Son of Avonar (40 page)

Shaking, hoarse, scarcely able to think through my sickness, I dropped to the floor and buried my head on my bed, fighting for control. I had not spoken with Karon since the previous evening—since they had done this new horror—and as the silent hours passed, I began to fear he was dead. His eyes. His tongue. His sweet hands. Oh, gods have mercy. . . .

The wheeling of the light outside my high window witnessed that time had not stopped. Morning came. Someone left a tray inside my door. I did not move to touch it. The angle of the beams shifted to afternoon. The tray disappeared. Only when the last sallow rays of the sun were swallowed once again by the gray of evening did I hear his call.
Seri . . .

“I'm here,” I said, and filled my mind with the images I had readied for him, hoping and praying he could find some small comfort in me—thoughts of gardens, of riding his great horse, of mountains and dawn light and my arms around him. But all my preparation went for nothing. I thought I knew the worst they had done to him, but I was wrong.

They've taken Martin and the others. They say they'll do whatever is necessary to make them confess to treason. I can hear them screaming. . . .
The voice in my head was as gray as the sea under storm clouds, as dead as a battlefield when even the gleaners have moved on, as joyless as the charred ruins of Xerema. Even on the worst nights of that terrible winter, Karon had not come so near despair.
They say they'll do the same to you. They say they've evidence you've done murder, and that you'll hang for it. Oh, gods, Seri—

“They'll not touch me, Karon. Tomas has Evard's word.” I gripped the raw wood frame of my bed until I thought the plank must bend. “Connor and I will be safe at Comigor. No one can harm us there.”

“They knew, Karon. They knew the risks as I did. You allowed us to choose our way. We were grown adults, and we made the choice to have you in our lives. It was not just words that night at Martin's.”

“Martin has known for years that the moment Evard's popularity waned, his life was not worth a copper penny. But even if that weren't so, we made the choice and no one of us would change it. It is life, Karon, the life we wanted, and you must let us embrace it as you do yours.”

Which was, of course, exactly why I did not scream at him to use his sorcery to save us all, though in every corner of my soul I knew the horrors yet to come. How do you persuade the one you love to violate the very essence of his being? He had chosen, and I was his wife who had promised to sustain him in his life's path. But I could not think how I was to bear it.

I awoke before dawn on the day of the trial and, as on most mornings, found Karon hovering on the edge of my dreams.

“I'll be close to you today,” I said.

I understood why. He was afraid I would get myself into worse trouble when I saw what they'd done to him. He didn't realize that I already knew.

“You know I must have a chance to open my mouth. I'll tell them that if you're truly a sorcerer, then why did you not quiet your argumentative wife years ago? You will have abundant sympathy.”

“You see? They think that's the worst thing they can do.”
^»

I almost didn't recognize Karon when they brought him into the Hall of Judgment. In less than two months the strong, vigorous man I knew had become a bent, blind scarecrow, shackled so heavily he could scarcely drag himself into the prisoner's dock. How did they expect him to stand through the day's proceedings? They had covered the ragged remnants of his eyes with a strip of cloth so as not to offend the sensibilities of the onlookers, but the blackened, twisted claws that had once been a healer's hands were left visible as a comfort for the fearful. I could not bear to look at his ravaged body, yet could look nowhere else. As soon as he was in his place, I felt him with me.

I am.
It was difficult to merely think the words, rather than speaking them aloud.

Across the room to your left, surrounded by six stone-faced warriors, ready to defend me from your fiendish forays. Listen. . . .
I coughed aloud quite vigorously and saw his head turn slightly toward me.

I see only what I know.
My distress must have overflowed my words. There would be no miraculous escape that day. He could scarcely move.

I tried very hard to believe him.

Karon was momentarily overcome by a wracking cough. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth after it, and a young woman sitting behind me cried out, “The devil slavers blood!” Her companions fanned her, and a young nobleman demanded that the guards cover Karon's head so the ghoulish creature would not frighten the ladies. It took several moments to calm the crowd.

And so instead of screaming or weeping, I set myself to provide him a commentary on those in attendance: a large crowd of courtiers, many of whom we knew, and an even larger group of commoners let in to witness the great events. Not one man or woman among the spectators would meet my eye. Interesting to inspire such terror, especially in ones who had shared our table such a short time ago.

Once Evard arrived in full regalia, and the Council of Lords was seated in the raised box to the side—Martin's place conspicuously empty—the proceedings moved quickly. The first witness brought forward was Maceron, the fish-eyed sheriff. He had dedicated his life to eradicating this greatest of evils from the world, so he said, and had relished his post in eastern Valleor, as rumors of sorcery had always been strong there. Tales of supernatural events had drawn him to Xerema: victims pulled from the ruins, alive beyond all reason, victims ready to be lured into the hellish legions. The devil was obviously recruiting himself an army of slave spirits from under the stones of the fallen city, servants of chaos who would challenge the Twins for control of the world.

To support this ridiculous contention, the prosecutor called the Vallorean singer. The girl was commanded to tell why she made obeisance to Karon in the very presence of her king. Not realizing what it was she did, Misara spoke eagerly of the rumors and stories that had circulated Xerema in the summer, of the blessed one who was said to bring life and hope beyond death. Her father had sworn to her that he had seen her mother, brothers, and sisters die, one by one, until the
Dispóre
had appeared in their living tomb and coaxed them back to life.

