Head Clerk Georgio Wisen IV stood outside the Monastery gate and engaged with a gentleman dressed in exotic attire. The man’s hair was dark, oiled and pulled back in the southern fashion and whenever he spoke, he pointed at the old monk as if adding punctuation to his words.

            “Yes, yes. Everything is on schedule as promised. As for your part?” the Head Clerk soothed the foreigner.

            “After,” the southerner pointed.

            At the same moment, Empty Eyes’ hooded form stepped into sight and plodded towards the abbey. The southerner spotted the giant and braced his nerves to deny the old monk the pleasure of a reaction. Head Clerk Wisen had seen too many men feign bravery in front of his Adjudicators to be fooled.

            “Here comes one of our honorable Adjudicators now. Mr. Lazzet, let me introduce you,” the Head Clerk smiled and waved Empty Eyes over. The Adjudicator dwarfed the southerner and observed the man through the slit in his hood. To Inrich Lazzet’s credit, he met the monster’s pale gaze but abstained from speaking, not trusting his voice.

            “You may go inside, child,” the old monk instructed. When alone again, the Head Clerk turned his attention back to Lazzet.

            “Your gracious donation will arrive before the trial,” Georgio Wisen IV said flatly.

            Inrich Lazzet grunted his agreement and withdrew from the shadow of the abbey.

********

            The Monastery of Law kept two rooms deep beneath the ground to board their Adjudicators. The stone walls and flooring were cold year round. The bedrooms were isolated from the rest of the brotherhood and by order of the clerks, the Adjudicators were not permitted to interact with each other. Empty Eyes did not mind. He found asylum in the quietude especially on nights when his head pained him.

            The Adjudicator lay on his oversized cot and massaged his eyes to bring his headache some relief. The clerk delivering his nightly Wheatcream was overdue. Before his migraines became never ending, Empty Eyes could lie back at night and practically live in his favorite memory. But with every trial, his headaches swelled and his treasure was pushed further below the surface as he absorbed the mind of another defendant.

            “How long before I can’t find it again?” Empty Eyes often asked but tonight he was occupied with a new question: “When will my friend be back?”

            The bedroom door opened and Head Clerk Wisen surprised Empty Eyes. The old monk struggled with a pail of Wheatcream whose size must have been designed for livestock.

            “Forgive the tardiness, child,” the Head Clerk dropped the bucket just past the threshold. “I asked for the honor of delivering your meal but I underestimated how formidable stairs can be after a day’s work.”

            Empty Eyes retrieved the Wheatcream and placed it on a corner table. The Adjudicator raised the wick in his bedroom lamp to accommodate the Head Clerk’s age.

            “Thank you, child,” the old monk sat on Empty Eyes’ cot and patted the space next to him.

            “It is a rare treat to visit with you personally and unfortunate that I cannot find the time between my duties more often,” the old monk flexed and rubbed his gnarled hands together. “But I did not come just to feed you. I wished that we might talk for a spell.”

            Empty Eyes might have broken a sweat if his room wasn’t so cold. In hindsight, the idea that his mischief in the park would go unnoticed seemed ridiculous. While he had hoped the Head Clerk wouldn’t become involved, Empty Eyes couldn’t help but feel a measure of relief. Living with the guilt felt like he had swallowed a stone.

            “Tomorrow, you will serve a warrant. I will be in attendance as well. I know that you are not on duty, having just so recently stood in judgment, but performing this service for me will greatly benefit our humble order and in turn, benefit The Law,” the Head Clerk explained. Using the Blade of Law without an adequate break was a risk traditionally avoided but Georgio Wisen was willing to gamble if victory meant securing Inrich Lazzet’s patronage. The other Adjudicator, the one the public called Long Tooth, was too far along the stages of exhaustion to be trusted for this case. If Long Tooth was due for retirement, the Head Clerk wasn’t going to let it play out on stage and result in a mistrial. Lazzet had made it clear that he required a verdict if Wisen wanted his ambitions fully funded.

            “Do you understand, my child?”

            “Yes, father,” Empty Eyes said. What he understood was that he dodged trouble for the moment and with Lily vacationing, he might be in the clear permanently.

