It would be three days before Llyn once again saw the light of day, her cell in the dungeon cold and uncomfortable, but only fitting for her fate. Already rumors flew thick and swift trying to understand whom the agent had been that had opened a magic portal in the Follower chapel. It had been a small skirmish by most news, the only injuries being the broken arm and cracked ribs of a guard who bravely tried to face down a giant with bare hands and teeth.
True to their vows, no one had let loose that there had been a far greater danger about in the keep in the weeks leading up to the small yet fierce battle in the chapel.
Muri would have put himself in Llyn's cell with her, but the strange, pale scorpion who ran the dungeon would not allow it. He did let the skunk visit often, however, providing a stool outside the mink's cell so that they could commiserate through the ancient, rusty bars. Even Dream came by two or three times a day, bringing her food and warmer clothing, but he said nothing concerning the events in the chapel. He assured them both that he would stand in Llyn's defense when the trial was called, but would not tell them how he planned to offer anything other than a character witness.
The summons came late in the night on the third day, the watch calling the third hour of the morn when the scorpion came to Llyn's cell and tapped the bars lightly with his keys. Muri, slumped against the nearby wall on his stool, snapped awake at the sound.
"They call for you now." The scorpion explained, his voice a rattling rasp which sounded like a bamboo wind-chime whenever he spoke.
"Now?" Muri chuffed, incredulous and more than a little surprised as he sat up, gathering his robes more securely around himself.
"Aye, young sir. Fewer are about, easier to move unseen."
With a snort Llyn shambled to the door rubbing her eyes. Her face was haggard and drawn, leaving her looking several years older, owing to several days of on and off weeping. Muri's presence had been a calming boon, for she had feared that he would abandon her after she attacked him in the chapel. It even reassured her that Dream was still willing to speak with her despite everything. Swallowing a lump in her throat she tugged the loose robes Dream had provided around her shoulders a little closer.
"Muri, could you go there now, ahead of me? I. I think I need. to do this alone, going there." She said, her voice wavering, cracking a bit as she grasped one chill bar of her cell door. In the torchlight around the corner she could see the dim silhouettes of several guards, the commander of the watch standing where she could see him, arms crossed. Her fur felt heavy, leaden, her skin itched despite the fact that soap and hot water had been provided for her to bathe whenever she felt the need.
Which was often, as she felt soiled to the very core of her being by the control that the sword had exerted over her. It had been inside of her, body, soul, and mind, wrapping its evil darkness around her as she now drew Dream's cloak. Just thinking upon that made her feel like crying again, but she choked back the burn in her eyes and the hollow ache in her chest. She would not cry, she would not show weakness before her accusers. Not because of pride, she would not falter, but because she did not want to use some manner of sympathy to sway them to her case.
She was doomed, guilty of all that they would bring against her, and she was resigned to her fate. If Muri had acquiesced to her request of a small shaving blade she would have removed the fur from her neck in preparation for the axe that would end her torture. Standing, Muri came to the bars and reached through to lay a hand upon her shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly, then rested his fingertips against the fur of her cheekruff, "I'll be there for you, love, to whatever end." He said softly, then stepped back and quietly walked toward the distant light of the watch room.
The heavy crunch of leather boots echoed down the dungeon corridor as her escorts approached, the loud rattle of keys in the lock sending a shiver up her back in the quiet of the underground night. The lock dropped with a heavy thunk and the scorpion scuttled back, drawing the door open with one huge pincer. The guards stood to either side of the doorway, holding iron shackles as they faced her expressionlessly.
"Scout Wanderer, you have been summoned to a tribunal to be conducted by the Duke, his retinue, and any witnesses for and against your case. Do you submit to being present at this inquest, or do you decline and resign your fate to their decision in your absence?" Eindah said with a strange, hollow distance in his usual jocular voice.
"I am prepared to face my crimes, lord." Llyn said quietly, choking her voice back as her throat closed, holding her hands out for the shackles.
