw."
"Upon recognizing the men he challenged them for their crimes. Those two," he waved a hand toward the injured mercenaries, "stepped forward to brace him with their own steel bared, whereupon my master sought to fulfill his justice." When Murikeer offered nothing further he was allowed to resume his seat.
"And you, master Elvmere?"
Elvmere stood and squared his shoulders, "I bear witness that this man, master of my musical tutelage, attacked the mercenaries and person of Maxamillian, master of that caravan. He struck them down with as little injuries to others as he was capable, which is considerable as he was able to withstand five highly trained mercenaries without killing those with less training. Beyond that I can say little."
"And of those in the wagons?"
"I am no mage, sire, I lack the ability to see or grasp any understanding of magic. That they may have once been people I would have to say that yes, they were once human. They suffered a curse known to me that changed them into beasts. None, I suspect, sought that curse willingly."
Tathim nodded, "Such is the nature of curses. You may be seated." Once Elvmere had settled once more he turned his gaze to the side of his dais. "Lothanasa hin Caris?"
Slowly the woman levered herself up from her chair, towering to eye level with those on the dais as she stood. "I thank you, sire. I speak neither in defense nor persecution of the accused, and bear witness only to the acts for which he is being held accountable." She nodded her large head toward the trio occupying the center of the fast hall. "I was returning with my retinue from recent travels and came upon the caravan of Maxamillian early in the afternoon four days past. The caravan master supped me and we talked of his travels, simple inconsequentialities that bare no mention here. As the afternoon waxed toward evening the showman promised to exhibit his menagerie and I lingered to see what manner of creatures he had assembled.
"Shortly after he had commenced his show that man," one large hand waved toward Malger, "approached me and begged an indulgence. He invoked the geas of witness, which may be known to many here who follow the path of Light. He bade me not interfere with the acts that he would soon partake and, under that geas, I was not to interf— " She stopped when the great double doors of the feast hall opened a crack, letting a shaft of bright sunlight slash across the dimly lit room. That splash of light fell across Malger, almost blinding in its intensity to those used to the feast hall's shuttered light. A shadow briefly bisected the light as someone entered and, moving around the periphery of the room, approached the dais.
It was one of Earl Tathim's soldiers. The man seemed agitated and was breathing heavy from some exertion. Reaching the front of the dais he dropped to one knee and bowed, "I beg your indulgence, your grace, for interrupting the solemnity of these proceedings but something has come up that demands I come to you."
"Say on, Amsobere, be at ease." Tathim nodded indulgently and waved for him to rise with one hand. The Duke's witness leaned forward curiously while Earl Motense scowled at the interruption by a mere peon. The guard, Amsobere, stood quickly.
"Your grace, there is a bear at the gates!" he gasped hastily, quite loud enough to be heard by everyone in the hall. A mumble of discontent rippled through the assemblage but Tathim ignored it.
"A bear?" Tathim grumbled, annoyed at such a trivial matter interrupting his tribunal, "Drive it away."
"Sire," Amsobere continued, "it demands to treat with you."
"What?" Tathim leaned forward with a scowl, "Who does?"
"The bear, sire." Amsobere gasped, "The bear demands to treat with you. And others come with it."
Tathim's gaze shot to Malger's small coterie and then across toward Lessan before turning to the Lothanasa who merely shrugged her huge shoulders and remained standing. "A bear demands to speak with me? And who does this bear bring in train?"
"Many other beasts, sire. Some who walk upright and even wear clothing. The bear wears the habit of a Follower priest, sire."
Heaving a long suffering sigh Tathim leaned back into his seat, "Open the gates to them, Amsobere, and conduct them into the hall. Let no one raise weapon to them." Knuckling his brow Amsobere bowed and then retreated hastily, his leather armor and weapons creating a racket in the quietude of the hall.
"Tathim!" Earl Motense snarled furiously, "Why do you suffer this ill graced rabble come into your hall and befoul these proceedings!?"
