A great roar came from the crowd then, and Artemi allowed the relief to wash over her in waves. If it hadn’t been for Tallyn subtly reaching over to pinch her bottom at that point, her smile would have been much broader.
Lord Righteous Cayvil, Defender of Truth, settled down into the wooden chair that had been provided to him, unfeasibly uncomfortable as it was, and gazed at the rabble assembled below. Men and women of all levels of social standing jostled each other for seats on the soft grass or cushioned benches, hoping to gain the best view of their shamed king. Green and black banners weaved across the makeshift trial chamber, which seemed to make use of stands from the Spring Games.
To his left stood the rather tenselooking General Forllan. He was less like his father than his brothers, and far more jovial than the landed lord. But perhaps that was to be expected of a younger son. In spite of the warm sunshine and heated breeze, it felt rather
exposed conducting such matters outdoors. Cayvil glanced at the papers before him. They contained a summary of the last year’s events, together with an outline of Acher’s execution. Why the boy king had insisted on being tried for that was a curious-enough matter in itself. He raised his dark eyes to the woman who seemed to be at the heart of so much of this.
A gathering of sworded men in dark green surrounded her, occasionally looking at their queen with such adoration one might think she was their goddess rather than regent. She was pretty in a red-lipped, fiery sort of way, but in her luxurious silks and glossy hair, she didn’t look nearly so dangerous as rumour claimed. When he’d read the books he’d always imagined her to be... bigger. Alas, the time for ponderings was over; it was time to do some work. The law man nodded to his martial, who bid silence among the attendees.
Cayvil stood from his hard seat. “Let the fires of Achellon illuminate the way in justice and in fairness. The trial begins; bring the accused!”
A flurry of chatter followed his words as he lowered himself onto the hideous chair again. He’d never seen the king before, but had heard enough about his appearance and bearing. He was surprised at the man they led to the centre of the court, however. He looked... young. Very young indeed, and his resemblance to the Jade’an family was unmistakable. How anyone had missed it in the previous years was a mystery. Then again, not many still lived who’d seen their line.
“King Morghiad of House Jade’an, our most gracious Queen Artemi has requested that I refer to you with these titles and...” unfortunately, “... I must oblige her in this respect.” Happily the only respect. The damn woman had tried to dig her claws into him at every opportunity in order to sway his impartiality. Blazes knew the jury was about as soft as tanno butter. But this was his law chamber! A look passed from the king to the queen then, which she barely acknowledged.
“Sire, you are accused of the following in order of severity: commanding wrongful imprisonment, wrongful quenching, attempted murder on two occasions and the murder of King Acher of Calidell. What is your response?”
“I did each of those things.”
An expression of severe distaste had
spread across Queen Artemi’s features.
“Very well. Be seated and we shall hear the evidence. We shall start with this imprisonment business. Master Arrian Turani, if you would read us the summary?”
A ponytailed man with sun-darkened skin stood and took the centre spot. “King Morghiad was taken and held prisoner by a vanha-sielu woman known as Mirel, who arrived in the spring of last year...”
The pronouncements went on for some time, with numerous witnesses lauding Artemi’s performance in the decisive battle, and describing the king’s alarming condition following his imprisonment.
By the time afternoon hinted at evening, it was Cayvil’s opportunity to make some enquiries of his own. “And how do we know
that our esteemed queen is indeed Artemi rather than Mirel?”
Morghiad immediately stood. “I have no doubt of it. Every wielder’s power feels- is different. She is not Mirel.”
“Thank you, sire. ButI need some greater reassurance. Anyone?”Anyone not recently pronounced insane...
“My lord.” A thick-set man with greycoloured hair stood from amongst her guard. Several of them had. “The three of us have known both Artemi and Mirel nigh on fourthousand years. We can confirm unequivocally that this is The Fireblade.”
Cayvil leaned deeper into his seat as he considered their claim. The poorly shaped back dug into his spine, and he was forced to sit upright again. The sooner this was done, the
better! “I’ve read Chronicles of the Warrior. I want to see our queen fight with the blade of fire. That was singular to you, correct?”
Artemi rose slowly, elegantly. “Any wielder can set fire to a sword and fight with it. It is the pure white flame that made me different. It’s a flame that can... shift space. Mirel could never replicate it.”
Cayvil pulled out a copy of the book he’d so thoughtfully brought with him. He opened it at a marked page. “‘Air cut and light darkened: one touch of the blade-fire will move you and the earth.’ So show us, if you please... my lady.” It ought to provide some titillation, at the very least.
Artemi whispered something to the tall, dark guard at her side and he responded by handing her a lengthy, silver blade. The queen
turned it deftly in one hand, hitched her skirts and descended the stand steps gracefully. Relieved of her guards, it was possible to appreciate her figure within its tight, red silks. She wasn’t Cayvil’s sort of woman, really. That buxom maidservant of hers, on the other hand now she had a woman’s body! His attention was redrawn to the queen as she raised the blade above her head. A bright orange flame spread along the leading edge suddenly, drawing gasps from the assembled horde. It turned red, then blue and finally white, the vapours sending her hair about in a wild plume of its own. And then something... happened. The air crackled noisily, the hitherto bright sky turned grey and then all sounds ceased.
