The White Dragon

by Salvador Mercer

  Kirost nodded, a thoughtless habit, as it would not be seen by the mage. “They are. The Balarian, and his team, are in place awaiting our orders. Was it necessary to wake the draconus this early?”

  Amora nodded. “The raids that Belost conducted were causing suspicion. Now, the testimony of the mercenary will sow confusion amongst the Ulathans and shift any appearance of blame from us to his company. There is only one person I fear to learn the truth, and a northern clan has been tasked with taking care of this.”

  “You refer to the historian?” Kirost asked.

  “Yes,” Amora said. “His meddling can undo much of what we have worked so hard to accomplish. If they succeed, Diamedes will be dead soon.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  “Then we will have to kill him ourselves.”

  “I’m really not following your logic at all,” Justiciar Corwin said from atop his mount as they traveled over the mountain pass.

  “Which part?” Diamedes asked from his smaller horse at the justiciar’s side.

  Corwin scratched his head for a moment. “Well, quite frankly, almost all of it.”

  “That covers quite a deal of ground considering our conversation the last two days,” the small historian said. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Well, it’s rare that I get to spend some quality time on the road with someone of your stature, and knowledge, for that matter, so I’d like to take advantage of it. Stick with the dragon part.” Corwin looked at the small historian and then smiled at him.

  “You are too kind. I am but a simple record keeper—”

  Corwin cut him off. “Hardly, but I understand your modesty. It’s a rather good trait to have nowadays considering the hubris of so many of our nobles. Still, I do wish to understand your explanation for the dragons, if you don’t mind. I spend far too much time mediating disputes between farmers and whose cow roamed into whose pasture and ate too much.”

  Diamedes smiled, and the two men shared a knowing look. There was once a time when a justiciar handled very important matters of state, and still they did for the most part, but as time progressed, there seemed to be more and more petty squabbles that were elevated past the local magistrate, calling for a justiciar to mediate.

  “I thought I was clear, but the main point I was making is that the draconus—”

  Again, an interruption. “You mean dragons, and it’s quite all right to name them in the common tongue when talking to me,” Corwin said.

  “Yes, well, the dragons,” Diamedes started again. “They seem to ensure that there are no survivors when they attack.”

  “Which you say they do purposely?” Corwin asked.

  “Either on purpose or that’s simply the nature of the consequence for one of us humans encountering a dragon. I have not come across a single citation, reference, or other piece of material that points to a dragon showing anything resembling mercy or kindness. They seem to be most destructive in nature and very deadly at every encounter.”

  “What else could one expect from their kind? I find it fascinating, however, that you’ve come across conclusive proof that they not only exist but are literally residing amongst us. That will be a major breakthrough throughout Agon. Personally, I don’t believe a word of it. Never seen a dragon nor heard of anyone who has. I’m quite sure you will find your stories questioned at several points.”

  “Conclusive is a subjective word,” Diamedes reminded the man.

  Corwin nodded. “Agreed, though the duke and the king will, most likely, not accept your findings. Personally, if I didn’t know of your reputation, I’d consider you mad. There has to be some other explanation for your findings, don’t you think?”

  “Perhaps if you had seen what I had seen . . .”

  “Careful, Master Historian,” Corwin cautioned. “The actual detail about a dragon being involved was quite minor; in fact, the man was listed as delirious with fever in the report I received. I was surprised at how quickly you wanted to accompany us. My aide informed me that you had just arrived the night before in the capital after a long journey.”

  Corwin had nodded behind him, and Diamedes looked back at their entourage, noticing that the justiciar’s aide smiled and nodded at him, obviously overhearing their conversation. The pair of men rode at the front of a score of soldiers, aides, and porters, all mounted in a dual column formation.

  The ride from the Ulathan capital of Ulan Utandra to Moartown was entirely within the borders of the duchy. However, in recent months, several incidents occurred at the Highstone Pass that was disrupting trade and the normal movement of the realm’s business. Due to this, the once smaller entourages were now beefed up to better protect the traveler, or they banded together in loose caravans to move together, though even this was not a certainty of safety, as some reports from the far north returned that entire caravans had been lost.

  “I was quite tired, but I’m working on a special project, and when I heard that a sighting was possible, I knew I had to accompany you,” Diamedes explained.

  “Well, I think you’ll find this rather boring, if anything at all, and perhaps a complete waste of your valuable time, Master Historian,” Corwin said.

  Diamedes nodded. “You may be right, but my path has followed strange courses before, not all beneficial, but enough so that I can’t disregard a lead such as this.”

  “It’s your time. I hope you find it worth it,” Corwin finished.

  The group rode on through the pass and reached the northern slopes of the Felsic Mountains, seeing Moartown in the distance below. It took them the rest of the day before they arrived, and they never saw the Kesh spy near the road, nor the large white wolf a mile off, both watching their small contingent of men as they traversed the narrow road.

  Many of the town’s inhabitants stopped what they were doing to watch the group arrive. They were accustomed to travelers, but not one of the justiciar’s stature. Diamedes was more of an afterthought, not many people noting the small man dressed in a plain brown robe, riding alongside the chief justice of the duke himself. Most thought the man a servant, just one of many porters who helped carry goods across the mountain pass.

