Autumn had finally arrived with a flash, with the trees lining the streets of the temple district a cascade of brilliant reds and browns and golds. The entrance to the Monastery framed on each side by a golden sword and laurel on bright red. The seasonal colors, and House Wyrmsblood's banners, contrasting sharply with the otherwise staid and imposing visage of the Monastery wall.
“There's another one,” says Harper, pointing at a piece of parchment attached to the wall itself, slightly offset from the entrance.
“Is it him, or one of the others?” Waving the piece of parchment in my hand.
“It's- yeah, actually, it's him.”
“Really?” Heading over to see. “Yeah, that's definitely him.”
The wanted poster affixed to the Monastery wall proclaims my identity and alleges my involvement in the horrible tragedy that had befallen all those poor sailors and ships in the harbor. Undoubtedly a piece of counterpropaganda by Stormhawk, attempting to clear their name while sullying my own. Truly despicable people. This specific piece, however, a work of art. They'd used at least five different artists to draw my likeness, and this poster had come from easily the most talented of the bunch. The pencil sketch grants me a regal bearing, an imperious gaze and slight sneer. As unwitting counter-counterproaganda, an effective piece. Being underestimated has its own benefits, but being respected - being feared - many more.
Five till the hour, down a bit from getting ready, so it's safe enough to make two. Steadying the parchment with one hand and grabbing the bottom with the other. Copy. Pulling off a single sheet. Pause, two, three. Copy. Pulling off another.
Carefully tucking away the papers inside my pack and pulling out my new store bought pipe and fresh pouch of Bailee's tobacco blend. Packing it, getting it lit, and then enjoying several puff to try and calm my nerves. Almost two minutes till. No Magpie, no Riley, and no Wolfe. Any number of things could've happened, or nothing, they could simply be running a bit late. Magpie usually ran a bit late, but her House is much closer to here than the gate. Ishtar is going to be the next stop after here if she doesn't show. Riley and Wolfe. Probably going to ask these people about them real polite-like.
“Julie, I can't tell you how much this means to me.”
“You don't think they're coming, do you?” The girl looking past me, into the distance.
“What if I said I don't think they are, and that we're going to have to start going door to door to find them?”
“I would say that sounds-”
“Mac,” a person directly behind me saying, causing my feet to momentarily leave the ground, “what did you- wait, did I actually get you? Holy shit, you almost jumped out of your shoes.”
Magpie's smiling face, a sorely needed comfort.
“Goddamn it. Yes. Yeah, you got me. It's really great to see you.”
“What the fuck did you do?” Pointing at the poster. “I had to sneak out here.”
“Is that right? What'd that unreliable, demon worshiping, worthless coward Liz say? We should've had an understanding.”
Magpie opening her mouth but then stopping short. Glancing around, gauging her next response with my outburst of vehemence. “Where's Kate and Evie?”
“That's what I'm currently wondering.”
“What happened?”
Giving her a quick rundown. Getting drugged. Lane's undisguised contempt and then the fire in the harbor. Haven being in on the discussion. Wyrmsblood, most likely, as well, and with Magpie having to sneak out, Ishtar also. All of them, then. And being on thin ice with the Council.
“I was here two days ago, Mac.” Poking me, her cheerful expression long since extinguished. “You should've told me. You're not doing me favors leaving me out of the loop. Don't you trust me?”
“Magpie, I'm, I'm, I'm-” clenching and unclenching my empty hand and gesturing with my pipe. “I'm sorry for dropping this all on you today. I'm sorry. Of course I trust you – of course! – more than anyone. I got what I needed to get done two days ago and then I got the hell out of town. I was gone all day,” gesturing at Harper, “over by the Spider Temple with her.”
“The Spider Temple?” Magpie looking back and forth between us.
“Safest spot. Not a place anyone sane would mistakenly wander near.” Magpie staring in amazement at Harper's smug expression. “What'd Liz say?”
