“Whatever you do, don’t fall asleep,” Malak whispered into his ear as they sat. “Remember the cues I’ve given you.”
“You do your job, and I’ll do mine,” Elias said.
“The adversarial will speak first, which puts us at a disadvantage,” said Malak. “They’ll seek to rattle you or elicit a response. Don’t let them.”
After some brief introductory comments by the Arbiter through which Elias’s attention wandered, barrister Celiba took the floor. It was then that Elias noticed that a podium had been placed beneath the arch of the Arbiter’s bench, directly before Comrn’s seat, and in central view of all.
“The adversarial will show,” said barrister Celiba, her voice powered by some enchantment to easily resound through the chamber, “that this human, named Elias and known as Wayfarer, has breached our domain through the use of forbidden and heinous Arcanum, thereby placing every Enkilder from swaddling babe to exalted Elder in danger. Furthermore, we shall demonstrate that Teah, widow to Speaker Leosis, has been his willing accomplice, and not only complicit in his machinations but his willing coconspirator.”
Elias watched Celiba, but his focus turned from her soaring rhetoric as his thoughts wandered. He itched to look for Mordum, to measure his foe, but he remembered Malak’s admonishments, and kept his gaze ahead, and his expression neutral. He suppressed the urge to laugh aloud as she leveled an arm at him and pointed a finger at him with her shoulders thrown back and an expression of disdain playing across her aristocratic features. He endured her ire placidly until Malak rose to speak.
“I find I must commend the adversarial barrister for her verve,” Malak said, “yet I must remind this assembly that Elias, known as Wayfarer, is not solely responsible for all the misfortune that his befallen the Enkilder since the dawn of our race; nor is he on trial for the sins of all mankind.” Malak’s opening remark was met with no few guffaws and murmurs as he shot Celiba and Byrne an indulgent smile. “The defense will show that the accused are victims of circumstance, and acted without malevolent intent.”
Malak laid out the outline of the defense’s case, noting Teah’s position of respect within the community and her longstanding reputation as a person of integrity and a gifted healer. He moved seamlessly from Teah’s virtue to the faith that she and her departed husband had in Elias. Malak suggested that Elias should not be condemned but greeted as a hero, for he had defended the Enkilder against an insidious foe that if unchallenged could have drawn the wrath of the Darkin to their haven.
“The adversaries would have you believe that the accused have broken the laws of nature,” Malak said in summation, “but I say to you that it is natural law for any creature, beast, man, or Enkilder, to fight for their survival if under mortal duress. The spirit of the First Law is to ensure that wanton violence not rule us and thus repeat the barbarism of the Gate Wars. The First Law was written to protect life, not to condemn souls for choosing life over baring their throats to their would-be murders.”
A charged silence fell over the assembly as Malak left the podium and took his seat. Elias congratulated the barrister with a spare smile. Teah arched an eyebrow as her only gesture of praise, but Elias sensed relief radiating from her.
“The opening statements have concluded,” said Arbiter Cormn. “Barrister Celiba, you or your co-counsel may begin stating your case, or submitting any evidence you have garnered.”
Celiba stood. “Thank-you, Arbiter, but we’ve no need to expound our case beyond our opening statements, and instead move to call a witness directly.”
Cormn’s features tightened all but imperceptibly. “And who do you move to call to witness?”
“We move to call Elias, known as Wayfarer.”
A buzz went through the chamber like ten thousand bees circling a honeycomb. Malak shot to his feet. “Objection, the adversarial movement is most irregular!”
“Irregular, perhaps,” returned Celiba, “but not in breach of the rules of conduct.”
Cormn shared glances with the other Arbiter on the bench, and when no remark was forthcoming, he turned back to his son. “While it is not customary to call a prime witness at this juncture, there is no policy forbidding it. The court will allow Elias, known as Wayfarer to be called.”
Malak’s hand tightened into fists. “Permission to approach the bench for private palaver.”
