The Magelands Origins

by Christopher Mitchell

  There were gasps, and shouts of ‘shame’ from the crowd.

  ‘We heard earlier from former Sergeant Weir that Daphne only took these narcotics for her pain.’

  ‘At first, yes, that was the case,’ he said, as if it hurt him to go on. ‘But afterwards… I hear they can have an addictive effect.’

  ‘You never partook?’

  ‘No sir,’ he replied. ‘I did not wish to dull my senses in front of the enemy.’

  ‘Thank you, Lieutenant Mink, that will be all,’ the old judge said. ‘It’s good to see that the Holdings still have some officers capable of exercising restraint and common sense under pressure.’

  Mink flushed, and nodded. He got up and left the courtroom, avoiding Daphne’s eyes.

  ‘Final witness,’ Barker announced.

  The door opened, and Douanna walked in. There was a murmur through the crowd, many of whom had never seen a Rahain before. She was elegantly dressed, and looked confident, regal even.

  ‘State your name, please,’ said the judge on the far left.

  ‘I am Lady Douanna, of Jade Falls in the Republic of Rahain,’ she smiled.

  ‘Let the records show,’ Barker interjected, ‘that Lady Douanna is protected by the diplomatic immunity of the Rahain ambassadorial delegation, and thus cannot be prosecuted under Holdings law. Also note that she is here at her own request, and that this court has allowed her presence as a courtesy to our Rahain allies. Please continue.’

  ‘Thank you, Chief Justice,’ the younger judge said. He turned to Douanna. ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘what is your connection to Miss Daphne Holdfast?’

  ‘I had business dealings with your towns along the Sanang frontier the summer before last, and Lieutenant Daphne, as she was then, was the liaison officer for the Rahain merchants. And then, about a third and a half ago, I encountered her again in Midfort. The poor thing was in a terrible state, half-starved to death, and her arm all broken.’ She shook her head. ‘The very idea that she had somehow enjoyed captivity…’

  ‘Please,’ Barker said, ‘restrict your testimony to facts of which you have direct experience, rather than supposition.’

  She gave him a look, and her tongue flickered.

  ‘I agreed to assist her on her journey to this city,’ Douanna said, ‘as she is innocent of her alleged crimes…’

  ‘Daphne Holdfast has already been found guilty, may I remind you,’ stated Barker.

  ‘…and I was with her when she was arrested at the gates,’ Douanna went on, ignoring him. ‘Throughout my time with Daphne, I found her to be unstintingly loyal to the Holdings, and…’

  ‘Yes. Thank you,’ Barker said. ‘That will be all.’

  ‘…and I do not believe that she is a traitor,’ she finished. The courtroom was in silence, and there were many angry glares being aimed in the Rahain woman’s direction.

  Douanna spoke into the quiet. ‘I ask that the court show mercy.’

  The Rahain got to her feet, and crossed the floor. Before she slipped out of the door, she turned to glance at Daphne. She gave a slight nod, and left.

  ‘Quiet,’ Barker growled, banging his gavel as the noise started to increase again.

  ‘That concludes the witness testimonies,’ he said, when silence returned. ‘I will now put questions to the appellant.’ He turned his head to face her. ‘Holdfast,’ he said, ‘is it your assertion that you never received the orders to withdraw from the forward fort?’

  ‘It is,’ Daphne said, her heart racing faster than ever.

  ‘And do you have any new evidence for this hearing to support your assertion?’

  ‘Only my testimony, Chief Justice.’

  ‘Clerk,’ Barker said, gesturing at one of the court’s aides, ‘present to the appellant the two pieces of material evidence from the earlier trial.’

  One of the aides stood, and picked up a tray from under his desk. He walked past the other clerks and approached Daphne. There were two items on the tray, both documents.

  ‘Please describe this evidence as you understand it,’ Barker said.

  ‘This,’ Daphne said, pointing at the book on the left, ‘is the Queen’s Cavalry Command Logbook, opened to the page dated the twenty-second day of the last third of spring, year five-oh-three.’

  ‘And is there anything on that page relevant to this case?’