“Liz,” turning her attention back to me, “she's out right now, but her order to the House, to me, specifically, I guess, was to stay inside today.”
“You said you needed to sneak out. I want names.”
“Constance. Her wolf even tried to stop me. If I'd known everything you just said... Hugh started arguing with her about it and that's how I managed to get out.”
“Are we still going in this place?” Harper breaking in.
“Yes.” Turning to take them both in. “Yes, we are. But before we go in, I want your input on the plan. I do have a plan, but it's not great. I don't actually have the backing of the Council on this, but Wrymsblood doesn't know that, so I was thinking we straight up bluff.”
“Is that why you have that pipe?” says Magpie. “Are you really thinking about walking in there like you own the place, trying to make them sweat and maybe ashing on their floor for good measure?”
“That's not the only reason.”
“Mac, are you fucking retarded?”
“I was planning on being nice about it.”
“What, actually, would be wrong with that?” says Harper. “They've got to know you were responsible for burning all that stuff in the harbor.”
“That's why you don't have the backing of the Council anymore, right? That's what you said.” Magpie taking in a deep breath and letting it out. “Listen, Mac, I know you're beyond furious right now. I'm pretty pissed, myself - you should've told me.” Slashing the air with her hand, stopping my next words. “I know you think you had a good reason. Let's not push our luck too far, especially given that.” Pointing again at the poster.
“But the poster is what really sells it.”
“Exactly, they know, so be polite.” Magpie taking in another deep breath. “If you have to threaten them, do it very nicely.”
Moving as a group and following the wall toward the entrance to the Monastery grounds. Almost at the turn and the sound of booted footsteps and metal armor clanking coming from inside. Turning the corner and nearly being run over by a heavily armed and armored group, at least a dozen in full uniform, heading out in two columns.
“Stand aside,” the one at the front yells.
The three of us moving against the wall to let them pass. Some glances at us, but no one saying anything or stopping. One person, the guy Wolfe has been seeing, his name escaping me, one of the members of the group. We'd never been on the best of terms, merely tolerating each other. Our eyes connecting, both of us recognizing each other, and then his attention returning to the front. Not saying anything. The group continuing to pass by, and then another one at the end of the column also having a flash of recognition. The man from the graveyard last cycle, the one who'd been paralyzed, his robes featuring a golden sunburst on a field of blue next to his bright red House symbol.
“That's Macarthy.” His cry a clarion call and his finger accusing. Suddenly faced with a veritable thicket of drawn weaponry, from swords to maces to hammers to spiked knuckles, and us with our backs to the wall. My hands raising in surrender. Magpie's even faster into the air. Harper momentarily unsure, but then raising hers as well.
“I'm here to-”
“Shut up.” The man's sword an inch from my face. “Walker, go inform the Commander that Macarthy has been secured and will be available for questioning in the Chapel.”
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“Yes, sir.” The guy Wolfe has been seeing saluting, putting a hand on his war hammer to steady it on his belt, and then running off in the direction of a square three story building in front of a parade ground, his chainmail ringing with each step.
“You three,” says the man with his sword still in my face, “come with us. Keep your hands where we can see them, and no funny moves.” The man withdrawing his sword but keeping it ready. Following his lead, flanked on both sides and from behind, practically the entire group pointing their weapons at us.
“This is a bit much, don't you think? I can probably clear up this gross misunderstanding in like five minutes in Luther's office.”
“Keep your mouth shut, Macarthy. You're lucky-” The voice from behind me stopping at the upheld hand of the man leading the way.
“Commander-emeritus Luther has taken an extended leave of absence.”
“Luther's out? So who's running...?” Uh oh.
“Commander Parnell.”
“Parnell?” Relief appearing on Magpie's face in spite of our current predicament. “We're meeting with the Dragonslayer?”
“Dragonslayer.” Harper glancing around at our unfriendly entourage. “Really?”
“That's what they call-”
“Shut the fuck up.” The man's voice from behind us.
