C.E. Mutphy - Hands of Flame

“Biali shared his own memories while you changed clothes,” Eldred said quietly, then sighed as he turned to the gargoyle whose actions had begun the tribunal. “And so I suppose we may as well complete the forms. Why did you, Biali of the clan Kameh, bring us to this tribunal?”

“To see justice done for Ausra. For Hajnal,” he growled, glaring at Alban. Alban, stung by understanding, lowered his gaze. He had no room left in him for hate, if he ever had. For him, only regret colored their dealings now, though Biali still spoke with anger. “Cut the farce and get to the heart of it.”

Sorrow passed over Eldred’s face, deepening his voice further. “We have already taken Biali’s memories into our own, and there can be no doubt that the trial is decided. Margrit Knight has chosen compassion time and time again, even when it was to the detriment of her own cause. Biali’s choices were perhaps born from love, but have taken a path of vengeance. There can be no forgiveness for enslaving one of our own, just as there is full acceptance for one whose true heart is proven in our court.

“By right of trial, Alban Korund is free and a welcome part of our community. Biali Kameh will walk alone.”

“Are you nuts?” Margrit surged forward, disregarding her headache as she put herself mere inches from a startled Eldred. “What are you doing? You can’t exile Biali, not after all of this. The whole point is that this is a stupid law, exiling people from tiny communities. Biali made a mistake. He made a huge mistake, but didn’t the lesson he came back with say love conquers all? He acted stupidly, he chose badly, but Hajnal wasn’t just talking to him when she said a beating heart is the strongest force on earth, right? Isn’t that what you said? That you’re all supposed to listen and gain wisdom from what’s found in the depths of the memories by those on trial?”

Protests rose around her, but outrage had Margrit in its grip thoroughly enough that she couldn’t hear their words, only that they spoke. Her head felt as though it would fly apart with every breath, adding insult to her indignation.

The remaining tribunal members gathered around her and Eldred, wings half spread to make both a private area and, some primitive part of Margrit’s brain recognized, to threaten her with their size. She was small, they large; she should retreat, not fight. Her anger burned through any sense of menace and she continued shouting at Eldred, confusing her circle of jailers enough that they fell back a little.

“You do not understand our ways,” Eldred said below her invective. Margrit threw her hands up, sheer exasperation.

“Of course I do! You and goddamned Alban, determined to stick with the rules against anything even vaguely resembling sense! God, you all deserve one another! All right, fine, you want to play it your way? I’ll play it your way. I demand another trial to determine Biali’s proper place within your society.” Red spiked through Margrit’s vision as she shouted, and she wished she had a gauntlet to throw down; the gesture would be wildly satisfying.

The gargoyles surrounding her fell back farther, astonishment driving them apart. Eldred gaped, then tilted his head back and laughed, a warm, rich sound of genuine amazement. “Who do you challenge, Margrit Knight?”

“You,” Margrit snapped. “All of you. Anybody. Whoever I have to, as many times as I have to. This is a stupid law, and I’m not going to stand for it.”

“Do I get any say in the matter?” Biali asked from somewhere behind her, voice as dry as desert sands.

“No. You’re causing all these problems. You can just be quiet while I save your big, broad ass. Chelsea!” Margrit elbowed the gangly gargoyle out of her way and emerged from their circle to glare at Chelsea. “That serpent, you said he’s basically the truth at the heart of everything, right? And I’m about as favored as it gets in his eyes right now?”

Chelsea’s feather-thin eyebrows rose. “I did, and you are.”

“Hah!” Margrit turned back to the gargoyles, heat rushing through her veins in buoyant triumph and passion. She could ride it through the pain, especially if she tried not to breathe too deeply. “So if we’re reducing those journeys to platitudes and clichés, then Biali’s got love conquers all and I’ve got the truth will out. I’m right, and right now I’ve got the serpent at the heart of the world watching over me. You really want to go up against me with that kind of linebacker on my side? Because if you do, I’m ready and willing.”

Silent gargoyles exchanged glances before Eldred surprised Margrit by turning to Chelsea. The tiny woman cocked an eyebrow again, as if disavowing responsibility. Eldred looked toward Biali, then lifted his voice. “Alban, what say you?”

Biali’s scarred face contorted and Margrit remembered abruptly that he had more than once expressed disdain for the mercy Alban had shown him in battle. Alban’s answer was a long time in coming, and left its mark on Biali’s face, as well. “I have no need or desire to see another of our kind exiled. I hold no grudge, nor any lasting damage. Let him belong.” Far more softly, he added, “It is what Hajnal would have wanted.”

Eldred’s nod of acceptance was stiff. Margrit flung herself into one of the chess-table chairs, skidding across the floor in triumph. The action jarred her skull and a pained blush heated her face, but for the moment, she didn’t care.

“Margrit.” Though she hadn’t noticed his retreat, Janx spoke from the door, where Daisani stood at his side. “I think Stoneheart would not answer this, but you’ve proved wonderfully indiscreet. What of Sarah, Margrit? What of Sarah Hopkins?”

Margrit turned her head, hearing stiff muscles in her neck creak. “It’s been three hundred and fifty years, dragonlord. I’m sorry.”

Janx hesitated a long moment, then nodded. It was, for once, Daisani who sketched a brief and acknowledging bow, and then the two rivals exited together, bound by one more ancient grief.

One by one the tribunal shifted forms, becoming human, and Grace guided them out. The door banged shut behind them, leaving a hunch-shouldered Biali in Margrit’s line of sight. “What’d you do that for?”

Exasperation bubbled up so strongly Margrit hissed through her teeth. The impulse to stamp her feet and fling her hands around in a tantrum of frustration, was barely alleviated by the steam-engine eruption of sound. “Because it’s a stupid law. Because you did a stupid thing, maybe even a lot of stupid things, but insofar as there’s a right reason to do stupid things, you did them for the right reasons. You did them because people you loved died, and that hurt got twisted around with justice and turned into vengeance, but you’re not evil and you don’t deserve to be shut away from your people. And there are only a few hundred of your people left, and if you all want to survive, they need you, as much as you need them.” All the passion drained out of her, leaving her slumped in the chair and a bit wry. “Besides, why go for a partial victory when you can take the full sweep?”

Biali grunted, Margrit recognizing the sound as something as close to a thanks as she would probably ever get. Then he looked beyond her. “Korund.”

“Biali.” Alban’s voice sounded unusually soft in the empty chamber. After a long moment Biali nodded and stumped out of the room, leaving Margrit alone with Alban.

Margrit put her elbows on the chess table and slid her fingers into her hair, massaging her head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off about Sarah, but they weren’t going to let it go with no answers, Alban. I thought it’d be easier if I broke your promise for you. God, my head hurts.”