Time ceased.
Cavil thought he was watching the
assembled peoples fall into stasis one-by-one, but their eyes remained open and their bodies upright. A woman reached endlessly, hopelessly for the stationary child that had climbed into the central arena. Morghiad had stood from his seat, wide-eyed and hands gripping the wooden rail before him. Her company of guards were caught mid-flow as they moved to surround her. Each had become frozen; the banners appeared starched. And in an instant, the tableau was shattered.
A thunderous crack and scream of energy shook the outdoor chamber; the light brightened until it was no longer possible to see and then, momentarily, Cayvil felt the air brush past his ears. When the light dimmed, the surrounding landscape became apparent.
Tall trees dominated the horizon, flush
with the growth of summer, and sloping grassland lay below the gathering of people. He turned. The great, towering walls of Cadra were behind him still, but were now athousand-feet-distant.
“I would have moved us farther, but couldn’t guarantee I’d get us back,” the queen said matter-of-factly. Her public appeared to be staring at her in stark shock. “Are you satisfied I am the womanI claim to be, Lord Righteous Cayvil?”
“Aye... er... ah, my queen. Please be seated.”
Artemi curtseyed and proceeded to glide back to her makeshift throne. No doubt her seat was far more accommodating than his. He called the now-babbling rabble to order.
Over the following days, Cayvil
proceeded to question, to interview and probe each person and their account. The trial rumbled on for weeks, until they reached the inevitable tale of Artemi’s near death. “Do you mean to tell me, my lady, that in spite of your considerable powers, your ability to escape and defend yourself, you simply waited for him to shoot you with the crossbow bolt?” He stopped short of asking her if she was an utter idiot.
“He had to see it himself. I was willing to sacrifice my life for that.”
Her ten-thousand years on this ea
rth didn’t appear to have given her much in the way of sense. “Very well, but who would have been here to defend us when Mirel returned?”
For the first time she displayed uncertainty. “I was so... caught up with seeing
him...
I- I did not consider it.”
“But do you believe he thought you incapable of defending yourself?”
“At that time and in that place, yes. But he also thought me guilty of a great many crimes.”
His mental condition could be considered an excuse for his actions, Cayvil pondered, but he didn’t want his courts filled with copycat Calidellian murderers claiming madness. And what of the murder committed in sanity? They had still to consider the manner of Acher’s death. The court broke briefly, where he was offered the wonderful opportunity to leave his wooden seat of pain and walk calmly around the open-air chamber.
“My Lord Cayvil, came Silar’s characteristically chirpy voice. The tall general
strode into view with a robust-looking woman on his arm. “I trust proceedings are to your satisfaction. Have you met Caala yet? She is rather eager to meet you.”
The handsome woman blushed somewhat, her short curls bobbing as she curtseyed. Surely Silar knew he was married! Though he had broken his bond with his wife to take up his duty here. Would anyone notice a case of nalka on his journey home? Probably not. “Walk with me a while,” Cayvil said, offering his arm to the lady. They rapidly exited Silar’s company, and began parading the barren grasslands alone. “My given name is Mayon.” A terrible name. He’d not forgive his parents for it soon. “Tell me what pleases you, Caala.”
They walked for a time, and talked at
length. She seemed fond of swearing, and fonder still of her rulers. It soon became apparent that he’d have to engineer a softer set of sentences for the king in order to win this woman’s admiration. He glanced at her ample bosoms. It was worth sacrificing a little justice for a little fun.
When he recalled the session, they moved directly to the matter of Acher. “My Lord Morghiad, please could you describe the events leading up to the event?”
The young king inclined his head briefly, and began to speak, “I’d discovered some years earlier that he was responsible for the deaths of my family, and that he had pretended to be my father subsequently. Artemi was my... she was... a... my benay-gosa.” He almost whispered the words. “Acher found out
that she was a wielder and he ordered her to be killed. I failed to reach her in time, and so I went... I found him in the Malachite Hall and removed his head.”
Cayvil frowned. “It was illegal to harbour wielders at that time, was it not?”
Morghiad raised his eyebrows briefly, but did not convey much more in the manner of surprise. “That is true. I could not allow her to be... I loved her.”
A great hush fell upon the assembled audience until a giant of a man stood from amongst the queen’s guard. “My Lord Cayvil, the entirety of Calidell’s army harboured Artemi for five years during Acher’s rule. I cannot think that you intend to prosecute all of the several-thousand men who remain from that time.”
“But presumably they did it at your behest, my king? You were, after all, their captain, were you not?”
“Yes. They were my responsibility.”
Cayvil’s seat was beginning to feel especially uncomfortable again. How he wanted to get this over and done with! He shifted his weight forward, and caught a brief glimpse of amusement across General Silar’s face. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought the man had planned to make him as uncomfortable as possible! “Well, that is still a crime according to the laws of the time. And do you feel remorse over your killing of King Acher?”