Muri entered the courtroom quietly while the doors were still open, crossing to the bench for the defense and sitting down beside Dream. The marten favored him with a brief nod, leaned back in a pose of indolent calm that Muri could not find in himself. To his surprise Muri found Misha seated in a chair nearby as well, as the position of defense council. He surveyed the gathering of people in the witness section, not one of them looking particularly awake for the hour, but all more or less alert. No one had yet taken a position at the persecutor's bench. On a table in front of the magistrate's high desk were the remains of the sword in question, each piece laid out neatly, none of them particularly close to any other.
The numbers of witnesses swelled even as Muri fretted, filling the section set aside for them and spilling out into the spectator seats. Not that there was a problem with that, as the hearing would be closed to anyone not involved with the crimes to be judged.
The Lightbringer priestess, Raven hin'Elric, was seated at the back of the audience box, her commanding presence causing many to shy away from her. Only the Follower priest, Father Hough, seemed comfortable in close proximity to her, seated at her left, fretting with the silk of his ceremonial cassock as he watched the room. In small groups were the families of the victims, the eldest of them seated alone and looking quiet calm compared to the nervousness of the others.
The reptilian steward strode into the court dressed in regal scarlet, his hard visage sweeping the room and commanding sudden silence. Rick came in a moment later, the courtroom doors closing with a quiet, heavy whisper in his wake. Crossing down to the courtroom floor, he cast Muri a brief glance and crossed over to the side of the prosecution.
Muri could not help the startled, betrayed squeak that escaped his throat in a hiss as his jaw fell open, his eyes going wide. Rickkter threw up a hand toward him in a gesture that said for him to be calm, patient, and see what would come. Sweeping his greatcoat forward, he sat and waited for the Duke's entrance.
Through the door that the steward had entered by came the Duke, without announcement or fanfare, the scarlet clad alligator raising his staff, then dropping it level toward the crowd as many began to rise. "Be seated." The Duke said, waving one hand at them to do so as he climbed to the judges' seat, "This is a closed court and an unspoken inquest. Nothing that is revealed within this hall will pass beyond those doors, ever, so I have no care for the pomp and ritual. Let us just get this done and over." Reaching the large, ornate chair which seemed to tower above the floor of the courtroom, he leaned his hands upon the desk.
"Honorable citizens of Metamor, a grievous wrong has been committed against several of you, and further crimes committed against the Keep itself and those who live within. This inquest has been convened to determine the level of guilt of the sole perpetrator involved. I will call upon each of you as witnesses, and will base my ruling upon the events as they are presented. When all sides have expressed their arguments I will hear your will on the matter, and so judge the accused on each charge. I leave it to each of you to adhere to the truth as you know it, and ask that you vow to speak that truth, rather than feelings or opinions, when you speak your case against the accused." He settled back into the chair, "I will listen and say little, leaving the conducting of this inquest to prime minister Malisa."
With that he waved a hand to one side as the so named individual stepped into the court through the same door, crossing to stand at the speakers' platform facing the court.
"As the Duke said, we would like to hear from each of you, and any whom may have been direct witnesses to events. As most of you have been told, we have not chosen to divulge the information of these events to the general population of the Keep, lest there be an unwarranted panic at the thought that such devices as soul stealers have been set against us." Malisa stated as she took the floor, crossing down to stand between the prosecutorial and defense lecterns, "Master Rickkter, would you please present your opening statement."
Standing as he was addressed, the dark clad raccoon mage stood and bowed toward the prime minister, then toward the Duke, "As you request." He said, stepping up to the podium and turning to face the much larger crowd in the jury box. "I am not here to lay guilt, despite the position I have been given on the floor. Guilt is a forgone conclusion, and admitted to by the accused, the Metamor Scout Llyn Wanderer." Turning from the crowd in the jury box, he looked to the group seated around the accused, who stood alone in the defense box looking miserable. "My role is in determining what her fate should be, and the degree of culpability she had in the progression of the events that have brought us here. In short, how aware she was of the sword's magic and why she did or did not seek help in ridding herself of it, or at the very least bringing it to the attention of those who might know more about it. Namely, the Keep mages." He stepped down from the prosecutors' dais and crossed toward the victims and witnesses in the jury box, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Each of you, luckily only six, bear witness only to the particularities of your attacks, and have stated that you remember nothing of your state thereafter. Your testimonies will help us determine the degree of her lucidity while she was conducting the will of the weapon. Not that you were attacked, which I have already stated is a known and uncontested fact, merely how knowledgeable she was of the attack prior to, during, and after." He said as he paced before the jury stand, then turned toward the defense lectern, nodded toward the fox seated nearest the accused, then returned to the prosecutors' box and resumed his seat.