            While that was good news, the prospect of trial rekindled another concern. If the spell of the blade drowned his memory of cinnamon and song for good, would he ever know anything about himself again? And if he didn’t remember anything about himself, how could he say with any certainty who he was? What he was? The questions snowballed and were too complex for Empty Eyes to articulate but simple enough to make him feel as if he were staring into a boundless chasm; He knew that once he fell in, the descent would be unending.

            “I had the kitchen cook you up a little extra tonight,” the Head Clerk nodded at Empty Eyes’ pail. “It should help with your sleep. Has your head been hurting you much? No? Good. Let your brothers know if you require anything. I will see you in the morning, child,” the old monk stood.

            “Father?”

            “Yes, child?”

            “If I don’t,--” Empty Eyes tripped through the words. “If I can’t remember myself, how will I know who I am?”

            Head Clerk Wisen chuckled to mask his alarm. All Adjudicators manifested similar thoughts in the course of their career but these particular symptoms of exhaustion were premature for Empty Eyes. Wisen made a note to follow up with the clerks but for now, he soothed Empty Eyes with the answer he always started with in the face of existential uncertainty: “You are and you will always be a servant of justice and in this world, there is no greater duty. Do you hear me, child?”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

            “Yes, father.”

            “Good night, child,” the old monk pulled the door shut as he exited.

            Unlike Mr. Lazzet and others, the Head Clerk was adept at hiding his discomfort around the Adjudicators. He could affix his grandfatherly smile and tamp down his dread for great lengths of time if necessary. Still, he was glad that the giants were kept in the basement.

********

            The armor Empty Eyes wore required the coordination of three clerks to equip and left the Adjudicator dripping with perspiration before taking a step outside the Monastery. After marching across town, the Adjudicator was made to wait in the yard of the address on the warrant carried by the Head Clerk. The wind penetrated his armor and felt like hornets against his wet linens. Head Clerk Georgio Wisen IV enjoyed the breeze and felt young again in his dress white vestments as he awaited the arrival of the homeowner. The monk bent to smell the flower beds which bordered the walkway on which they stood and encompassed the whole of the property.

            “What a wonderful morning,” Head Clerk Wisen thought. “And the best part is still around the bend.”

            A single armed bailiff escorted a clerk and Adjudicator when the Monastery of Law served an official warrant; Why Head Clerk Wisen took interest in this particular case was the gossip of the day at the abbey.

            The strange trio waited before a single story cottage of humble design. The house’s architecture was identical to every home in the community. The design did not need to impress; if you owned a cottage in the oldest neighborhood in Iratari, which was itself the oldest city on the continent, then you undoubtedly owned a collection of houses of grander design wherever you wished.

            What set this particular house apart from its neighbors was the most opulent flower garden Head Clerk Wisen had ever seen. Blooms fought for breathing room and created a carpet of color and atmosphere. The Head Clerk recognized blossoms that must have been imported only to live out their short glory amongst new friends before withering and being replaced. A pair of gardeners was in the process of performing such a transplant when Wisen approached and the sight of Empty Eyes sent the workers fleeing like rabbits back into the house.

            “Get off of my property!” a man yelled from the front door. He was huffing but slowed when he saw the Adjudicator. The homeowner was short with a trimmed dark beard. His belly extended past his belt buckle but Taumus Lahmer could not be called soft. His round frame was built from dense, unyielding muscle and his strength of mind made him peerless amongst traders.

            “Are you Mr. Taumus Lahmer born from Thio and Jannit Lahmer of Iratari?” the Head Clerk asked. By this time, the monk knew a contingent of gossip mongers would be watching from behind curtained windows. Everyone knew whose house the Monastery was serving.

            “Don’t waste my time, Wisen. Take your dog and leave.”

            “I apologize. The question is a legal formality,” Head Clerk Wisen said. “We’ll get right to it then. Bear with me; I have not done this in quite some time.”

            The Head Clerk produced a rolled parchment from his robe and held it before Mr. Lahmer so that the document’s unmolested seal could be verified. Mr. Lahmer’s face flooded with realization and the Head Clerk drank his fill before cracking the wax seal and reading: “Taumus Lahmer, you are summoned to appear in the Lawful Square of Iratari on the time and date set forth below to defend the honor of your person and your family in a trial sanctioned by the Monastery of Law. The petition set forth by the plaintiff, Mr. Inrich Lazzet, has been-“

            “What nonsense is this?” Mr. Lahmer interjected. “That southern thief cannot call me to a Blood Trial!”

