Speranzi’s entry into the city was perfectly ordinary in her mind, though she disliked leaving the soldiers of her unit behind, there were some things that just had to be done… and if she were being honest with herself? ‘Command has its privileges.’ One of which was the occasional warm bed, not to mention its more pleasant duties, which included hobnobbing with senior adventurers, wealthy merchants, and any lords of some importance and means who may want to hire a unit like hers.
The roads were clean and well laid out in a surprisingly well organized grid pattern, though the structure of the buildings was odd with their elevated construction on large stone blocks.
The city was a beehive of activity, and she played her part to the hilt. While the apprentices and workers spaced themselves out amidst the carts, Speranzi held her hand on the hilt of her sword and walked in front of Corwin to ensure that everybody nearby got the message.
She fixed her gaze on anyone who smelled even remotely rough in her experience, her most hated feature being her most potent weapon to ensure her sword did not need to be drawn.
Her knuckles cracked from the tension, her shoulders were back and despite being shorter by a head than most, the utter fearlessness and aura of murder she projected without conscious thought turned lingering stares to dust and the appraisals of the worth of goods to be had within the wagons into ‘pressing appointments elsewhere’.
“You’re worth every copper.” Corwin chuckled when he praised her, and it was difficult not to preen a little.
Even in the most well ordered city, a criminal element was always a threat.
“Just mind the coins, Corwin, do that, and I’ll mind your ass.” She retorted, though there was a note of pleasure and a spring in her step when she said it.
With a guided wagonful of goods, the experienced dwellers of the city knew well enough to stand clear in the road and let them pass unmolested, it said something in her mind of the power of the merchant’s guild and what it had over the people who lived there. ‘I suppose it makes sense, a city can’t produce food, it needs the farmers outside, it needs peasants, it needs miners, and what it can’t produce it has to trade for, they’re not about to slow down the lifeblood of their city.’
It reminded her of her time on the Jadara estate. Lines of merchants always eager to sell to those with money… ‘I wonder who has those lands now?’ It was hard to care too much, every doorway was ashes and every life was almost certainly snuffed out. But the curiosity was always there, along with the memory of goods flowing in that they couldn’t produce, and the outflow of goods that would reach other places in return.
She understood as few others in her line of work ever did, that trade was the difference between collapse and want on the one hand, or strength and prosperity on the other.
‘It doesn’t hurt that merchants pay well and they’re a lot easier to deal with than the typical glory hungry idiot fighting a stupid skirmish over the virtue of a sibling that threw it away a long time before.’ Her contempt was thick in her thoughts for most of her clients, even if she would never speak it aloud.
The next two hours were relatively tranquil, simply the guards became more numerous outside the clean divide of the residential areas and reaching the city interior, enough so that Speranzi felt good about asking questions.
The square had numerous taverns and shops, the smell of liquor was thick in the air, but off to one side, the ‘square’ dropped off, towers stood on top of buildings in which archers stood watch. “What’s over there?” She asked as the shouting got louder.
“The court. It’s an amphitheater dug into the ground.” Corwin answered.
“Doesn’t it flood?” Speranzi asked and scratched her head.
“They don’t do trials while it floods.” Corwin answered, “But yes it does, it’s how they keep the blood from the floor without having to waste mana every day. You commit a crime, you go to trial, they administer the punishment, and then you leave ‘if’ you’re able to.”
“That’s grim.” Speranzi replied.
“It’s how it is. This is a city of law, the temples are powerful here, like I said, everybody who is anybody is tied to the Divine Kingdom. Nobody has been born from one of the gods' blood direct lines in a long time, but even so, the nobles all claim descent here, and so do some of the better paid guards.”
“I suppose that means it’s hard to cause trouble. Good, keeping the law is important, it’s what keeps everybody secure.” Speranzi replied, and Corwin had to remind himself…
‘She’s just never known any other life but this one, trade a few coins, fight for a few hours, and that’s it. She might as well be a foolish country girl that thinks everybody is like her village priest.’ Corwin’s protective instinct toward her was utterly at odds with the reality of the situation. And he knew for sure, ‘She’d never really believe me if I warned her.’ But he did his best anyway.