"Misha Brightleaf, commander of the accused's attachment of the Metamor Scouts, will stand in defense. Misha, you have the floor." Malisa stated from her seat in front of the judge's platform.
Misha stood and echoed Rick's bow to prime minister and Duke, then turned toward the witnesses. "The wizard Rickkter was right, you were indeed attacked, and you have my deepest sympathies and apologies for that injustice. I am only here to defend the honor of the person who is accused of attacking you, a guilt she has freely admitted to. My statement is simple, and brief. She was not in her right mind when she was conducting these atrocities against you, and against Metamor as a whole." He stated, gesturing fluidly with his hands rather than securing them behind his back as Rickkter had, "She was under the influence of a cursed weapon of great power. It's magic clouded her mind, distorted her perceptions, and blinded her memory and thoughts against its influence." He stopped, froze in place, arms held before him in a gesture of placation as he turned his head and looked over his shoulder at Llyn, who watched him with impassive, doomed resignation.
His arms fell as he twitched his whiskers, eyes narrowing, "In fact, I ague that she was nothing more than a puppet, a flesh automaton to the will behind that foul weapon. Eventually she did become aware of its influence, and when she did her entire being was focused on fighting its control, of casting out the presence within her mind. While she has admitted guilt to everything, I seek to exonerate her of any will in these events, guilty only of ignorance. She is an honorable and capable defender of this Keep and its people, and has never, and would never, willingly and knowingly place the least of us in any manner of danger."
The reactions to both statements were relatively noncommittal, very little beyond brief changes of expression or posture. It appeared that a few of them had thoughts about speaking out during the opening statements, but they held their words to mere glowers or sighs, and waited until Misha returned to his seat.
Each of them was called in the order that they were attacked, from first to last. None of them actually had a great deal to offer when it came to the events of their attacks. Few actually saw a great deal, and none of them had been aware of the impending assault long enough to defend themselves, even the thief who had been the last victim. Each of them told nearly identical stories. Their attacker had come from a shadowed location, her eyes had glowed an ember orange color, and she had said only one thing, often repeated during the actual assault. "Forgive me, Father." A simple phrase, offered in a flat, dead monotone, the statement of a penitent during their confessional.
The only witnesses who had statements other than those of the victims were those who had been party to the battle in the chapel.
Father Hough was brought before the court, dressed in his priestly finery, his expression pensive but calm. "Eli's blessing upon each of you, for being delivered a fated blow that had, all along, been intended for myself." He said quietly, his hands folded before his breast. "I do not know the particularities of the magic which was being used against the child Llyn, but there was fight within her even before she realized the battle, for it masked her eyes, and instead of seeing each of you, she saw each time me. Why? I do not know, and could not fathom, for I know nothing of magic, nor of the mind. I know only Eli's grace and word, and forgiveness." He said as he turned away from the victims to gaze at Llyn, "And I do forgive you, my child." He offered, then turned to face the Duke and prime minister, "I bear witness to the fact that she battled the magic of the sword while she was in my chapel. She raised it to no one, save Master Rickkter, in attack despite having many opportunities to cause injuries to the many others present."
As Hough retired to his seat, the Lightbringer priestess Raven stepped forward. Her movement was graceful and also powerful, in the manner of a hunter, her stance confident. She faced the victims, her eyes poring over each of them in much detail, then she looked to the accused before turning to face the prime minister and the Duke above and behind her. "I know more of magic than the good father, and more of the mind, and yet I know little of what transpired between the accused and the blade which manipulated her. In my witness she did indeed battle that control, and eventually defeated it, which commends her strength of will. Was she aware prior to the events in the chapel? I do not believe she was. She fought it there, which stands to reason she would have fought it elsewhere had she known if its influence consciously."
