by L. S. King
chicanery! Some foul mage has taken my father’s form! Kill him!”
The guards stared at Zaqain and the orb, and did not move.
“You still wish me dead, son? No remorse for trying to kill me?”
Trevor’s voice rose to a hysterical screech. “Evil trickster! Kill this imposter! Obey me!”
“They will not obey you while my hand is near the tallis.” Zaqain raised his voice as he met the eyes of his friend. “Come, O King, and be witness of this judgment.”
Davin lifted a feeble arm in a pleading gesture. “No one has dared use the tallis since before my time. If it truly has any power, it will kill you.” His voice quavered, and he looked up at the spike thrusting down from the peak of the domed ceiling above, then he gazed again Zaqain, his eyes hard. “You should not have come back.”
Zaqain frowned. “The tallis is my only way to reveal the truth, Your Majesty. Certainly you wish the truth. And justice.”
Davin shook his head with a small smile. “You are a fool.”
“He always was.” Trevor turned to the king, pointing toward the pedestal. “My father taught me the tallis was a useless relic whose purpose was to bring fear into men’s hearts and force them to admit their lies. It has no power.”
“If you truly believe that, then face me, son. But know this—I was wrong. Horribly deceived.”
Trevor almost snarled as he strode to the opposite side of the tallis. “Do you truly believe this ancient artifact is real? If so, then you think touching it will kill you. Or do you merely think you can intimidate me?”
The time had arrived. Zaqain would reveal all and die. His heart broke as he thought of the beautiful young woman who had fallen in love with an old man. That he would never see her again or Egan. Kalleen, my love...
Stiffening his arm to keep his hand from trembling, he stretched out and touched the orb as he met his son’s gaze. “We have used chicanery and fraudulent magic to keep our role as priests at court. I have lived my life by lies and deceit. Any goodness I displayed was to receive praise for my virtue. But I found truth and compassion in a little hut as I was nursed back from near death. So now, I come back to make amends and seek justice, not only for the crime committed against me, but also for the people in this realm who suffer. May not only you, but”—he gazed about at the other men in the chamber—“also those who conspired with you, be judged.”
Trevor sneered as he placed his hand on the orb, his eyes fastened on Zaqain’s.
The room became deadly still. Not a sound echoed. Not a breath.
Moments passed then Trevor laughed. “You are a fool and a liar. And you have just proven this globe, and its outdated religion, a fraud. Now the guards will kill you, old man.”
A small, pulsing light grew inside the tallis, and vibrations rumbled in concert through the chamber. The hair on Zaqain’s arms and neck stood up as tingling coursed through his body. The light grew. Several guards shouted. Some of the men fell to the ground and covered their heads. Trevor pulled back, glancing up, his face filled with alarm. The rumble grew louder, and a shaft of light shot straight up to the apex of the domed chamber.
Zaqain stiffened, waiting for death. Fresh regret passed through his heart that he would never again see his wife and tiny son, but he had faced that reality when he had started this quest.
Lightning sparked from the spike at the top of the dome, and bolts shot down, killing several ministers and guards. Trevor cried out, backing toward the wall. A bolt struck him. He screamed and collapsed.
The rumbling stopped, and the room became quiet. Zaqain still waited, motionless, and slowly the realization came to him that another bolt would not be forthcoming. Beyond all hopes and prayers, he had lived. The stench of charred flesh filled the chamber, and men began to weep.
He gazed around for his friend the king and clenched his jaw to swallow the bile that rose. King Davin lay dead in a smoking heap. The tallis did not, could not, lie—the king had conspired with his son. Davin, my friend, why?
Zaqain turned away, not ready to think of the prayers and ceremony needed for the tallis to pick the king’s successor. He crossed to Trevor and fell to his knees, grief pressing heavy on his heart. The holy fire had destroyed the young man’s handsome features. My son! My son!
Lord Grisham and Sir Stuart knelt by him. The old lord grabbed his shoulder. “I am sorry, my friend.”
Zaqain turned his head and closed his eyes. “So am I.”
END