  When the sun had gone down, the group congregated at the main town hall that doubled for a theater of sorts when not used on official business. There was no thespian show scheduled for that night, nor any night that week, not being a large outpost for those who loved, or supported, the arts.

  The town was relatively compact. Built at the base of the mountains, it was still higher in elevation than most towns, and the roofs were angled more sharply to prevent snow from accumulating and causing a collapse. There were several inns and pubs, and the only stone structure of any merit was a large tower, which housed a contingent of the duke’s troops, as well as the local magistrate, and other various governmental offices, in stout wooden buildings that ringed the tower, creating a sort of courtyard within.

  The justiciar had a special room reserved for him in the tower, and his aide, troops, and porters stayed in the barracks along the courtyard of the facility. Diamedes was relegated to one of the taverns that had an inn, and when he found out that the man in question was staying at the Peak Pub and Inn, the historian elected to rent a room at the same establishment.

  Diamedes was invited to dine with the justiciar after their meeting, and was in attendance as an official witness of sorts. Group pleasantries were observed, and the short meeting was called to order.

  “So in the name of Duke Uthor, Lord of the Duchy of Ulatha and ruler of this realm, his honorable Lord Justiciar Corwin Baines has called the initial inquiry to order.”

  “Thank you, Titus,” Corwin said to his aide, who nodded and sat at a nearby table. The justiciar sat by himself on a chair on the actual stage, high above everyone else. He looked more regal in his blue and yellow uniform, with the badge of the justice attached over his heart. Only the duke could appoint someone to that position, and there were less than a dozen of them in the e
ntire kingdom.

  “The state will present its complaint,” Titus called out.

  A man in fine clothes, with a bit of roughness to them, stepped forward. “I am Magistrate Galen of Moartown, and the charges presented against the accused include treason, murder, theft, larceny, and misuse and misappropriation of the crown’s resources.”

  “That is ludicrous,” an elderly gentlemen shouted, standing from one of the crowded seats near the front. The entire hall was full with people lined along the back walls, standing. Guards were posted at the key entrances and locations within the hall to keep order.

  “Who are you?” Justiciar Corwin asked.

  “I am Lucius Ewellyn,” the man said.

  “He’s an associate of the accused, Eric Bain, and hardly objective, my lord,” Magistrate Galen said, looking over his shoulder and giving Lucius a nasty look.

  “We are not listening to the defense at this time,” Corwin said, looking at Lucius. “We will only hear the initial complaint so that tomorrow we may officially begin with the charges.”

  “But my associate is under house arrest,” Lucius complained, bringing a subdued laughter from the crowd.

  “What is so humorous about this?” Corwin asked.

  “Allow me, my lord,” Galen started. “The accused was ill when he was brought to us by the Kesh.” The magistrate allowed his words to sink in for effect. The Kesh were not welcome in most societies and only loosely tolerated by those who either had to or, for monetary gain, were so inclined. The Kesh paid well for their services. “He had no companions and no servants at his abode, and so was taken to one of the local pubs where he often frequented. That is where he is located at this time.”

  Corwin nodded, understanding the humor. “Fine. Can we move on, then?”

  “But he is under arrest, and bail was neither offered nor conferred,” Lucius complained.

  “He’s under arrest for his own protection,” Galen shot back. “Several of the missing porters have family in Moartown.”

  “Ah yes, that would explain much. The last case, I had a lynching mob nearly kill the accused before we could try him,” Corwin said, reminiscing on the ordeal.

  “What happened to him?” Lucius asked.

  “He was found guilty of murder and executed for his crime,” Corwin explained calmly, and Lucius turned red.

  “Yes, a shame to have the accused killed before he can be properly executed,” Galen stated, nodding to emphasize his support of the justiciar.

  “This isn’t fair,” Lucius stammered.

  “Please, Mister Eweyllen,” Corwin said, holding a hand up to halt the man’s protests. “Your colleague will have his say in due time. We’ve traveled the better part of three days, and I’d like to retire for the night. We can discuss his bail, or lack thereof, tomorrow.”

  Lucius saw he was getting nowhere and sat down, crossing his arms and glaring at the local magistrate, who tried to hide a slight smile and failed.

  “As I was saying, my lord, before I was so rudely interrupted, the accused has a host of crimes for which he is charged, and since he has some friends and associates in town, I felt the need to recuse myself and call for a justiciar to settle the matter considering the penalty for most of the charges would be death.”

  “Yes, I see why my services are needed.” Corwin nodded. “What arrangements have you made for the accused?”

  “He is under arrest at the Peak Inn. I have ten soldiers guarding him. Two at his door and eight posted in pairs at each corner of the building. He is well protected.” The magistrate could hardly conceal his glee.

  “Very well, let the record show that the accused is facing high crimes against the state as well as the people of Moartown and that he shall stand trial tomorrow at noon. We will adjourn for the evening.”

  The hall was immediately plunged into a cacophony of discussion as everyone started to talk at once. Lucius glared at the magistrate and left, disgust obvious in his posture, and he was followed by Diamedes, who met him outside in the cooler night air.

