Al snorted awake, his neck and back stiff from sleeping on a bench. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and looked over to see Anla sitting against the wall. “You didn’t sleep.”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t.”

“I understand. Or maybe not precisely, but enough.”

“You fell asleep, though.”

“I needed to. I have to be sharp for him today.”

If she wanted to fight with him, she had no energy to do so. She nodded and laid her head on her knees, though she still didn’t fall asleep.

Tel woke shortly thereafter, pensive. Al was just about to suggest they eat the rest of the dried food when they saw a bundle being thrown over the inside gate. “Those are blindfolds. Put them on tightly.”

There were three scarves for each of them, which were tied hastily. “We’re finished,” Al said.

“You will be escorted inside the compound. At no point will you take off your blindfolds unless you are instructed to. The woman is not to speak or the three of you forfeit your lives. Is this understood?”

“Yes.”

They heard the jangling of a wooden board and the creaking of hinges. The air shifted and expanded. A hand was placed on Al’s arms and he was tugged forward. After a dozen steps, the grip loosened. “How is it that you walk so freely? Can you see?”

“No. I’m a cross-switching wizard. Right now I’m using magic to improve my balance.”

Al could smell the rich scent of earth and pine, even hints of sweat, timber, leather, and numerous other things. He could feel tiny permeations of the ground below his heels, even through his loafers, the soil changing from pounded, dusty dirt to rocky to sandy to wooden planks. “Up,” his escort said and he lifted his his foot to shift his weight onto a stair.

They were led into a room that was down a short corridor. “You may take off your blindfolds here. You are not allowed to leave. You may not look out the windows, which we have covered. When someone knocks, you are to put on your blindfolds again.” The speaker left and closed the door behind him.

The room was dark save for the rich brown glow of the blankets tacked across the window. Several square candles occupied a table in the corner. There were pillows of different shapes and materials strewn on the floor. Fruits, nuts, and breads were left on a platter near the candles as well as a pitcher of cool water. “This is further than I’d thought we’d get,” Al remarked.

Anla laid down on the pillows. Al thought she might have finally fallen asleep when the sound of someone being whipped cracked through the air. She flinched, tensed, then relaxed. “It’s not him.”

They waited perhaps an hour, munching on the food provided, before there was a thumping knock on the door. They grabbed their scarves and put them on. “We’re blindfolded,” Al said.

The door was opened and Al’s arm was grabbed. “Come,” the man said and he moved forward. He could tell after a few moments that it was just him, the speaker, and another trirec. Tel and Anla had been left in the room.

He was led down the stairs and through a few corridors until he was told to sit. “Take off your blindfold,” a familiar voice said. When he opened his eyes, he was before who he strongly suspected was Curvorn, who sat behind a desk in a style Al vaguely recognized as Merakian, thin and roughly hewn, but polished with a down-turned top.

Before he could get his bearings, a trirec punched him square across the jaw.

He looked at Curvorn. “I thought it might be best if you understood what’s at stake,” the trivren said. “I will ask you questions. If I feel you are lying, Tashke will help correct your tongue.”

Al could have argued that torture was against the Noh Amairian Accords, but he was on Merakian soil and he had signed up for whatever it would take to free Raulin. He nodded.

“Your name.”

“Alpine Gray.”

Tashke slugged him.

“Ah,” he winced. “Alpine Gray! .rd Alpine Gray, first in my class of the twenty-seventh presentation of wizards from Amandorlam in-”

Tashke punched his stomach, all the wind knocked out of him. He sucked his gut hard trying to regain his air. When he finally breathed again, he looked at Curvorn. “Dominek Salvati Choudril.”

“And how did you come to meet Raulin Kemor, Mr. Choudril?”

“We caught him assassinating-” Another punch to the face.

“Trirecs are too skilled to get caught. How did you come to meet Raulin Kemor?”

“But it’s true! He was standing-” This time he spat blood after he was hit.

“Try once more to remember.”

Al clenched his fists tightly. “We were put in jail together. In order to escape he used our combined-” This time he saw stars for a few moments after the punch. “We were…at a banquet together…and we accidentally put the chalice out and he drank from it.”

