Zia woke up with a sharp headache. She had been in jail once before, caught in a raid of what turned out to be an illegal drinking establishment. That had been an assault upon the senses, unwashed stone soiled by bodies and worse, cold, damp stone. Here, they were at least somewhere clean, dry, and even recently whitewashed from the looks of it. Though, the need to whitewash a cell could be a very bad sign indeed. Let’s hope they don’t have an earth sorcerer. Drexl was at Zia’s side, and Zia realized the stone floor had felt so soft because her head was resting in Drexl’s lap. A month ago, this would have been cause for elation. Now, it was simply a comfort to have the contact of her friend. Zidrist and Darka were sitting across from each other, quietly talking. The little whispers of noise made her headache worse. She tried to croak out a request and found talking made her headache much worse. I’ll close my eyes, and then I’ll try again. When she opened her eyes again, the shadows in the cell had moved. Concussion. I hope they have an earth sorcerer… wait, no… “Hush,” Drexl said. “Lay still.” Oh. Okay. “I said be quiet, Zia.” Am I talking? “You’re trying to.”
“Oh,” Zia managed. “Are… ouch.”
“Alright, talk. It’s your headache.”
“How were you reading my thoughts? Are you an air sorcerer after all?”
Drexl sighed. “You’re mumbling what you think you’re just thinking.”
“How’s… Zidrist? She… I remember she—”
“I’m fine, Zia. The guards were just a little rough with these old bones. Rest. Evidently our trial isn’t until tomorrow.”
“Trial?”
“Charges were brought by Mien that we’re ‘members of a criminal syndicate known as the Royal Society.’”
“Zidrist?”
“Yes, Zia?”
“Manifest destiny is… a crock of demon dung.”
Zidrist’s laughter made Zia’s head ring. “We’ve been discussing exactly that. Rest a little more, until the sound of me talking doesn’t make you wince, and then we’ll catch you up.”
Seems sensible, Zia thought as she closed her eyes again. When she opened them again, her head was still pillowed on Drexl’s legs, Drexl sleeping sitting up to all appearances. “Drexl?” Her friend stirred. “I think… I want to sit up.”
“That’s your choice. Not saying it will be fun.” Drexl supported Zia’s head as she rolled over and levered herself upright. She managed not to throw up.
“Alright. So we’re Royal Society members now?”
Darka replied, “They found the letter from Dear Born. What I don’t know is why Mien decided to have us arrested now.”
Zia furrowed her brow, pain making a jumble of thoughts. “We didn’t move fast enough for Drake, and she talked to Mien? Am I conjugating that right?”
Drexl shrugged a shoulder. “It’s as good a guess as any.”
“So we’re on trial as criminals. I suppose it was inevitable, with the circles we’ve been running in. Barring manifest destiny.”
Zidrist nodded. “Which as you’ve correctly deduced, is a crock of demon dung.”
Zia scrunched up her face again. “But you’re a deacon. You were supposed to be our buffer against such heresy, but it sounds like you got there before me.”
Zidrist sighed. “I’m a theologian, not a politician, Zia. I talked to Wholist priestesses and priests, and their mythology has fewer plot holes than the mythology of Izkarzon. If you wanted a commissar, you could have made a better choice.”
With a laugh, Zia replied, “I thought someone of lower rank would be less likely to take the whole venture from me.”
Darka cackled, then apologized at Zia’s wince. “Bet you wish you’d let someone take it away now, eh?”
Zia shook her head, then decided that had clearly been a mistake. “I wanted… a better life. I thought it was the easiest way to get it. Now, even if we get home, we’re going to be invaded, according to Mien. Unless we’re still trying to find the Heir?”
“Except, like you said, Drake is the most likely one to have betrayed us,” Drexl said. “So we don’t have the next point of contact.”
“Suppose we get out and kill Mien? I don’t like the idea of murder very much, but he did get us into this mess.”
“It’d be a bit obvious, wouldn’t it?” Darka asked. “Mien puts us in jail, we get out, we murder Mien?”
So we’re doomed to fail either way. Zia realized she still had no internal monologue when Zidrist shrugged and replied, “I mean, we could succeed in abandoning our quest, and then if the One God favors the righteous we’d be free to do anything other than install a dragon on the throne of Dragold.”
Zia got more upright, and then sat against a wall, gingerly resting her head against it. “So explain to me this trial. In Dragold, that means three Eyes sit and tell you your crimes, and you either confess or don’t and either way you’re guilty but if you deny your crimes you’re also damned.”
“Not in Fief,” Zidrist replied. “A panel of nobles, because those are the people of esteem who are locally available, will review the evidence both for and against us. They decide whether we’re guilty. We get something called a ‘barrister’ to speak in our defense. He’s been by once already and explained the gist of things. I don’t know how much Gnosis is in people’s heads, but for now our defense will rest upon my testimony.”
Zia let out a whoosh of air. “At least there’s a plan. Once we’re out?”
