David Dalglish - Dawn of Swords

Magister Wentner reached back to slap her again, but thought better of it when he caught Vulfram’s glare.

“And what of the boy?” Vulfram asked. “What is he accused of?”

“He supplied the oil, Lord Commander,” replied Wentner, slowly lowering his hand. “We found four more vials hidden inside his mattress.”

“Is that true?”

Kristof didn’t answer; he simply dropped his head, closed his eyes, and wept.

Alexander strode forward. “It is true, Lord Commander. I discovered the vials myself when I went to question Bracken Renson on the whereabouts of his son.”

“You little shit! ”

Bracken Renson barreled full steam at Alexander, a club held high to strike. In a single movement, Alexander shielded his sister and mother with one hand and unsheathed his sword with the other. Bracken flung aside Magister Wentner, the muscles in his face tensed to the point of snapping. His club swung, ramming into Alexander’s raised sword. The two shoved against one another, the sword buried deep into the thick wood of the club. His shock finally abated, Vulfram grabbed the collar of Bracken’s tunic and yanked hard enough to send the father of the convicted boy thudding to the ground. The attached sword and club skittered off to the side. Oris rushed in, a meaty fist drawn back, but Vulfram held his scarred brother at bay with a single glance. Alexander tried to advance on Bracken, but Vulfram stood in the way, feeling like a bull as he breathed heavily through his nose.

“Get Yenge and Caleigh out of here,” he told Alexander, who opened his mouth, closed it, and then nodded in respect. As his son led the girls away, Vulfram let out a cry as a sharp heel connected with his shin.

“Enough of this!” he shouted, whirling around and planting a boot on Bracken’s chest.

“He’s…my… son! ” shouted Bracken, thrashing beneath the weight.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder. In his wrath Vulfram turned with fist at ready, but when he caught sight of graying hair and sad brown eyes, he let his arm drop. Broward Renson stood there, staring down at his eldest boy.

“I apologize for his actions,” the old man said, without once looking in Vulfram’s direction. He reached down and grabbed Bracken’s hand. Vulfram removed his foot, allowing his old friend to help the man to his feet. Bracken huffed and puffed while the two walked back to their place of waiting.

His blood still racing, Vulfram looked from the magister to the accused children, to Alexander and Yenge, who lingered just inside the doorway, cowering near the shadows as if they didn’t want to be seen. Vulfram shook his head and approached Lyana, kneeling before her, taking her chin in one hand and wiping away her tears with the other.

“Tell me, child,” he whispered. He fought to keep his hand still, to keep his jaw from trembling. “What they say…is it true?”

It broke his heart the way she looked at him, quivering in fear as if he were a monstrous stranger. Even when he lowered his voice to the levels he had used to tell her stories when she was a young child, her fear never left her. Was he that kind father no longer? Had that man become a distant memory? Was he now just a stranger arriving in their midst to pass judgment?

“Be honest, Lyana,” he said. “Karak is merciful to the truthful. You have nothing to fear, not from me. Just tell me the truth. Is the magister right?”

Lyana met his eyes, looked away, and then nodded.

Vulfram’s heart broke once more.

“I stopped bleeding,” she whispered in a timid voice only he could hear. “I was scared. Mother said I was to marry Boris Corineau, and Kris said his father would kill him if he found out. I’m so sorry, father. No one was to find out. The oil wasn’t to leave a trace-that’s what he said! Please.…”

Vulfram peered to the side, to where Kristof stared at him with wide, terrified eyes.

“And where did you get the crim oil?” Vulfram asked. The boy simply continued staring, his body shaking so hard Vulfram feared his heart would stop. “Speak, son. Where did you get the oil?”

“He got it from me.”

Vulfram stood up and faced the voice. It was Broward, his childhood friend, who had spoken. He stood in front of his still fuming son. Broward took a single step, his hands held out in supplication.

“You?” asked Vulfram, wondering if the day could get any worse. “Why?”

“The boy came to me, knowing I had plenty because of my cattle. So I gave him a few vials and told him the decision was his.”

“You left poison…and a decision with such dire consequences…to a child? ”

Broward bobbed his head at Magister Wentner. “As the magister said, they ceased being children the moment his cock entered her.”

Vulfram couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was his old friend. They’d played siege the castle together among the tall elm and maple trees of the surrounding forest, shared stories of first kisses. And now, to hear him speak in such a way to him…even worse, he seemed to not care that he’d given Vulfram’s daughter-and Broward’s own grandson-a potent remedy he knew damn well to be unlawful.

Vulfram didn’t know what to do. Wavering in place, he cast his gaze on them all, begging for a sign from his god. Please, Karak, give me guidance , he silently pleaded. He looked to his daughter once more, saw her bawling in her whore’s garb. Deep inside him, something snapped.

“Get out!” he roared. “All of you, out!”

“But Lord Commander, there must be a verdict,” said Magister Wentner. “I must witness Karak’s justice as it is passed down.”

Vulfram leveled a lethal gaze at the old man and pointed a thick, shaking finger at him. “I couldn’t give a shit about what you must do, old man. Karak’s justice can wait for tomorrow, after I’ve had time to think. Now everyone. Fuck off! ”

The people departed, filing out of the interior courtyard with quickened paces. Vulfram breathed heavily, watching them leave with disdain in his eyes. When Magister Wentner started to grab the chains binding the two children, Vulfram stopped him.

“My son will watch over them tonight,” he said.

The magister didn’t dare argue.

Alexander came over, helping Kristof to his feet, then Lyana. The two were quiet but for their sniffling. Vulfram wanted to embrace them, to tell them everything would be well, but he couldn’t. Not now. What he wanted was answers, and not from them. From his son, who looked at his sister as if she were less than human.

“Alexander,” he said.

“Yes, Father?”

“Why did you turn your sister in instead of notifying me? Do you want her enslaved or dead?”

“No, Father,” he said, coldly. “I wish her truthful and pure, not deceitful. But I suppose I have higher expectations of our blood than you do.”

“She is my daughter .”

“And she is my sister, and I love her no less. Yet she sinned and shamed the family. Not even the offspring of the great Lord Commander are unbound from Karak’s law. Or have you forgotten that?”

Without thinking, Vulfram backhanded his son across the face. The boy stumbled back a step, the side of his lip cut, his motions dragging Kristof and Lyana along with him. His hand reached up to touch his cheek, already swelling. When he looked at his father, he appeared genuinely hurt.

“Don’t speak to me that way,” Vulfram said, his voice ice. “Like you know better. Like you could stand for a moment in these shoes.”

Alexander’s tone shifted, becoming more contrite. “Forgive me,” he said, his head bowed. “I never meant to disrespect you. You always taught me that Karak’s will and judgment ruled over all else. That his laws must be obeyed and enforced, no matter what. So I did as you have always taught me. I thought you would be proud.”