“Just make sure to mind your own affairs here, don’t start any trouble, and above all do not argue with anyone in priest robes.” Corwin urged, and Speranzi looked up at him.
“What’s to worry about? Really? Why are you talking like I’m a thug that just goes out and starts fights? Relax, alright? I’m not paid to start trouble, just finish it.” She cracked the knuckles of her left hand, and Corwin could only sigh.
“That’s what I worry about.” Corwin said, “I hire you every chance I get, for a reason. You’re like a niece to me, and I know exactly who you are, Speranzi, you’re bullheaded, stubborn-”
“Those are the same thing.” She interrupted, but he didn’t slow down.
“Temperamental, impatient, incautious outside of the one thing I hire you to do… and as much as I like that you do have some principles, you’re also the sort to let them get you into trouble.”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest as he dismounted from the wagon.
“Don’t worry about a thing, if the priests are as important as you say, I’m sure nothing will go wrong, besides, this city exists in a paradise of law, order, and natural beauty, what’s for me to get angry over? A few brigands running wild outside the walls? Everything will be fine, just fine, don’t worry about it at all.” Speranzi answered, “Now I guess you’re going to head in there?” She pointed to an inn with a well dressed man in fine white silk shirt and black pants standing outside. The building was only three floors high, but larger, clearly, than it appeared.
“Yes, my apprentices can handle storage and set up our shop well enough, I’d like to get some pampering and luxury after a journey like this. You can go, your room key will be waiting for you at the desk when you return.” He reached behind him and rubbed his ass. “Even a cushion hurts after enough hours.”
“If you say so. I’ve never sat down for that long.” Speranzi answered and clapped her hands together. “Then if that’s everything for now, I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Of course. See you then.” Corwin said, already a little lump formed in his throat as he watched her walk away.
Speranzi had only one destination, a destination she went to in every major city. A destination that was impossible to miss. To call the temple grandiose would have been an understatement. With long broad walls and a marble sheen of white and blue to reflect the colors of the Kingdom, and pillars for the Forty-One gods lined up on either side of a broad staircase that swept out from a pair of great bronze doors the size of three grown men and wide as any six. The pillars themselves were empty, but seven gods, those that were known, were posed in all their glory. Speranzi went from one to the next and bowed forward, one hand over her heart, paying her respects to the founders of her faith.
That the others were unknown changed nothing, though around her those who streamed into the temple stopped only at those seven pillars where the known goods of men stood watch, Speranzi’s steady walk never broke its stride.
‘The gods must all be revered if we want them to come again. And if we want their blessings.’ She reminded herself and ventured up the stairs, she could hear every step of boot upon stone as she went up toward the open doors.
Within it was brightly lit, with daylight streaming through the windows and casting shadows on the floor as people passed them by and went to the many statues of ancient saints, heroes, and servants of the divine clad in armor or robes, heroes who stood with gods, she knew all their names.
Their faces were alight like heroes should be, each one reflected the sun that struck the stone surface in such a way that they were even more heroic looking. Speranzi passed all those by, instead she went to the alcoves.
The alcoves were gashes in the wall carved out for a single person to kneel.
This was her favorite part of the temple. Her long steps carried her there quickly, and she yanked the heavy dark curtain behind herself, bathing herself in darkness and show, she descended to both knees and rested her forehead against the cold marble surface.
And there, the mercenary and veteran of a score of battles and many more skirmishes, begged the gods for mercy. “Whatever I have done in this life or the one before it, I plead with you to forgive me for it. Correct me, for I have been humbled. Show mercy to your faithful servant. I plead with the ancient gods of men, all forty-one of you, that I be granted a tiny fragment of leniency, remove whatever evil burns in me and give me your light in its place.”
Speranzi offered the prayer again and again, each time tracing her finger around the narrow, vicious eyes and the icy blue might as well have glowed in the darkness.
Time meant nothing to her. Only the noise of feet outside as others came and went, told her there were others present.
She prayed for mercy until the light on the floor outside was gone as the day passed away.
And might have gone on.
Except for the scream. “Please! You have to! You have to!” A man’s voice begged, “Just a spell, or a potion! I’ll work here at the temple! I’ll indenture myself! Let me borrow from the temple, I’ll pay it back!”
