David Dalglish - Dawn of Swords

It was Vulfram’s turn to feel ashamed. He gazed at his son, all grown up and taking responsibility just as he had done at that age. Tears formed in the corners of Vulfram’s eyes, tears it cost him to hold at bay.

“You’re right, son. I’ve lost my way. I…I’m.…”

He thought of Karak and the god’s last words to him before he went on his sojourn forty years before. “I have faith in you, Vulfram,” he had said. “You will be tested, and tested greatly, but there is no test that you cannot pass.” He wished that were true, for he felt lost. More than anything, he wished Karak were there with him now, to offer him guidance, to give him strength.

Vulfram pulled Alexander in close, held the sides of his face as he pressed his own forehead against his son’s.

“You were right,” he said, his voice nearly pleading. “But don’t you dare stop loving her, sin or not. That I could never forgive. Do you understand me?”

Alexander swallowed, and he saw sudden guilt flicker in his eyes, then understanding.

“Good,” Vulfram said. “Take the guilty to the magister’s hovel. But clean them up beforehand. And tell the magister that he is to treat them with respect, unless he wishes to have a personal meeting with Darkfall. Tomorrow we gather at the common green, in the shade of the statue of the lion, at high noon. I will carry out Karak’s justice then, whatever I determine it to be.”

“Yes, Father,” Alexander said with a bow, and went about escorting the two youngsters out of the courtyard. Vulfram heard Lyana plead for him to stop, to let her stay the night in her own bed, but he closed his ears to the outside world.

Caleigh tried to comfort him as he made his way back to the manor, but it did no good. Even Yenge’s words did nothing to improve his mood. He brushed his wife aside, no longer thinking of how he wanted to bed her, but instead telling her he wished to spend the night alone.

It was only half a lie.

He went to Mori Manor’s temple, located at the eastern end of the structure. It was a tall room, the ceiling as high as the manor’s three floors. In the center of the temple was a life-sized statue of Karak, the first ever sculpted by Vulfram’s father. The statue faced the east, twelve feet tall and imperial in stature. Vulfram knelt on the pew before the statue, staring up at the visage of his most beloved god, and prayed.

Late afternoon gave way to twilight, which gave way to night, and still Vulfram moved nary a muscle. He stayed on his knees with his hands clasped before him, uttering words of entreaty. When his stomach rumbled, he did nothing. When darkness moved over the room like the tide over the shore, he did nothing. When the air grew cold, he shivered and did nothing else. Before long he knelt in near complete darkness, gazing up at a vague yet mighty outline of holy strength, as tormented as if he were trapped in the bottommost level of the underworld.

His mind was beginning to falter, his body to give out, when suddenly he heard a soft scraping sound, like linens being rubbed against a grainy surface. He blinked his eyes, bleary with sleep, and watched the god’s outline shift before him. It moved as if crouching, until it lay across the expanse of the statue’s platform, no longer part of the statue, which remained exactly as it had been when Vulfram entered the temple.

The silhouette of a massive hand reached forward and snapped its fingers. Candles flamed to life all around him, illuminating the temple with vaporous light. Vulfram could have wept with joy. There he was, live and in the flesh-Karak, reclining on the dais as if the hard marble were the most comfortable surface in both kingdoms. His huge yellow eyes gazed at Vulfram with compassion and wisdom.

“My Lord,” Vulfram gasped.

“My son,” said Karak, his voice loud and booming, seemingly shaking the temple. The statue above, a perfect likeness in white and black marble, trembled. “I heard your prayers. Something troubles you.”

Vulfram lowered his head. “I have lost my faith, my Lord,” he said, before cowardice could change his mind. When the tears came, he did nothing to stop them. “I’m sorry. I’ve failed you.”

Karak’s leisurely posture didn’t waver. “You have done no such thing, my son. Why would you think so?”

“My daughter has sinned gravely, yet I do not wish to punish her. More than anything, I wish to take her into my arms and flee this place, running forever if I must. It’s a desire I don’t think I can overcome.”

Karak stared at him with glowing eyes seeming to burn right into his soul, bringing warmth to his quivering bones. “You can overcome anything,” said the god. “I have faith in you.”

“What if that faith is misplaced?”

The god grabbed his shoulder, engulfing nearly a quarter of his body in his palm. “It is not. I know you will do what is right and that all who deserve judgment shall receive it.”

Vulfram nodded. “I have no choice in the matter, do I?”

“There is always a choice, my son. Most often, knowing the correct one is not the hard part. No, what takes courage, what takes strength , is making the choice we know is right despite every desire otherwise. Do you love me?”

“Of course. More than anything.”

“Then remember that my love supersedes all. If it is torment you fear, remember that the greatest torment would be to exist knowing I am no longer by your side. Do not run, not from me, and not from what you know is right.”

The god touched a finger to his forehead, and white light filled his vision.…

He awoke on the floor of the temple, his face resting in a small puddle of his own drool. The sunrise cast sparks of shimmering red on the statue above him. Vulfram lifted his head and gazed at the statue. The only sign of Karak’s visit was the aching hole in Vulfram’s heart. His back sore from sleeping on the hard floor, he limped out of the temple, shutting the door quietly behind him. He heard Ulrich and Oris’s children playing in the sitting room and smelled the sweet, narcotic scent of bacon frying over an open fire. Yenge’s voice cut through the morning air as she sang the sad song of love and loss she had sung to him on their first night together. His family, those who had not betrayed his trust, was waiting for him. It should have filled him with happiness, but it did not.

His decision was made. He had the hole in his heart to thank for that.

The sky was ominous, but even so, the effigy of the lion cast a long shadow over the damp grass that covered Erznia’s center square. Even more townspeople gathered than before, onlookers who congregated on the fringes of the assembly. The whole square was a giant bundle of nervous energy.

Vulfram strode to the center, feeling like a statue carved and come to life. He gazed at Bracken Renson, who stared back at him with fearful eyes. Where was the man who had so brazenly attacked Alexander the day before? In his stead was a frightened, yet hopeful, child. Vulfram wasn’t sure what had brought about this change, nor did he care. Bracken realized his son’s fate rested in the hands of the Lord Commander. Perhaps that was it.

He stepped up to the executioner’s stone, a thigh-high slab of granite positioned in the corner of the lion’s shadow. The only other time it had been used was fifteen years ago, when a rapist had been caught stalking the young girls of Erznia. It had been Joseph Crestwell who’d doled out Karak’s justice that day, just as it was Vulfram who would carry it out today. The stone still bore the faintest hint of the rapist’s blood.

Taking in a deep breath, Vulfram turned to address the crowd.

“We have gathered here today to bear witness to the punishment of Kristof Renson and Lyana Mori. They have been found guilty of infanticide, one of the worst sins against our god and creator, Karak, the Divinity of the East. Our race is in its infancy, and the lives blessed by our god are precious and rare. To end a life before it has even begun is not only a crime against Karak, but against all of us. The cost of this sin has been decreed by the Divinity himself, and that judgment is final. Bring out the guilty!”