Роджер Мур - The Reign of Istar

The city guardsmen glanced at each other and muttered among themselves. The cleric demanded quiet. Arryl noted the silver stripe running across the man’s chest, the same stripe he had seen on Brother Gurim and several other clerics since his arrival. He wondered briefly about its meaning, but the priest demanded his attention again.

“Your name, Solamnian?”

“I am Arryl Tremaine.”

“Arryl Tremaine, I want you to come with us.”

“Excuse me, Brother, but I would like to return to my quarters. I have been negligent in the performance of my evening prayers.”

The cleric smiled. “I commend your dedication, but this is a matter of justice. The laws of His Holiness and the great Paladine have been broken. Surely you see that this is of much greater import than missing one day of prayer?”

Arryl hesitated, then nodded. The cleric had a point. The law had been broken and Tremaine was a witness. Likely they wanted him to testify against the two.

“Come, then, Sir Knight,” said the cleric pleasantly. “Walk beside me. It is not often that we have one of our Solamnic brothers among us.”

Very understandable , Tremaine thought. When he left Istar tomorrow, he certainly would never be back.

The city guardsmen suddenly closed in around him and jostled him roughly. Angered at their effrontery, Arryl started to reach for his sword, then reminded himself that not only was he not the prisoner, but that his sword was back in his quarters.

To his astonishment, the guardsmen took him to the Temple of Paladine.

“Why are we here?” Tremaine asked. “I would have thought felons would be taken to the headquarters of the city guard.”

The emaciated priest, who still had not introduced himself, gave Arryl a look that said that only a foreigner would ask such a question. “The city guard is the physical arm of justice. Defining and overseeing the law is a matter for the Order of Paladine.”

Despite the merit of the statement, the Solamnian had his doubts. “You have not yet explained my purpose here. Am I to act as witness?”

“That is up to the inquisitors to decide.”

Inquisitors ? Arryl disliked the sound of that.

The temple itself was as splendid as anything in Istar. Immense marble columns rose high in the air. Intricate friezes representing both the history of Istar and Paladine’s glory decorated the walls. Sculptures and other valuable artifacts lined the halls. The temple had been built long before the present Kingpriest. The additions made since his rise to power were gaudy and seemed out of place. His banners and masks were everywhere, but here the true wonder of Paladine overwhelmed that of his servant, as was only proper.

A pair of tall silver—true silver—doors led to the chamber where the inquisitors meted out justice. Tremaine and the others waited for several minutes, the knight trying not to grow impatient.

The doors suddenly swung open. Two large acolytes, armed with very solid-looking maces, pushed the doors aside and stood guard. One of them nodded to Arryl’s guide.

“Enter.”

The guards shoved Arryl forward, as if he were the prisoner! He glared at them angrily.

The room was lit by only a handful of torches, but it was still enough light to allow Arryl Tremaine to study his surroundings. The contrast between this chamber and the rest of the temple was astonishing. It seemed that the original builders had forgotten to finish this room once the walls were up. To be sure, the familiar banners and masks commemorating the Kingpriest were present, but little else. The only furniture consisted of a table and three chairs atop a dais.

The doors behind them closed.

Three hooded and robed figures entered from a side door that the knight had not noticed in the dim light. They all wore the same robes that Brother Gurim and the cleric beside him wore, white with a silver stripe running across the chest. Tremaine guessed now what that symbol meant. These specific clerics served as the keepers of justice in the Kingpriest’s city.

Their hoods masking their features, the three newcomers sat down in the chairs and faced the group. The one in the center clasped his hands together and asked, “Is this the one involved in the struggle, Brother Efram?”

Arryl’s companion stepped through the line of guards and took a position two or three feet in front. The knight tried to follow him, but the soldiers formed a tight ring around him. Arryl frowned, but did nothing more, assuming that this was merely a matter of protocol.

Brother Efram bowed respectfully and answered, “This is the one.”

The spokesman for the triumvirate signaled someone beyond the side doorway. Arryl was shocked to see the two men he had beaten enter on their own. The knight was the one being guarded!

“This is the man?” the center figure asked them.

They nodded.

“You are dismissed.”

The two departed. The hooded clerics focused their attention on Arryl, who was growing extremely angry. He was forced to remind himself he was in a temple of Paladine.

“You are Arryl Tremaine, Knight of Solamnia?” the cleric demanded.

“I am!” he answered proudly.

The center cleric folded his hands together again. “You appreciate the letter of the law, do you not, Sir Knight?”

“I do. What—”

“Then you realize that you have transgressed.”

“I—” Arryl stiffened. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. “I am innocent of wrongdoing! What do you mean by saying that I have transgressed?”

A second inquisitor spoke. “Arryl Tremaine, you are charged with preventing two members of the city guard from performing their duties. Further, you assaulted and injured both soldiers.”

“This is preposterous!” Tremaine retorted. “They were beating an unarmed man senseless! When I called to them to stop, they did not identify themselves. They attacked me! I defended myself!”

“Where is this third man?” asked the same cleric.

“I …” Tremaine had no answer. His only witness had vanished during the struggle. “How could I know these men were guardsmen? I am innocent! This is madness!”

“None of us are truly without sin,” the center cleric intoned. The third inquisitor, who had not spoken yet, nodded agreement. The spokesman added, “And you of all people, Knight of Solamnia, should know that ignorance of the law is no excuse. Think of the chaos if we allowed that.”

For Arryl Tremaine, the world ceased to be. All that existed for him were the three men and their incredible accusations. What was happening here?

They took him then, realizing he was weakest at this moment. Two guards caught hold of his arms and pinned them, while two more clamped manacles around his wrists, ankles, and throat. Arryl was too proud to resist; against so many, his struggles would have been useless. In less than a minute, the knight was shackled.

“Arryl Tremaine,” said the inquisitor, “you have been found guilty of crimes against the laws set down by the Kingpriest of Istar and Paladine himself. To argue against those laws is to argue against your very faith.”

Arryl said nothing, his mind dazed as he tried to understand what was happening.

“You are hereby sentenced to the Games, there to train and fight for your eventual freedom … if Paladine deems you worthy of salvation.”

The Games? As with everything else, even Arryl’s sentence bordered on the absurd, the unbelievable. The Games were death itself, senseless, bloody conflicts that were against the laws of Paladine, as set forth in the Oath and the Measure.

“Place him in a cell for the night and see to it that he is sent to the arena first thing in the morning,” the inquisitor ordered. Brother Efram bowed. To Arryl, the inquisitor said, “May the Kingpriest watch over your soul, Sir Knight”