The last bells of the high hour faded from the Temple belfry and silence held sway but for the light early summer breeze that stirred the grass and tugged at Murikeer's light clothes. Beside him Elvmere held one hand tightly around his tree and tried not to look away. Misanthe stood beside him, one arm loosely slipped through his free arm while Murikeer stood alone a pace away. The archivist Thomas stood on their side of the commons with the huge towering bulk of Sho upright beside him. The rest of the menagerie stood in a loose group around them while still more held outside of the open gates. Maxamillian's huge wagon had been led from the forest's edge and the hyena, Mylere, sat upon its buckboard like a victorious knight upon a conquered throne. Around it the remainder of the menagerie clustered to witness the judgment of the Gods.
Malger stood in front of his students, his posture slumped.
Across the commons, in front of the Temple and ancient elven tower, Earl Tathim sat upon a wagon onto which his chair had been lifted. The Lady Asthill sat beside him while their retainers and guards stood around the wagon. Earl Motense and Baron Vareshad had been relegated to chairs set before the wagon. The former looked positively livid at the show while the latter held a curious intensity in his gaze. Once more the golden dog sat at his side, it's head resting on one of his knees to be stroked distractedly. Motense was carrying on some one-sided conversation toward the Baron which he studiously attempted to ignore with an occasional nod or mutter to make it seem like he was following it.
"I will dispense with the useless formalities in the interest of a swift resolution." Earl Tathim called out to the crowd, which was far larger than the tribunal earlier in the day. "The minstrel Malger, son of Fendil, stands accused of murder. Those that he is accused of killing have, themselves, been accused of crimes for which murder pales by comparison but I am not given to judge. In light of the balanced weight of justice it has been decided that the man, Malger, will face a champion in combat to the death. The Gods will choose his fate and justice will be served.
"Lightbearer Thurn has volunteered to be the Gods' champion. Thurn, please step forward." The Lothanasa's guard stepped out from the shadow of the temple and strode leisurely to the center of the commons. He was clad only in a simple leather brigandine kilt and sandals. In one hand he carried two swords. One was a longsword that seemed diminutive against his bulk while the other was the one Malger had surrendered when he was taken into custody. On the other arm he bore a stout buckler rimmed and studded with iron.
"Will the accused please step forward."
Without a backward look Malger marched toward the center of his courtyard. In one hand he carried the sword that he had lost during his fight at the caravan and Murikeer had retrieved. Its edges were nicked and its tassels tattered but under Murikeer's care it was once again polished to a gleam. He wore nothing more than a light vest of silk, thin cotton leggings left loose at mid-calf, and his most careworn pare of calfskin boots. Standing before the huge bulk of the Lightbringer's divan-bearer Malger looked like little more than a child facing a giant.
The man extended Malger's sword, hilt first, toward him as he approached. "The mistress told me you brought no armor, boy." The man rumbled as Malger accepted the weapon back. "So I wore none."
"How kind of you." Malger quipped flatly as he stepped back a couple of paces.
"May the Gods bear witness to these proceedings." Tathim intoned from his perch on the wagon, "Gentlemen, you may begin when you are ready."
Thurn leaned forward slightly and gave a probing poke with his longsword toward Malger to open the fray. The move was leisurely executed but occurred with spectacular speed. Malger leaned back slightly and did not raise his swords to parry as he was sufficiently out of reach. The tip of the bruin's blade darted in and came up a few inches shy of his vest before it was withdrawn. Taking Malger's lassitude as fatalistic resignation to his fate Thurn leaped forward with another straightforward thrust.
Steel rang in the silence as Malger sidestepped and batted the thrust away. The big man's reach and longer blade gave him an overwhelming advantage that he used to its fullest, letting his thrust sweep away with the parry and then reversing its motion with a swift chop. Malger ducked and parried upward with one sword laid back along his forearm. Though the slice bounced harmlessly overhead the weight of the man's swing nearly pushed him to the ground. Malger staggered with a huff and danced a few paces out of reach.
"Not going to tire me out swinging this dinner knife, boy." Thurn taunted softly, smiling as he continued to worry Malger into retreat with desultory swings of his blade. Despite seeming careless in their delivery none of them allowed the blade to swing so far as to leave Malger an easy opening to riposte. "I carry my mistress and her chair everywhere, this toy is a feather by comparison."
