CHILDREN OF AMARID

by DAVID B. COE

  Immediately, every pair of eyes in the room swung in his direction.Let themlook upon us, he sent to his familiar as he took the sage’s chair,let them seethose who will rule this Order before the day is out.

  Watching Sartol arrive, Niall moved away from the accused mages to take his place at the table. Odinan was still on his feet, stooped and leaning heavily on his staff, and now he began to speak, formally convening the trial in his thin, wavering voice. “We heard yesterday the charges of treason and murder brought against Baden, Trahn, and Orris. Today, in accordance with Amarid’s Fourth Law, the Order sits in judgment on the verity of those charges. According to the procedures established by Terrall, the second Owl-Sage to lead this Order, Sartol, who made these accusations, will present testimony first. He will be followed by Baden, who will speak for the accused. Sartol?”

  “Thank you, Odinan,” Sartol said with a grateful smile, standing as the ancient Owl-Master sank back into his chair. He looked out across the room, his expression turning somber. “I stand before you today, faced with the most painful task I have ever known. I do not wish these men ill, nor do I care to relive in testimony the disturbing events which have led us all to this day. But neither can I remain silent, given what I have seen. Crimes have been committed against the Order and Tobyn-Ser. Four of our comrades have been taken from us, among them our wise and brave leader, and a young woman whom I considered my closest friend. And across this land, many, many others have suffered similar losses, all due to the craven, vicious acts of the three mages who sit before you.” As if on cue, every mage in the chamber turned to look at Baden and his companions. “You will all remember,” Sartol went on after a brief interval, drawing their gazes back in his direction, “that the eight of us—the four who died, the three accused, and myself—left here nearly five weeks ago on a mission that would carry us to Theron’s Grove. There, according to a plan first developed by Baden and Trahn, we were to confront the unsettled Owl-Master, who they claimed was responsible for the recent attacks on Tobyn-Ser.

  “We reached the grove in approximately a fortnight. It was an uneventful journey, which made what happened the night of our arrival there that much more shocking.” He hesitated. “I remember there was a storm just around sunset. Baden and Trahn went to check on the horses. At Jessamyn’s request, Alayna and Jaryd began covering our supplies, and I walked down to the river to refill our water pouches. Jessamyn and Peredur found a small cluster of trees where they started to gather torches for our meeting with Theron.”

  “Torches?” Mered interjected. “What for?”

  “Again, at Baden and Trahn’s suggestion, we planned to leave our cerylls outside the grove, thus, by their reckoning, denying Theron’s spirit access to them.”

  Mered began to nod slowly. “Yes,” he said, “I recall some mention of that during the Gathering. Proceed.”

  “Well, at that point, things began to happen very quickly. While at the river, I thought I heard Jessamyn cry out. Naturally, I began running back toward the camp, but when I reached it, no one was there. I looked around for some sign of what had happened, and saw mage-fire coming from the cluster of trees. Again, I ran to investigate. And just as I reached the trees, Alayna screamed and there was another burst of ceryll-light. I entered the copse, saw that Jessamyn and Peredur were dead, and ran on, hoping that I could save Alayna and Jaryd. I saw the three of them as I emerged from the trees—Orris was chasing the young ones—and immediately I threw my mage-fire at him.”

  “Sartol, did you actually see Orris kill Jessamyn and Peredur?” Odinan asked, his thin, quavering voice interrupting Sartol’s narrative.

  “No. But I believe that Alayna and Jaryd did, and that’s why Orris was pursuing them when I came upon him.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  The Owl-Master shrugged. “I have no reason to believe that Alayna or Jaryd killed the sage and the first; Baden and Trahn were not in the area just then. Hence, it had to be Orris.”

  “Or you,” Orris chimed in.

  The others in the Great Hall turned to look at the bearded mage. Sartol stretched his face into a cold grin, knowing that the gesture would do little to mask his anger. “Yes, Orris,” he returned evenly, “or me.” He held the other man’s glare for some time, but Orris would not look away. At length, broadening his grin, Sartol swept the room with his eyes. “But as the rest of my testimony will soon demonstrate,” he went on, raising his voice to carry throughout the chamber, “far from being involved in these crimes, I was very nearly another victim of the conspiracy woven by the accused.”

  “What did you do when you saw Orris chasing the young ones?” Odinan asked.