  She scanned the paper. ‘Yes, it states that orders were sent to all forward fortresses to withdraw. I can see the Holdfast name in brackets in the list that follows.’

  ‘And what would you conclude from this?’

  ‘That the orders were sent.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Barker smiled. ‘And the other item?’

  She studied it. She had known what it would be, but still stared at it in disbelief.

  ‘It’s a receipt,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, saying what?’

  ‘That the orders to withdraw have been received, dated the eighth day of the first third of summer, year five-oh-three.’

  ‘And is the receipt signed?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘By whom?’ Barker asked, his impatience rising.

  ‘By someone who has forged my signature.’

  The crowd roared at this, and it took several bangs of the gavel to quieten them.

  ‘I see,’ Barker said. ‘As Father Rijon, the witness who positively identified that signature as belonging to you, is not currently present in the Holdings, he cannot be summoned to refute your allegation. However, as he has entered his testimony into the written record, we do not require him here in person in order to proceed.’

  He gazed around the courtroom.

  ‘As the appellant has disputed the evidence, it now becomes a question of her reliability and honesty; in short, we must judge her character. Holdfast,’ he said, turning to her again, ‘it has been alleged that you freely partook of narcotics and alcohol in the company of the enemy Sanang, and held feasts, parties, and discussions with them about aspects of Holdings life. Do you deny any of these allegations?’

  ‘We spoke only about things that every Holdings child learns in junior school.’

  ‘Drugs, Holdfast?’ he pressed. ‘Alcohol, feasts?’

  ‘The drugs because I was in pain from my injury,’ she said, to calls of ‘liar’ and ‘shame’ from the crowd. ‘Alcohol and feasts, yes, occasionally.’

  Barker just shook his head, and allowed the crowd to vent its anger at her for a few long moments.

  ‘Tell us, Daphne,’ he continued once the room had quietened again, ‘about your theory that the church conspired against you.’

  ‘It was nothing but an idle thought,’ she said. ‘Forgotten in a moment.’

  ‘Brought on by your dependency on potent hallucinogenic drugs and powerful painkillers?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘It was the alcohol then that clouded your judgement?’ he smirked, as the crowd laughed.

  Daphne sat back, her chains clanking, her eyes smouldering.

  ‘A couple of final questions, Holdfast,’ he said, a half-smile at the corner of his lips. ‘When you returned to Midfort on the frontier, why did you not hand yourself in to the authorities, if you were innocent?’

  ‘Because,’ she cried out, ‘I discovered that there were mobs everywhere who would tear me to pieces before I could tell them the truth. The disaster needs a scapegoat,’ she was shouting now, above the growing noise of the crowd, ‘and I’m it.’

  ‘Silence!’ Barker shouted at the angry crowd, banging his gavel.

  ‘Another outburst like that Holdfast,’ he said, glaring at her, ‘and you’ll be removed from the courtroom.’

  She nodded sullenly.

  ‘And, finally,’ Barker said, ‘can you please tell us how much influence your father had over you when you chose to ignore direct orders?’

  ‘I did not disobey orders,’ she spat back, ‘and my father had zero influence over me in my capacity as an officer in the cavalry. He never once advised me on military matters, and
even if he had, I wouldn’t have listened.’

  ‘Then,’ Barker said, ‘we are being asked to believe that the convergence of his designs with your actions was merely a coincidence?’

  ‘I did not disobey orders,’ she repeated.

  He sat back in this chair, and conferred quietly with the other judges.

  Daphne caught her sister’s eye for a brief second. Ariel was smiling at her, her hood framing the dark oval of her face. Daphne wondered where the rest of her family were, and what would happen to them because of her.

  After a few moments, the judges finished their whispered conversation, and they turned to face Daphne.