Darka barked a laugh. “There’s confidence in you, Zidrist! You have a plan and she’s moved on to next steps once we’re out!”
“Once we’re out,” Zidrist said calmly, “We leave Purple. Assuming we don’t murder Mien, which I am firmly against, we’re free to settle in Fief, which I would call the better bet than returning to Dragold where invasion is imminent.”
“The… White Queen would do that?” Zia asked.
Drexl nodded. “Standard nobility, her. Wants more land and more power. Just a matter of her coming to Purple and listening to her… word.”
“Steward,” Darka supplied.
Drexl nodded. “That.”
“Don’t they have another Queen? The Black Queen? What’s her part in invading Dragold?”
Zidrist sighed. “The Black Queen deals with spiritual matters. Spiritually, freeing a people from a cult of draconic personality is a net gain. As long as efforts are made to convert amid the horrors of war, she doesn’t have too much say or too much to say.”
“Gotcha. So we’re in the ‘well sarx, that was a cult’ camp at this point?” Zidrist nodded. Zia wondered when she could do the same again without her head hurting. “I mean, am I an oathbreaker? Just because an authority wasn’t trustworthy doesn’t mean I didn’t swear seven times over to serve him.”
Darka put up a finger to stall her train of thought. “You swore loyalty to Izkarzon, not to the empire or lineage or nation or whatever. He never thought he’d die and didn’t want to risk a successor killing him. So your oaths were moot the moment the Dragonslayer did him in.”
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Zia pooched her lips thoughtfully. “Huh. And here at the onset of this adventure I thought she had ruined everything. Now, I guess, she’s saved me from a mission which…” she gestured to the cell they were in. “…has not served us well.”
Drexl put a hand over Zia’s. “Now, we just need to get through the trial. And trust the deacon.”
Zia nodded sleepily. “That’s doable. I’ve been trusting deacons all my life.” She nodded off again, as Darka hummed something about faith in adversity.
Their barrister was a short, stout man, with a braided beard and hardly any hair on his head. He had a rich baritone that carried well in the ballroom-cum-courthouse, and was evidently on loan from one of the resident nobles who frequently found himself in trouble with his duns. “Deacon Zidrist. It is your testimony that you are in Purple on a mission of mercy?”
“It is.”
“And what is that mission?”
“That mission was to find the heir to the draconic empire of Dragold. We have since abandoned it, three of our number having converted to Wholism and the last having at least acknowledged that the divine providence proving the righteousness of the quest was, ah… ‘demon dung.’” The jurors, various nobles, tittered at the foul language.
“And what occurred while you were pursuing that goal?”
“As deniable agents, we were tasked by Lord Drake with the murder of Ser Mien.”
“Can you point out Ser Mien in the audience please?”
Zidrist did so.
“And Lord Drake?”
Once again, Zidrist did so.
“Prosecution’s witness.”
The barrister acting on behalf of the prosecution was, to Zia’s eye, a more impressive specimen. She observed curiously that she wasn’t assessing her for a liaison, but merely as a threat. She was tall, dark-haired, and fair, and her suit fit a bit better than their own barrister’s.
“How many crimes have you committed as part of the ‘Heirrors’ mentioned in the letter, Zidrist?”
“Deacon Zidrist, if you please.”
“Deacon Zidrist, answer the question.”
“I have not committed any crimes while within Fief.”
“But you slander the name of Lord Drake, that she would have you murder the Queen’s agent.”
“I am not on trial for slander, I am on trial as a member of a criminal syndicate. If you wish to try me for slander, you will kindly bring charges before this court.”
“The prosecution calls Lord Drake to the stand.” There was some shuffling, before the noble was brought up to be interviewed. “Lord Drake. Did you, as alleged, task these foreigners with the murder of Defiant Mien?”
“I did not.”
“I see. And why would they accuse you of that?”
The defense barrister spoke up. “Objection, conjecture!”
“Withdrawn. Have you had any interactions with the ‘Heirrors’?”
“Briefly. I rebuffed them. This is doubtless the slight which prompted them to single me out for this baseless accusation.”
The trial continued in that vein, and while Zia’s nerves hummed, Zidrist looked almost bored.
“So, Ser Mien, the evidence you have against the defendants is this letter, exhibit ‘A’ on the table.” Mien nodded. “And what are the contents of the letter, if I may hand it to you?” The judge nodded, and Mien unfolded it as though it were a snake about to bite him.
“In short, it trades a criminal act for an introduction to a crime lord in Cheese Eye. Prosecution of the alleged criminal will be the next step of Her Majesty’s government.”
“I see. So the criminality of the person to whom they were to be introduced has not been established?”
“We intend to pursue the matter as soon as we have established the criminality of the Heirrors and Genuine Gnosis has read the details of their interactions.”
“And does the letter specify what crimes they committed for the alleged crime lord of Cheese Eye?”
“…”
“May I remind you that you are under oath, Ser Mien?”
“It does not.”
