The Wrath of Heroes (A Requiem for Heroes Book 2)

by David Benem

  Gamghast grunted and trudged along in the bailiff’s tow, the clack of his staff resounding though the ancient chamber. He turned his head about, watching the tired, disdainful eyes of the seated onlookers follow his march. He wondered if these so-called dignitaries did anything other than attend coronations, condemnations, and funerals.

  He sniffed, thinking how a level of supposed ‘importance’ could doom a person to irrelevance in the greater picture. Life, he thought, must have become to them all ballrooms and burials, a strange sense of majesty in the mundane memorials of society.

  He heaved a sigh and stared ahead, the image of the courtroom’s bench slowly resolving in his rheumy eyes. It was a heap of dark, decaying wood and upon it perched three Magistrate Examiners, their bald or balding heads and bunched, black robes making them seem a wake of vultures atop a corpse.

  “Kneel before approaching!” croaked one.

  “My apologies,” Gamghast grumbled, bracing against his staff and sinking to a complaining knee. As he did he glanced to his sides and noticed the first two pews of the chamber were stuffed with armed guards. He shook his head and arose, doing all he could to maintain a scornful expression. This whole proceeding felt a profound insult.

  The bailiff thrust his shiny halberd to a single chair positioned before and beneath the massive bench. “The accused will sit here,” he commanded.

  “Accused?” he hissed. The word, the notion, angered him.

  The bailiff, a ruddy-cheeked man with a flattened nose, looked to Gamghast impassively. “To the chair, Prefect,” he whispered. “I assure you the jails are most unpleasant, and I’d rather not be ordered to escort a man of the faith to such places.”

  Gamghast huffed and made his way to the chair, the bailiff walking to stand beside him. Gamghast dropped to an uncomfortable seat then looked to the three men waiting to determine his fate.

  “Prefect Gamghast Graystone,” said the one in the center, a man whose bald head was crowded by liver spots. He pored for a moment over a ledger then turned a page with angled fingers. “Your order stands accused not only of harboring a banished traitor of the realm, but also of complicity in summoning other such traitors to our kingdom. These traitors were banished a thousand years ago by decree of High King Derganfel, a decree honored by every High King to follow him. How do you answer these charges? How can you excuse such a thing, a thing that strikes me as the worst of treason?”

  Gamghast pressed a hand against his back and stiffened in his chair. He was certain the examiners had some measure of evidence—the summons had come too soon after Gamghast ordered that the acolytes be informed of Castor’s presence.

  Someone had betrayed them.

  “Prefect?” the examiner asked, his voice pitched with obvious irritation.

  Gamghast looked to his inquisitors, defiance in his eyes. “As prefect I came to learn the Sentinel Castor honored the oath he swore to Illienne the Light Eternal. He rightfully regarded that oath more binding than any kingly edict. Thus, as my order’s Lector, he continued to tend to the High King’s faith and wellbeing for centuries. He kept track of threats to the kingdom for centuries. He helped ward away our oldest enemies for centuries. He helped to keep us, all of us, safe from ancient evils for centuries. Considering the foes facing us, are we the sorts of ‘criminals’ Rune’s Magistrate Examiners choose to prosecute?”

  The codger in the center settled back in his tall chair, slinking into his black robes. “An honorable judge does not choose to whom the rule of law applies, for law applied unequally is injustice. Further, an honorable judge knows all citizens must stand alike before the law, with the law blind to their stations. Finally, an honorable judge knows high-minded intentions cannot be weighed against illicit acts. Your order, Prefect,” he said, craning his speckled head, “stands accused of conspiring with traitors. Such would make your order traitorous as well. I ask again, how do you answer these accusations?”

  Gamghast felt a fire rising within him. He swatted the wisps of his white beard. “And I ask, Examiner, who is my accuser? Who is my accuser and what is the proof?”

  The Magistrate Examiner leaned forward, the bench’s wood creaking beneath his elbows. “The proof? You’ve just admitted that, as prefect, you learned your so-called Lector was the Sentinel Castor. When did you learn this? I suspect it wasn’t only upon the day you received your summons. Why did you not approach this body and report the crime of a Sentinel defying banishment? How long did you continue to commit treason against the realm?”