  ‘The judgement of this appeal hearing,’ Barker began, ‘is that no new evidence has been presented that overturns the previous verdict. The character of Daphne Holdfast has been tested, and found wanting. In captivity it appears that she abandoned the decent norms that guide the people of the Holdings, and fell into the abominable sins of alcohol, narcotics and gluttony. According to eyewitness testimony, she regularly held or attended parties and feasts with the enemy, and seems to have been more friendly with them than with some of her own officers. Her judgement has been, frankly, poor, and yet she asks us to discard all of the evidence from the previous trial, and put our sole trust in her word. The court hereby rejects the appellant’s argument as to the trustworthiness of her character, and consequently, the appeal fails.’

  He banged his gavel, as excitement built.

  ‘Daphne Holdfast,’ Barker said, ‘this court finds that the original verdict stands, that you are guilty of disobeying orders. The court shall now proceed directly to sentencing.’

  The crowd roared again, louder than before, revelling. Daphne lowered her eyes. A chant of ‘death! death!’ started, and was allowed to go on for several minutes, the chamber echoing to the cacophony.

  Barker banged his gavel, and the whole place fell silent, every ear straining to listen.

  ‘This court,’ he began, ‘sentences you, Daphne Holdfast, to death by hanging.’

  The room erupted in noise, loud cheers reverberated around the large chamber, and a great roar echoed from outside.

  ‘The sentence will be carried out at dawn tomorrow, in Holders Square,’ Barker shouted over the noise, his gavel banging uselessly. ‘Does the condemned have anything to say?’

  She looked up.

  The frenzied mob was hurling abuse at her, many miming choking gestures, while others just pointed and laughed. She tried to find Ariel among them, but her sister’s seat was empty. On the other side, the judges looked satisfied with their day’s work, and Barker was smirking at her. So that was it, then. Death by hanging. Anger at the unfairness of it rose within her, and she clenched her right hand. She wanted to speak, but what could she say that would make any difference?

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I do.’

  Silence was achieved in a heartbeat, as every leering face turned to her.

  Daphne stood. She held her head up, straightened her back and faced the mob with no sign of fear in her eyes.

  ‘When I was fleeing the Sanang,’ she said, ‘I was close to death.’ She paused, waiting for the crowd to crane their heads even further towards her.

  She drew out the silence for as long as she could.

  ‘There,’ she continued, a smile on her lips, ‘I, Daphne Holdfast, heard the voice of the Creator, and he saved me.’

  Someone laughed; a short laugh that choked off into an awkward silence as the crowd gaped at her in disbelief. A voice called ‘Blasphemer!’ and the whole crowd exploded in a terrifying crescendo of noise. Men and women charged the guards separating them from Daphne. Swords were drawn, and chaos threatened to overwhelm the court.

  Another door opened, and more soldiers ran in. Some of these had uniforms marking them out as battlers, a company of which were kept stationed by the palace.

  The crowd surged forward, ripping up chairs, and hurling them across the chamber.

  ‘This hearing is ended!’ Barker shouted, getting out of his seat. ‘Get the prisoner back to the tower!’

  As the judges filed out the back door, guards surrounded Daphne, and together they ran back through to the entrance hall where they had arrived that morning. Other soldiers joined them, and they closed ranks, with shields forming a wall to their left. The doors were opened, and they charged through. Outside, the volume of noise from the crowd behind the iron gate was deafening. Bricks and stones were hurled at them, and Daphne heard several bounce off the shieldwall. They rushed into the Old Tower, and closed the door behind them. The captain walked up to Daphne. He looked her in the eye, shaking his head, then turned to his squads.

  ‘You’re going to see a proper riot now,’ he said. ‘Full armour everyone, we’ll...’

  He tailed off as a new set of guards entered the hall from the far door, their cloaks the dark blue of the church wardens. Their commander walked right up to the captain.

  ‘I am Deacon Lessing,’ she said. ‘This prisoner is now under my authority.’

  ‘Why?’ the captain asked.

  ‘Her sentence has been suspended,’ Lessing replied, ‘until the church can test her story.’

  ‘Come on,’ the captain said. ‘She’s obviously lying.’

  ‘She may well be, Captain,’ Lessing said, ‘but anyone confirmed with vision abilities who claims to have heard the voice of the Creator must be tested by the church. In all likelihood, she’ll be returned to secular authority in a few days. You can hang her then.’