From his lectern Rickkter leaned forward and held up one finger as to express a point, "Yet she did nothing to battle the creatures who came into the chapel and attacked others, yourself and Father Hough included."
Raven merely shrugged as she turned to face the raccoon, "In my eyes she could do little other than contest the will of the sword. It was too powerful to let her battle the invaders, but not powerful enough to force her to bear it against Hough, his defenders, or others." She paused, her teeth gleaming as she smiled a wolfish smile, "Except you."
Rickkter merely smiled back, dark eyes gleaming as he waved his hand slightly in acceptance of the counter point. Raven bowed once more toward the judge's dais before returning to her seat with that same, gliding predatory stride that radiated confidence and power.
No one immediately stood to follow her, everyone looking about to see who was next, or to wait for the Duke to call an recess to make his judgment. After a long, heavy pause, Rickkter turned and pointed across the room at his pupil, the heretofore silent skunk, Murikeer. "I would like to call forward the journeyman mage Murikeer Khunnas."
Surprised, Murikeer looked to his teacher, then to the Duke, who merely raised an eyebrow, then at Misha, who motioned him forward with a slight wave of one hand. Swallowing, he stood and passed the defense box, reaching out and touching Llyn's arm briefly in passing. She watched as he passed, placing her hand over his during that brief contact. Stopping before the judge's dais, Murikeer turned to face his teacher, his expression wary.
"Murikeer, you are a mage of some considerable skill. Your ability to see the weave of magic goes even deeper than my own. Indeed, you have demonstrated your ability to see into the spiritual weave beyond mere magic alone." The raccoon began, his voice leading as he expressed his admiration for his pupil's perceptive abilities. Muri could only nod and adopt an ever more wary posture. "Now, how is it that you, with your quite impressive mage sight, could not see the magic of this weapon before it was unleashed? You have consorted with the accused for nearly four months now, two of them spent alone in the wilderness of the north living closely with each other, and have never seen this weapon manifest its magic?"
Muri glanced across at Llyn once more, then at the shattered remains of the weapon carefully arrayed upon the evidence table. "The magic of the weapon was indeed powerful, sire." He began with slow hesitance, "It was also masked in a manner I have never had the opportunity to encounter. When the weapon was not active there were very few overt traces of magic within it. In my cursory examinations it appeared to be little more than a finely crafted weapon with simple spells to keep its edge keen and prevent rust."
"This was her own weapon?"
"No. At least, not to my knowledge. When I found her she was trapped in a caged wagon, one that would be used for prisoners, with no weapons or garments. When I freed her she grabbed what she could find, which was that blade. I believe it belonged to one of the mages that captured her."
"So, you are saying that she stole the sword of a powerful mage, and you never thought to examine it for magical properties?" Rickkter countered with a slight cock to his head, whiskers angling forward briefly, then laying back along his muzzle.
"No, as it never seemed to possess any ensorcelments of considerable merit when I saw it during cursory examinations using mage sight." Murikeer argued, then paused, "You even went against her in a duel while she had it, and from your description it did manifest some sort of its powers, yet you did not see that it was enchanted?" he countered, the fur of his tail bushing as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Not even Kyia could detect it, within her own demesne, when it was quiescent."
"No, I did not, nor did I look. At the time I was otherwise distracted." Rickkter replied sardonically, his whiskers drooping as he frowned, "And now that the sword has been shattered, what of the mage who forged it? Will he have the capability to act through its remains?" he asked, waving off his pupil's pointed rejoinder. He knew the answer to that question already, asking it merely for the sake of the audience.
"No. The maker is dead."
"And you can determine this by what manner?"
"His link to the weapon is broken."
"Explain." He asked, knowing the answer likely far better than the skunk himself. Those seated around them, with the possible exception of Misha, had little knowledge of such things.
"When the mage created this weapon and placed into it the enchantments which grated it the ability to do as it did, he placed into it also a tiny shred of himself. A link, something that would let him know of the weapon's whereabouts, the degree of its potency, and allowed him to act through it. The more souls it captured, the more potent its magic became, and the stronger that link between weapon and creator became. I believe that the sword, itself, had no ability to control anyone. It was the mage himself who, acting through the link of the weapon, manipulated Llyn."