“Oh, very unfortunate. Tel me again, with more detail…”

It was a maze, Al finally figured. He’d move forward, turn a corner, move more and either hit a wall or turn another corner. And once he’d completed the maze correctly, he’d have to do it all again. The process took several hours, until he was drooling blood, his lips and face swollen almost to the point where he was unrecognizable in the reflection of the polished weapon hanging on the wall.

“I think you’re almost done,” Curvorn said. Al was wheezing. “Now that we’ve reached this point, tell me, why are you willing to risk so much for a man you claim you barely know?”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Al had been waiting for this. He realized his story had a large hole in it when it came to his and Tel’s and Anla’s motivation and Curvorn had just questioned it. Al blubbered, letting his blood drip into the floor. “He’s like Kiesh.”

“What? Who is Kiesh?”

“A book.”

“Raulin Kemor is like a book?”

“I’ve been reading Kiesh the Black books since I was a teenager,” Al said, letting his eyes light up. “He’s a great hero, a man I strive to be. He journeys across Noh Amair trying to clear his name, fighting wrongs and dueling and vanquishing evil.”

“And you think Raulin is like this Kiesh?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I know he’s not the same. Raulin is a trirec who serves Arvarikor by fulfilling contracts. But he’s a lot like Kiesh. There’s a certain romance to a man traveling the land and changing things for the better, or worse.”

“So you admire him?”

“Yes!”

“Enough to possibly lose your life, if we decide you’re lying about your heritage or about the letter you sent?”

“I know it doesn’t make sense. But since I’ve been with Raulin, my life has gotten so much better. I’ve traveled, I’ve met people, I’ve tried new things. Just like Kiesh the Black!”

Curvorn gave him a strange look, as if he were assessing his sanity. “What if I said that Raulin is a cruel, sadistic man who tortures and kills for bloodlust?”

Al shook his head, wincing at his fresh injuries. “No, that’s not him.”

“How do you know?”

He sighed. “I know Raulin a little bit. We talk politely. He listens to advice. He’s never used his skills against us. I’ve never seen him do anything cruel or sadistic at all, ever. I know he does some unkind and bad things in his contracts, but he doesn’t bring that back with him when he’s done. It never spills over into other things.”

“And what of your two companions? Assuming they’re here not because you brought them along or because they’re afraid for their lives, why have they stuck their necks out for him?”

“Telbarisk feels kindly towards Raulin because Raulin befriended him when he was in Ervaskin before Tel was exiled. Anla-”

“Could you explain that again? How do Raulin and Telbarisk know each other?”

“As Tel told me, Raulin and several other trirecs went to Ervaskin on a diplomatic mission, to see if they could get a foothold in Ervaskin. Raulin befriended Telbarisk, who is actually next in line to the throne in Nourabrikot. Raulin has been looking out for Tel, making sure people don’t take advantage of him.”

“I see. And the woman?”

“I think she’s sweet on Raulin. Maybe a little more than that.”

“I notice she wears a ring like many married women do.”

“Uh?” He swallowed air, not risking his spit. “Oh, that’s just the fake ring we use. I have the matching one in a pack somewhere.”

“She’s not married, then?”

“No.”

“Her name is Anladet Deerborn Auchindol?”

“Yes.”

“The trirecs who watched you did so for some time, since Raulin checked in at Riyala. They say there was a marriage in a village on Uilaida, one Anladet Auchindol to a Caudin Alscaine. Any idea about that?”

Al shook his head. When he stopped, a fist flew into his nose. Blood spewed down his lips, over his chin, and dripped onto his pants. “Carefully tell me what you know of it.”

“Nudding! Anla isn’t married and I’ve never heard of dis ‘Caudin Alscaine’. Id’s an official document, so you have do use your real name in order do seal id with de gods. ‘Anladed’ is a popular Arvonnese name. Dere mus’ have been anudder one in dat well-chaversed village.”

Curvorn folded his hands on the desk. “I think we’re done, then. Blindfold him and take him to the injunction hall.”

Before he put the blindfold back on, he grasped his nose tightly and tweaked it to the side, groaning through clenched teeth. The blood stopped flowing and he was able to wipe some of it away with his sleeve.

The trial hall was, at least, not far away from Curvorn’s office. Al could tell from the echoing creaks of the floorboards and the chair he sat in that it was empty save for himself and the trirec who was just leaving. He took a few moments to collect himself before he heard the heavy, lumbering gait of Telbarisk and the softer, barely-there one of Anladet. Both were seated next to him, Tel to his right and Anla on the grivven’s other side.

