Chapter Thirty-Three: The Halls of Judgement

“Truth is the sharpest blade.”

—Lauriel, God of Charity, Justice and the Sky

The guards took Ein along a path that wound upwards towards the surface. They climbed a flight of steps carved into the stone and threw open a rickety door at the top, setting foot into the castle itself.

Uldan Keep was quiet but alive. It was in the flicker of lanternlight against the walls and the whispers of servants behind their doors. Oil paintings of mountains and monsters and men watched as he was taken through the castle and up the stairs, twisting and turning. Patrolling guards nodded as they walked by, keeping the way clear of curious wanderers—not that there were many at this time of the night. Ein tried to remember the layout of the Keep and the way he’d come, but the fortress was simply too big and complex to do so.

At last they reached a double-door on the ground floor, two dragon-shaped knockers on either side. Colm grabbed one and slammed it down. “Your Majesty,” he called. “We bring with us one of the trespassers.”

There was a pause. Then, the doors opened from the other side to reveal another pair of Legionnaires armed with spears. Ein was shoved forward and into the hall.

It was tall and cavernous, the ground marble white with a picture of the goddess Lauriel etched upon it—a blindfolded woman in a plain white robe. She held a set of scales in one hand and a sword in the other, and by her feet were the words ‘Truth is the sharpest blade.’ Around the room there were twelve raised seats of slate grey stone, almost like thrones, and a thirteenth wedged in the middle that was slightly higher and further back than the rest. Hanging from the walls were the banners of several Houses with their names labelled beneath—the spear and shield of the Uldans, the sword and tree of the Thorens, the roaring lion of the Leonharts and the harp of House Lachess, among many others.

Figures robed in black and gold sat on each of the twelve seats. A wide man who Ein presumed was the King sat on the thirteenth seat, accompanied by two Kingsblades in fiery gold armour. At each of the exits was a pair of guards. They watched impassively as Ein was taken into the centre, right on top of Lauriel’s left shoulder.

There was a girl already there, with short brown hair and a familiar face.

“Evaine!” Ein uttered. Evaine turned around, eyes widening in surprise at first and then worry.

“Ein…?”

“You were caught?” he continued. “What happened to Bran?”

“Bran got away—”

“Do not speak out of place in the Halls of Judgement.” One of the guards shoved Ein with the butt of his spear and gave him a warning look. Ein and Evaine fell silent.

“You gathered us here to pass judgement on a pair of children?” a council member snapped. He looked old and irritable, with a white moustache split into two downward-pointing tips and a bald head. He was scowling.

“There are more to come.” Aeos was there as well, the white-haired Prince glaring at Ein and Evaine from beside his father. Ein looked back and forth between the two. He saw no resemblance, even looking past the layers of fat and age around the King’s face.

The twelve figures who Ein deduced were the Silent Council murmured uneasily among themselves. Aedon raised a hand, subduing them.

“Ein Thoren,” the King said. “Young man, that is you, is it not?”

Ein nodded. He felt the attention of the entire room shift towards him.

“You’ve been caught trespassing upon the castle grounds. What do you have to say about that?”

“I was only following the instruction of Druid Talberon.”

Aedon raised a brow.

“That’s a load of trite,” one of the council members cried. “What evidence does he have—”

“Silence. I ask the questions here.” The man fell silent and retreated into his robes. Aedon turned his gaze back to Ein. “What did Talberon tell you to do?”

“He told me that the blood of my father, Alend Thoren, was needed to save Aedrasil and drive back the relicts. He told me that the Great Winter would end and the world would be saved if this was done.” The words came easily to Ein. Everything he said was true to the best of his knowledge. It was just that no one had actually told him directly.

“I was one of the few tasked to accompany my father to Aldoran,” Ein went on, “to make sure he reached the Ward Tree alive. The reason I’m here is because I heard he was captured and to be executed tomorrow.”

Aedon ran a hand through his beard. “If you’re his son, wouldn’t your own blood suffice?”

Ein looked down. “I was adopted, Your Majesty.”

Aedon nodded, thinking. Then, he turned to one of the guards. “Bring him in,” he said.