  “Well,” Sartol answered, pitching his voice to convey what he hoped would be the right blend of grief, indignation, and animosity, “as I had started to say, I threw my mage-fire at Orris, forcing him to break off his pursuit of the Hawk-Mages, but by then it was too late. Alayna and Jaryd just kept running until they reached the grove; I was too busy fending off Orris’s counterattack to stop them.” He closed his eyes, taking a long, shuddering breath. He was doing, he knew, very well.

  Notwithstanding Orris’s intrusion, he could see, from the expressions of those arrayed around the table, that he had the rapt attention of every mage in the room, even those whom he guessed would be less inclined to trust him than they would Baden. To be sure, there were those in the chamber who would not believe him, whose allegiance to Baden, Trahn, and Orris would withstand his verbal assault. But they were the minority. A sufficient number of those present remained open to persuasion; many of them had already begun to accept his version of the events by Theron’s Grove. And this was only the beginning. He had been careful not to start too vehemently, to leave room for his rhetoric and fervor to build as he catalogued the atrocities committed by Baden, Orris, and Trahn. If he had the interest of his listeners this early, he would have their hearts by the end of his account.

  “I don’t think that my battle with Orris lasted very long,” Sartol continued after pausing briefly, ostensibly to reclaim some control over his emotions, “but it seemed to go on forever. Orris was remarkably strong, far stronger than any mage I’ve ever encountered. I only managed to survive because, by sheerest luck, Huvan here—” the Owl-Master gestured toward the owl, which sat wide-eyed and attentive on the chair behind where he stood “—was able to kill the mage’s familiar. Even so, Orris injured me, and escaped before I could take advantage of his lost power.”

  “Where were Baden and Trahn while the two of you were fighting?” one of the Owl-Masters inquired.

  “I’m not certain. I found them a short while later. They feigned ignorance of all that had happened, and, of course, I had no reason to doubt them at the time.”

  “Don’t forget to mention that we healed your injuries,” Trahn called out from his seat at the far end of the room.

  Sartol glared at the dark mage, as the others in the room turned again to face in that direction as well. Technically, the rules governing this type of Gathering entitled the accused only to ask questions, and Sartol resented these interruptions. Baden, for his part, added nothing to Trahn’s intrusion, but the hint of a grin played at the corners of his mouth.

  “I would not have forgotten,” Sartol snarled contemptuously. “They did indeed heal me, which, of course, supports my assertion that Orris wounded me. Why else would I have needed healing?” Again he paused, this time to allow the impact of the point he had just made to reach all in the room. “Nor will I fail to mention,” he added, “that Baden and Trahn helped me build a funeral pyre for the sage and her first. Their attention to detail and decorum is part of the reason their conspiracy came so close to succeeding. They even convinced me that Trahn had agreed to remain by the grove so that he could see to the safety of Alayna and Jaryd, in case Orris went after them again. I only realized later that his true purpose was to ensure that the young mages did not escape the grove with their lives.”

  “You say
that Orris attacked Alayna and Jaryd,” Ursel challenged, rising from her seat, skepticism manifest in her tone and stance, “and that you knew from his actions that he killed the sage and first. When did you begin to suspect Baden and Trahn?”

  Sartol ignored the insinuation in the Hawk-Mage’s voice, instead launching directly into a matter-of-fact response to her question. “As Baden and I made our way northward, back toward Amarid, I observed that he was behaving strangely. He seemed edgy, uncommunicative; I felt that he was hiding something. I assumed that he was merely worried about Jaryd,” he explained, knowing how reasonable he sounded and moving ruthlessly to quell a sudden impulse to smile. “I, of course, understood, having just lost my former Mage-Attend as well.” He wandered a bit from where he had been standing, running a hand thoughtfully across his brow. “But as Baden’s strange mood persisted, it began to feed my suspicions and my fears. I started piecing together the circumstances leading up to the formation of our delegation, and it occurred to me that Baden and Trahn had pushed very hard for it, that perhaps they had been motivated by something other than just their concern for the Order and their belief that Theron might be behind the attacks. Then I remembered Orris’s abrupt request to be included in the company traveling to the grove, and it all seemed so clear: what better place to rid themselves of their rivals for power? They could kill off Jessamyn and Peredur, blame the deaths on Theron’s spirit, cease their attacks on Tobyn-Ser, and make it seem that Baden and Trahn were right about the attacks all along, thus enhancing their stature within the Order.” A murmur moved through the chamber, like a breeze rustling through a forest. I have most of them, Sartol realized, enough of them I’m sure. But still, he was not finished.