“I’m sorry. But you should have let her find some other work if you were so worried. The temple’s funds and magic are limited, we cannot expend it on just anyone, and you can no longer borrow from the temples, you will have to borrow from the city.” Another voice answered, calmer, older, more reasonable.
Speranzi got up from where she knelt.
“Please! She’s my wife! I’m not holding back! I just… I don’t have what you need… right now. And borrowing from the city… I could never pay that back?! We’d die if they send us to the mines!” The speaker, Speranzi saw, was a man of middle years, a strong, bare back, he was covered in dust and dirt, his shoes were old and worn, his hands calloused from the tools of his trade.
“You must know that we cannot do that without payment, mana takes time to replace, and we never know when we’ll have need of it. The temple must always be ready for disaster.” It was so disgustingly ‘indifferent’.
‘I’m sorry that I’m not sorry enough to do anything.’ Speranzi recalled the phrase, and to her surprise, found the speaker to be wearing the pure white robes of a priest with a golden trim along the fringes.
Corwin’s admonition to mind her own affairs came back to mind.
And was dismissed.
“What’s the matter?” She asked, and the pair snapped out of their discussion.
The man, a peasant, clearly, was down on his knees and had been prostrate with his head at the feet of the priest.
The priest, a rather ‘large’ man, not dissimilar to Corwin, though with a thick full black beard that was slowly going to gray, briefly took a step back at the sudden interruption.
“Are you a mage?! I need help! My wife has been injured, she tends the cattle outside of town, she was trampled by a bull, she’s bleeding and I can’t make it stop! Coughing up blood, she needs a healing spell! Help her, and I’ll be your man forever!”
“I’m not a mage, but that’s awful!” Speranzi exclaimed, “Hurry up and send a healer then! What’s the problem?” She asked the priest. Along the wall, offering some semblance of light over their bodies, were candles that led to the door which in turn went into the back of the temple where priests and temple workers worked or lived.
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But Speranzi was still wreathed in darkness, only an outline to them while they were in the flickering glow of the candle light. The mage narrowed his eyes at her outline, “He cannot pay. The temples must receive their due!”
“Pay? That’s not right. The gods offer healing to all who ask, we’re supposed to imitate them!” She exclaimed, and the priest and the pleading peasant gasped in shared disbelief.
Speranzi seemed not to notice. “The gods ask our faith and loyalty, and give us their security, their blessings, and their power. That’s how it works, you don’t hold someone’s life hostage like that. That’s not right, that kind of greed is displeasing to the divine.” Speranzi snapped out the criticism as if she were correcting a wayward child, and the gasps redoubled.
“Blasphemy!” The priest gasped.
“The words of the gods are blasphemy?” Speranzi asked rhetorically, “Don’t be silly, you’re the one disrespecting them, I’m just disrespecting you.”
“How dare you…” The priest’s face turned red with anger, his entire body shook with rage, he glowered down at the peasant. “There will be no healing for your wife, you let a blasphemer argue with a priest in the house of the gods?! Get out! Get out! Get out!” He roared and pointed toward the door, his hand shaking and spittle flew from his mouth as he bellowed out again and again.
“Yes, go. But take your wife to the military camp on the east side of town. Tell them I sent you, and ordered Micah to use one of his spells to heal your wife. I need to have a word with the priest here.” Speranzi said, and the priest stopped his shaking as if he himself were a shadow.
The peasant’s face was red, and his cheeks clean only in lines where tears had carried away the dirt, leaving his face a pale mix of dirt brown and unblemished flesh.
“I… I’ll obey! I’ll go! I’ll go!” He scrambled to his feet and half stumbled away with his limbs flailing as he ran, though it didn’t occur to either Speranzi or the priest to ask whose orders he was following.
“Get into the light, woman. Let me get a look at you before you go to trial!” He snarled as the running noise of a peasant’s steps faded away into nothing.
Speranzi took a step forward into the glow, “Healing is easy, for an injury like that, any magic casters you have shouldn’t even be tired, especially for just one. I welcome a trial.” She flicked her hair back with one hand, stepped into the light, and raised her chin to stare at the deep set eyes of the priest.
Ice settled on his heart. ‘Demon eyes… demon eyes…’ He thought, and then he whispered it out loud. “Demon eyes…” Fear rampaged through him like a storm, and he shouted as loud as he could.