“On what grounds, Barrister Malak?” asked Cormn.
“Arbiter, there is information to which you are not privy, which may greatly impact my charge’s testimony.”
Corm tilted his head. “Under what aegis?”
“The fourth article, section three,” said Malak.
“This better not be a stalling tactic, Barrister,” said Cormn. “You may approach.”
Before he took a step, however, Elias laid a hand on Malak’s arm. “If this be a farce, then I would rather it be finished sooner than later.” Elias stood. “I will face your questions.”
Malak drew close to him and whispered. “I beg of you don’t do this. It is clear that the adversarial are part of a conspiracy against you. I believe it now. Don’t surrender, Wayfarer!”
“I have no intention of doing so. Perhaps next time they won’t be content with drugging me into a stupor, but will take my life. Offense, Malak, remember?”
Elias made his way to the podium and leaned upon it, facing the audience and his enemies. The white of Celiba’s teeth showed in a vulpine grin, while Mordum looked on with a placid expression from his usual seat in the front row. Elias tapped his fingers idly on the podium as he awaited his interrogation.
Celiba approached and circled the podium. “Are you comfortable?”
“No,” said Elias, resisting the urge to elaborate as a surge of emotion welled up within him.
His answer appeared to take aback the barrister, for she blinked and her gait fell out of rhythm. She turned to face him, her hands clasped behind her back. “Sir, have you killed before?”
“Yes.”
Celiba turned to face the assembly. “Should we be relieved that you show no compunction? Should we be comforted that you answer honestly, or dismayed that you do so without apparent conscience?”
“Objection!” cried Malak. “Arbiter, Barrister Celiba seeks to bully my charge, elicit a reaction from the crowd, and thus influence these proceedings.”
“Barrister Celiba,” said Arbiter Cormn, “you will be reminded to direct your questions at the witness.”
Celiba bowed her head. “Duly noted, Arbiter.” She sauntered back toward her table and stopped in the middle of the entrance to the walkway that bisected the chamber. “How many lives have you taken, Wayfarer? You may take your time to count a figure. We’ll wait.”
If Celiba’s goal was to anger him, she had succeeded admirably. He had expected the tactic, of course, but his ability to manage his emotions had been significantly reduced. “I’ve not cut notches into my sword-belt if that’s what you mean.”
“Answer the question.”
Elias kept his expression neutral, though he felt an eye twitch. “I don’t have a number for you.”
Celiba spread her hands and affected an expression of shock. “Are you saying that you don’t know how many souls you’ve sent across the veil before their time?”
“All of whom sought to send me across prematurely, but yes. I don’t know.”
Celiba made a display of considering Elias’s words as she paced back to the podium. She spoke in a hushed tone, but thanks to the enchantment in effect, her words resounded through the assembly. “Are we then left to believe that you’ve killed so many people that you can’t even keep count?”
“I don’t think that you can understand,” Elias replied.
Celiba retreated from him. “Please do elaborate.”
Elias gave her a spare half-smile, that only she, who stood so close to him, could see. She thought to give him rope with which to hang himself. Instead she had given him room to speak freely, which he could turn to his a
dvantage if he could reign in his emotions and master his racing thoughts. Elias closed his eyes and sought the void. For good measure he offered a silent appeal to his parents, to whatever higher powers may be at work in the world, to lend him strength and panache. His moment of silence had the additional benefit of lending him the aspect of a man of contrition and not the barbarian so many of the Enkilder were so eager to believe he was.
“Fortunate are you, Barrister, and those like you that have never been faced with the damnable decision of choosing your death, or that of your enemy. Only a man who delights in violence would keep a tally of those who have fallen at his feet. I have found myself pursued, and ambushed, and chained. I have seen my father murdered, my betrothed arrowed through the heart, my sister captured and tortured with black magic.”
Celiba raised a hand. “Are we to believe—”
Elias stood to his full height and leveled his gaze at his antagonist. “You asked me to elaborate, and I am doing just that. Kindly let me answer you in full.” Elias went silent and tilted his head toward the Arbiter.
