“Mary Potts?” Sir Anders exclaimed, “She’s been dead thirty years! Why would she... my hens?”
“Your father did set the hangmen after her, m’lord,” the shaken man said, “We think perhaps that’s why she’d come back... They say the dead are all wakin’ up now, my lord, and lookin’ to right their wrongs.”
“Nonsense!” Sir Anders scoffed, “It’s just a bit of the Kingslayer’s mischief, and that will be righted soon enough!”
“Do you think they’ll stop comin’ once you... do the deed, m’lord?” the anxious man asked.
“Cut off the head, and the serpent dies with it!” Sir Bartlend said.
Garrett couldn’t help but snort with laughter and was rewarded with a sharp poke from the red knight’s sword point.
“We’ll sort this out at the keep,” Sir Anders stated flatly, “Lead on, Hammond. I’d like to make it home before that storm reaches us.”
A low rumble of thunder rolled through the damp air.
“Let’s move!” Sir Bartlend growled, and Garrett’s horse lurched beneath him as they continued down the road.
A hard wind buffeted Garrett’s body, dislodging the occasional sheet of slushy ice from his hunched shoulders as he rode. He began to pity the poor beast that carried him. He could feel the horse shivering with the icy burden of a damp, gloomy Songreaver on its back. He feared that, if they went much farther, the horse might drop dead of the chill beneath him.
Then he became aware of the glow of many torches ahead, their ruddy light creeping in around the soaked edges of his blindfold. The rain fell momentarily silent, and men called out greetings from above as they passed through what Garrett guessed was a gatehouse of some sort. The horses slowed as they entered the courtyard beyond, and he heard men’s boots splashing in the mud as they began to dismount all around him.
“Sir Anders!” Baelan’s voice cried out hoarsely from nearby.
“Yes, Sir Baelan,” the old knight answered as he approached Garrett’s horse.
“He must stand trial at Braedshal!” Sir Baelan shouted.
“He will stand trial, old friend,” Sir Anders assured him, “You have done your duty to the crown, Sir Baelan, and the King will know of your part in it.”
Someone sawed through the cords binding Garrett’s wrists to the saddle horn, and then he felt strong hands seize his arms as the knights dragged him down from the shuddering horse’s back.
“Gods, he’s cold!” the man on Garrett’s left hissed.
“Your order has no authority to try him!” Sir Baelan cried.
“Long has the Holly Briar stood between the Crown and the darkness without, Sir Baelan,” Sir Anders said, “The world is not as simple as it may seem within Braedshal’s walls.”
The toes of Garrett’s boots hoed furrows through the mud as the knights dragged him away.
“I gave my oath!” Sir Baelan shouted, sounding farther away now, as though he were being carried away in a different direction.
“As did we all, Sir Baelan!” Sir Anders shouted, “Someday, I pray you will forgive us for doing what we must do now.”
“I will stand for him, Sir Anders!” Sir Baelan cried, “I will stand for him!”
The men dragging Garrett away suddenly froze.
“Let his trial be by combat then!” Sir Baelan rasped, “I will stand his champion.”
“Sir Baelan, no!” Mirion gasped from somewhere nearby.
“Do not ask this, old friend. I beg of you,” Sir Anders replied.
“I do ask it,” Sir Baelan shouted, “I demand the right to stand in his stead!”
“Let him,” Sir Bartlend spoke, his voice just loud enough to carry to where Sir Anders stood nearby.
“No!” Sir Anders spat.
“It will come to that anyway,” Sir Bartlend whispered back, “Let the man die with his honor. I will see it done quickly, and...”
“No!” Sir Anders cut him off.
“By your honor, sir, I demand an answer!” Sir Baelan said.
The patter of raindrops filled the silence for a long moment before Sir Anders spoke again.
“Take him to the cell,” Sir Anders sighed.
“No!” Sir Baelan shouted, and Garrett heard the sounds of a struggle as the big knight tried to break free.
“Do not harm him!” Sir Anders ordered, and Garrett heard Sir Baelan’s muffled curses recede into the distance as they carried him away.
A loud crack of thunder split the night as the rain began to pound down around them.