"A showman never gives up the show, bear." Malger hissed, already winded simply trying to fend off the heavy impacts of the sword. "My mistress has already chosen my fate, and I will embrace it." He made no motion to return any of the bigger man's attacks, merely choosing to parry or evade them. Pitching his voice low he danced up under a swing and hissed up at the bigger warrior. "Just favor me with a swift end, when the time comes."
Thurn danced back a step and swung his shield across to fend off an expected thrust of the inverted blades but neither lashed out. The minstrel did not even poke him with the hilts. Sweeping his sword down he tried to spear his opponent like a potato. His blade sank a handspan into the earth as Malger writhed smoothly out of range and resumed circling. With a growl he jerked the sword out of the ground into a muscular swing. Dirt and grass arced away from his slice in a fan as Malger hastily danced back several paces. "Then fight back and stop dancing." Thurn hissed back at him.
Malger acceded to his demand and followed the arc of his swing, both blades suddenly flipping forward in blinding revolutions to rattle along the length of his blade. One sang up its length in a skirl of steel on steel to catch the hilt of his blade while the other leaped upward to dart inward with a thrust. Leering, Thurn twisted his longsword, catching Malger's blade with the forked quillon, and swept his shield overtop his extended arm to deflect the stab. Twisting his muscular arm he hauled Malger's sword down and, leaning his weight against the trapped blade, raised his shield and brought it down with all of his considerable weight behind it.
Malger let out an agonized cry as the edge of the shield came down on his blade and it bent momentarily before snapping with a scintillating crack. Shards of metal sang into the air and Malger fell back hastily, abandoning his hilt to jerk his stinging hand back. The flying shards sparkled in the sunlight and then stopped, hanging frozen in mid air. One halted a handspan from the face of Lady Asthill's startled handmaiden like a spear. Her eyes widened in surprise as they focused on the razor-edged shard of steel hovering before her. She jerked back with a startled gasp and then glared angrily at Malger. Slowly the shards began to float away toward the far side of the commons. Unearthing itself from the earth into which it had been driven the tip of Malger's shattered sword lifted into the air to join the floating shards.
Thurn watched the floating steel warily and circled away from their path, ignoring Malger for the moment while the minstrel clutched his hand to his breast. Tears streaked Malger's face at the demise of his precious weapon, one that had been gifted to him two decades before by the arms master who had trained him in their use. The hilt shuddered where it lay in the grass and then began to slide away as if drawn by an invisible string.
As the floating remnants of Malger's weapon reached his hand Murikeer lightly plucked them out of the air. Across the clearing the Lothanasa watched his use of magic closely and only gave a slow nod as Murikeer met her gaze with his good eye. He nodded in return, magic user to magic user, and handed the broken hilt to Misanthe. The shards of the blade he let drop to the grass at his feet.
"Damn you." Malger spat furiously, his voice breaking in grief.
"Gods aint smiling on you all too kindly, minstrel." Thurn chuckled as he brought his focus back to Malger. He had never let the minstrel get out of his sight while he avoided the queer floating steel.
"Curse them all." Malger spun his remaining blade lightly in one hand but he felt what little strength he had left rapidly draining away.
"That'll make them smile, I'm sure." Lunging forward Thurn swept his sword back for a mighty roundhouse sweep. His blade whistled through the air and Malger did not even attempt to parry such a mighty swing. Rushing in once more he ducked under the swing to deliver a stab at the man's open midriff.
Exactly the maneuver Thurn had wanted.
Releasing his sword he let it fly away to fall safely into the grass and quickly brought his sword arm downward. He deflected the stab with a twist of his buckler and hammered his forearm downward upon the minstrel's back. Malger staggered in mid charge with an explosion of breath, colliding with Thurn's beefy legs solidly. The bruin did not even shift his balance as he laughed at the puny weight thrown against him. Twisting slightly his hand darted down to catch Malger's weapon arm and yanked upward fiercely, ignoring the feel of fur under his fingers. He had seen the revelation of the minstrel's apprentices and already suspected that the minstrel was like them, some manner of man-turned-into-beast. Malger cried out in pain when his shoulder was wrenched painfully, almost dislocating as he was hauled into the air.