  An examiner to his side raised a thin and trembling hand. “As the most senior member of this body,” he said in a voice as thin as his wreath of white hair, “I would remind you, Examiner Lagdall, the prefect is a respected member of the Sanctum, a man pledged to serve the Crown who—”

  “Duly noted,” the bald man—Examiner Lagdall—said, glaring at the other examiner. “However, I have been designated Lead Examiner for this inquiry, and, as such, my questions will be answered. How long have you conspired with a traitor, Prefect?”

  Gamghast gritted his teeth. “I will concede there are some who conspire with our oldest enemies. However, I assure you they have no home in the Abbey. Indeed, there are some who work in the shadows against the Crown and the whole of the kingdom.” He looked about the chamber’s sparse crowd, his glare a challenge. “I daresay Chamberlain Alamis has arranged this farce, and it is he who betrays Rune. And I ask once more, who accuses the Sanctum?”

  He heard scattered, fleeting gasps in the chamber. Then the sharp, intoned whispers of gossip.

  And then laughter. Laughter light as a spring rain. From behind the wooden bulwark of the Magistrate Examiners slipped Chamberlain Alamis, impeccably groomed and draped in blue silk. A thin, golden band rested upon the trimmed bowl of his blond hair, just above his pale eyes.

  “My dear Prefect Gamghast,” said Alamis, his tone patronizing. “How utterly unfortunate to meet under such circumstances.”

  Gamghast scowled at the chamberlain. With a gnarled hand he found again the shape of the vial of quicksilver secreted within his robes. “You are the traitor, Alamis!”

  Examiner Lagdall banged a mallet upon the ledger before him. “We will have order in this chamber, Prefect.”

  Gamghast gripped the arms of his chair and pushed himself upward. “Alamis should be the one confined to this damned seat!”

  “I said order!” demanded Lagdall. “Bailiff!”

  The armored man jabbed his halberd before Gamghast, the blade pressing against his belly. “Please, Prefect,” he said quietly. “Return to the chair.”

  Gamghast huffed but slumped backward. “Very well.”

  “Once again,” said Examiner Lagdall, “I pose my queries. When did you learn your Lector’s true identity, and why did you fail to report such treason to the Crown?”

  “Treason!” Gamghast exclaimed. “My order serves to protect the Crown, to protect the whole of Rune. I urge you, it is my accuser who should stand accused.”

  Examiner Lagdall pounded the mallet against his ledger once more. “You fail to answer my questions, Prefect. I would suggest you not take our inquiry lightly nor attempt to distract or obstruct it. This body can be quite understanding, but severe in equal measure.”

  Gamghast eyeballed the lead examiner. “If it is the Bastion’s chamberlain who accuses my order, then my truthful and resolute answer to your inquiry is that any and all charges represent a desperate attempt to distract the kingdom from far more vile betrayals. I witnessed with my own eyes the chamberlain sharing the company of necromancers in the Godswell as they summoned Yrghul’s spirit from the depths of oblivion. I say again it is the chamberlain who betrays all of Rune!”

  Alamis smiled and leaned against the bench, elbow rested upon its lip. “Our king is dead, Prefect, and, in the wake of his tragic passing, the nobles and dignitaries of Rune have named me Sovereign of the Realm until a worthy successor can be named. I’d suggest you reconsider your words. They are, in my e
stimation, even more treasonous than those crimes of which you already stand accused. I am Sovereign of Rune, our kingdom’s ultimate authority during this delicate time, and, as such, I stand in place of its High King.”

  Gamghast knotted his hands into fists. “How dare you, Alamis. I know it was you who murdered the High King!” He pulled from his robes the note of the now-dead scullery maid. “Behold!” He unfolded the brittle parchment and brandished it. “A scullery maid from the Bastion, months ago, knew the chamberlain was poisoning the king to prevent him from siring an heir! She summoned us under the auspices of an exorcism so that she could deliver the news, then died under quite suspicious circumstances shortly afterward. I say she told the truth, and the chamberlain had her murdered on account of it!”