A chair was dragged next to him. “Alpine, this is Isken. I’ll be acting as your translator for the injunction. Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine,” he said.

Several trivren began to sit in chairs across from the table where the quartet sat. Stavro and Curvorn were the last to arrive, still sharing heated words in Merakian as they came into the hall. Finally, Raulin entered, his head shaved. Isken sucked in his breath at this: it was a harsh punishment and didn’t bode well for Raulin’s future.

Raulin sat and looked over at his his three friends. Anla turned her head and bit her lip, but said nothing. Tel stared ahead, curious. Al looked awful, a bloody, pulpy, puffy mess. Raulin’s stomach clenched. Al must have heard him sit down because he turned his head in his direction and gave him a big grin, his blood staining his teeth like clay mortar. It wasn’t the expression one man gave another after he’d betrayed him. Raulin was so sorry he’d ever doubted his wizard.

The trial began. Isken whispered the words lowly so that only the three of them could hear him. Raulin had been cleared of insubordination, of conspiracy against Arvarikor, and of breaking several laws that Isken waved away as minute infractions.

“The accused, however, is guilty of removing his mask in front of non-Arvarikor peoples,” Isken whispered. “Since this infraction was not incidental nor were there any extenuating circumstances, we feel the accused did so willfully and with hostility to his brethren. It is our will that the punishment shall be one hundred…” Isken’s voice broke. “One hundred and twenty-three lashes with the beraki.”

“What does that mean?” Al asked Isken.

“By removing his mask in front of miartha, he declared himself not a trirec and disgraced himself and every trirec in Gheny. For that he owes one lash per trirec in the lands, one hundred and thirteen. The beraki is a whip with many sharp heads. I was punished earlier this year with thirty lashes from a beraki. Any more than forty and most men die. One hundred and twenty-three is a death sentence.”

Raulin knew this. He had known it would likely come to this when he had been caught. Still, he had to give thanks to whomever wished to listen. He had rekindled his friendship with Tel. He had made a new, loyal friend in Al. And he had been married to an incredible woman. It had been short and sweet, but worth it. This was his fault. He couldn’t blame anyone else. He had been careless and…

“Ten” Al said, firmly and confidently. His chair creaked as he moved it out to stand.

Raulin’s head snapped up and there was a strong feeling of deja vu that swept over him. More importantly, he felt hope.

“Ten?” asked Curvorn. “Ten what?”

“I will take ten lashes on behalf of Raulin Kemor. You stated that the punishment was one hundred and thirteen lashes, but you didn’t say who had to take them. I will take ten.”

“Ten,” Isken said, standing.

“You?” Curvorn asked.

“I dishonored Arvarikor by not keeping a careful eye on contracts, which is my job. If Raulin hadn’t saved himself and the other two trirecs from death in Miachin, I would have died for my inattentiveness. I will take ten lashes for him.”

“As if we’ll let you!” Stavro said. “Trivren, clearly the punishment is meant for Kemor and Kemor only. We cannot allow this kind of fraternization.”

“This isn’t fraternization but a blood debt,” Curvorn corrected. “After this the slates will be clean for both of them, I’m sure.”

“But, this is-”

“Twenty,” Telbarisk said.

All eyes in the room swiveled to him. “You agree to twenty lashes?”

“I do.”

Al was reconsidering his offer. He could heal himself quickly and reduce how much pain he felt. He could do more. Just as he was opening his mouth, he heard Anla say, “Forty”.

“No!” Raulin yelled. “Not forty! She’ll die! Take it back, Anla! Take it back! You can’t-” There was the sound of flesh connecting to flesh and a chair toppling.

“It is done, then,” Curvorn said. “Isken Fren will take ten lashes. The miartha will take ten, twenty, and forty lashes on behalf of Raulin Kemor. Kemor himself will take forty-three lashes. This matter is closed.”

“But…” Al said before Isken put his hand on his arm.

“Forty-three is possible. Raulin is strong and young. The case is closed and speaking any more will only enrage the trivren. You did enough.”

Al sighed. He should have taken twenty. Five for Anla and for Raulin. As it were, he wasn’t sure if either of them would make it through.