With a shake of his arm Thurn let his buckler fall loose and cast it aside with a negligent flick. Reaching up to Malger's hand he closed his fingers over the minstrel's and squeezed firmly. For his sake Malger tried to withstand the pain of his fingers being crushed against the hilt of his sword but it proved to be too much for him to bear. Crying out again in pain his fingers spasmed and the sword fell from his grasp.
Having disarmed his foe Thurn grinned at the face held even with his own. Malger's booted feet were almost two feet from the ground and, though he braced them against the bruin's gut and pushed with all of his flagging strength, he could not push himself free of the unyielding strength of the man's grasp. Almost playfully the man gave him a cuff across the face, snapping his head to one side and causing the world to momentarily fade to gray. While Malger blinked dazedly Thurn grasped the front of his vest, finally releasing his captured arm, and hammered a blow to his gut. "You've got no fight in you, boy." He growled tauntingly. "Where's the mighty warrior who took on four of the Tower's best, eh?"
"Dead, with them." Malger spat blood from his mouth and raked at his face with one hand. Illusion masked claws cut through flesh as easily as a sharp blade. Thurn let out a pained howl and hurled him to the ground. He clapped one hand over his injured cheek.
"Respite!" Murikeer cried out dimly from the sidelines as Thurn kicked Malger solidly in the side. The sound of breaking ribs filled Malger's ears and blinding pain exploded white hot in his vision as he writhed on the ground. A thunderous voice rent the air, startling Thurn where he stood and causing birds roosting on the rooftops to break into panicked flight. "Respite!" Murikeer bellowed again, his voice augmented by magic.
Thurn cast a glance toward the Earl's chair on the wagon and, at the man's nod, backed up a few paces rubbing his injured cheek and looking at the blood on his fingers. Murikeer rushed out to Malger's side with Elvmere and Misanthe close on his heels. Gasping and moaning in pain Malger struggled to his knees. Catching his arms Elvmere and Murikeer helped him upright. "Malger!" the young mage admonished plaintively, "You must fight back! You cannot just give up!"
Weeping at the pain Malger only shook his head, "I'm broken, Muri my boy." Malger gasped at the blossom of pain that the mere act of talking sent burning through him. "I'm broken. Nocturna has abandoned me, I am nothing."
"You are us, Malger, and we are you." Murikeer hissed, his own voice wrenched shrill with his own fear and anguish. "Don't abandon us!"
"Go." Malger could barely speak and the world swam dizzily in his vision, "Go with you, away. Take the fox, take Elvmere, and just go."
"Malger, no." Elvmere cried softly, clutching at the minstrel's cheekruffs through the illusion. Sudden fierce heat burned through Malger and his back arched, mouth falling open in a moue of agony. The world sparkled with scintilla of bright white motes in his vision and darkness clawed at the edges but he did not give up his consciousness. Elvmere gave a surprised gasp and fell back, releasing him and gazing at his hands as if they had betrayed him.
Weakly Malger clutched at Murikeer's arms and pushed himself away. "Whatever happens, Muri, find your father." He wheezed breathlessly. Laboriously pushing himself to his feet, with Misanthe under one arm helping him up, he swayed against her. "Misanthe, go with him, help him find his father." He tasted blood in his muzzle and ignored it. "Elvmere, go to Yesulam, end this futile war."
Giving his traitorous hands a shake Elvmere reached out to grasp Malger's shoulders firmly, "Not without you, master." He hissed, his voice rough edged with emotion.
"Damnit… I am no one's master." Malger coughed and blood spattered the front of Elvmere's shirt. "Go, let this be done." Pushing himself away from Misanthe he turned to face Thurn who still stood a few paces away irritably stroking the rents in his cheek.
"Are you quite done?" the man growled angrily. His face was smeared with blood and tracks of it ran down his jawline and throat. Grasping at their arms Misanthe pulled Elvmere and Murikeer back, leaving a swaying Malger standing alone on the field. "Good." Turning his gaze back toward the Earl he waved an arm questioningly toward his weakened, injured foe.
With a slow nod of his head Earl Tathim bid him resume the disturbing rite.