“Would you relax? She only got here a couple months ago and doesn't know.” Gesturing at Harper with one of my still raised hands. “Parnell is the one most credited with the deed that allowed Wyrmsblood to become a House. He's-”
The rest of the sentence lost. Something blunt and heavy slamming into the back of my head, sending me to the ground, hard. My vision rimming with black and floating with stars, blood in my mouth.
“What are-” Harper's comment cut off. A couple moments where the only sound is armor clanking and feet shuffling.
“What happened?” The man's voice from the front.
“She was casting a spell.” My assailant's voice from behind.
“Wasn't.” The word coming out thick. Giving my aching head a light shake, trying to blink away the fog.
A pause. “Get her up,” says the man at the front.
More shuffling, and some muttering, but no hands reaching down to help me to my feet. The sound of chainmail and boots running over from the left. Moving myself into a sitting position and trying to clear my aching head. Glancing around. Still surrounded by drawn weapons, but their wielders' attention on their returning comrade. Magpie and Harper, hands still in the air, looking down at me with tight eyes.
“Sir,” says Walker, saluting, “the Commander has been informed and will be on his way shortly.” Reaching surreptitiously into my cloak, to my pouch with the herbs. “He said to inform everyone in order to witness the proceedings.”
The proceedings. Probably not an execution. Hopefully. Not right off the bat, at any rate. Reaching into the pouch and getting a leaf, turning my head to keep an eye on the one with the short fuse behind me. Undoubtedly did something to him in the past, could be anything, impossible to remember each and every incident. Slipping the leaf into my mouth and then, predictably, his eyes blazing in hate and his mace coming down again.
Split second decision. Stop it, and likely get turned into a pincushion as a result, or take the hit, and get my head caved in. Splitting the difference. The shield briefly appearing, the bright flash and loud crackle taking the majority of the impact and vanishing just as quickly. The remaining momentum from the weapon continuing downward, striking my forearms that had been brought up protectively over my head. The impact mostly stopped, but going with it, letting it knock me back to the ground. Magpie and Harper letting out indignant sounds of alarm.
“Stop, please.” Trying to sound scared, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. Chewing the leaf. “Don't hurt me.” My arms camouflaging my face to cover my chewing.
“What the hell are you doing?” says the man at the front.
“She was doing something.” My assailant's claim contesting with my calculated show of weakness.
“She's just a girl,” says Walker.
“That is Macarthy!” Spitting out specks of rabid fervor.
“I don't want to hear it,” says the man at the front. “Macarthy, or not, you're way out of line. We'll take care of escorting her, you go inform everyone to meet at the Chapel. You and you, go with him.”
Another pause. “Yes, sir.” From my two time assailant and two of the others. Their footsteps heading off to the right, in the direction of several buildings, barracks, and the larger one probably a mess hall.
Unsteadily trying to get to my feet, the pain in my tongue, head and arms beginning to fade. Partway up, the world giving a spin and back down on one knee. Taking a deep breath, trying to stabilize. A man's hand reaching down. Walker.
“Thank you.” Leaning against him and looking over. Magpie and Harper, their hands still up, eyes smoldering. Giving them a small shake of my head.
“Move,” says the man at the front.
Continuing straight ahead to the large building dominating the center of the compound, the Monastery itself. The building a light colored stone, the entrance an eight foot tall wooden door framed by large windows. Inside the main structure, a wide, open room. The Chapel. Rows of pews, a very high ceiling and stained glass windows to the left, right and center depicting the gods of this world. House Ishtar's patron, and some others, notably absent.
“Take a seat.” The man pointing at the very front pew on the left. Our escorts taking the seats surrounding us and the pew directly behind.
At the front of the Chapel sits an ornate, heavy desk with several high backed chairs facing the rest of the room. Off to the side, a smaller desk with a single chair. More people coming in behind us, filling in the pews. Wait, this setup seems familiar, seen something like it years ago, before coming here.
