David Dalglish - Dawn of Swords

She shook her head and tugged at her hair, trying to ready herself for what might come next.

“Accused,” she said, as coldly as she could, “what say you?”

“It’s not true! I didn’t…I couldn’t.…” He sighed and dropped his head. “I have never seen that blade before in my life. Look at me, Minister. Mother! Do you think me capable of such atrocities?”

“What I think matters not,” replied Soleh, her heart breaking even more. “Only the facts do.”

The Captain stepped on the dais, handed Soleh the knife, and then beckoned Thessaly forward. Thessaly lifted a sack from beside the two bodies and emptied the contents. At least a dozen empty bottles and half as many wineskins fell to the floor.

“I discovered these strewn about the keep,” Gregorian said, looking beyond disgusted now. “Many are freshly emptied. With the amount of liquor consumed, I fear the accused would not be capable of remember his name, let alone his actions.”

“Is this true?”

Vulfram slid up on his knees, blood dribbling from his newly split lip. His bloodshot eyes drooped downward, and he nodded shamefully.

Soleh’s heart nearly dissolved in her chest, and she let out a long, agonized moan. The proof against her son-and his acknowledgment that he had been too intoxicated to remember anything-was staggering. He had been found in the room, covered in their blood, with the killing blade in his hand. She had sentenced men to death based on much less. A cry began to build in her throat, but she held it down. She remembered Karak’s last words to her before she entered Tower Justice: To maintain order, sacrifice is sometimes necessary.

He had known. All along, Karak had known, and in his love for her, he had allowed her to face this trial on her own, giving her the chance to prove herself worthy of him. That was when she realized that Vulfram would receive that same chance.

With renewed confidence, she looked down on her son and stated the required words.

“By the power of this court, handed down by Karak, the Divinity of the East and father to us all, I find you guilty of all charges and hereby sentence you to death by beheading. Do you accept this judgment with an open heart, knowing that Afram awaits if you are repentant, or do you wish to prove your faithfulness before the Final Judges?”

The Captain went to grab Vulfram, but her son shoved him away. He defiantly rose to his full height, threw his shoulders back, and said, “I will do it. I will prove my faithfulness.”

Inwardly, Soleh smiled. Standing up, she ordered her son taken to the Arena. She then glanced down at the knife, the murder weapon, and hefted it in one hand. It looked strangely familiar, but she could not recall why. She lifted it, staring at the finger notches, and ran her finger down the blade. Her memory betrayed her. She flipped it over and carried it with her as she descended the dais, hoping that the answer would come to her if she had longer to study it.

The truth was, she had other pressing things to worry over at the moment, for she knew in her heart that Vulfram was innocent, no matter what the evidence stated. She only hoped that Kayne and Lilah felt the same way.

The Captain of the Palace Guard shoved Vulfram down the cold, damp stairwell leading to the Arena, jostling him from side to side. His mother followed behind with a veritable posse, which oddly consisted of two members of the Sisters of the Cloth. They had arrived at Tower Justice perhaps an hour after Gregorian threw him into the courtroom’s barred emergency cell as he kicked and screamed, proclaiming his innocence all the while. He kept giving the Sisters sidelong glances. His loathing for them grew with each passing second, these beasts who had stolen his daughter away. He wanted nothing more than to toss Gregorian aside, break his shackles, and slice their throats.

Stop it , he admonished himself, wishing his chains allowed him enough freedom to reach up and slap his own face. They are not the enemy. Their lot has been forced on them, just as it was for Lyana.

Suitably shamed by his own common sense, he bit his tongue and concentrated on walking. Perhaps if he kept his mind on putting one foot before the other, Gregorian wouldn’t have to shove him around so maliciously.

Once he reached the bottom of the stairwell, the door was opened for him, and Gregorian guided him around the viewing platform to a second staircase, this one leading to the entrance to the Arena. Vulfram couldn’t help but feel a bit awed at the sight of this place. The ceiling was high, perhaps as tall as the top three floors of the Tower Keep combined. The area was lighted by what looked to be thousands of torches, lining the walls of the platform that overlooked the arena. The Arena itself was a huge circle ringed with massive boulders that seemed as smooth as marble. The entrance to the ring was an iron gate at least three times as tall as a man. There was an aura of hopelessness about the place, which, combined with the cold and damp air, made him feel almost despondent. He had never seen the place where Kayne and Lilah, his childhood companions, passed final judgment on the guilty, and he finally understood why any who had seen it called it the atrium of the abyss , the place where all hope goes to die.

Gregorian removed his shackles, unlocked the gate, swung it wide, and tossed him inside. The gate slammed shut a moment later, a certain finality to the sound. Vulfram lay sprawled out on the dirt of the arena floor, his entire body feeling like one gigantic bruise. Over the past few hours the Captain had physically accosted him, and for the last month, perhaps two, he had been spiritually battered by his own conscience. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and in a silent proclamation told himself he was through with the pain. This would be the end of it, of that he was certain. Kayne and Lilah would prove his faithfulness, and he would demand, right then and there, that his daughter be released.

A faint whisper met his ears. Vulfram lifted his head. It had sounded like his name. He squinted through the bars of the gate and into the blackness behind the staircase. There he saw a pair of eyes staring back at him, burning yellow like twin suns. He felt a gentle vibration in the air, the same whole-body tremor he experienced each time Karak came to visit him, and he clumsily scrambled to his feet. He was about to offer his respects to his god, but he paused. No one else on the platform above him, including his mother, seemed to have noticed that Karak was in attendance. He ran a hand over the stubble atop his head and turned away from the gate. If Karak wished to be noticed, he would have made himself visible. It was not Vulfram’s duty to honor his wishes.

Instead he faced the gathered onlookers and held his arms out wide.

“I wish to be judged!” he decreed. He tried to sound confident, but his voice cracked nonetheless. Knowing that Karak was watching made him nervous, made him doubt the certainty of his innocence.

His mother waved her hand at Gregorian, who had reappeared on the platform and was standing next to the two Sisters. The Captain leaned over and pulled a massive lever. Pulleys spun and whined, and to his left a pair of iron gates, each larger than the one leading to the Arena, slowly grinded upward.

He turned to face the cages, two giant black holes like the eyes of eternity cut into the wall of rock. A low growl shook the very floor of the Arena, making loose particles of dirt bounce as if locked in a macabre dance. He took a few steps toward the grottos, slowly at first, then more quickly, more confidently, until finally one of the lions emerged from the darkness. It was Lilah who showed herself first, as tall on four legs as he was on two, her fur glowing surreally in the glittering light. Then Kayne appeared, stalking out of his cage, his mane grand and stately. Both lions’ eyes glowed yellow with flecks of green and blue mixed in, looking so very much like the eyes of Karak.