Giving his lord a bow, and another toward the Lothanasa, Thurn turned back toward the staggering minstrel. "Swift, just as you asked." Thurn charged forward and Malger could hardly find it in him to dodge. A blow to his stomach from the massive man's fist drove him off of his feet and sent him crashing to the ground half a dozen paces away gagging on his own breath. Malger writhed in the grass, coughing while Thurn stomped toward him. "Before you ruined my face." Reaching down the bruin seized the back of his vest and jerked him into the air. "Now I'll make it sl— "
A flare of pain exploded in Thurn's skull as a diminutive fist darted at his face to plant a single crooked knuckle deeply into one of his eyes. With an agonized bellow Thurn lurched back, blinking in pain, and another fist slammed into his nose. While Malger may have been considerably smaller than his foe, he was highly trained. Even his small fist, with the weight of his suspended body behind it, was sufficient to break the man's nose with a single strike. Thurn staggered back again and released his hold on Malger's vest.
Dizzy from his own pain, with the world swimming gray at the edges of his vision, Malger did not give up his one small advantage. Landing shakily on his feet he lurched forward, mounting Thurn's knee as the man clutched at his broken nose. Rushing upward Malger jerked one arm up and connected against the man's injured cheek with his elbow. The blow sent a fresh flare of agony racing up his arm but, against the throbbing ache of his bruised ribs, it was a pittance. Reversing his arm he drove the back of his elbow against Thurn's opposite cheek, dragging his forearm across the man's broken nose when he moved his hand away to bat at his attacker.
A desperate back-arm swing crashed into Malger and hurled him away. He landed hard and collapsed in a heap, rolling and struggling to find his balance before the bruin discovered where he had fallen. Blinded by the pain of his broken nose and one severely bruised eye Thurn reeled and spun, casting about for his opponent and bellowing wrathful epithets. Struggling to his feet Malger circled before charged in from behind and threw all of his weight against the back of the human's knees. With a surprised bellow Thurn staggered backward, unbalanced, and toppled heavily on his back. Malger felt the shift in balance and swiftly writhed around the man's beefy legs, like a squirrel circling a tree; all claws. Malger's swift rush up his legs and flank left fresh streaks of blood on the big man's bronzed flesh.
Thurn crashed to earth with a force that could be felt even through leather clad feet and Malger landed on his chest. Hissing in fury and agony the minstrel rained rapid fire blows upon Thurn's face. Each strike splashed blood from his broken nose and torn cheek. The man grunted in pain with each strike as he thrashed and swatted at his attacker. Finally he managed to dislodge the dervish with another mighty blow that sent Malger several feet through the air to land heavily and tumble across the grass. Rolling over the big man struggled to his knees and shook his head, his hands casting about in the grass for anything he could use against his opponent.
His fingers closed on his discarded buckler.
Struggling to his feet Malger swayed and almost fell again before regaining a small measure of his balance. His breaths coming with waves of almost blinding pain he spied the warrior, on hands and knees, dragging his buckler to himself. Sprinting toward him Malger leaped into the air as high as his fatigued body could manage and, extending himself to bring the entirety of his weight down, drove an elbow against the man's neck just beneath his skull.
Thurn dropped forward like a sack of wheat, his hips held aloft by his knees, and did not move. Slowly his knees slid out from under him on the grass and the big man slumped, unconscious.
Rising from Thurn's back Malger pushed himself once more to his feet. Swaying in place he cast about and finally spied what he sought; the man's longsword. Staggering to it he picked up the gleaming length of steel and dragged it weakly back to the fallen warrior. Resting the tip on the ground beside the champion he turned and looked over his shoulder toward the Earl's wagon.
Tathim was on his feet, jaw unslung, aghast. After a moment he closed his mouth and sighed wearily. The Lothanasa was also on her feet, her trio of guards clustered close about her looking astounded and mute. Looking to her for a moment he brought his eyes back to Malger and, with a grieved wave of one hand, motioned for Malger to fulfill the rite.
Malger released the sword and let it fall into the grass with a thud. That was the only sound in the courtyard until the minstrel spoke. "No." he wheezed breathlessly, struggling to force the words out past the throbbing agony of his freshly abused body. "No. He has— has done me, no one, any— evil." Each word was a struggle that he had to force out. Only a touch of magic lent by his student made his voice audible at all. "I will— not slay him for the Gods'— delight." Slowly turning about he staggered a few paces toward his companions but the world was too unsteady under his feet.
His eyes rolling toward the sky he collapsed forward onto the grass. A flash of pain burned through his abused body but unconsciousness did not swim up to claim him. He lay there, panting into the greenery, until Elvmere reached his side. Murikeer and Misanthe were only a pace slower and the three clustered around him. Murikeer raised his head to cock his good eye toward the Earl. "What say you, your grace?" he called out over the sudden tumult that arose from Malger's unexpected victory.