“None.”
“I see. And did he make any attempts to defend himself?”
“We fought briefly. But he was underpractised and overweight.”
Cayvil turned to the well-dressed nobles on his right. “Very well. Jury, you must make your decision...” and be quick about it. “...You know what he has done. Decide for me if he is guilty of such crimes or not, then pass your notes to me.”
The select group rapidly tore into their parchments with pens, eager to press their decisions into the process. Or as eager to finish this as he was. Doubtless they would all pronounce their king perfect and innocent as a newborn babe. Cayvil tried to settle back into his chair again while he waited, and failed. At length, their decisions were brought to him, and he read through each carefully. “King Morghiad of House Jade’an, please stand.”
The queen looked fearful at that moment, and her buxom handmaid took her hand in reassurance. Lovely, kind Caala.
“By vote, you have been deemed guilty of all crimes against your queen. You have, however, been deemed innocent of murdering Calidell’s former king, Acher of House Sete’an. As is the case in royal trials, the successor cannot pass judgement or decide the punishment. It falls to me, therefore, to pronounce your sentence. I have considered this carefully...” he looked over at Caala’s heaving chest. How he’d like to lay his head against those breasts. “...I have decided that you will endure eleven months and six days of punishment, as she did, and that you will occupy this time productively. You will serve hard labour during all the hours of sunlight, and
sleep in a cell in the evening. Is this punishment acceptable to you, the assembled court?”
The queen stood swiftly, eyes wide. “It is not!”
“It is the most lenient the law will permit for the magnitude of his crimes, my lady.”
“There is no need for the cell. Grant him his own bed, at least.”
Morghiad spoke before Cayvil was able, “I will take the cell whether it is demanded of me or not.”
Artemi looked about to chew rocks, but she held her tongue and sat down once more. Already she had the look of a woman who was scheming to find another way.
Ah, burn it all! A little more leniency would be worthy of Caala’s favour for the evening. “As the queen requests, it is possible
that the king, if he so decides, may find... more comfortable arrangements for his rest. This the court grants. Dismissed.”
As was tradition with such events, there would be a grand celebration to mark the end of the trial. Cayvil planned to become just merry enough to advance upon his desired prey. But not too merry to disappoint her. She was smiling very warmly at him, he realised, and he smiled back.
“Silar, I don’t care about the definition of hard labour, I want him near me!”
He shuffled his feet and folded his arms defiantly. “There simply isn’t the work here. The towers have all been recently re-pointed, the walls are as solid as they’ve ever been and the servant’s cellars are well-kept. Nothing needs doing here! And the city is not exactly far, is it?”
Artemi was growing angry. Very angry indeed. She dove headlong into the Blazes at that moment, seeking their calming fires. But they only served to inflame her ire more. She released a heavy blast at a wall and then at the upper section of one of the towers behind it. Their stone melted and toppled satisfyingly onto the roof below, shattering tiles everywhere. “There. He can fix that!”
Silar’s eyes opened wide in shock. “Artemi! Bloody fires - someone could have been in that tower!”
“There was no one near it. Now get Morghiad and make him work there!”
Silar stopped short of grabbing her arm as she walked away. “Don’t you think this is selfish? Plenty of people in the city need his help more than you do. And this nonsense of handing back your title to him – how is he going to rule while he’s rebuilding broken castles? Are we to hold our council meetings amongst the rubble?”
“Many of us do our best thinking when we’re active. And it is not selfish to want him here. He is safer here with that Hirrahan army on the way. I must keep my king safe.” Kings were always the most vulnerable pieces in will
die - not nearly so manoeuvrable as queens.
“My lady, he has his weapons with him. He is sti
ll an excellent swordsman - very competent at defending himself. And Cadra is still too fond of him to allow harm to come to
him.”
She waved a hand dismissively at him. “Do as I say Silar. And our next council meeting will be on the roof. I like the fresh air.” With that she turned and stormed off, which was much easier to do in her newly made assassin’s garb. It had all sorts of unnecessary regalia stamped upon it, but it was beautifully soft and well-fitted. She was very glad to be well enough to wear it once more. The clothing and her weapons.
Artemi withdrew one of her gale swords as she stalked the dark corridor and
examined it closely. It still glowed with the warmth of Gialdin city, more than a year since its extraction. What curious powers had been bestowed upon it there? And how? She stamped out of the damp darkness and into the grey brilliance of the grand courtyard. It was empty bar Romarr, Vestuna and Tallyn, who had clearly been waiting for her for some time. “My apologies for the delay. A slight difficulty with one of my soldiers.”
“The tower appears to have broken,” Vestuna said, tilting his head at the roof above.
“It’s nothing to worry about.”
“Temper, I’d say,” smirked Tallyn.
Artemi changed the subject quickly. “Are you all ready?”
“As ever,” Tallyn pulled both of his gale swords from his back and readied himself. The
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