“He’s going to be a problem,” Sir Bartlend muttered.
“Sir Baelan is my problem!” Sir Anders snapped.
“He knows us!” Sir Bartlend growled.
“And he will come around... once he’s had time to think it over,” Sir Anders sighed, “I will persuade him to our cause.”
“And if you cannot?” Sir Bartlend demanded.
“We will deal with that as we must!” Sir Anders said, “For now, we have more pressing concerns at hand.”
Sir Bartlend snorted with contempt, and Garrett winced as the red knight dug his fingers into Garrett’s upper arm.
“And what of you, Mirion?” Sir Anders called out, “Where do your loyalties lie?”
Garrett heard the young squire sniff and then draw in a ragged sigh. “I pledge my life to anyone who will meet out justice upon this dog that murdered my Sir Jons!” she hissed.
“Very good,” Sir Anders replied, “Come along then and see that justice done.”
Garrett toes skipped lightly over the smooth cobbles as they carried him inside the keep. He felt the men press closer on either side as they squeezed through the narrow confines of a dark tunnel. They passed through several chambers of unknown size and descended a long flight of stairs that echoed with the scuffing heels of the knights’ boots. At last they paused for a moment to catch their breath at the foot of the stairs.
“I will have your oath, Mirion, to never reveal what you see here tonight to anyone... on pain of death,” Sir Anders whispered.
“You have it... gladly, Sir Anders,” the girl answered, “but I beg of you that no harm comes to Sir Baelan over this. He is a kind and honorable man. It is this very honor that blinds him, perhaps, to the necessity of what must be done.”
“But you understand its necessity?” Sir Anders asked.
“Yes, Sir Anders,” she answered quietly.
“Sir Baelan is my friend,” Sir Anders said, “I would sooner part with my sword arm than bring him harm… but you understand as well why he must remain in our custody until he has had time enough to see the wisdom of our cause?”
“Yes, Sir Anders,” she said, “Your cause is my own, and I will see it done.”
“Good,” the old knight sighed, “Sir Jons would be proud that you have chosen to follow his path.”
“Sir Jons was in the Order?” she asked.
“He served the Holly and the Crown with honor and bravery,” Sir Anders said, “and the Holly avenges its own.”
“Then my life for the Holly Briar,” she whispered, sounding as though she had just fallen to her knees before Sir Anders, “though I can never hope to repay my debt to you for this.”
“Rise, child,” Sir Anders said, “Now is not the time for such an oath.”
“Yes, Sir Anders,” she said, getting to her feet again.
Garrett heard a grating sound of metal on stone, and then felt a gust of stale air wash over him, and the sense of a large space opening before him.
A secret door, grumbled the voice in Garrett’s thoughts, I suppose this is where they pretend to be important.
Garrett laughed as best he could with the gag in his mouth.
He huffed in pain a moment later when Sir Bartlend drove his fist into Garrett’s stomach.
Garrett mumbled some of Warren’s finest curses into his gag as they hauled him into the room beyond the stairwell. He heard at least a dozen pairs of boots scuffle into the room around him, and then the stone door
grated shut once again behind them.
“The Order of the Holly Briar stands assembled,” Sir Anders’s voice called out with solemn authority, “We stand between the Crown and its enemies and pledge our lives to its defense.”
Sir Bartlend and the other man holding Garrett’s arms seated him in what felt like an iron chair and affixed his wrists and ankles into shackles bolted to its frame. Sir Bartlend snatched away Garrett’s blindfold as he stepped away, and Garrett blinked at the light of dozens of torches ringing the large circular room.
Sir Anders handed his mud-spattered robe to one of his fellow knights and took a seat at one of the high-backed wooden chairs ringing the perimeter of the room. Garrett turned his head to look around, counting almost thirty of the chairs within his view. The other knights quickly shed their robes as well and then took their own seats along the wall in front of Garrett. Their damp armor creaked as they set aside their helmets and then lowered themselves into their chairs with looks of wary loathing on their faces.
Mirion stood nearby, wrapped in a dry blanket, her dark hair hanging in sodden tresses around her eyes that burned with hatred for Garrett. Sir Anders motioned for her to join him in the chair beside his, and she did so at once.