  “A scullery maid?” Alamis laughed. “A note from a scullery maid?” His smile fell to a glower and his pale eyes burned. “And just who is the one offering desperate attempts at distraction, Prefect? Who is the one lacking proof, lacking evidence, lacking witnesses?” He spun toward the examiners upon the bench. “I say this man should be led in chains to the jails, lest his treason spread even further during wartime! As the sovereign I demand it!”

  Examiner Lagdall looked to Alamis for a moment then tilted his splotchy head to regard the whole of the chamber. “Treason,” he proclaimed, “like any infection, cannot be allowed to spread or fester!”

  The elder examiner to his left again raised a tremoring hand. “This is not justice, nor has this been a trial,” he said, his withering voice nearly lost amidst the growing commotion within the hall. “No matter the accuser, be that a commoner or the kingdom’s sovereign, justice must be served. This body does not convict those merely accused. A proper hearing must be held and evidence presented.”

  Alamis thrust a pointed finger at the man. “I assure you, Examiner, there is evidence. There is a witness. And, most importantly, there is my mandate. I decree the banishment of the Sentinels will and must stand, and thus the law has been immutable for a millennium. For his admission of conspiring with the Sentinel Castor, the prefect has confessed his crime, and a serious one at that. If he wants a witness I will gladly provide that.”

  Lagdall looked to Alamis with a cocked brow. “Sovereign, would you like to summon your witness for inquiry?”

  Alamis sighed and smoothed his silken tunic. “If this honorable body deems it necessary.”

  “I,” said the old examiner in his weak voice, “most certainly do.”

  “Then by all means,” Alamis said with a flourish of his hand, “summon my witness.”

  Examiner Lagdall nodded his liver-spotted head toward the bailiff. The bailiff bowed stiffly then marched about the bench to its rear.

  Gamghast twisted to peer to the back of the chamber. He saw only a blur of brown robes—all acolytes were accounted for. He turned again to the bench and grunted. What lies will Alamis weave next, and through what puppet?

  After a moment the clink and clank of metal sounded. The bailiff returned, followed by two red-sashed, armored guards bullying ahead a limping, lanky fellow in chains. His long face, stretched beneath a messy thatch of hair, wore a pained expression.

  “Wit!” Gamghast screamed. “Wit, what have they done?”

  The simpleton stared to Gamghast with tearful eyes and he shook the shackles upon his wrists. “I had to answer their questions, Prefect,” he said with a whimper. “They said I had to. I had to on account of the High King and such. Every week they’d catch me outside and ask them. I only told them what you told everybody… I didn’t tell no lies but they broke my toes for what you said! Broke my toes and tossed me in the jail!”

  Gamghast steadied himself against his staff and stood. He brandished a fist toward the bench. “This is justice? This so-called ‘honorable’ body permits the coercion of innocent witnesses? It permits the torture of innocent witnesses? Again, I say it is Alamis who should be tried for treason! The whole of Rune cannot be made to suffer because its examiners turn blind eyes to the kingdom’s most dangerous traitor!”

  “Ah, Prefect,” sighed Alamis, still lounging against the bench. “You are charged with—and have confessed to—the most serious of crimes. Your man, this ‘Wit,’ has confessed his knowledge of your order’s treason. In doing so he’s also confessed his complicity with that treason. There comes a time when a guilty man must admit—”

  “There will be silence in the chamber!” shouted the old examiner with surprising force. He turned to his brethren, bracing himself upon his thin arm. “Did this treatment occur while the witness was in our custody? Who permitted this?”

  Alamis spun toward the bench. “I commanded the detention of this man, Examiner. I commanded it upon learning of the Sanctum’s treachery, as he is as much a traitor as the prefect himself. Let us not forget the order of things, Examiner. My command carries the weight of law.” He looked back and swept a hand toward the gathered acolytes. “The whole of the Sanctum stands guilty. Do you deny the confession the prefect has already delivered?”

  The old examiner looked to Alamis. He seemed to suck at his teeth and swallow, the large lump of his throat dipping downward then slowly rising. “The law, even your law, Sovereign, demands the application of justice. I will not—”

  The examiner stopped short and rose from his seat, peering with fluttering eyes past Gamghast and down the chamber’s length.

  A clamor arose. Many murmurs mingling to a din. Startled exclamations. Sounds of bodies shuffling upon the pews and rising to stand.