From one of the back doors a woman emerged, a magnificent being with golden hair pinned atop her head and a trailing white dress. Though Ein saw traces of Celianna within her, the woman’s beauty was of a more mature nature—a flower at the peak of its lifespan, ripe and ready to be plucked, sharing no signs of the Princess’s slight clumsiness or naivety. She was immaculate, a walking goddess. There was no doubt in Ein’s mind—the person in front of him was Illia Uldan, the High Queen of Faengard, and she was every bit her reputation made her to be.

Yet he couldn’t help but feel a tremor run through him as he saw her eyes. They were cold and so very deep, a bottomless trench at the base of the sea.

Once his initial shock had worn off, Ein realized Alend had been dragged into the room. He was paler than he’d last remembered, his clothes dirt-strewn and fraying in places where it looked like he’d been tackled to the ground. His shoes had been removed and he’d been shackled by the wrists and ankles. His hair was unkempt and a fresh layer of stubble lined his chin. Two Kingsblades held him on either side.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Father!” Ein cried.

“Your father is a traitor, Ein,” the High King said. Illia came to join him, standing on the shoulder opposite to Aeos. “He fled the Kingsblades after a failed attempt to take the throne.”

“That’s a lie,” Alend cried. “Don’t listen to him, Ein—”

One of the Kingsblades cuffed him to the side of the head, bringing him to his knees. Fury swept through Ein and he reached for his blade, but Evaine grabbed his wrist. As if he’d been doused with water, Ein felt the red mist clear.

“Your father is a liar,” Aedon said, “a liar and a traitor. His story matches with yours, so you must be a liar as well.”

“I’m not lying,” Ein said. “What reason would I have to lie? What would I gain from coming here?” He looked at his father, small and defeated before him.

“Ein,” said Aedon. “You said you were not the only one tasked to accompany your father. I presume this young woman is one of your friends?” He pointed to Evaine.

Ein narrowed his eyes at the sudden change in topic. “Yes.”

“Was she the only one?”

“…No.”

Aedon rubbed his chin, looking around at the rest of the council. They sat straighter in their seats, apparently placated by the appearance of the Queen. If a matter warranted the presence of both sovereigns, it was probably worth hearing.

“Who else came to Aldoran with you?” Aedon asked.

Ein swallowed. He tried to catch his father’s eye, but it didn’t seem like Alend knew anything more than he did.

“There were three more of us,” he said, thinking of Bran, Rhinne and Garax. “And a horse driver we hired from Caerlon.”

“Caerlon? You mean you travelled all the way here from Caerlon?” one of the twelve asked incredulously. Aedon flashed her an angry look and she quietened.

“What do they look like? Be warned that my council is wise and experienced, and they are quite capable of telling lies from the truth. It is in your best interest to be honest.”

Alend snorted. One of the Kingsblades struck him in the ribs.

“The boy and the girl are around my age,” Ein said, glaring at the Kingsblade. “The boy a bit taller and skinnier, with sandy hair. The girl with flame-red hair and a scrawny build. The old man only has one hand and is bald, but otherwise looks like an old man. The horse driver… from what I remember, he was unshaven, with shaggy grey hair.”

A smile slid across Aedon’s face. He turned to each member of the council. “Did you all hear that?”

He was met with a collective round of nods.

“Aeos. Bring in the other two.” As the Prince moved to obey his father’s direction, Aedon looked back to Ein and Evaine. “Guess who else we found trespassing on the grounds tonight.”

Footsteps echoed from the doorway. Four guards emerged, and between them were Garax and Rhinne.

Ein felt a cold hand grip his spine.

“Tell me—do these two not match the description you just gave?”

Rhinne’s jaw was clenched, her eyes burning with hatred. Garax smiled sheepishly.

Ein drew a deep breath. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And why exactly were they prowling around my property?”

“I… I don’t know, Your Majesty.” He tried to catch either of their eyes, but the two kept their gazes averted. Why was Rhinne here? She’d mentioned her search for the Ember, and her belief that the King had it…

Oh no… don’t tell me—

“Would it help if I told you we found them trying to break into the Vault?” Aedon had the look of a predator cornering his prey now, his beady eyes alive and piercing. “Would you happen to know anything about that?”

Ein remained silent.