"Our ranks may be similar, your grace, but I bear no one speak with disrespect in my house. I suffer what I wish to suffer in mine own house." Tathim snapped back at him harshly, "These beasts bear witness to the events for which this tribunal has been called and, as such, are as free to speak as any now present."
"Speak," Mortense snorted derisively but said nothing further as he slouched back in his chair and crossed his arms petulantly over his breast.
Some moments later the slice of bright sunlight illuminating Malger was widened to encompass both Murikeer and Elvmere as well and a hulking shadow filled the door flanked by many lesser forms. A clatter of weapons and armor accompanied the shuffling of unshod feet as the unlikely troupe made its way into the hall accompanied by a good dozen of Tathim's guards. The bear, Sho, ambled toward the center table on two thick legs much too short for the torso that they supported. Moving around the table she approached the dais prompting Tathim's house guards to step forward protectively. Tathim held up a hand to stay them but otherwise did not move. The visiting Baron had leaned forward in his chair with a stunned look on his face, jaw hanging. His golden dog stood and stepped forward a pace before retreating to press itself against his legs.
Sho leaned forward and then cumbersomely dropped onto all four stout limbs before bowing deeply before the dais, until her chin touched the floor. "Your grace, Earl Tathim of Asthill, I beg forgiveness for this unexpected intrusion upon your court." She growled in a basso rumble that was almost felt as clearly as heard. Murikeer was surprised that she did not bear the same stench that had accompanied her in the wagon; she had taken some pains to bathe sufficiently to satisfy etiquette and garbed herself in a roughspun nun's habit. "I am sister Sho Rosewain, once of Midtown in the Northern Midlands, under the protection of his grace, the horse lord Thomas of Metamor."
"You are well come to my home, sister Rosewain. Might I ask the nature of your calling upon me today?"
Sho rose slowly and settled back on her haunches, "I come to speak in defense of this man, the minstrel who calls himself Malger." Murikeer felt a presence close at his side and looked over to see the vixen, Misanthe, standing behind Malger's chair. A few paces away was the hyena that swore she would eat the vixen stood, dressed in a rather spectacular noblewoman's gown carefully altered to fit her. A deer stood further away with the oddly striped horse creature beside it. On his opposite side he found a slender gazelle in simple peasant attire holding the ropes securing a bound mink that had shuffled in with them. The mink was gagged, his body sagging where he stood, and looked as if he had been quite thoroughly beaten. Beside her, and towering over her almost as much as Sho towered over everyone, stood the female saber-toothed cat in a pose that bespoke a militaristic lifestyle. It was rather easy to understand from where the mink had received his beating.
"And your companions?" The tension in the hall was almost palpable. Murikeer fancied that he could smell the fear of the attendees who had never before seen most of the beasts now crowding the hall among them. To encounter such things as bears and saber-toothed felines upright and talking only furthered their distress.
"They, and I, beg a boon if justice from you as well." Turning her head slowly she peered over toward the two injured men, who had drawn back into their chairs as if seeking refuge from the new arrivals. "We seek your indulgence to surrender those men to us, that they might answer for their crimes."
"Those crimes being?" Tathim seemed less annoyed and more interested at that request.
"Murder, your grace." Sho's attention returned to the Earl. "Murder, torture, rape, and slavery." Shifting her weight back she stood once more, easily topping the already tall Lothanasa by a foot. "I was captured, your grace, from my home. I was imprisoned by those two men, and this one here." One huge paw swept back toward the bound mink, "And I was… raped, sire." She heaved an angry, choked sigh at having to give voice to her humiliation. "Beaten, and raped, by these three, until I lost all will to fight them. Throughout I was kept in chains until the curse of Metamor took me, and I became this." Massive paw-like hands swept down the front of her habit. "It, alone, protected me from their depredations. They left me in that cage, where I have been imprisoned with naught but the occasional foray from the wagon only to be the center of a bear baiting ring." Her huge hands flexed into monstrous fists but she kept her temper in check. "I am a woman of Eli, sire, given to his service. Imagine, then, the humiliation of becoming their … entertainment for so little as a day, not so much as the five years I have endured." Slowly she turned, raising both arms to wave at those who had come with her.