“Mac, I think they're going to be putting you on trial,” says Magpie.
“That's what I was thinking. Did you get sent to juvie, too? This setup seems an awful lot like that.”
“What? No. I've seen shows that were like this. They did cases about stolen vehicles, rent disputes and domestic quarrels. Stupid shit.”
“You were a juvenile delinquent?” says Harper. Shrugging at her. “I don't know why I'm so surprised by that, after everything else.” Muttering under her breath. “What have I gotten myself into?” Shaking her head and giving an exaggerated sigh. “I want you to know that I am not a lawyer, and that this is not legal advice, but I think you should say whatever they want you to say, and then you should throw yourself on the mercy of the court.”
“If you want me to act as your legal representation, I can,” says Magpie. “I saw a bunch of those shows.”
“Thanks, but watching some shows is not actually real experience. I've been on trial before, I'll represent myself.”
“Did you win?”
“No.” Both of them giving me withering looks. “But that's not my fault because the public defender made me plead out. Barely served any time.”
“And that's what you should do here,” says Harper. “But I will reiterate that I am not a lawyer and that does not constitute legal advice.”
The door at the back of the room banging open and the subsequent hubbub sending us spinning to look. Parnell, in full plate minus a helm, and following behind him a steady stream of the rest of the House. The room itself a quarter full, now half, the pews at the front all filled up, and the ones in the back still filling. At Parnell's side, Charity, radiant in her Wyrmsblood uniform – hardly a surprise, she can make anything look good and Wymsblood, whatever their shortcomings, has no shortage on style. Magpie glancing at me, and then both of us staring at her with hopeful expressions. The surge of hope fading as Charity spared neither of us even the remotest glance. Walking on by and taking a seat at the small desk off to the side. Laying down the leatherbound book and pulling out some writing utensils.
“Order. Order.” Parnell banging on the large desk with a gauntleted hand, calling for silence. A woman taking a seat in the chair to his left and a man in the chair to his right.
“You know what? I'm fighting this.” Muttering so only Magpie and Harper can hear. “Fuck these people, I'm not going to apologize for shit.”
“Order.” Parnell looking directly at me. Returning his stare. You were in on the talks to get me sent away. You were in on the decision to shut down the guild. Should kill you right here in front of everyone. Magpie giving me a subtle shake of her head. Harper's eyes shifting back and forth from me to Parnell. The flash of rage subsiding. That wouldn't be good for them. Whatever ends up happening to me, they shouldn't get caught up in it. They need to be allowed to walk out of here.
Standing up slow and deliberate.
“Before we begin this farce, would you permit me an opening statement?”
Parnell glancing around at the grumbling crowd behind me before banging on the table again and calling for order. “I don't see why not,” he says. The man briefly glancing at Charity, her pen at the ready, to act as stenographer. “For the record, please state your name before giving your statement.”
“My name is Lucilia Macarthy.”
My surname causing the recently silenced grumbles to be replaced with a low rumbling. Parnell looking to his left and the woman giving him a small nod. The man frowning, his eyes momentarily going to the table before returning to me. Studying me, trying to puzzle something out. Not immediately calling for order this time, the man instead allowing the various muttering conversations to play out.
“Regarding the fires in the harbor-” The muttering growing louder.
“Order.” Parnell banging on the table repeatedly and the noise fading. “For the remainder of these proceedings I'm going to have to ask everyone to stay quiet. Any conversations you feel the need to have can be had outside.” The man looking around and daring anyone to speak. Silence prevailing. Turning back to me. “Is this a confession?”
“Absolutely not. Let me state it unequivocally in front of you and everyone here: Stormhawk is responsible for those fires.” And so are you.
Parnell looking again to the Augur on his left. After a long pause, her head giving a single nod. A low muttering breaking out, but quickly stopping at his look.
“Do you have anything else that you want to say?”
“Regarding that? No.”
“If that's all, then; Nancy, please strike that from the record.”