The scoundrel had never looked less ready in his life, but Garone’s softly-spoken question was just right to bring him back to his senses.
Now he will control himself.
The judge entered, the age-worn gavel at her belt matching the depictions on her amulet. The long headdress went from her brows and temples to the small of her back, its black and white feathers swishing as she strode in from her antechambers, iridescent plum robes trailing the cold stone floor. She was the randomly-chosen representative of the group of five judges, collectively known as the Listeners, whose decision would determine the case’s outcome. Hers, in particular. The Chief Audient always voted last, always tipped a balance one way or the other.
Her face was colder than the floor. This was Elteria Drayne, the worst possible choice for Garone’s client. She was stuffy, respectable, and Garone thoroughly adored her. She detested scumbags like Yaneyar with a fiery passion.
The worst possible choice – but the inevitable choice, as far as Garone’s plans were concerned. Hence the oath. Hence the needless risk.
The trial’s conclusion went much as Garone had foreseen.
His opponent, Henric Obelmaier, was an honourable chap of Northman descent. Henric represented a conglomeration of minor guilds whose combined wealth sought to topple Mr. Yaneyar from his lofty perch… Minor guilds in which the Magisterium had invested large sums over the last five years, according to Garone’s research.
He didn’t like Mr. Yaneyar one bit, but he liked what this legal action implied for the reach of the Magisterium even less. He’d been unable to uncover any particularly-shady looking transfers of funds, but over a dozen Magisterium representatives had encouraged this particular lawsuit in a whole variety of ways.
Henric’s evidence was all but presented by this final hearing, and it was only for Garone’s client to take the stand, rip away the Magisterium’s argument at the knees.
“The Listeners recognise Mr. Obelmaier,” came the severe voice of the judge.
“Thank you, Your Duty,” came the clear, bright voice of Garone’s opponent.
Henric got to his feet and took position in front of his entourage, several of the minor guilds’ leaders to be spotted amongst the array of assistants and colleagues he’d brought with him. Smiling, Henric faced the scoundrel.
“Mr. Yaneyar. I call you to give testimony.” The lawyer raised his hand to his side, indicating the court floor with his palm. “Do you consent?”
The scoundrel turned his hard stare on Garone. Garone merely nodded.
Yaneyar stood, scowling, and crossed to the clear area in front of Elteria Drayne. When he took his place he was standing extremely still, hands gripping one another at the lower back, chest puffed out and arrogance marked into every line on his face.
“Mr. Ixi Yaneyar, of Westrise and Tangletree. Thank you for your presence. You are aware of the prohibition on supplying enemies of the Realm with exotic weaponry, without license two-two-eight?”
Henric had a way of asking leading questions that disarmed even Garone.
Another bead of sweat started on Yaneyar’s brow, and the scoundrel, still scowling, nodded.
“We will require you to give a verbal response, Mr. Yaneyar. This is from the contract between yourself and the Third Armoury Guild, stipulating the extent of your operation’s involvement in foreign aid –”
“I am aware of it.” The reply was barely better than a low growl but the courtroom’s acoustics had been augmented, and everyone heard.
“You have been present now at four hearings. You are privy to our evidence, the use of Dragonite Incendiaries in the Glaustenz Reaches, during the recent Incitement. You were aware of the prohibition on the fourteenth of Belara, Nine-Ninety-Six, when you crossed the Glaustenz borderlands for a six-week expedition?”
“I…” The scoundrel struggled to bring himself to agree. “I’m not sure what that’s got –“
“Do you require that I refresh your memory? You started with a visit to the Glausite staging area, wherein you spent in excess of two hundred platinum in a single evening, at the pleasure-tents –“
“Yes!” Yaneyar barked. His face reddened, the mask of shamelessness slipping. “I was aware of it, damn it!”
“We have outlined at length your involvement in the Dragonite project. We have verified testimony of your outburst at the Mortifost Feast at the Sunset Keep, and the calculations to back up your own words. Would you have the court believe you did not negotiate with the inhabitants of the foreign lands, to supply them with ensorcelled weaponry? Would you have us believe my clients are owed not one single copper?”
Garone met Yaneyar’s eyes across the floor.
Do it. Just like I told you.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Yaneyar blinked, and looked away. The sweat trickled down the side of his face.
“If it pleases the judge,” he mumbled, “I’ll swear the truth to Glaif. May my head be shorn from shoulder if I lie.”
The gasp that cut through the crowd made Garone smile to hear it. A sound no longer merely a concept in his mind, still awaiting shape in the world – but manifest now, in reality. The oath to Glaif which Yaneyar used was a blunt tool, ancient in origin and basic in function. It was not at all like speaking in Kultemeren’s name, which would be illegal here. The oath did not prevent him from lying – but it called death down upon him if he did so with intent to deceive.
“It would please the court,” came the suddenly-alive, suddenly-curious voice of Elteria Drayne. “Please continue your testimony, Mr. Yaneyar.”
“I did take Dragonite Incendiaries with me to the Reaches,” Yaneyar admitted, glumness in his low voice – the loud murmuring his words caused quickly died away again as the crowds struggled to hear him. “I took them with me, and I wanted to discuss a…”
The scoundrel choked, and swallowed audibly.
A kind of almost-supernatural silence descended.
“The barbarian-king I met – it’s not how they tell it in the stories. Sure, the place is a barren land. Cracked earth as far as you can see. I wouldn’t wanna live there. But it’s alright. They aren’t useless. They’ve got bricks and beds and houses… even fine art… steel swords.”
