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He wore mourning black, and his only badge of office was his royal ring. He sat in the large chair at the end of the hall, raised upon a dais. The chair next to his, used by his mother when his father ruled only days before, was empty. The Dowager Princess Anita was in seclusion in her quarters.
Standing beside the throne was the Duke of Krondor, Lord James, and beside him, the mysterious lady who the Isalani said read minds.
The prisoners were ushered into the Prince’s presence and the guard sergeant had to order them to bow. The men made an awkward attempt, and at last the court was called to order.
Several onlookers lined the sides of the halls, and Erik noticed Sebastian Lender among them. That made him feel slightly better than he had in days.
The first prisoner was called before the Prince, a man named Thomas Reed, and to Erik’s surprise, the man called Slippery Tom moved before Nicholas.
Nicholas looked down on Slippery Tom. “What are the charges, James?”
The Duke of Krondor nodded to a scribe, who said, “Thomas Reed stands accused of theft and aiding and abetting in the murder of the victim, a spice merchant named John Corwin, late of Krondor.”
“How do you plead?” asked James.
Slippery Tom glanced around the room and tried to present as pleasant an expression as possible to Nicholas. “You Majesty—” he began.
“‘Highness,’” interrupted James. “Not ‘You Majesty,’ ‘Your Highness.’”
Grinning as if this social gaffe were his worst offense, he said, “You Highness, it were this way—”
James interrupted, “How do you plead?”
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Suddenly angry eyes regarded the Duke as he said, “I was attemptin’ to explain this to His Highness, sir.”
“Plead first, then explain,” said Prince Nicholas.
Tom seemed to think of his options a moment.
“Well, strictly speaking, I guess I would have to say I was guilty, but only in a sense of it.”
“Enter the plea,” said James. “Do you have anyone to speak on your behalf?”
“Just Biggo,” said Tom.
“Biggo?” said Nicholas.
James said, “The next defendant.”
“Oh, well, then tell me your story.”
Tom began to spin an improbable tale of two poor workmen attempting to do the right thing in a bargain gone sour with a spice merchant of dubious character who cheated the two basically honest workers. When confronted with his perfidious acts, the spice merchant had pulled a knife and in the ensuing struggle had fallen on his own blade. The two wronged men, regretting the malefactor’s death, had taken his gold only in the amount they were owed, which happened to be all he was carrying.
“And that’s not all he owed us,” said Tom.
Nicholas looked at James. “Corwin?”
“Honest, for the most part,” said James. “What I could find out tells me he occasionally received some Keshian spices without benefit of duty, but that’s not unusual.”
Nicholas said, “Why did John Corwin owe you money?”
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it to the attention of the duty office at the Port Authority, if you see. We was only doing it to support our families.”
Nicholas glanced at the woman who had remained silent, and Erik followed his gaze. She looked at Tom for a moment, then briefly shook her head no.
Nicholas said, “What’s the state’s request?”
James said, “Thomas Reed is a habitual criminal, a self-confessed member of the Guild of Thieves—”
“Wait a minute, lord!” shouted Thomas. “I was just making some idle boasts, trying to get some respect from the guards—”
James ignored the interruption. “The state asks for death.”
“Granted.”
With that single word, Slippery Tom was sentenced to die the next morning.
Erik looked at Roo and wondered if the terror he saw in his friend’s eyes was as apparent in his own.
Slowly each man was brought before the bar of justice, and each time at the end of the plea, Erik saw the Prince look at the woman. Each time she shook her head no, save for once, when Biggo was on trial, when she nodded yes slightly. But it seemed to make no difference, for Biggo was condemned to the gallows with the others.
When there were fewer than half to be tried, the scribe called, “Sho Pi!”
The Isalani was brought before the Prince, and James recited the charges: “Sho Pi, a citizen of Kesh, Highness. Arrested for brawling. He killed a guard.”
“Your plea?” asked the Prince.
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The Isalani smiled. “Plea? I have none, Highness.
The facts are as recited.”
“Then enter the plea as guilty,” said Nicholas.
“Have you anything to say before sentencing?”
The smile broadened, and the Isalani said, “Only that facts and truth are not interchangeable. I am but a poor student, formerly a monk of the order of Dala.
I was sent to find my master.”
“Your master?” asked Nicholas, seemingly interested in the story, decidedly different than the run-of-the-mill pleas heard so far today. “Who is he?”
“This I do not know. I was an indifferent student at the monastery where I was trained, save in the art of fighting. I admit to being unworthy of the calling; the Abbot sent me out, telling me that if I had a master he was outside the order, and to seek him in a city where men brawl daily.” The man shrugged. “Often in jest, truth is revealed, and I meditated for days upon what my former Abbot said. Given some insight by hunger, I decided to seek my master in your city, though it was far from my own land. I traveled and worked, and found myself in Krondor but a week ago.”
