David Weber - How firm a foundation

“I’m sorry,” Hainree said. He knelt beside the body for a moment and signed Langhorne’s Scepter on the supervisor’s forehead. “You weren’t a perfect man, but you deserved better than this. I’m about God’s work, though, so perhaps He’ll forgive both of us.”

He patted Grahsmahn on the shoulder, then started going through the dead man’s pockets. He needed only a handful of minutes to find what he sought, and he stood once more. He gazed down at the body again briefly as he slipped the ornately engraved summons into his pocket, then turned and stepped out of the office and used the key he’d also taken from Grahsmahn to lock the office door before he started down the stairs. He went the back way, reasonably confident he wouldn’t be running into anyone this late. He’d managed to avoid most of the blood spray, anyway, and once he got out into the settling gloom the few drops he hadn’t been able to avoid shouldn’t be very noticeable.

If he was spotted before he got clear, or if someone should enter Grahsmahn’s office despite the locked door between now and morning, that would be the end of his plan, but he knew in his heart of hearts it wouldn’t happen. As he’d told Grahsmahn, he was about God’s work, and unlike mortal men, God did not suffer His work to go undone.

Sharleyan Ahrmahk sat once again on the dais in Princess Aleatha’s Ballroom. They’d gotten an earlier start today, and even less sunlight came in through the ballroom’s windows, so lamps had been lit in niches around the walls. Despite their brightly polished reflectors, they didn’t shed a great deal of light, so stands of candles had been placed at either end of the document table for Spynsair Ahrnahld and Father Neythan’s use. Once the sun finally cleared the roof of the palace wing shading the windows things should get better, she told herself, then nodded to Ahrnahld to strike the gong.

“Draw nigh and give ear!” the same chamberlain called as the musical note vibrated its way back into silence. “Give ear to the Crown’s justice!”

The double doors opened once more, and four men-or perhaps three men and a boy, since one of them was clearly not yet out of his teens-were ushered through it. One of the older men wore the subdued finery of a minor noble, or at least a man of substantial wealth. The second looked as if he was probably a reasonably well-off city merchant, and the third-the oldest of the group, with iron-gray hair and a spade beard-was clearly an artisan of some sort, possibly a blacksmith, from his weathered complexion and powerfully muscled arms. The youngest was very plainly clothed, but someone-his mother, perhaps-had seen to it that plain though his garments might be, they were scrupulously clean and neat.

She studied their expressions as the guards ushered them-firmly, but without brutality-to their place in front of the dais. Despite the dimness of the light, she could see them quite clearly, thanks to the multi-function contact lenses Merlin and Owl had provided her, and she recognized the apprehension in their faces only too plainly.

I don’t blame them for that in the least, she thought grimly. And I hadn’t realized how badly yesterday was going to depress me, either. I know it had to be done, and I knew it was going to be bad, but even so…

Her own expression was serene and calm with years of discipline and training, but behind that mask she saw again the previous day’s unending procession of convicted traitors. Craggy Hill and his companions had received the “honor” of appearing before her first, but twenty-seven more men and six women had followed them. Followed them not simply before Sharleyan’s dais, but to the executioner.

Thirty-nine human beings in a single day-the first day, she thought, trying not to dwell on how many days of this were yet to go. Not many compared to the number that get killed on even a small battlefield, I suppose. And unlike the people who get killed in battles, every single one of them had earned conviction and execution. But I’m the one who pronounced their sentences. I may not have swung the ax, but I certainly wielded the sword.

Her own thoughts before her arrival in Zebediah came back to her, and the knowledge that she’d been right then was cold comfort now.

But at least I don’t have to send them all to death, she reminded herself, squaring her shoulders as the quartette of prisoners halted before her.

Spynsair Ahrnahld stood and opened another of those deadly folders, then turned to Sharleyan.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “we bring before you, accused of treason, Zhulyis Pahlmahn, Parsaivahl Lahmbair, Ahstell Ibbet, and Charlz Dobyns.”

“I attest that all of them were tried before a court of Church, Lords, and Commons and that all rights and procedures were carefully observed,” Father Neythan added. “Each had benefit of counsel and was allowed to examine all the evidence against him and each was permitted to summon witnesses of his choice to testify on his behalf.”

It was obvious the Langhornite was repeating a well-rehearsed formula, Sharleyan thought, yet it wasn’t a routine formula. He and his two assistants actually had examined each of the court dockets and case records individually.

“Upon what grounds were they accused?”

“Upon the following specifications, Your Majesty,” Ahrnahld said, consulting yet another folder. “Master Pahlmahn stands accused of extending letters of credit upon his banking house and of contributing his personal funds to the raising, equipping, and training of armsmen in the service of Earl Craggy Hill’s conspiracy. He also had personal knowledge of the Earl’s plans to assassinate Earl Anvil Rock and Earl Tartarian as the first step of their coup.

“Master Lahmbair stands accused of allowing ships and freight wagons owned and employed by him to transport pikes, swords, muskets, and gunpowder for the purpose of arming the forces with which Earl Craggy Hill’s conspiracy intended to seize control of the city of Lian in the Earldom of Tartarian.

“Master Ibbet stands accused of joining the armed band intended to seize control of Lian. He is also accused of lending his smithy as a place in which to conceal weapons and of assuming the acting rank of captain in the band being raised in that place.

“And Master Dobyns stands accused of helping to plan, organize, and train the individuals who, in accordance with Bishop Executor Thomys Shylair’s instructions, were to attack the garrison from within in a ‘spontaneous uprising’ here in Manchyr should Craggy Hill’s forces approach the city.”

Sharleyan sat for a moment, looking at all four of them. Ibbet and Pahlmahn looked back at her with hopeless but unyielding defiance. Lahmbair seemed sunk in resignation, his eyes fixed on the floor, his shoulders sagging. Dobyns, the youngest of the three by a good fifteen years or more, looked frankly terrified. He was fighting to conceal it, that much was obvious, but she could see it in the taut shoulders, the hands clenched into fists at his sides, the lips tightly compressed to keep them from trembling.

“And has the court which heard their cases reached a verdict?” she asked.

“It has, Your Majesty,” Ahrnahld replied. “All of them have been adjudged guilty of all charges brought against them.” He extracted a thin sheaf of documents from his folder. “The verdicts have been signed, sealed, and mutually witnessed by every member of the court, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you,” Sharleyan said, and silence echoed as she swept her brown eyes once again across all four of those faces.

“One of a monarch’s duties is to punish criminal actions,” she said finally. “It’s a grim duty, and one not lightly to be embraced. It leaves its weight here.” She touched her own chest. “Yet it may not be shirked, either. It must be dealt with by any ruler worthy of the crown he or she wears. The courts here in your own Princedom have weighed the evidence against you and found all of you guilty of the crimes charged against you. And, as all of you are painfully aware by this time, the sentence for your crimes is death. There is no lesser sentence we may impose upon you, and so we sentence you to die.”