"The cat, Lilith, once of a southern Pyralian farming village!" she bellowed furiously, shaking the rafters with her vehement roar. "The hyena, Mylere of Caralore, gifted to the man Sideshow as a toy by her own liege lord. Mare Ebseth and buck Crombe, both fishers from Whales, taken by pirates and sold as slaves! The doe Pintathe from the heart of Sondeshara, sold as common cattle on the wharves of the continent! The vixen Sheyiin, from so far away her homeland is on no maps of the land!" Continuing to turn she came about to face the Earl's dais once more, "And more, names forgotten and bodies left to rot where they were cut down by the men that he," her hand thrust back toward Malger, "That he, that man, brought finally to justice after so many years destroying the innocent." She dropped forward onto her legs once again and tilted her head to one side as she gazed up at the men upon the dais.
"A moving speech, sister Rosewain, that I will bear considering once the more immediate tribunal is concluded." He intoned levelly with a nod, "If you would find someplace to seat yourselves, I would continue where I left off."
"With pleasure, your grace, but for one last point." Sho rumbled.
"That being?"
"The man, the monster, who imprisoned us and forced this change upon us did so for one goal. It was his practice to sell his prisoners, specimens of his blasphemous menagerie, to those with a desire for the unique and exotic." Shifting onto her haunches she waved a thick foreleg and thrust her hand-paw toward Earl Motense, "That man, there, knew our master well and attended his menagerie for that very end."
Motense surged to his feet, "What lies are these?" he bellowed in fury, spittle dotting his lips. "She speaks blatant lies! I knew not the nature of that freak show!"
"It would hardly have been mysterious, owing to the décor on the wagons." Sho retorted laconically, "And it was the innocent doe Pintathe that caught your eye, is that not so, your grace." The appellation dripped venomous sarcasm as the bear growled heavily. "I am a sister of Eli's house, masters, and He does not suffer those who spread untruth."
"Enough," Tathim snapped shortly. "That may have been the case, but it is not at issue. Whatever dealings were to be had are no longer valid, my good sister. The master of your caravan is dead, and most of his close lackeys, so whatever deal he was entering into with Earl Motense are moot."
"I was not— " Motense argued again but stuttered to silence under Tathim's withering glare. Muttering darkly he returned to his ornate seat. The Duke's witness leaned forward to whisper quietly to him.
"Lothanasa, you were saying?"
Smiling strangely the Lothanasa only shook her head, "I was asked to bear witness, and I did. He slew the men it is claimed that he slew, that is all that I witnessed. I have nothing further to offer, your grace."
"Sister Rosewain, concerning the events leading to the demise of the man Maxamillian and two of his guards, and the maiming of these other two, what have you to offer as a witness to these events?"
"It is just as the Lightbringer said, your grace. This man challenged our captors for past crimes. His men drew steel and he attacked, sending two of them and the monster who commanded them to their deserved Hell." The bear offered with a bow of her huge head.
"I thank you." Taking a moment to collect his thoughts he turned a slow look toward his fellow Earl, "Earl Motense, as the witness of greatest rank, I would ask you to tell us of your recollection of these events to close the inquisition."
Glowering Earl Motense did not stand as he turned to address Tathim, "It is as I said, your grace." His voice was icy and his utterance of the Earl's honorific dripped venom. "Without any provocation by the caravan master or his men that man drew his weapons and attacked. Those two," he jerked his head toward Lessan and Boqu, who still stared at the assembled menagerie as a mouse might stare at a roomful of cats it found itself in the middle of. "Were unable to offer even token defense and he cut them down, leaving them to die a slow death by loss of blood. The others fought more valiantly but were slain for their efforts."
"Of the caravan's hired guards?"