"So how do you know he's dead?"
"Because his link is broken. If he lived he would still have some link, however tenuous, with the weapon he forged. His soul, at least some tiny shred of it, was bound to the very metal. That bond has been destroyed. Not by the shattering of the sword, but by the elimination of the life that fueled it."
"So you're saying that, because you cannot sense that bond now, that he is dead? Yet you have already stated that you never detected that bond before."
"It was masked, the masking magic has been shattered with the weapon itself." The skunk growled, frowning at the circular questioning. "And I know he is dead because I killed him."
"You actually faced, challenged, and defeated this mage?" Rickkter asked, teeth gleaming as he quirked one corner of his muzzle in a rakish half smile.
"I harnessed the prodigious magic of a local ley line, a river of pure magical energy, and tapped it into the scrying link the mage was using to oversee the battle he was directing in the chapel. Capturing the thread of his scrying spell, I inserted a spark, then wove the terminus of the thread into the greater magic of the ley line. By the time the magic of the spark and the ley line reached the other end of the spell thread I believe that the potency of the spell would have been somewhat greater. Enough to destroy the scrying item."
"Enough to slay the scrying mage."
"That was my hope."
"If what you say about the link is correct, then you succeeded." Rick said as he stepped down from his lectern and crossed to the evidence table. Picking up a shard of the sword he examined it curiously for several seconds, both with simple sight, and with his mage vision. In his youth he had been commended for his acute vision toward magical things, but in the years of his career he had learned that his acuity was not so much how deep he could see into the weave, but his perception toward the minutest of details. While he had encountered others who could see deeper, or differently, few had matched his ability to separate out the many bewildering layers and intricacies of each spell, enchantment, or other magic. Muri had already demonstrated both the ability to see far, far deeper than he had ever encountered, his keen memory allowed him to hold the image in his mind and examine further any time he wished. Rick could see in a single glance more details than Muri could even begin to recognize, but the skunk's recall let him find them over time if he chose to concentrate on the memory.
Those ruminations aside, he could see nothing magical about the sword in the least. Even the minutest of energies slipped past the shard of metal, where they would be drawn to it as iron to a magnet if there were some degree of lingering enchantment about it. "The magic of the weapon is, indeed, unmade, and as we can see its victims have been released." He said as he motioned toward the jury box, and then waved a dismissive hand toward the skunk.
Laying the shard of metal back upon the table, Rick turned toward the defense lectern, "Have you anything further you wish to add, Misha?"
The fox shook his head slowly. Rick turned toward Malisa and the Duke, bowing his head, and held his hands up toward them in the manner of handing something off to them, then retreated to his side of the courtroom and sat down. Nodding once, Malisa stood and turned to address the victims.
"You have heard the testimony of your fellows in this tragedy, and others who have born witness to the activities of the accused. We have come to understand that, while she does bear a degree of culpability for her actions, she was not entirely aware of them throughout the course of events. When she was made aware she took what actions she was capable of to put an end to the influence of the weapon and its master. The court would like to hear what each of you, the victims alone, believe would be an appropriate degree of punishment for the injuries you have suffered."
The first to stand was the age-regressed mage Tym, who suffered the most damaging of injuries when he was attacked. He lurched to his feet with an angry hiss and thrust his good arm toward the mink, "Banish th' witch!" he snapped, "Sh' know full an well wot she done! Send 'er agone away, far." He turned and glared toward the Duke, "Give 'er t' damned Nasoj! Leastwise dere her stupidity c'n be fer our good, no wrappin' us up in darkness fer weeks!" he exclaimed before sitting down solidly, crossing his arms as best he could and glared balefully at the horrified mink.
Watching the tavernkeep, the elder Kan shook his head slowly and sighed before standing. "I heard the words you said before that weapon took me, lass." He said slowly, "It's a painful reminder that we, all of Metamor, from scout to guard to seamstress, that we're still in a state of war. The citizenry has grown complacent, despite daily reminders of the curse which has twisted all of us in body, and some in spirit." He rubbed his shoulder though nothing remained of his wound, not even a scar, "Helps to poke us in the butt now and then as a reminder. I, for one, forgive you. No harm done, just a long nap." He said with a shrug and sat back down.