            “It is my understanding that the gentleman has purchased the available property just down the street. So Mr. Lazzet is, in fact, a landowning citizen and legally entitled to petition the monastery for trial. You know the house? I believe a couple named Minniston recently lived there,” Head Clerk Wisen explained as if teaching a child why they must take their medicine.

            “You monks would make better grave robbers than judges,” Lahmer sneered.

            “The petition set forth by the plaintiff, Mr. Inrich Lazzet, has been reviewed and approved for a charge of Intentional Murder against Mr. Taumus Lahmer. Acceptance of this legal challenge commits the defendant to appear with all living spouses and children of household age before an assigned Adjudicator who shall collect and examine all relevant evidence and render a true verdict. Should you refuse compliance, the Monastery of Law shall hold you in contempt and all assets and property within city limits owned by Mr. Taumus Lahmer shall be forfeit to the guardianship of the Monastery of Law. Furthermore, the Lahmer family shall be escorted by municipal guard to the city gates and denied all future entry to Iratari, the City of Balance and Cradle of Justice.”

            “Fewer than two weeks to kill the Minnistons, sell their home then receive and approve a petition for a Blood Trial from the new owner. The gears of the law spin swiftly when greased. Am I right, Georgio?”

            “The Law is The Law and the same for every man,” the Head Clerk produced a knife no larger than a toothpick. “But I admit: rumors of Taumus Lahmer being a flight risk might have prodded the speed of the gears a bit. I was not greatly worried. We both know running has never been your style. Am I right, Taumus?”

            The sparring of wits went unappreciated by Empty Eyes. An Adjudicator and their accompanying bailiff were included for ceremony but there was nothing for Empty Eyes to do short of sweating into his boots. He took the opportunity to set his own wits to work: how would he protect his mind against the magic or was he doomed to lose the last piece of himself forever? He had been pounding away at the dilemma ever since the Head Clerk visited his room but the issue felt impossible to grasp; Every time he swiped at it, it flew through his fingers and swirled away like a mote of dust.

            Georgio Wisen IV offered the small blade to Taumus Lahmer. “Exile or honor. What shall it be?”

            “Third time is the charm. Isn’t that the saying, Georgio?” Lahmer snatched the ornamental knife, sliced into his thumb and threw the blade into the flowers. The defendant pushed his thumb against the parchment next to the calligraphy of his name. “Good luck to you and your abbey of thieves, Little Georgey Wisen from Raindrain Row. But no matter how many times you try, what’s mine will stay mine.”

            “I do not need luck, Taumus. I have The Law,” the Head Clerk smiled and his Adjudicator towered behind him.

            “You’ll want to recruit all the help you can if you’re trying to topple The Most Honest Man in Iratari,” Lahmer shouted for all those watching from safe distances.

            Lahmer’s boast tugged at Empty Eyes like a whispered name in a sleeping ear. He knew he had heard the phrase before but he didn’t know why it sent a shock through his spine.

            “Daddy! Are we going?” a voice hollered from inside the cottage; A child’s voice.

            “Stay inside, baby,” Lahmer shouted back.

            The girl ran into view. She had a head full of curls that framed a set of chubby cheeks and her dress was uncharacteristically clean.

            “Knotty! What are you doing here? Are you coming with us?” Lily’s face lit up.

            “Stay inside!” Lahmer shielded his daughter from the monks’ pet monster, ignored her subsequent tantrum and shouted for the child’s nanny.

            “Now get off my property,” he spat when Lily was secured and slammed the door.

            “Strange child,” the Head Clerk chuckled and retrieved his knife along with a fistful of flowers. Empty Eyes’ stomach somersaulted all the way back to the abbey. He spent the rest of the day reconstructing the event in his imagination; Every time hoping to find a crack or loose thread to tug on and cause the scene to unspool and be revealed as the bad dream he wished it to be. By the time Empty Eyes chugged his Wheatcream and laid in bed that evening, he had conceded that the nightmare was indeed real. The next morning, he would be required to judge whether or not to kill his only friend.