"He ignored them, for the most part." Motense agreed with earlier testimony only grudgingly. "Inept as they were he need not have expended any effort to evade them."
"Evade, you say, and not engage when they challenged him?"
"Yes, your grace. He cast them aside like inept charlatans."
"Even that one, whom it has been said was thrown at the swords of the accused?" Tathim waved one hand languidly toward Laroth.
"As already made clear, your grace." Backed into a corner by Tathim's questions Motense had no recourse but to agree, albeit with ill grace. He looked as if he had unexpectedly bitten a lemon and sought someplace to dispose of it discreetly.
"So, would you characterize his assault to have been one of cold blooded murder, as you attested?"
"It was unwarned, unprovoked, and coldly methodical. Cold blooded would be exactly how I might characterize it, your grace."
"My thanks, your grace." Tathim stood, clasping his hands behind the small of his back as he stood regarding Malger. "Before I withdraw to consider all that I have heard, and myself witnessed, in the past hour I would like to say a few words. You, Malger the minstrel, are a mere commoner. By sufferance the acts for which you are accused merit little more than a swift removal of your head from your shoulders." Murikeer gaped at the proclamation and Elvmere gasped softly. Sho and the other assembled animals growled discontentedly while Motense's mouth tightened in a victorious sneer. Holding up one hand to silence the grumblings Tathim continued. "But I am learned that those who were slain, and those who yet live, held under their charge the unlawfully imprisoned smallfolk of several kingdoms. Kingdoms which, in turn, could very well wish to pursue their own methods of justice on those who survive." Pacing back and forth upon the dais his eyes roved the assembly levelly. "And, as he spoke of carrying out his actions under a warrant of justice from just one such kingdom, the accused falls under the aegis of his homeland moreso than my own demesne. I am very well tempted to put him in chains and send him back for just such justice.
"But I can little afford the retinue that would be required for such an extradition, and am, as such, left in a quandary. On one hand, summary justice is swift and warranted, relieving me of a thorn which has pricked me when I can little suffer its touch, while on the other I can simply acquit the accused of any wrongdoing, allowing his justice, and simply allow him to leave."
"Such would be unwise, your grace." Motense warned darkly. He shut up when the Baron seated next to him grabbed his upper arm and squeezed rather solidly. Apparently the two were not at all in agreement and the bear's recent revelation of his culpability left the Baron with questions of his own.
"Sire," the lady Asthill's handmaiden quavered into the momentary silence after the Earl's outburst, "I might offer a solution worthy of easing your quandary?"
The Earl rounded on her abruptly with a glare at the woman's temerity. She wilted under the harsh glare and bowed her head, fading a pace back behind the Lady's chair.
"Say on, woman." Tathim hissed, crossing his arms behind his back once more. Swallowing her fear the woman, well into middle age but still quite striking in appearance, sidled out from behind the Lady's chair.
"Sire, why not let the Gods decide his fate?" She spoke toward her shoes with both hands clasped demurely, if tightly, in front of her stomach. In his chair Malger twitched and scowled with a frown while Murikeer hissed a soft epithet. "Aside from the Follower who provides you counsel, we are Keepers of the Light and under the laws of the Temple as a vassalage of Sathmore. Allow the Gods to decide, by right of blood."
"Ere he lives, he is innocent, and should he not the verdict is moot." The Lothanasa rumbled quietly from her huge divan.
Pacing the dais Tathim stroked his mouth with one hand while he regarded the floor before his feet. Motense scowled, having seen Malger's prowess in combat and fearful that such a trial would be a pointless acquittal of the reviled minstrel. After several long moments of heavy silence the Earl heaved a sigh and flexed both hands in futile helplessness. "I see no other way to easily satisfy both sides of my indecision." He said at length. "Your words have wisdom, child." Raising his head he scanned the crowded hall, "Let it be so; a trial before the Gods, and let them be the final arbiters of the accused's fate. Who stands forth as the tribunal's champion in this?" Everone looked around at everyone else for several breaths, no one readily willing to stand against the minstrel. Lessan himself had clearly illustrated the minstrel's skill with combat; he had crippled two merceneries of the Whitestone Tower, center of the greatest masters of war throughout much of the known world. If the two others who had been slain were likewise trained it showed that Malger was a fearsome foe, indeed.