“I’ll tell you what I think, Ein. I think that you and your father came back to Uldan Keep to rob me. I think that your plan was to create a diversion while your two friends broke into my vault and stole my—no, Faengard’s—wealth. I think that you and your father are liars and traitors.”

“That’s not true,” Ein spluttered. “Why would we even bother? What use is money if there’s nothing to spend it on?”

“A poor attempt to reason,” Aedon replied. “Money can buy anything if you know where to look. If my hypothesis is false, please enlighten me. Tell me what your friends were doing at the Vault.”

“We’re not with them,” Rhinne interjected. “We split up upon reaching the city. Our actions are completely our own.”

“Possible,” Aedon acknowledged, “but given the circumstances, unlikely. What do you all think?” He glanced at the rest of the council.

The twelve Songweavers nodded in agreement, hushed murmurs escaping their lips.

“This is ridiculous,” Alend spoke up. “Aedon, listen to yourself. You’re grasping at straws! Everyone knows it’s impossible to break into—”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to speak out of turn!?” the Kingsblade on the left rammed his gauntlet into Alend’s gut. Alend fell to his knees, winded.

“You’re making a mistake,” Ein said, his voice rising. “Your Majesty, have you seen the world beyond Aldoran? Have you seen the relicts? They gather around your home even now, preparing for war! Surely we deserve the benefit of the doubt?”

Aedon held up two fingers. “Two things,” he said. “One: traitors don’t deserve anything—and two: there are already plans in place to end the threat of the relicts.” He looked at his wife, who smiled back.

“At least wait until you enact your plan and it succeeds,” Ein pleaded. “What if it fails? Then you’ll be glad you kept my father alive.”

“That is true,” Aedon shrugged. “Perhaps I was a bit rash. In either case, I’ve promised the Cirantheon a show tomorrow and there’s no withdrawing now.”

“Why not postpone Alend’s execution? In the meantime, we can give them these other people as entertainment.” Illia gestured at Ein, Evaine, Garax and Rhinne. “An opening act, of sorts.”

“No!” Alend shouted.

“That’s an excellent idea,” Aedon beamed. “I should have thought of that.”

“Father,” Aeos interrupted. “Surely that won’t be necessary? An execution should be just that, fast and simple. Why let them suffer?”

“Traitors must be made an example of,” Aedon said. “Yes. Illia, your idea is perfect. What are your thoughts on the matter, Council?”

The Silent Council gave another nod of agreement. Aeos crossed his arms and frowned.

“You bastards,” Alend growled. “This isn’t fair at all.”

“Be quiet,” Illia snarled. “Be grateful for the time your son and his friends have bought you, Deserter. I want you to think long and hard about what you’ve done when they’re sent into the arena tomorrow.”

A dark expression crept over Alend’s face. “If Ein dies, I’ll kill you,” he quietly said. “I’ll kill you and your children, and I’ll make sure they die just as painfully. Mark my words, woman.” His fists were shaking, the chains rattling by his feet. Ein shivered. He’d never seen his father in such a state.

Next to him, Evaine edged closer until their shoulders were almost touching.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

Ein grabbed her hand and didn’t reply.

“It’s decided then,” declared the King. “At noon tomorrow, the four traitors will be sent out into the arena to undergo trial by combat. Are there any objections?”

Ein counted the heartbeats one by one. Surely one of the Silent Council would speak up? There had to be an inkling of doubt somewhere. Or were the ‘judges’ just a façade of equality under the King’s name?

Five heartbeats passed, and no one spoke.

“Very well, then.” Aedon raised a mailed gauntlet, preparing to bring it down upon his armrest. “I, Aedon Uldan, High King of Faengard, hereby pass my judgement upon—”

The air flickered as a grey streak shot into the hall, swooping dangerously low above the heads of the Council. Several of them cried out in surprise and ducked, sending a ripple of chaos across the room.

It stopped in the air for a moment, flapping its wings to stay afloat, and then fell to the ground. As it fell it expanded into a figure with a forest-green cloak, touching down gently upon the marble in front of Ein and Evaine. The figure flung back its cloak and there was Talberon, tall and dark before them, rage pouring off his body in invisible waves.

“I object,” he said, and his voice was like a blade being drawn.

But to Ein, it was a song of hope.