  “One moment please, if you don’t mind, Master Ewellyn.” Diamedes ran up to the man who turned to face him.

  “Who are you?” he asked abruptly.

  “I am Diamedes, a historian of sorts, and I wish to ask you a few questions regarding your associate, if you don’t mind?”

  “The Master Diamedes?” Lucius asked, raising a brow and leaning in for a closer look at the small man dressed in a simple robe.

  “Is there another?” Diamedes asked.

  “I presume not, but what would the greatest historian Agon has ever known be doing in a backwater town like this?”

  “You don’t approve of your hometown?”

  “I tolerate it,” Lucius said, allowing the venom in his words to come out. “Now, even less so, but we all can’t make a living in the civilized parts of the world. Someone has to do the dirty work.”

  “While this is not the same as the central realms, or even the heartland of Ulatha itself, I can assure you that you are still a far ways away from uncivilized,” Diamedes said.

  “Pardon my rudeness, but don’t lecture me, historian. I’ve been to the savage lands and know what’s out there. I think current events have soured me on this place.” Lucius softened his tone immediately, realizing with whom he was just insulting. The long lived were favored by wisdom, and Lucius was no different from any other man.

  Diamedes held up a hand to calm the man. “No offense taken. In fact, I wanted to assist you if I could.”

  Lucius narrowed his eyes now. The offer of assistance wasn’t expected, and there could only be ulterior motives at play. “Go on,” he said.

  “What is the main issue with your colleague?” Diamedes asked.

  “You mean as in why these charges are being brought against him in the first place?” Diamedes nodded, and Lucius continued. “Well, he has had something of a rivalry with the magistrate, as he has brought in more wanted criminals and thieves than the local authorities. That achieved his dream of having his mercenary group recognized by the nobles, at the cost of not a little bit of jealousy by other groups and the local arm of the law.”

  “I see,” Diamedes said. “So do you have counsel for your partner?”

  “No.” Lucius sighed. “The only counsel of any note is used to defend drunks and petty thieves. He has no experience with something of this magnitude, and indeed, the entire town hasn’t had a good trial in decades and at least a few good years since they witnessed an execution of note. No, too many people are looking forward to this, and I seriously doubt anyone else can be convinced to take the case. Why, are you interested?”

  Diamedes shook his head. “No, I don’t interfere in history. I simply record the facts. However, I can assist where facts are involved. That is part of my duties as defined by the crown. Is it true that he consorted with the Kesh?”

  Lucius rolled his eyes. “No, they brought him here as if he were an old friend, saw to it that he was cared for, and then left just as abruptly as they arrived.”

  “So he has never worked with them before?”

  Lucius paused for a moment, pondering the question before answering. “Not really.”

  “That doesn’t sound convincing. You best discuss this with him before noon tomorrow. The justiciar will want to know about his past when assessing his actions. Is he all right? I heard he was injured.”

  “Yes, he is fine now. A bit banged up, but he was healed and is recuperating. He’ll be able to speak on his own behalf.”

  “Very well,” Diamedes said. “During the trial tomorrow, I’ll be sitting nearby. If I motion for you, call for a recess, but be careful. You will only have three the entire trial, so don’t waste them.”

  “What do you have planned?” Lucius asked, eyes narrowing again.

  “That depends on what your colleague says,” Diamedes responded.

  “You worry me, historian,” Lucius said honestly.

  Diamedes nodded in approval. “If yo
ur friend’s life has any worth to you, then you should be worried.”

  Chapter 4

  Trial

  The next day dawned early with the customary chill in the higher mountain air. The town was up late the night prior, discussing the case, and the usual rumor mill was in high gear that night. The arrival of the justiciar gave a sort of solemn legality to what would have otherwise been a mockery of their justice system, given the players involved.

  The session started late in the morning when it was almost high noon. Eric was feeling much better and marveled at the healing power of the Akun cleric. It was most unnatural, and despite having used healing potions, herbs, rituals, and other things to aid in his recovery in the past, nothing quite felt this way. He almost felt ten years younger.

  “Ready, Eric?” Lucius asked.

  “I guess so,” Eric responded, picking up and then putting back down the walking stick that was set next to the bed for him. He felt that he would need it the day before, but this day, he felt as if he could almost run, if not fly.

  The guards accompanied them to the hall and had to clear a path to the side door. It was standing room only, and the crowd spilled out into the street. There were murmurs at the sight of Eric, but no one yelled or screamed anything nasty at the mercenary leader. The presence of the Ulathan royal guards in their shiny chainmail, brightly colored cloaks, and gleaming steel weapons were unlike most things seen in the small town. They had serious faces and brooked no foolishness from anyone.

  Once the parties were all present, Corwin came in through the backstage door and took a seat. There was no call to rise, as everyone was already standing. When the justiciar sat down, those with chairs did the same.

  “Call to order,” Titus said in a loud voice from behind his scribing table. “Are you ready, Magistrate Galen?”

  “I am,” Galen retorted, giving a sideways glance at Eric, who remained standing behind one of two tables set out for them.