“The witness may continue,” said Arbiter Cormn.
Celiba crossed her arms and glared at Elias, but she offered the Arbiter a sharp nod.
“I have survived a coup on the throne of my land, where the same kind of people that enslaved your ancestors and destroyed this land sought to do the same to me and mine. Fortunate are you that never had to make the choices I did. Fortunate are you that never had to surrender to the sword on the battlefield, never knowing if each breath would be your last, or the last for the ones you love. Fortunate are you that never had to survive that day, after having left a piece of yourself behind on the field of battle.”
To her credit, Celiba recovered quickly from the gravity of Elias’s words. “Are we expected to believe, then, as you do, that the ends justify the means? Do you actually expect us to take you at your word that you are a noble knight who kills only for a higher purpose? We retired those notions when we realized those fables were tales of fiction penned by the victors.” Celiba turned to the assembly and spread her arms. “This is why we wrote the First Law!”
Malak kicked back his chair as he surged to his feet. “Objection! Barrister Celiba is not framing questions to the witness, but forming rhetorical questions to forward her agenda!”
“Agreed,” said Cormn. “Barrister Celiba, this is your last warning.”
Celiba bowed in a sweeping gesture of obeisance. “Yes, Arbiter.”
“I will answer your questions, Barrister,” said Elias. “I believe, as my father taught me, that he who fights only to defend himself and the innocent will know peace. He also taught me that only he who wants to throw down the sword is fit to wield it.”
“And did you throw down your sword?” asked Celiba, her tone acidic with sarcasm. “Is that another fable we are to believe, after you made your own weapon in a land that forbids them?”
“I never did understood the last piece of my father’s advice until recently.” Elias fell silent momentarily, and the insistent fire that had burned him since he arrived in the apocalyptic future of his kingdom faltered. An impossible fatigue dragged on him and he knew cold fear. His eyes wanted to close, but if they did Elias knew that he would find himself back in the dungeon with Sarad Mirengi, and that was a place he would not allow himself to return.
Elias drew himself up once more and faced the Enkilder. “I did put up my sword. After our enemies were driven from our lands. The faces of the men I had fought haunted my dreams as did the kin and friends my enemies had taken from me.” Elias’s sight went blurry.
“So, you admit your wrong doing?” asked Celiba.
Elias resisted the urge to scrub a hand over his face. “No.” A hush went over the chamber. “You can’t run from yourself. You do the best you can, and that means not rolling on your back when the wolf comes knocking at your door.”
“So, now you say you have no contrition?”
“Objection,” said Malak.
“I’m just trying to understand the accused, his character,” said Celiba.
“Contrition and duty are not the same, and one does not preclude, or outstrip, the other,” said Elias before the Arbiter could rule. “I surrendered duty for contrition, and that was my crime. The wolves returned, but I was hiding. By the time I took up my post again it was too late. I tried to put things back to right, and ended up here, on trial for the sins of all humanity.”
Celiba flashed a toothy grin. “And how was it exactly that you ended up here, Wayfarer?”
“I don’t know,” said Elias.
Celiba laughed. “You expect us to believe yet another lie? Are there no consequences for falsehood where you come from?”
Elias leveled his gaze on her. “I am many things, but a liar is not among them.”
“Fortunately, for us,” said Celiba, “that is for the Arbiter to decide. I have no further questions.”
Elias slumped over the podium, unsure what he was to do, and unsure if his legs would carry him. He felt Malak’s eyes on him and shot him a weak smile. The young Enkilder gazed at him with troubled eyes drawn by a knitted brow.
“Barrister Malak,” said Arbiter Cormn, “it is your witness.”
Malak stood. “The defense has no questions at this time, honored Arbiter. I believe my charge is unwell at present and ask for a continuance until the morrow. I may approach the bench for private palaver if further deliberation is required.”