Two of the others nodded at those words and said nothing and the last, the thief who was the last to have fallen prey to the sword, stood and smiled sheepishly. "Scared me good, dear, but could you tell me how the hell you move so quiet?" he asked impishly, then bit his tongue, "Your majesty, I'm just a cutpurse, and not really a very good one at that." He lied, clasping his hands before his stomach, "She's accepted guilt, and that alone is gonna eat her pretty right. Coming from a thief, and knowing sommat of these scouts, I'd say. just confine her. That's a worse punishment than death to some." He said, and sat down quickly.
Listening to the statements of each, the Duke nodded slowly and stood, "I do not feel that I need to retire and consider this case further. I have heard from all sides, and have decided the fate of the accused." He stated in a slow, steady voice. Turning toward the defendant, he rested his hands on the desk before him.
"Scout Llyn Wanderer, you stand accused of bringing enemy magic and agents into the walls of Metamor keep, whether by your will or no, you have been found guilty of that treason. You have also raised your weapon against the citizens of Metamor Keep, whether by your will or no, and have admitted to guilt in that crime." He let the words fall from his mouth like ingots of lead, filling the courtroom with burdensome silence as Llyn shriveled under his stern gaze. "You have acted counter to the interests of this Keep, its people, and its safety, by unknowingly trafficking dangerous and unknown magic through its gates. Yet in your stead you have acted, by what level of conscious will I do not fully know, to prevent the loss of life, and fought against the enemy you brought to us when that enemy was realized."
Standing, he crossed his arms loosely over his robed chest and gazed down the length of his strong equine muzzle at her, "Therefore I am sentencing you to one month, including time served, in the dungeons of Metamor Keep. Following that time of incarceration you will be imprisoned within the walls of the Keep herself for the period of one year to this day, save during times of overt hostility from outside forces." His proclaimed heavily, "Misha Brightleaf, as her commander, you will assign her tasks suitable to the discipline she is undergoing during this time, within the confines of the Keep and within her abilities. Murikeer Khunnas, you will be second guardian in as much degree as master Brightleaf deigns to allow. Is this agreeable?"
"Yes, your majesty." Misha said swiftly with a deep bow.
"As you judge, my liege." Murikeer added hastily with an equal bow, his heart light at the permissive sentence. While she would be confined to the keep, she would have her freedom within those limits. It was better than the exile or death they had feared. Treason was a high crime, and when the Duke voiced it the skunk had felt his heart drop to the floor along with his jaw. Llyn had nearly fainted, remaining on her paws by sheer force of will and morbid curiosity to hear what her true fate would be.
Uncrossing his arms, the Duke let the hard, stern expression melt from his visage as he let out a slow sigh, "That is all, this court has spoken. For all involved, we desire that nothing concerning the nature of the weapon used be divulged to the populace in general, save that it caused a protracted period of somnolence. Restrict your discussions of the case and events to one another as much as possible. The fate of the accused has been weighed, measured, and determined. We do not wish to hear rumors or confront vigilantes in any reference to the actions of the accused or anyone else involved in these events. Is that understood?"
Various words of affirmation were returned, though some with less heart in them than others. Llyn shrank back and finally, after the hours of standing to hear the case against her, sagged back against the railing of the defendants' box and slumped down with a heavy sigh. Murikeer walked over to stand behind her, leaning over the railing, and draped his forearms across her shoulders. Leaning down, he brushed the tips of his whiskers across the fur of her cheek, "It's over, done." He whispered in her ear as the assembled began to leave.
"It will never be over." She said, her voice heavy, weary, "I have to live with what I've done."
"But live you will, and I'll be here for you." He looked up as a hand came down on his shoulder. Misha gave him a slow nod, and then walked past toward the door. He could see the commander of the watch standing near the opposite door watching them, but not coming forward.
Turning, Llyn put her arms around his shoulders and buried her face against his neck, then let out a long, shuddering sigh. "Thank you."
<FIN>