Sir Bartlend alone stood within sword’s reach of Garrett, his hand on the pommel of his weapon as he glared down menacingly at the captive necromancer.
“Kingslayer,” Sir Anders said, “You stand accused of many crimes against the Kingdom of Astorra, any one of which would prove sufficient cause for your execution... Given more time, perhaps, we might allow you the honor of a trial to address each accusation in turn, and, perhaps, learn the true depths of your deception.”
An angry murmur rose from the surrounding knights.
“... However,” Sir Anders voice rose above his fellows’, “given the fiendish nature of the accused, prudence, it seems, would demand that we deal with this threat as expeditiously as possible.”
The other knights nodded their approval.
“If there be any man here who would speak in the Kingslayer’s defense, let him speak now,” Sir Anders said.
A hushed murmur of scorn passed through the assembled knights as Garrett lifted his fingers and mumbled a muffled protest.
“Then, by the authority of the Order of the Holly Briar,” Sir Anders said, rising to his feet, “I sentence this man to death.”
“Mhwa?” Garrett muffled through his gag.
They do get right to the point, don’t they? Brahnek’s voice laughed in Garrett’s mind.
I kinda thought I’d get to talk or something, Garrett sighed inwardly.
Sir Bartlend drew his sword and took a step toward Garrett as the young necromancer hastily gathered his will for a panicked defense.
I rather admire their efficiency, Brahnek chuckled.
“Hold, Sir Bartlend!” Sir Anders cried out.
“In the King’s name, why?” the red-armored knight shouted in frustration, his sword poised to strike Garrett’s head from his shoulders.
“Let Sir Jons’s blade be the one that does the deed,” Sir Anders said, motioning for one of the other knights to bring the dead knight’s sword forward.
Mirion sobbed and put her hands to her lips as Sir Anders offered her the hilt of her lost master’s blade.
“Mirion Zara,” Sir Anders addressed the girl as she shrugged aside her blanket and fell to her knees again before him, “Will you take Sir Jons’s sword and see justice done upon his killer?”
“Huh?” Garrett shouted, unable to believe what he thought he’d just heard.
“I will gladly see it done, my lord,” Mirion sobbed, taking the sword in hand and pulling it from its scabbard with an oily hiss. She rose and turned to face the bound necromancer with a look of righteous wrath upon her face.
Garrett bit down hard, shattering the frozen mass of cloth between his teeth and then spat out shards of the ice-crusted satin.
“What did you say your name was?” he demanded.
“Sorcery!” Sir Bartlend shouted swinging his sword in a whistling arc at Garrett’s head. The steel blade splintered into a hundred pieces as an icy blast of Garrett’s will hurled Sir Bartlend against the far wall, smashing apart one of the high-backed chairs.
“No!” Mirion cried as she lunged forward, sword raised.
“Wait!” Garrett shouted, struggling against the iron manacles that held him, even as he willed a buffeting storm of frost outward in all directions, pinning the half-risen knights to their chairs and slowing Mirion’s charge almost to a standstill.
“I will kill you!” she shouted, leaning hard into the blast of Garrett’s icy storm. Her boots slipped on the patch of ice that now spread across the floor from Garrett’s frost-bound chair, and she fell hard. She gritted her teeth and struggled to rise again as she clawed her way toward him, digging the fingernails of her free hand into the ice.
“He said your name is Zara!” Garrett shouted to be heard over the magical storm, “You’re from Weslae, right?”
Mirion screamed with rage as she slipped again, stabbing wildly with Sir Jons’s blade, yet still too far away to reach him. All around the room, the other knights had drawn their own weapons and struggled to break free of the crusted ice that held them against their chairs.
“Do you know someone named Max?” Garrett shouted, “Max Zara?”
Mirion’s eyes went momentarily wide before the stunning blast of Garrett’s storm forced them shut again.
“You do, don’t you?” Garrett laughed triumphantly. He pulled in vain again at the shackles binding his wrists to the iron chair. “These things are really well made, aren’t they?” he groaned in frustration.