“And does the authority of Fief extend to Dragold, judicially?”
“Objection!” the tall barrister protested. “Ser Mien is not an expert in law.”
The judge waved a hand. “Sustained.”
“As an expert in law, I will answer my own question, then. Fief has rather specifically taken a stance of noninterference in the affairs of Dragold. What, then, is the crime committed by the Heirrors?”
Mien’s eyes darted to Drake’s, widening in alarm. Oh. I see. By calling Drake and having her deny knowing us, he can’t charge us with the only crime we did commit in Purple, the planting of falsified deeds. And the noble we planted the deeds upon isn’t any the wiser, because servants are not in the gallery and Drexl only interacted with servants. “Ah… they…”
“Yes, Ser Mien?”
Hangdog, Mien replied, “I suppose none, then.”
Looking pleased with himself, the barrister said, “The defense rests, your Honor.”
While they were found “not guilty,” their presence was no longer desired in what was, admittedly, the private estate of the White Queen. So it was that an armed escort followed them to the perimeter of Purple and watched them cross the massive black stone gate between that and the neighboring sphere of Rime, another fire-walled sphere with a curiously cold interior. It was gently snowing, in fact, once they were away from the heat of the wall itself. They drew curious glances from those on the road, mostly coachmen driving teams pulling elaborate wagons doubtless carrying further nobles to the estate in Purple.
At the first inn they found, Zia simply dumped out her purse and said, “Rooms, please. Two.” She glanced at Drexl. “Three?” Drexl shook her head. “Two. And food. Please.”
The inn made a decent roast, albeit with smaller portions than Zia might have liked, and potatoes had to be the most agreeable tuber Zia had eaten in some time. The beds in the rooms they were given were packed with straw, but the pillows were soft. Even given the step down in quality from their chambers at the royal estate, they were out of place with Drexl and Zia in their armor and Darka and Zidrist in common robes. Zia ignored the whispering while they ate, and gave it no thought as, emotionally exhausted, she laid down on the bed. I’m surprised Drexl was willing to share a room with me. She must trust me more than she used to. Then again, I’m more trustworthy than I used to be.
The next morning, Darka was the one to pour out her silver, and get them directions to the nearest urban center. I guess she doesn’t feel like singing, just now. We did narrowly avoid a prison sentence.
It was several days’ journey to Millstone, and each of them kept their own council. They had lost their faith, they had nearly lost their liberty, and only Zidrist’s cunning and mental fortitude let us surprise the Historians or Royal Society members or whatever that bunch’s deal is. Daring Kaliskast always made their duplicity bite them in the butt… actually, I suppose that happened here too. So he finally got something right. Go figure. But what’s next? We’re going to Millstone, we’re probably not going back to Dragold unless we want to be conscripted… I should tell my parents by ‘Loon that they should pack some bags. Maybe they’ll join us here. That would be nice. Even if things closed on a slightly sour note, I do love them.
Millstone loomed in the distance, and Darka pulled her last few weights of silver out of her bag in preparation to pay the entry toll. It was a large city, grown well beyond its walls, but Zidrist had expressed a desire to enter the city legitimately, rather than slinking in through slums. Seeing as it wasn’t her silver, Zia saw no reason to challenge the decision. She hummed to herself, and realized that Darka had been singing for the last stretch of road, ever since Millstone had become visible on the horizon. If she’s happy, Zidrist is probably happy. Which means that there’s a plan, or at least that we’re going to be okay. Caste doesn’t matter here, I wonder what Drexl will turn her talents to. She’d make an excellent guardsman, or an organizer for a task force of some kind…
While Foes Jeer (I’ll Pray)
There’s a faith, that brooks no denying
In the One God, who’s never dying.
He’s fantastic, His ways sublime
He saves His people, every time.
In face of hate, we’ll preach our faith
We’ll proclaim loud, yes we shall sayeth!
In face of hate, we’ll know the truth
With praise to the Lord, we’ll raise the roof!
How can I pray when my foes are cheering?
Let me tell you I’ll pray while the world is jeering!
How can I pray when my foes are cheering?
Let me tell you I’ll pray while the world is jeering!
In face of hate, we’ll preach our faith
We’ll proclaim loud, yes we shall sayeth!
Have you heard, the greatest news?
Listen to God, I’ll share my views.
He makes right every single wrong
Come on and sing along.
In face of hate, we’ll preach our faith
We’ll proclaim loud, yes we shall sayeth!
In face of hate, we’ll know the truth
With praise to the Lord, we’ll raise the roof!
How can I pray when my foes are cheering?
Let me tell you I’ll pray while the world is jeering!
How can I pray when my foes are cheering?
Let me tell you I’ll pray while the world is jeering!
In face of hate, we’ll preach our faith
We’ll proclaim loud, yes we shall sayeth!
In face of hate, we’ll know the truth
With praise to the Lord, we’ll raise the roof!
How can I pray when my foes are cheering?
Let me tell you I’ll pray while the world is jeering!