  Gamghast struggled upward and turned. He saw light—daylight—pouring into the chamber, blinding in the stuffy darkness. It appeared the doors had been cast open and a clutch of figures stood silhouetted there. The acolytes seemed to be bending to kneel, as were a number of the gathered dignitaries.

  “You will stop this charade now!” cried a clear, strong voice. A woman’s voice.

  Gamghast stumbled around his chair, mouth agape.

  The queen?

  He squinted, trying to make out the figures now marching down the length of carpet toward the bench.

  “Alamis!” Queen Reyis shouted again. She wore a heavy cloak over purple robes and a gold crown atop her head. At her side strode ten or so soldiers, one-eyed Tannin among them. “You will stop this!”

  Gamghast grabbed his staff and braced against it as he lowered to a knee. He watched the queen approach for an instant longer before twisting his gaze to Alamis. The chamberlain—or sovereign, as he’d proclaimed—stood immobile, fists and jaw clenched.

  After an instant Alamis swept hands across his blue tunic. “You?” he said, voice seeming to seethe with anger as he looked to Reyis and her entourage. “You have no authority, Reyis. Your authority died with Deragol.”

  “I am your queen,” she said, her tone an edict.

  Alamis snarled. “You are naught but a widow, and you will leave this place now. Guards!”

  The front pews groaned with the sound of soldiers rising to attention, armor and weapons clinking and clattering. Two dozen or more armed men pressed into the chamber’s center aisle. Many looked to Alamis, seemingly seeking his command.

  Gamghast drew a sharp breath and slipped his hand within his robes to find the vial of quicksilver. Sweet Illienne, dare I even try this?

  “Guards!” Alamis demanded again, thrusting a finger toward Queen Reyis. “Dispose of this rabble!”

  Alamis’s men drew their weapons with a collective, steely hiss.

  “Sovereign Alamis!” said Examiner Lagdall, voice uneasy. He’d risen from his seat and stood with a hand splayed over his liver-spotted head. His eyelids twitched. “I assure you we will hear all your evidence and what you’ve submitted already I’ve found quite compelling. However, this is a hall of justice and we deliver verdicts, not executions. There will be no bloodshed here!”

  Alamis shooed a hand at the examiner. “The whole of this kingdom yields to my command. That includes this chamber, my soldiers, and this so-called ‘queen.�
�”

  “I am your queen!” Reyis declared. She and her men had stopped and now stood midway down the long aisle. “I am your queen, and I carry within me the next High King of Rune!” She threw aside her cloak to reveal the swell of her pregnancy. “You, Alamis, have no right to assume the throne when High King Deragol’s true and only heir has been sired!”

  A hush fell over the whole of the chamber.

  Alamis seemed to stagger. “What…” he said in a low, level voice as he appeared to gather himself. “Whatever grows in your belly cannot be the High King’s heir… How—” He tugged in a breath, smoothed his tunic and took a hard step ahead. “How can we even know this child is Deragol’s? How many miscarriages did you have, Reyis? How many times did he fail you? Indeed, can you prove this is Deragol’s child and not the product of some lurid affair? I doubt it.”

  Gamghast withdrew the vial and clutched it close to his chest. He bent low, his head struggling with the words, but soon he saw them clear as though they’d been scrawled on the stone tiles beneath him.

  “How dare you, Alamis,” Reyis said, her tone stern and commanding. “I took your ministrations in hopes of having a child, and those resulted only in tragedy. As soon as I ceased taking them—as soon as I sought the help of Prefect Gamghast—my child survived.” She shook her head. “I had no affair, and may the dead gods curse you for suggesting such. And may the dead gods curse you most of all for murdering my husband.”

  Alamis strode forward. “Lies.” His face shook. “Lies! I sit on Rune’s throne by right!”

  “You are a usurper, Alamis,” said Reyis. “You are a usurper, a liar, and a murderer. The law decrees I am the rightful ruler of Rune so long as I carry the High King’s heir. As such, I pardon Prefect Gamghast and the whole of the Sanctum, and order your arrest for threatening me with violence.”

  Alamis’s men slowed and several looked back to him, uncertainty clear in their eyes.