Smiling strangely Tathim gave another, more swift, cut of his hand. "Justice is satisfied. The minstrel Malger stands victorious before the Gods. I account him free of guilt for the deaths of the menagerie keeper and his men." Raising his chin and squaring his shoulders he turned his gaze toward the bear, Sho Rosewain. She strode toward Malger upon two feet with her retinue around her. "As for the men you have spoken for, they are yours. Deliver what justice you see fit."
"Your grace!" Mortense blustered, affronted, but Tathim only offered him a withering glare.
"Earl, you are free to leave my lands as best suits your convenience."
"But, he— "
The Baron seated beside him touched his upper arm lightly, "Justice is served, Earl. Tathim has invited you to depart his lands. I also believe that would be wise." Crossing his arms over his chest he gave the irritated Earl a hard stare, "I will not be returning with you, as I have issues that need to be discussed with Earl Tathim. Good day, Motense." Standing from his chair he walked leisurely away toward the cluster of half-animals milling about the center of the commons, the golden dog padding along at his side. With the support of his students, and new servant, Malger had been led to the guest wing.
"Mistress Rosewain?" Baron Vareshad addressed her as he neared. With a last furious glare Earl Motense lurched from his chair and toward his wagon which had been drawn over nearer the livery. His staff were working on securing the cart horses into their traces. Sho looked down at him with a curious tilt of her huge ursine head. "May we talk, sister?"
Maneuvering awkwardly through the door with Murikeer under one arm and Misanthe under the other Malger staggered weakly to the first chair he spied. His bearers gingerly lowered him to sit while Elvmere carefully worried off his vest. "I— " Malger wheezed breathlessly and winced under the priest's gentle but urgent ministrations, "I owe you my life, Elvmere."
"I did no such thing, Malger." Elvmere replied with a frown at the huge bruises already beginning to darken the minstrel's illusory flesh. "You bade me not, and I did not seek to."
"Yet— " Malger winced and gasped, then coughed, but that only heightened the agony of his sorely injured ribs. "Yet it— it happened. My ribs were— broken." Each breath was a searing fire of nearly blinding pain and words only made it worse.
"They were, yes, Malger." Finding no new cuts Elvmere sat back on his heels and shook his head. Whatever injuries Malger sustained were all internal, caused by the punishing blunt force of the Lightbearer's fists. "I cannot determine if they still are without causing you far too much pain."
Malger coughed again and whined piteously at the pain. Misanthe, standing at his side with a look of fearful worry on her narrow vulpine muzzle, grasped his hand. "Your touch healed them."
Elvmere looked down with a shake of his head, "Not my touch, lass, not my touch." He stared at his hands, flexing his fingers, deep in troubled thought.
Reaching out with his free hand Malger rested it weakly upon Elvmere's shoulder, "Your t— touch was its con— conduit, Elvmere. His will may have— may have come through your— your touch, but what— whatever the means, I own you— Him— my life." Pulling against Misanthe's hand and shifting his weight forward he tried to push upon Elvmere's shoulder. The two helped him rise and led him gingerly toward the bed. He groaned loudly and cried out in pain as they helped him lie down. "I— repudiated the House of Eli, Elvmere, the Ch— church." He sighed with weary pain. "I nev— never repudiated Him."
"He well knows, Malger, he well knows." Elvmere said gently while Misanthe attempted to make her stricken master comfortable. "Now rest."
"I th— think I shall r— re— rest now." Malger's voice trailed off with a slow whisper into silence. Reassuring themselves that he had only passed into slumber Elvmere and Murikeer looked to each other.
"At least one god was witnessing his tribulation." Murikeer commented ruefully. "I saw what happened, and I know you did not expect it any more than he did. Your Eli truly does work in mysterious and miraculous ways, Vinsah."
Gazing once again at his hands Elvmere nodded slowly. Raising his gaze he glanced toward the unconscious minstrel and vixen hovering at his side before looking to Murikeer and their eyes met. "Even to me, Muri, lad. Never before has He worked through me without my prayers, Muri." He clenched his fingers, half smiling in quiet awe, "I did not pray for that touch, Muri. I did not ask; He gave."
Fin.