“Guards! Guaaaaaaards!”
“The justice of the gods will fall on you… priest!” Speranzi snarled, “I heard you!” She slapped her hand against her armored fist and the metal rang clear to the ears of the guards rushing from the inner sanctum to the outer, “I’m the lawful Baroness of Jadara, born of the House of Jadara in the North Kingdom of Qadish! I have the right to speak for myself and I heard you put coin before life! You have no right to silence me before the jurors! I dare you to try me! I dare you!” She roared at him, her voice boomed like an angry lioness and the priest fell backwards she advanced through the candle light, his body scurrying backwards, crab walking as fast as he could as his courage fled and his bladder emptied against his robe.
Temple guards clad in full plate armor began to stream through the door, and Speranzi fell silent.
“Take her to a cell!” The priest’s voice cracked while scooting back.
“Do you trust a cell? Call your fellow priests! Call whoever you want?! The amphitheater is a twenty minute walk from here! We’ll see how anyone likes you doing… that.” Speranzi spat onto the floor at his feet, and the halberds of the guards lowered.
The stink of sweat and fear replaced the air of faith in the temple as the tips pointed at Speranzi’s throat and her fury threatened to explode.
“You want a trial so desperately? Fine! Fine, you demon eyed witch!” He screeched as he tried to stand, achieving it only when he hit the wall and could brace himself to push off the floor.
The silken cloth was soundless as it slid up the wall and the elder priest managed to find his feet. He leveled a finger at one of the guards, “You, go get the other priests, the initiates, wake them all up and tell them to report to the Pit! Then go to the public areas and announce a trial! Activate the glowstones! Light up the night and show this little monster the power of the Law!”
“You won’t need these.” Speranzi said and tilted her head up to let the tip of the steel draw closer to her neck. “The Gods saw what I saw. Regardless of what I… look like. It’s them that moves the hearts of man to justice. You’re powerless as dust before the ones who let us repel the demons and the demihumans, and they are watching.”
A flicker passed across the old priests eyes, barely a moment, less than an eyeblink, but it was there. An instant where his whites grew and pupils shrank… and his fear was expressed as fury.
“Get her out of here! Get her to the Pit and make sure she’s ready! It will take a lot more than that tiny scrap of divine blood in you to escape the justice of Laylan!”
Spurred by his voice, the guards began to move, and Speranzi walked on steady steps, the tips of their halberds never leaving her neck, and she never breaking her stride.
Not as she left the sacred house of the gods.
Not as she descended the steps.
Not as she left them both behind.
The noise of shouting and chaos erupting behind her was proof enough that they were obeying the old man, whatever position he held, it must have been a significant one.
‘You’ve kicked over an anthill now, haven’t you?’ Speranzi asked herself, and could barely hold back a smirk. ‘Maybe I should have done what I did in the village? But then again, this is a city, with other priests, order, nobles like me, and guiding laws. Besides, even there, we did have a kind of trial, an investigation… and what an investigation…’
Amusement and confidence blended together inextricably by the time they reached the steps and her slow descent began.
Speranzi walked with the surety and ease of an empress strolling through her own private garden, indifferent and unimpeded by the darkness, and untroubled by the slowly rising lights as a pair of soldiers made their way along the long stone bench that would seat the jurors. Every few steps a small stone embedded in the rock began to emit a faint white glow. Individually they were each no more significant than a candle, perhaps less, but as the pair made their way down from one level to the next? Night became like day.
The glow began attracting people before the final step into the smallest lower level of the amphitheater, a semicircle of stone with a podium carved directly out of the stone itself as if the entire place of trial were once one great block hewn down into its current form.
Near at hand were two erect beams of wood which faced the seating. The beams would tower over the tallest of men and wider than the hands could reach. At the top of the beams there were a pair of green metal rings. ‘Orichalcium?’ That could mean only one thing, she realized when she identified the metal. Oricahalcium could only be affixed to or used with enchanted material.
From the rings at the upper level hung metal chains that ended with manacles for the wrists. “I see, you secure the accused?” She guessed.
“Smart one.” A guard behind her grunted, she could hear the sound of boots sliding over the stone, “Now remove your armor, sword belt, set it all aside.”