He said the last two words in a harrowed tone, and they hung in the air, ominous.
After a few moments, Garone spotted as Mr. Obelmaier stirred himself to speak – but it was Lady Drayne’s voice that carefully intruded into the quiet.
“Mr. Yaneyar?”
“They… I thought I was safe, but they killed my… Bolax, he was called. My guardian. My best mage. Killed him, just ran him through like that!” Yaneyar suddenly mimed a violent thrust. “Stabbed him in the back when we were eating! Wanted… wanted to know how to make the Incendiaries for themselves, didn’t they?
“You want to know why I was over there six weeks? Six weeks, that should’ve been two? Think I was spending all my time with the harlots, do you?” The scoundrel was becoming increasingly animated, bits of spittle starting to fly from his lips. “I was in jail! I barely escaped with my skin! Bolax, and Phericya, and… that other one… ah-h-h-h…”
He stopped, and stared down at the shadow about his feet. The light of the sky above Yaneyar threw his face into shade.
“Edderic,” Garone whispered.
“They were killed, Mr. Yaneyar?” Elteria Drayne asked gently.
“I don’t know!” The businessman wrung his hands together in front of him and looked back up at the judge with a wild expression. “One of my footmen, he escaped with me – he killed one, one of the ones who were watching us… It was horrible…”
Garone watched the series of events as it had unfolded, and not for the first time. He was in agreement. It was horrible. It was harder to recognise the full horror, when you were so removed from the instant, wrapped up in the consequences – but Garone wasn’t yet so far gone that it took too much effort.
I’m not Timesnatcher yet, he thought grimly.
“I wanted to discuss a deal.” Yaneyar said in conclusion. “I did not do a deal. I know – I knew they weren’t ready yet. Wizard’s Hat would be there, and I had to make a move. It’s not my fault they stole what they stole.”
“But – you should have informed the authorities!” Mr. Obelmaier objected, his voice rising several octaves.
“Mr. Obelmaier!” Garone said, injecting some force, some disbelief, into his voice. His outburst drew the attention of everyone in the room. “You ought know better. You had comported yourself well, until now.”
“The Listeners recognise Mr. Corteno,” the judge said, with almost a twist of amusement, as Garone got to his feet.
“Thank you, Lady Listener.” He regarded Henric Obelmaier across the floor. “Is it a crime, to fail to report being a victim? Indeed, I would direct you to condition three ‘e’ of the errata for license two-two-eight. My client would be incapable of informing the authorities, under your own clients’ terms.”
“Condition three ‘e’…” Henric smiled at him, just a shade of desperation in his grin. “We don’t all have your prodigious memory, clearly. Would you care to remind us all as to its content? I hardly believe we would…”
His voice died away as one of his aides came rushing forward, a heavy binder of papers open, a finger jabbing at the page.
Long moments passed. Garone let them take their sweet time.
“Is it going well?” Ms. Dyrdac muttered out of the corner of her mouth.
The lawyer just smiled.
“Well?” The judge finally sounded impatient. “What is this damnable stipulation?”
“I excuse myself, Lady Listener,” Garone said. “It would only be fairest for you to hear a favourable interpretation of the conditions.” He smoothed his robe and seated himself. “I could not provide one myself. Might you?”
He asked it to Henric directly, but his opponent’s face was buried in the paperwork.
“Well – Mr. Obelmaier.” Elteria Drayne was glaring at the Northman. “Mr. Obelmaier!”
“Forgive me, Your Duty.” Henric’s skin-tone, normally pink, had now transformed to match the splotched, sickly hue of the yellow-white papers he held in his hands. “Forgive me… It seems, upon further consideration, that we will withdraw this line of objection.”
“The clause, Mr. Obelmaier.”
“Erm…” Henric licked his lips. “It appears that the experimental weaponry is kept on a need-to-know basis… Only certain superiors and clients –“
“Are you telling me that the proper authorities are not considered on the need-to-know list, Mr. Obelmaier? The Magisterium is not to be notified?”
Henric Obelmaier melted on the spot, scorched by her scrutiny.
The rest of it played out like a hand dealt by Yune herself. Elteria Drayne excused herself to speak with the hidden Listeners, and a shaking Ixi Yaneyar reseated himself.
“Was that what you wanted?” the scoundrel asked. “What does any of this serve, making me embarrass myself like this…”
“I’m certain you’ll be able to weave the story to suit yourself, Mr. Yaneyar,” Garone replied smoothly. “After all, you were effectively a war-prisoner, whose own bravery saved his skin, no?”
He let his voice drift away, and the wicked smile grew once more on Ixi Yaneyar’s face.
As much as it perturbed him, Garone’s law school could have it no other way. His task was not only to win the case, and ensure no new grounds were opened for further cases against his client – but also to ensure Mr. Yaneyar’s continued ‘good graces’. His continued ever-increasing bank-balance, that was what they really meant. They offered guarantees at the industry’s highest standards, future-proofing their customers’ portfolios, ensuring they continued to receive the best loan rates, the most favourable opportunities.
Yet whatever divination Yaneyar’s enterprises had paid for in the past, it could’ve been invalidated by Garone’s influence upon him here. His choice of words, his turn of phrase… every interaction was a chance for a new element, an unseen possibility to emanate from the present and birth itself as a heretofore undreamt-of future.
* * *