“Since then he’s been arrested three times,” said James.
The man named Sho Pi shrugged.
“Unfortunately, this is true. I have many flaws, and a temper is among them. I was being cheated at cards, and when I objected, a struggle ensued, and when I pleaded my innocence to your city watch, I was attacked. I merely defended myself.”
“During the struggle he killed a guardsman,” said James.
“Is this true?” said Nicholas.
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“Regrettably, but in my defense may I say that it was never my intent to kill the man. I was merely trying to disarm him. I had taken his sword from him when he unexpectedly twisted away from me, pushing himself into his companion, who threw him forward upon the sword I was now holding. It is very sad, but it happened.” He spoke as if he were reciting a lesson, without emotion, not pleading for his life.
The Prince looked at the woman, who nodded slightly. Then he said, “What is the state’s request?”
“The state requests thirty years’ labor in the prison gang.”
“Granted,” said Nicholas.
For reasons Erik couldn’t understand, Sho Pi seemed amused at this as the guard escorted him back to the prisoners’ dock.
Two more men were ordered to their death; then, when Erik and Roo were all that were left, their names were called. Sebastian Lender stepped forward with Erik, and James said, “Your Highness, we have a special case here. Erik von Darkmoor and Rupert Avery are charged with the murder of Stefan, Baron von Darkmoor.”
“How do you plead?” asked Nicholas.
Before either young man cou
ld speak, Lender said, “If it pleases Your Highness, I would ask that it be recorded that the two youths before you plead not guilty.”
Nicholas smiled and leaned back in his throne.
“Lender, isn’t it? You used to cause my father no end of irritation. Now I see why. Very well.” He looked at Erik and Rupert. “Do you have something to say?”
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sworn before the High Constable in Darkmoor and two priests of local temples, under oath, on behalf of these young men.” He opened a large leather document case and pulled from it a copious sheaf of papers. “Not only do we have the sworn testimony of one Rosalyn, daughter of Milo, owner of the Inn of the Pintail; I have a testimony from several guardsmen who were witness to events leading to the conflict, and from Baron Manfred von Darkmoor as to his brother Stefan’s state of mind before the incident.” He handed them to James, who looked irritated at the need to peruse such a large amount of information in a short time.
“While my Duke of Krondor looks over these documents, Master Lender, I would be pleased to hear the young men tell what happened.”
Erik looked at Roo and, with a nod, indicated he should begin. “It started at the fountain, Your Highness, the one before the Growers’ and Vintners’
Hall in Ravensburg. I was there with some others, just talking, when Rosalyn came looking for Erik.
While I was talking to her, Stefan and Manfred, the Baron’s sons, come—came up to us and began talking to Rosalyn. Manfred kept telling Stefan they needed to get back to their father, Otto, who was dying at the time, but Stefan kept talking about
‘Erik’s girl,’ and how she was too sweet to waste on a bastard blacksmith, and things like that.”
Nicholas sat back and seemed intent on the story as Roo recounted all he could remember up to where Erik took off after Stefan, and the ensuing fight. When he was done, Nicholas asked Erik for his story. Erik told it calmly and without any attempt to avoid responsibility for his taking his half brother’s life.
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When the story was told, Nicholas said, “Why did you run?”
Erik shrugged. “I don’t know. It seemed . . .” He looked down a moment, then back up, locking gazes with Nicholas. “It seemed impossible that I could kill the swine and not be hung for it.”
“Did you hate him that much?”
Erik said, “More than I thought, Highness.”
Inclining his head at his friend, he said, “Roo saw it coming long before I did. He told me once that I might have to kill Stefan someday. Stefan and I met only three times before that night, and all three times he sought me out to cause problems, calling me names, insulting my mother, claiming I wanted his inheritance.”
“Was there any truth to it?”
Erik shrugged. “I don’t think so. I never thought much about being noble, or having office. I’m a smith, and I’m the best horse man in Darkmoor—ask Owen Greylock, the Baron’s Swordmaster, if you doubt me. I only wanted a guild badge and my own forge, no more than that. My mother only wanted me to have a proper name. It was her passion that made Stefan fearful. But even if she dreamed I might someday be a noble, it was never any dream of mine. I had the name already.” His voice lowered, and his tone became almost defiant.
“That was, at least, one thing my father did allow me.
He never publicly denied me the name von Darkmoor, and I’ll take that to the grave with me.”
Roo visibly winced at the phrase. Nicholas sighed. “This is very convoluted. Lord James, have you a suggestion?”
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this case under advisement, and after supper I’ll have the state’s recommendation for you.”
“Granted,” said Nicholas. “Court is adjourned.”
Guards motioned for the prisoners already in the dock to leave, and Erik and Roo found themselves being marched back to join the others.
Erik looked at Lender. “What happened?” he asked.