Cormn eyed Elias. “No. No, I think not. You may have your continuance, Barrister Malak. Arbitration will continue tomorrow at the ninth hour.”
†
Nyla peered at the bark of the tree as she probed it with her mind. Black and pitted like obsidian, it was unlike any tree she had ever known. Her father had told her that this was the last of its kind. She had felt sorry for the tree, but she now believed she knew how it felt, for she too was alone, isolated, afraid.
She leaned against the trunk, pressing her face into the bark as hot tears welled in her eyes. Much to her surprise the tree felt warm to the touch. She pushed herself back, her grief consumed by curiosity. A shiver swept over her arms as she sensed the presence of the arcane.
Do not weep, child, sounded a disembodied voice that seemed to originate in her own mind. She snatched her hands from the tree. There was the voice again. Was it the voice of her own thoughts, or had someone, or something, spoken to her? She gingerly placed her hand back on the tree trunk. “Hello?”
A great surge of magic passed through the tree, slow and inexorable, like the tidal pass of an ocean. Hello, child. You’ve stirred me from slumber for the second time in as many weeks.
Nyla stiffened, but stood fast. Certainly a woman’s voice, youthful, but with a particular heft that left her with the impression that this being was old beyond reckoning. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any harm.”
Nor was any perceived. Quite the contrary. Long has it been since I’ve had any company. My sisters passed from this world centuries ago.
“That’s just awful. I’m sorry.”
Nyla felt warmth radiate from the tree like the sudden heat from the midday sun after the passing of a cloud. You’ve lost someone as well.
Nyla blinked back tears. “My father went across the veil, then my mother was captured.”
You are the one that helped the Starchild.
“You mean Elias?”
Child, I think I can help you get your mother back, and the Starchild. I have something that will help, something that I have been holding onto to for a very, very long time.
Nyla’s throat grew thick, as the fragile bloom of hope flowered in her bosom. “What? How?”
Lean close, child. I have a story to tell you.
Chapter 23
World’s End
Danica Duana walked down the hall that led from the royal wing to the ballroom as Lucerne palace fell around her.
The skylight that was the hallmark of Lucerne, a gilded dome of stained glass
that could be seen from miles away during the rising of the sun, lay in shattered ruins upon the throne room floor. Her slippered feet picked a path over powdered mortar and crushed glass. She made her way carefully despite her need for haste, her old bones groaning and creaking in protest. She clutched her brother’s sword in a gnarled hand and used it as a cane.
The ballroom itself remained largely untouched, having been skirted by the invading fey armies for more tender bounties. The queen was dead, consumed in the final duel between Danica and the Obsidian Queen’s consort. He lay broken, along with half the royal wing, after Danica had called the thunder. The long occupation that had endured for the majority of her life was over at last. They had lost.
Yet Danica, Archmagus of Galacia, knew that a shred of hope lingered far beyond her grasp, in a distant future with Elias. She had built the gateway, she had left the signs. Now all her brother needed was the key. All but spent, that one paramount task remained to her.
So she shuffled on. Against the weight of centuries. Against the arcane backlash that had nearly cooked her in her skin when she called down the sky on the enemies of man.
Danica padded toward the spiral granite staircase that wound to the royal gardens. She ignored the crimson skies and the scream of fey fire and focused on placing one foot before the other as she hurried down the stairs. Long ago had the proud azaleas and orchid pools withered to dust, but one proud spirit lingered in defiance of the fey occupation.
She looked warmly up at the wytchwood. “Once, dear friend, you helped Elias and I save this land from a great shadow. Atya, I require your aid once more.”
Atya’s aura sprang up at once, a green and gold flecked disk of light that spun around her like a doorway to another realm. The spirit of the tree stepped forward, taking the form of a young woman. Her skin was the color of Duana whiskey and her hair the earthy green of moss. I will carry this burden for you, Starchild.
Wayfarer (The Empyrean Chronicle) Page 20