  “All of this remained conjecture for a while longer, but, during this time, Baden’s manner turned ever more suspicious. He practically stopped eating, he slept fitfully, calling out strange, unintelligible things from his slumber. I grew increasingly concerned about Alayna and Jaryd, realizing that, even if they escaped Theron, Trahn and Orris awaited them outside the grove.

  “Even in the face of these fears, though, I continued to entertain the hope that I might be wrong about Baden and Trahn; that, perhaps, Orris had acted alone. But those hopes vanished when we reached Watersbend.” Sartol closed his eyes again, shaking his head slowly. “The devastation there was . . .” He swallowed. “The dead were everywhere: men and women, adults and children. Every living creature in the northern part of the village had been murdered. And the men who did it were still moving through the village when Baden and I arrived. A battle ensued. I attempted to kill both men, but Baden assaulted me before I could. In the end, I fought him off and killed the attackers. The townspeople began to thank me for what I had done, but Baden flew into a rage, screaming at me, excoriating me for not sparing the men’s lives.”

  “Come now, Sartol,” Baden said insolently. “You make it sound as though I did nothing at all.”

  “You’re right, Baden,” Sartol replied magnanimously. “I’m sorry. I do recall that, during the course of the battle, Baden killed their birds.”

  Baden nodded. “Thank you,” he said with sarcasm.

  “But,” Sartol continued, pressing the point, “that just made his response to my actions that much more bewildering. He was out of control, berating me as if I had murdered his closest friends in the world.”

  “I understand, Sartol,” Odinan broke in, “that you have witnesses who will corroborate all of this.”

  “That’s correct,” Sartol replied. “But Baden demanded that this trial begin before they could be here. Fortunately, he has agreed to accept my synopsis of their testimony.”

  “Ursel,” Odinan went on, turning to the young mage, “I also understand that one of your patrols reached Watersbend a day or so later, and spoke with witnesses who mentioned Baden’s attempt to save the men and Orris’s involvement with Baden’s escape from the Watersbend jail. Is this true?”

  Ursel stood again, her brown eyes shifting uncomfortably from Baden, to Orris, to the old Owl-Master who had asked the question. Again, Sartol suppressed a smirk. “Yes,” the Hawk-Mage answered at last, “that is true. Neysa told me of this through the Ceryll-Var. Her patrol hasn’t returned yet, so we know little else of what she learned from the survivors of the Watersbend attack.”

  Odinan nodded. “Thank you. You may go on, Sartol.”

  “There’s not much more to tell,” the Owl-Master stated. “I had Baden arrested and then I attended to the needs of the villagers. They gave me a room at their inn and I retired for the night. But a short time later I was awakened by the villagers, who told me that a powerfully built mage with long yellow hair had assaulted the guards at the jail and helped Baden escape. I deduced that they were speaking of Orris and, fearing for my life, I fled the town. I assumed that if Orris had caught up with us, Trahn might have as well, and I dared not risk a confrontation with all three of them.”

  “So that was when you started back toward Amarid,” Odinan ventured.

  “That night, yes.”

  “And you had no more contact with the accused mages until their arrival here?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Why don’t you tell everyone about the men you killed, about what they carried?” Baden demanded, and Sartol was pleased to see that the gaunt Owl-Master appeared somewhat less sure of himself than he had earlier.

  “I’m afraid that I don’t understand,” Sartol replied with uncertainty.

  “What about their weapons?” Baden persisted. “How were they able to cause so much damage? Tell us that.”

  Sartol nodded knowingly. “Ah, yes. That was a bit strange,” he acknowledged. He turned back to Odinan as he began to explain. “The men we encountered wore cloaks like ours and carried birds and cerylls as we do, but we saw their faces: they were not mages of this Order. Apparently, those who recruited them to carry out these attacks trained them in the ways of the Mage-Craft without admitting them to the Order. In this way, they succeeded in convincing the people of Tobyn-Ser—”

  “I’ve heard enough, Sartol!” Baden cut in savagely. “What about the mechanical birds and the fire-throwing weapons? These people were outlanders, and you know it!”