Lender didn’t look hopeful. “He’ll think about it.
You should know after supper.” Watching the Prince rise from his throne and leave the hall to enter his private chamber, Lender said, “It will be decided by morning, either way.”
Guards moved them into line behind Sho Pi, and Roo said, “What do you think is going to happen?”
“If you had not run, and had told this story at once, I think Nicholas would have been inclined to believe you, but you ran, and that counts against you.” He was silent as the guards chained the prisoners into line, and Lender said, “If it goes badly, the gallows. If it goes better, thirty years on the work gang. The best I can imagine is service in the Royal Navy for ten years.”
The guards ordered them to move out, and suddenly Sho Pi looked over his shoulder at Erik. “Or something else.” He smiled enigmatically at the remark. Erik thought his behavior odd for someone facing thirty years of hard labor.
The prisoners marched out of the hall, back to the death cell.
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death cell concocting plan after plan to overpower the guards and escape the palace. He was convinced the Mockers were waiting for any sign of revolt to launch a raid into the palace to set their captured brethren free.
After a hour, Biggo stood up and said, “Give it a rest, lad. You’re going to hang.”
Slippery Tom’s eyes widened and with a scream he lunged at his friend, grabbing him around the throat. Biggo gripped hard on Tom’s wrists and forced the hands away from his throat, and as he spread his hands, Tom’s face came close to his own.
Suddenly Biggo head-butted Tom, whose eyes rolled up into his head as he lost consciousness.
Biggo deposited the limp form of Slippery Tom in a hay-strewn corner. “That should quiet things down for a while,” he said.
Another man said, “Is that what you want? Peace?
Well, you’ll have all the peace you’ll ever need come tomorrow morning, Biggo. Maybe Tom’s right and we should die fighting guards.”
Biggo laughed. “With what? Wooden bowls?”
“You anxious to die?” demanded the man.
Biggo rubbed his chin. “Everyone dies, laddie; it’s just a question of when. As soon as you took to the dodgy path you were doomed to the gibbet, like it or not.” He sighed and looked reflective. “Doesn’t seem right to be killing guards for doing their job.
We’re going to die anyway, so why spread the mis-ery? Some of them have wives and children.” He leaned back, resting his elbows on a ledge behind the stone bench he sat upon. “Hanging may not be so bad. Either your neck’s cracked”—he snapped his fingers—”and you’re gone, or it chokes you.
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Choking’s not so bad, I’m thinking. I was choked once in a fight. You get sort of light-headed and everything collapses around your vision, and there’s this bright light . . . No, me boyo, it’ll be over quickly.”
Another man said, “Give it a rest, Biggo. We’re not temple-goers like you.”
“It was that very choking I spoke of that made me a religious man, Aaron. Why, if Shaky Jake hadn’t busted a chair over Billy the Sly’s head, I’d have died right there. I decided then it was high time I got righteous with the gods, I did. So I went off to Lims-Kragma’s temple and t
alked to a priest, and gave an offering, and I don’t miss a holy day unless I’m too sick to walk.” He sat back and crossed his arms.
“Tomorrow, when I’m in the Death Goddess’s hall, and she says to me, ‘Biggo, you’re a liar and a thief and a murderer, even if you didn’t mean to be one, but at least you’re a pious bastard,’ I’ll smile at her and say, ‘That’s right, Your Goddessness.’ That should count for something.”
Erik found it hard to find anything amusing in his present circumstances, and Roo was close to tears for fear they would be joining those sentenced to die. The only three men not under the death mark were Sho Pi, Erik, and Roo. Sho Pi would be transferred to the work gang after the hanging, which he would watch as a lesson. He seemed unfazed by the prospect of spending the next thirty years hauling rocks out of the royal quar-ry or dredging out the royal harbor. It was rumored some young men had survived their thirty years, so it was possible he might emerge alive, someday, a broken man in his fifties who might somehow forge a life. For most men it only put off death.
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The door at the far end of the cell opened, and Erik jerked around to see who was there, half hoping, half fearing it would be Lender. Instead it was guards with the evening meal. More bread and cheese, but this time the stew had beef in it, and there was a cup of wine for each prisoner.
Erik found himself hungry, despite his worry, but Roo simply ignored the food, curling up and falling into a sleep of emotional exhaustion. Most of the men ate in silence, save the Isalani, who came to sit next to Erik. He said, “You think you will go free?”
Erik looked off into space for a minute. “No, I think had we stayed and faced down our accusers, maybe. Had they seen the blood flowing from my shoulder from Stefan’s sword, maybe then.
“As it is now, I think we are probably going either to be hung or to spend out our lives working next to you on the labor gang.”
The Isalani said, “I don’t think so.”
“What makes you say that?”
“That woman. I don’t know why, but it was important that she see what we were thinking when we were before the Prince.”
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