"I shall champion House Asthill's charge, your grace." Rumbled one of the Lothanasa's burly guards. Apparently the quartet spoke very seldom indeed for many of the locals gasped in surprise at hearing him speak. Even the Lothanasa seemed surprised at the unexpected outburst. Her mouth gaped momentarily and then she glared at the man. Murikeer took one look at him and quailed. He was six feet or more of stone solid muscle and, as he served as the huge Lightbringer's bearer, given to surprisingly indefatigable stamina. Malger had not eaten, or slept soundly, in almost five days and was showing that strain with every line of his body.
"Your grace I must protest!" Elvmere gasped as he stood, his chair scraping loudly on the wooden floor as he thrust it back. "Our master is hardly in any fit condition to enter into combat with the least of your retainers, much less one of her bruins!"
"I am afraid the matter is set, lad." Tathim sighed with a shake of his head, "It is for the Gods to intervene, now, for it has been lifted from my hands."
"Fat lot the Gods give a damn." Malger moaned when he took one look at the champion he would have to face.
"Let us withdraw. At high sun we will re-convene upon the house commons and the accused will face our champion in the Gods' Judgment." He stood before his throne-like chair and turned to face the assembly. "Malger, you will be allowed to retire to the chambers I have allowed your students to use, that you might prepare yourself." He looked toward Sho and her retinue. "Sister, you and yours may retire to the commons, or remain here in the hall, as you desire. I have not the accommodations to extend proper comfort to you or yours."
The archivist Thomas beamed merrily, "Your grace, I will aid them in any such small way as I can." He burbled ebulliently from his post to the right of the Earl's dais. Tathim smiled and chuckled softly with a slight shrug before circling around behind his chair and down the rear of the dais to a door in the back wall. The lady Asthill fell in behind him and, after a brief glance back toward Malger, her handmaiden followed the Earl's seneschal through the door. Motense fumed silently before following them, with the Baron close at his heels and, one by one, their personal guards.
"Malger," Elvmere muttered worriedly as they crossed the commons through the throng spilling from the feast hall. The six guards that came with them continued their wordless escort toward the wing which housed their chambers. "What are we going to do?"
Staggering a little in his exhaustion, aided by Murikeer's strong hand on his elbow, Malger could only shake his head. "We? Nothing, Elvmere." He panted breathlessly. Misanthe held his other arm, offering her own strength. Though small she was surprisingly strong. "I fight. When this is all over, you and Murikeer must continue on." He looked aside to catch Elvmere's worried gaze. "You have your pilgrimages, don't let my folly destroy them."
"Malger, you must not think that way!" One of the guards held the door open and they entered the dim interior of the guest wing.
Swaying as he navigated into the narrow hallway Malger grasped at Misanthe's supporting arm and shot Elvmere a condoling look, "Be realistic, Elvmere." He sighed heavily, "I'm a wreck. I still suffer the injuries from a fight less than a week gone. I've not slept two candlemarks at a time in days, and my only real meal in that time was this morning. Do you expect in any way that I have any hope of surviving that goliath's touch?"
"But— " Elvmere fretted, wringing his hands fitfully. The guards took up positions at the door while the four travelers filed into the guest room. "You must not give up!"
"What's to bother." Malger slumped on the bed and sagged forward, arms on knees, while he panted heavily.
"Master, he is right, you must not— " Misanthe said plaintively from Malger's side.
"Damnit, girl!" Malger snapped, raising a hand back and scowling at her. She did not wither away from the expected strike, merely turning her head slightly and backing her ears. After a moment Malger merely let his hand drop to her shoulder to give a gentle squeeze. "I am not your master." He sighed after a moment, "You are free now, and I am Malger. Just Malger."