Speranzi looked up at the chains and then reached out to touch the dangling manacles. People were making their way toward the stone benches, seats were being filled, many of them still holding tankards full of ale or cups of wine. Notably they were diverse in their evident wealth, with the rich and poor descending the stairs, but they did not enter from the same sides, nor did they seat themselves beside one another.
Those in rich clothes of bright and vibrant shades with soft leather shoes and rich gold and silver jewelry sat closer to the bottom where the best view could be held while those who wore rougher clothing with dirt stains, grease skids, and various mismatched patches of rags covering holes in their clothing.
“Fine.” Speranzi answered the order and peeled off the armor from her body, she tossed it aside to let it fall with a crash that scraped the flawless ancient marble, the rest of her gear followed until it lay in a disordered heap and she stood in her tunic and breeches.
For a moment, nobody moved, their feet slid closer, the steel tip of a halberd touched the back of her neck. Speranzi stepped forward wordlessly and then put her arms out at her sides. “Do it already!” She snapped without looking over her shoulder. Securing those on trial was not an unfamiliar concept to her.
But it was a new thing to be where the accused stood.
Prompted by her orders, two of the heavy armored soldiers broke from their peers and approached, the chains clinked and rattled while their fumbling fingers affixed the manacles to Speranzi’s wrists.
While they worked she watched the coming crowd. It was hard to estimate just how many the amphitheater could hold, however by her estimation it could hold almost six thousand people if they sat shoulder to shoulder and gave little thought to personal space.
White robes of the priesthood dominated the right wing, with golden trim to mark the few full priests, and blue trim their servants and acolytes who took up the lion’s share of the space on the higher and more distant seats.
When the locks snipped shut, Speranzi felt the strike of magic against her body like a physical blow. Strength began to leave her, and the mana in her body began to drain away. She instinctively yanked at the chains, they snapped taut, but wouldn’t break.
Questions came to mind, but as the guards withdrew, backing away by several paces, the chance to ask them faded away.
The blend of steps and muttered chattering voices, together with the faint smell of alcohol from those who brought their drinks to the impromptu trial, lent an almost carnival atmosphere to the trial.
This however, did not last when the voice behind her boomed. “We call this trial to order.”
Speranzi swung her head over her shoulder.
“You are accused of blasphemy. You are accused of heresy. You are accused of disrespect to the faith of the seven and the whole forty-one. You are accused of malservia in the person of the priesthood, name, Dominatus Rishalu!” He cleared his throat as if to say ‘me’. Do you understand the charges against you?”
“Malservia?” Speranzi had to ask.
“You are accused of being a bad servant to the servants of the gods. With your disrespect their office or their person and lay charges against them that are not so or rely upon heresy to justify.” He stared at Speranzi’s back with burning, indignant eyes. “Now do you understand.”
It wasn’t really a question, but she nodded anyway. ‘That charge didn’t exist back home. Or then again, maybe it did? My education in those kinds of things was cut short…’
“You are a noble, you have the right to speak.” She could feel his smile of condescension at her back.
“People of Laylan, the priest who accuses me behind my back, withheld the use of healing magic for an injured citizen. As all know, who places coin before life commits abomination in the eyes of the gods.” She longed to turn and face Rishalu, but bound as she was by magic and chains, she could barely move.
“Do you deny it?!” She shouted, the chains twisted and strained at her pull.
“And there is our confession to heresy. Which is also a confession to malservia. And do you deny this took place inside the very house of the gods?!” He demanded in turn.
“In the temple, yes… but what confession?! I accuse you of corruption! You of extortion! You of the corruption-” She stopped when out of view, a pounding of a gavel of wood against stone called for silence.
“Accosting a priest in service in the temple is disrespect toward the faith and the gods. You have confessed. You are aware that I am a priest, and your accusations are disrespectful to my person… a crime you have committed a second time before the jury. And you confess to heresy when you quote that verse! The one guilty of placing coin before life is not ‘I’. It is that miserable peasant.”
Speranzi’s heart seized in her breast.
“He could have borrowed from the city and repaid his debt with labor, even if he couldn’t afford to, his lands, if he had any, could be sold and the value held in the city coffers and he as well as his wife could have gone into the mines of Wenmark to repay the difference. He had access to funds to pay, and instead refused. Who then truly put money first? Not I.”