Had she seen her family recently, to judge of their moral bearing since the events?

No, she'd been brought to Leire to sing, but—

The prosecutor did not let her continue. I don't think the girl realized that the grotesque remnant of a man in the prisoner's dock was her family's savior.

The constant assumptions and speculation, the lack of any real evidence, the coloring and manipulation of events were beyond all rational belief. Surely the judges could see it.

The most telling witness was yet to come. Evard did not descend to the witness box, of course, but spoke from his gold-leaf chair on the dais to the left of the Council. With simple sincerity he described the episode in Sir Geoffrey's study. Lady Seriana was renowned for intelligence and honesty, so said the king. When aides brought him the dreadful suspicion that her husband was one of the demon sorcerers, he did not wish to believe it. She was the sister of the Duke of Comigor, his own sword champion, and she confirmed her opposition to sorcery in the very moment of his questioning. But then the demon had struck. He himself had not seen who stabbed the knife into the lady's back, but had seen the devil bring her back from death. A hundred honest witnesses could vouch that Lady Seriana had been irrational, hysterical, completely mesmerized since the event, spending all her energy defending the sorcerer beyond all reason. How could anything serve as more profound evidence of the prisoner's guilt?

Angry murmurs rose from the noble observers, and from the commoners standing at the back came cries of “Burn the devil!” The bailiffs did not quiet the clamor until Lord Hessia, the head of the Council, commanded it.

The king concluded his testimony with a dramatic recapitulation of the ill-fated Kerotean campaign, and, in an explosion of righteous anger, proclaimed that, as the protector of his people, he would allow no such sorcerous fiends ever again to torment the good soldiers of Leire. The place was in frenzy when he was done, and I thought the farce of a trial was to be halted. But calm was restored, and I was called to witness.

I could see now how it was supposed to read. The king had vigorously proclaimed my honesty, and now I was to demonstrate how thoroughly Karon had corrupted me by defending him in front of the assembly. Evard had unleashed such a tide of emotion that he believed no one would give me reasonable hearing, and he knew how easy it was for my spiteful tongue to get out of my control. Well, he would not get what he planned.

Vycasso, the Lord High Prosecutor, was a wrinkled old man who combed his long thin hair from left to right in an attempt to obscure his balding forehead and chewed anise seeds that failed to cover the smell of onions on his breath. He was also a wily prosecutor who had skewered many a witness. I would need to be careful. Once my guards had escorted me to the witness box, he began to skip around from topic to topic, while pacing, halting and turning abruptly, back and forth in front of me like a fencing master trying to keep his student off balance. “How long have you been under the influence of the beast in the prisoner's dock?”

“I think there are many people in this Hall of Judgment who will note that I am rarely under anyone's influence. My honored father, the late Gervaise, Duke of Comigor, was not the last to remark on my independent turn of mind.” Amid the shocked murmurs at my levity, I glimpsed not a few nods and smiles. The Lord High Prosecutor had never jousted at Windham.

“Yet you have been enslaved to this creature in some degenerate parody of holy wedlock?”

“I met this gentleman, whom you have treated so despicably, some five years ago,” I said. “After a seemly time, we became engaged. Two years ago last Seille, Pere Dejarier witnessed our marriage before at least fifty people who are in this room. If you remember, sir, that same good priest was a witness to His Majesty's marriage to our queen. I don't believe Pere Dejarier, a priest of Annadis since my father was a boy, presides at degenerate rites.”

Vycasso halted a moment longer than usual, but then whirled about and poked a finger at my face. “Tell me, madam, who are this devil's friends?”

“Until these scurrilous accusations were brought forth, I don't think you could find anyone who knew my husband who would not claim him as a friend. He has been regarded as a gentleman of wisdom and scholarship by those of the royal household, as well as those in his employ. Several of you gentlemen on the Council have been guests in our home or have consulted with my husband on matters of his specialties, history and archaeology. His Majesty, whose judgment in friends is known to be impeccable, requests his advice on artifacts to display in the palace, and most generously invited us to dine with him at Seille. Several people in this room can attest to it.”

Vycasso cast a sidelong glance at the king, but Evard wore no expression. “Yes, yes, we know the beast was a secret and sly devil,” said the prosecutor, “hiding his vile craft behind a façade of respectability. But it is well known that he has practiced his depravity here in the heart of our beloved realm. Tell us, madam, of the evils he did perpetrate in your home.”

“If you account eating, sleeping, studying, entertaining, and keeping company with one's wife to be evil, then the same evils as other men.” A few snickers erupted in the crowd, quickly silenced by a glare from Lord Hessia.

The prosecutor forged onward, undeterred. “When did you learn this man was a sorcerer?”

“Tell me, Lord Prosecutor, what is your definition of a sorcerer? Explain it to me, and then I can tell you when I knew of it.”

Smirking, he gestured toward the crowd. “Why, everyone knows that. A sorcerer is one who perverts nature, despicable filth who revels in the blood and death of human men and women and innocent children.”