David Dalglish - Dawn of Swords

“Why are you here?” asked Soleh.

Romeo, the older, stepped forward. “This man, Gronk Hordan of Thettletown, stands accused of raping and murdering my brother’s daughter, Pricilla. Her body now lies in the crypt below our holdfast in Riverrun. She had been defiled so grievously that we had to hide her from her mother.”

“The man is scum,” said Cleo. “We’ve come to ensure that retribution is swift and brutal, and that those who paid him to do it are equally punished.”

Soleh was disgusted by the lack of emotion on Cleo Connington’s rotund face and the amused expression on Romeo’s, but she kept her feelings to herself.

“Paid? What do you mean by that?”

“If it would please the Minister,” said Captain Gregorian, bowing low. “It is claimed by some that Matthew Brennan ordered the attack.”

“And have you investigated the matter, Captain?”

“I have.”

“What are your findings?”

“Inconsequential, as of the moment.”

Soleh had suspected as much. The Brennans, who had built a shipping empire out of Port Lancaster, had long been at odds with the Conningtons. Matthew Brennan often violated palace trade regulations and willingly paid his fines on the rare occasions when the local magistrate came calling. Soleh knew that the Conningtons would do anything to dishonor their rivals. This was not the first time they had tried to connect Matthew with a heinous crime. The possibility of his involvement seemed remote at best. He was a good man, despite his penchant for bending the rules in his favor.

“And you,” said Soleh, turning her attention to the prisoner. “What do you have to say on the matter?”

Gronk Hordan fixed her with a brutal stare.

“I weren’t paid by no man,” he growled. “And I didn’t attack no girl, either. Lies, all of it.”

The denial meant nothing to Soleh. The accused always proclaimed their innocence, no matter how heavy the proof against them.

“Is that so?” she said.

“It is, Minister.”

Soleh looked to Captain Gregorian. The soldier straightened up and said in his gravelly voice, “Milady, the bite marks on her abdomen match the dentition of the accused.”

“Castration!” shouted Adeline, spittle flying from her lips. It was the only other punishment she ever demanded. “Cut off his cock and make him choke on it!”

“Shush, dear,” Soleh whispered out the corner of her mouth. She regarded the men standing before her. “Masters Connington, Karak appreciates your concerns, and they are duly noted. Please exit the court at once.”

“And what of my retribution?” asked Cleo, finally showing some emotion. “You’re going to let that Matthew bastard get away with this forever?”

Soleh shuddered at the sight of the sickening man.

“Escort these men from the court,” she told her guards, who immediately laid their hands on the brothers and pushed them into the antechamber. Their house guard followed, mindful not to oppose those in authority.

“Karak’s justice is Karak’s justice,” Soleh called after them as they disappeared into the porthole. “It is not for you to demand retribution, but him .”

“The prisoner awaits sentencing,” announced Captain Gregorian once they were gone, his grip tight around Gronk’s chains.

“Very well,” replied Soleh. “By the power of this court, handed down by Karak, the Divinity of the East and father to us all, I 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?”

“I done no wrong,” muttered Gronk Hordan. “I’ll prove my faithfulness.”

“So be it,” sighed Soleh. She wasn’t surprised, as at least one prisoner a day thought himself or herself worthy of Karak’s forgiveness. The existence of the Final Judges was no secret, but none seemed to understand what it meant to face them and how few lived to tell the tale. “Captain, escort the prisoner to the arena.”

Adeline opened her mouth again, but Soleh silenced her daughter with a glare. She glanced down at Thessaly, who stood from her minor seat and curtsied before taking her leave. The silver-haired Crestwell grabbed Adeline’s wrist, yanking the aged woman to a standing position before dragging her along the wall to the antechamber. As Mistresses, the two were not allowed to observe the decision of the Final Judges. Her daughter struggled and swayed on failing old knees, and Soleh was again pummeled with shame and guilt. It wasn’t until both women were out of sight that she rose from her throne, lifted the corners of her cloak, and descended the staircase. She strode past the prisoner, who was snatched by two guards, and crossed the courthouse floor, stopping to rinse her dry face at the washbasin, before taking the winding stairwell down. Captain Gregorian followed behind her, the prisoner with his rough escorts after him.

They did not stop when they reached the vestibule, instead continuing down into the depths below the castle. With each step they took, the air grew colder and wetter, and the rough gray walls were slick with moisture. The clanking of plated feet on stone echoed throughout the chamber, the only sound other than the prisoner’s labored breathing.

The stairwell finally came to an end, the path branching in two directions. The left led to the dungeons, and the right was a plain door lit by a single torch. Here Awaits the Final Judgment was carved into the old, moldy wood. Soleh gripped the door’s brass ring and pulled. It slid open, emitting a waft of air that was pungent with refuse and rot. She had to hold her hand in front of her face to shield herself from the intense brightness on the other side.

The stairwell emptied out onto a raised platform overlooking a circular ring of tall boulders, with another set of stairs leading down to the arena’s gate. The underground hollow was lit by a thousand torches that were never extinguished, the combined flames as bright as the sun on a brutal summer day. Soleh drew back her hood for the first time in hours, approached the barrier of smooth sandstone, and placed her hands on it. The surface was warm from the heat of the torches. After a tilt of her head, the guards shoved their prisoner down the second set of stairs, tossed him unceremoniously into the middle of the ring, and then beat a hasty retreat. They tossed a key at him before slamming and locking the tall iron gate behind them. Gronk stood, spit out a glob of blood and dirt, and jangled his manacles. He picked up the key, and a few turns later the chains on his wrists and ankles fell to the ground with a heavy clank .

“You have requested audience with the Final Judges,” Soleh said. “We shall bear witness to their decision. If you live, you are a forgiven man. If you perish, you have been deemed unworthy, and your soul awaits eternal damnation.”

She nodded to her Captain.

Gregorian pulled a lever, raising a pair of metal gates from the walls of the arena below. Gronk faced the now opened portals, rubbing his hands together, breathing heavily. A soft, staccato-like purr filled the air, followed by an ear-splitting roar. The prisoner’s knees began to shake as he struggled to hide his fear.

The judges stalked out of their cages like deadly shadows, and Soleh watched a puddle of liquid leak from the cuff of Gronk’s filthy pants.

The two lions, Kayne and Lilah, Karak’s Final Judges, stepped fully into the lighted arena. They were massive beasts, almost the height of a man on their four legs. Their golden fur shone with streaks of white, and their pale yellow eyes glistened in the torchlight. Kayne opened his mouth, exposing his lethal fangs while letting out a low, guttural snarl. Lilah strode alongside him, her tongue flicking her nose.