“But that’s not how it was meant!” Speranzi shouted, and the gavel rose and fell again to call for silence.
“You can’t do that?! You’re not some back country priest who lost his way! Did I fight the armies of the god of demons just to defend gods that would hold people hostage for a handful of coins?! You are the ones everyone should be able to come to! You’re supposed to be the living spirits of the divine I went to pray to!” She could not see Rishalu, but she could see the right wing of white robes in their seats.
“You there! Tell him he is wrong! This is not justice!” She bellowed and stared, her ice blue eyes pulsed as tension rampaged through her heart.
“We’ll see.” Dominatus Rishalu then simply snapped out the word, “Vote.”
‘What?!’ Speranzi was caught by surprise by the order, as trials went, it felt like worse than a mockery. With her testimony treated as confession. ‘Vote?! What about witnesses…’ Speranzi murdered that thought in her head before it ever came close to her tongue. ‘The people who put the tips of their halberds to my neck are unlikely to be helpful to me!’
“This is not what I fought for! This is not what any gods I ever bowed to would want!” Her voice rang out as the priests and their acolytes stood and showed their backs to her, casting their vote. There was not one who looked her way.
The next were the handful of nobles, they occupied few seats relative to the space allotted to them, but after the priests cast their ballot, the nobles turned their backs, one and all, to the last man.
“How can you call me guilty?!” She bellowed as her fury grew, the chains pulsed as the mana drain continued, her ice blue eyes sent heads down in shame or fear alike among the last block to vote.
“How can this be?! How can you do this?!” Her voice became a feral snarl, and behind her the priest spoke.
“You come to us accused, and the accused are by implication, guilty. You named your own actions, and are by your own confession, guilty. Even now you pull at your chains like you want to escape, which the guilty would do.” Dominatus said it with such simpering sweetness that Speranzi’s own head hung in utter disbelief.
“This was no trial… there is no justice here.” She hissed out with growing hate as the common peasants slowly rose and showed their backs, with anxious glances to the wealthy elites on the lower layers to their right.
“As this is an impromptu trial, we will commence immediately with punishment. See to it.” Dominatus Rishalu barked the order, and the graze of fingers ran along Speranzi’s back through her shirt a moment later.
No sooner than the fabric tore, its hideous noise worse than a raging flood in her ears, than the wooden posts sank into the stone as fast as an arrow from her bow and her body was yanked down to, forcing her to her knees. The crack of her bones seemed like a signal that echoed over the mob, and they turned around to face her again, reclaiming their seats.
“Damn you.” Speranzi seethed the words out through clenched teeth when she heard the whip crack once to tell her what was coming.
“The gods do not damn their chosen ones.” Dominatus reminded her.
“I will not forget this. I promise you.” Speranzi said, glaring at the faces of the mob. “I will never forget this.”
“See that you don’t.” Dominatus said, his courage recovered as she was fixed on her knees by taut chains. “Fifty lashes!” He called out, and the whip cracked across Speranzi’s back.
She arched her chest out before the mob, any indignity or shame was forgotten as fiery pain lanced through her flesh.
Still, Speranzi clenched her jaw shut.
The crack came again, the tip ripping across her shoulder.
The dim light of the glowstones casting her bouncing shadow around on the stone floor, blood flecked free of flesh to spatter like scarlett stars on the stone.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The crowd began to count the blows as her jaw unclenched but no sound came out.
Back… and forth… back… and forth, the whip ripped open a wound and then widened it. A crisscross pattern tearing over her flesh.
Her ice blue eyes seeking one person’s after another. The peasants, for the most part, hung their heads in shame, wincing with every crack. Others made their way free, sliding past their neighbors until they reached the stairs and ran faster with every counted sound of the crack across Speranzi’s back.
“Forty-seven.”
“Forty-eight.”
“Forty-nine.”
The fiftieth lash was the only mercy she could hope for any longer, sweat ran down her breasts, her forehead, and her back, the sting of sweat drawing greater agony into her wounds, and with that fiftieth lash, she arched back one more time, her head yanked back and a scream of pain ripped at last from her throat and toward the endless night sky.
After that, she neither heard nor saw a thing.