  Again, excited conversations, spoken in breathless whispers, threaded their way around the table. For just an instant, Sartol gazed at Baden across the elongated wooden table. It might well have been a chasm, so great seemed the distance. Then Sartol allowed himself a smile, just as Baden had smiled at him so disconcertingly the day before. He knew that he enjoyed an advantage now—Baden’s claims about outlanders and artificial birds sounded preposterous. And Baden seemed to know this as well. His face looked pale beneath the thin red and silver hair, except for two bright pink spots high on his cheeks. A moment later, Sartol turned a beseeching look toward Odinan, who responded by pounding the base of his staff on the marble floor.

  “Silence!” the aged Owl-Master squawked, bringing a sudden, awkward quiet to the chamber. “Please, let us remain calm. I want no more outbursts. Baden,” he added, turning toward where the accused mages sat, “I must ask you to refrain from statements of that sort. You shall have your turn shortly, but until then, you are required by the rules of the Order to remain silent, except to ask questions of the accuser.” Baden cast a smoldering glance in Sartol’s direction, but then nodded reluctantly. “You may continue, Sartol,” Odinan said, looking once more at Sartol. “Have you more to say?”

  “Only this,” the Owl-Master began, coloring his tone with equal shades of regret and defiance. “You are about to hear a fanciful tale, filled with intrigue and innuendo and alarming revelations. Already, we have been given a preview of what is to come. We have heard Orris attempt to blame me for the murders of the sage and her first. We have heard Baden suggest that outlanders, with mechanical birds and strange, powerful weapons, were responsible for the destruction of Watersbend. And, no doubt, the rest of Baden’s testimony will be equally dramatic. Listen to it,
consider it, enjoy it as you would a finely crafted fable; but please, do not be fooled by it. Do not allow them to play on your fears; do not accept wild, frightening allegations as a substitute for tangible, albeit prosaic evidence.

  “I brought you the staffs of Jessamyn and Peredur; Trahn admitted that he and Baden healed the injuries I suffered in my battle with Orris; I have witnesses who saw Baden’s attempt to save the men who attacked Watersbend and who heard him berate me when I managed to kill them despite his efforts. Ursel has confirmed this for us. All of this is evidence. All of this is proof. Remember it, for Baden will offer you none. He cannot, not because none remains, not because, as he might claim, it all has been lost, but because all that does exist, all that ever existed, supports what I have told you.”

  Sartol paused, shaking his head. “Outlanders,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Mechanical birds. It is almost amusing.” His smile faded, and he let his voice dip low and grow icy with contempt. “Almost. Except that these are lies designed to vindicate men who have betrayed this Order and this land; men who murdered Jessamyn and Peredur, Alayna and Jaryd; men who coordinated assaults on Sern, Taima, Kaera, Watersbend, and at least ten other villages that left thousands dead and maimed, and countless others without homes or livelihoods.” He leveled a rigid finger at the accused mages. “Those three men—Baden, Trahn, and Orris—had our trust. They were our colleagues, our friends. But even more than that, they were Amarid’s Children. They promised to be guardians of the land. They took an oath, just as the rest of us did. An oath to uphold Amarid’s Laws. But they have mocked that oath, and they have turned their backs on those laws. And all the lies, and fairy tales, and false accusations in the world cannot undo that.”

  Again he stopped, encompassing the gathered mages in a glance. He had them. He sensed it in the way they regarded him, in the absolute stillness shaped by his words. And so, in a tone of resolve tinged but slightly with sorrow, he concluded. “All of us would like to believe that this never happened. In a way, that is the most dangerous element of Baden’s story: all of us would like nothing better than to blame outsiders for the abhorrent crimes committed throughout this land. We wish that we could absolve ourselves, and the Order, of our share of the blame.” He shook his head. “But we cannot. We must face what has happened; we must acknowledge what Baden, Trahn, and Orris have done; and we must set right what they have made so terribly wrong. They have shaken the people’s faith in the Mage-Craft. We must restore it. They have brought fear into our land. We must eradicate it. They have defiled Amarid’s Laws.” He stabbed the air with an upthrust finger. “We must uphold and enforce it. And as the first step down that long, difficult path, we must punish them.” He took a breath. “The penalty for what these men have done is death. They have earned their executions.”