Mirion took advantage of Garrett’s momentary lapse in concentration, lunging to her feet again as the blasting winds of the Songreaver’s will lulled slightly. With a feral scream, she leapt forward, swinging her sword at Garrett’s face.
“Ah!” Garrett shouted, looking up again just in time to dash the sword from her hand with a blast of fiery blue energy.
The momentum of her charge carried her forward still, and she grasped a handful of Garrett’s robe with her left hand, pulling herself to him.
“Mirion!” Garrett cried, a moment before she smashed him in the face with her right fist.
Garrett tasted blood as his head snapped back. He heard the sound of armored men crashing to the floor as the storm of his will faltered, and they broke free of their ice-bound chairs. She hit him again before he could renew his defense, and his vision swam with flashes of light that coalesced into a throbbing pain in his forehead.
“Stoppit!” he shouted, spitting blood as he shoved her back again by force of will.
Mirion snarled like a rabid badger as she scrambled on the icy floor before him, and Garrett jerked his head to the side to avoid a thrown dagger that whistled end over end from the hand of one of the Astorran knights.
“Max is alive, Mirion!” Garrett shouted, “I know where he is!”
“Liar!” Mirion screamed as she fell again and struggled to rise.
“I can take you to him, Mirion,” Garrett shouted, “He’s really alive!”
“I’ll kill you!” Mirion cried, clawing her way toward him across the icy floor, “I’ll kill...” She screamed in pain as one of her fingernails snapped backward.
“Gods! Stop it, Mirion!” Garrett shouted in disgust. He cried out in pain a moment later when a thrown handaxe clanged against the arm of the iron chair, cutting him, just below the elbow.
“Courage, brothers!” Sir Anders shouted to be heard over the blast of Garrett’s magic.
“For the King!” a knight in burnished armor cried as he shouldered his way through the storm, almost reaching Garrett with his sword before being hurled back against the wall again.
Kill them now! shouted Brahnek’s voice in Garrett’s head.
“Everybody shut up!” Garrett screamed. He ground his teeth in rage, unable to pull free of the iron restraints and despe
rately trying to think of a way to keep everyone in the room alive, himself most of all.
A flicker of shadow at the edge of the room drew Garrett’s eye. Through the blast of icy sleet, he saw a purplish black stain begin to spread from the edges of the stone door through which they had entered. Liquid shadow seeped across the stones like droplets of oil, spreading in all directions across the walls, ceiling and floor.
“Huh?” Garrett exclaimed as he watched the inky darkness dribble across the domed ceiling of the room, blotting out the ancient fresco of armored knights painted above. His attention wavered for a moment as he watched the stain spread across the room, dripping down to snuff out the torches in their sconces, once by one.
Suddenly Mirion was on him again. She frothed with rage as she slammed her bloody knuckles into Garrett’s nose.
“Damn!” he shouted as he pushed her back again with a wave of icy force. The pain threatened to overwhelm him as he struggled to keep up the magic blizzard that held his enemies at bay in the ever-darkening room.
Then the last torch went out, and a deathly silence fell across the judgment chamber as Garrett swooned at the edge of consciousness.
Sir Bartlend screamed in terror as a flickering violet light filled the room, like ripples on a dark pool. Shadowy figures rose from the floor, twisted shapes with fiery violet eyes and curved jaws that dripped pure darkness.
“Demons!” shouted a knight as one of the twisted shapes leapt upon his back and dug its smoky fingers into the side of his head. He screamed in agony and staggered from side to side, trying to shake the grinning boggart from his back.
Another knight swung his sword, cutting a spindly boggart in half, but the leering beast only reformed again like a column of smoke and then sprang to the attack. It sank its insubstantial tendrils of darkness through the man’s breastplate and cackled with insane glee as the man gasped for breath.
All around the room the Order of the Holly Briar engaged in futile combat against the dark fae ghosts, distracted momentarily from their duty to kill their prisoner.
Garrett saw Mirion rise to her feet again, her body dimly silhouetted against the flickering lights of the attacking boggarts. She swayed a little as she stumbled forward, obviously intent on ending Garrett’s life one way or another.
Trials of the Twiceborn (The Songreaver's Tale Book 6) Page 27