  ‘Very well,’ the captain said, ‘though I’m going to need to see some paperwork.’

  ‘Of course,’ Lessing said, handing him a folded document.

  The captain scanned it, nodded to his soldiers, and they stood back.

  Lessing turned to the wardens. ‘Take her.’

  The wardens surrounded Daphne. Lessing signalled to them, and they set off at a jog through the hall. They went under an archway into a tunnel that skirted the outer palace wall, in the direction of the southernmost corner of the flat-topped promontory, where the church had its ancient and labyrinthine headquarters.

  Lessing jogged alongside the prisoner.

  ‘Thank you,’ Daphne whispered.

  Lessing spat at her.

  ‘Don’t thank me, you blaspheming bitch,’ she snarled. ‘You’ll get what’s coming to you.’

  Chapter 15

  In Her Head

  Holdings City, Realm of the Holdings – 9th Day, Second Third Winter 503

  Were it not for the twice daily delivery of food and water, Daphne would have believed that she had been forgotten about. For almost a third she had been held in a long, narrow cell somewhere in the bowels of the enormous complex of church buildings, the headquarters of her religion. The citadel of the prophet took up almost half of the Upper City, and was several times larger than the palace. Its roots burrowed deep into the rock of the promontory, and Daphne guessed she was several levels below the main floors, about halfway down the cliffside. There was a square shaft cut into the thick wall at the end of her cell, ending in a small barred opening. Every morning the sun’s rays would pierce the shaft, illuminating the cell, and for a couple of hours Daphne enjoyed the light. Then the shadows would lengthen, and the cell existed in a low gloom for the rest of the day, while the sun reached its apex, and fell to the west.

  The other end of her narrow cell was taken up with a barred iron door, which afforded her no hiding place if anyone was outside. This had led her to build a little tent-like shelter from a chair and some blankets, behind which she could get a little privacy when she needed it. Through the bars she could see lines of other cells along the passageway to her left and right, but they all appeared to be empty. There were usually no wardens present, except at dawn and dusk, when food, water for washing and drinking, and a clean chamber pot were brought to her. Her provisions were generous, and she had been provided with plenty of bedding, which kept her warm during the cold winter nights. She presumed her c
aptors did not want to risk upsetting the Creator if it turned out she had been telling the truth.

  She often wondered it herself.

  Her memories of the escape from the Sanang forest had become vague and hazy mere days afterwards. Now, more than three thirds later, she had no idea if what she remembered had been hallucinated or real. Had it not been for Douanna verifying that the Rahain were at war with the Southern Clans, whoever they were, she would have discarded it as an effect of drugs and exhaustion. Now she hoped with all her being that it had been real. If she had imagined it, she would surely be sent back to the Old Tower for execution.

  What the church would do if she had been telling the truth intrigued and scared her. And if Rijon had been the one to engineer her downfall, then how many others were complicit? What would they do with her if they knew she suspected them?

  She found herself worrying less as the days went by. She reflected on her life, and how hollow much of it felt. Her cavalry training, the passionate political discussions through the night with fellow students, their hopeless idealism about the war, all of it had soured, and it was with some surprise, after several days of solitude, that she realised she was ashamed of the Holdings and what they were doing in Sanang.

  She had idolised the queen since she was a little girl, and had taken her side in every argument, especially against her old foe, the church. Never had the Holdings felt so free from the suffocating clutches of their stifling religion than in the last thirty years, yet Daphne was faced with the horrible realisation that, in this instance, the church was correct. The war was wrong.

  She remembered her father coming home one day to their family’s apartment in the city. She had been studying and living there at the time, and had tagged along with him for the few days of his visit. He had been summoned to the Queen’s Council, and Daphne had arranged to meet him afterwards. When he had arrived at the apartment, her father’s mood had been grim, and he had been shaking with rage. The family had lost a large portion of its fortune, he had explained. Their entire stake in the most recent trade caravan to Sanang, all the goods, and the lives of the merchants transporting them, had been lost. A savage attack by the barbarian tribesmen had slaughtered them, and taken everything.