Spellscribed: Conviction (20 page)

“Sure.”

Weldom stormed back to his chair and sat, his face reddened. The rotund man leaned over and whispered something to him, and Weldom glared at the man until he backed down.

“You say the assassin was sent after you, yes?”

“Yes.”

“I see. And did you try to find out who did it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Endrance glanced at the audience. “What?”

“Why did you seek out information on the one who put a contract on you?” Ahmed asked. “It will explain your state of mind to our Highnesses.”

“I sought to find out who it was, so I could then figure out why someone wanted me dead. I had lived my entire life since an infant in Wayrest, and couldn’t understand not only why someone wanted me dead, but at what point did they even encounter me to develop such a grudge.” Endrance explained.

“What did you discover?” Ahmed asked.

“I discovered that the person had hired her not to earnestly try to kill me.” Endrance said. “At least not until after I had been in Balator for a few months.”

“Why would the client do that?” Ahmed asked.

Endrance could see where his defense representative was going with the line of questions he was asking. “Because the client has an emotional attachment to me, as I came to discover.” Endrance asked.

“An emotional attachment?” Ahmed asked. “What kind of attachment.”

“This person loves me.” Endrance said. “But still, sent someone to kill me.”

“They love you, but still tried to kill you?” Ahmed asked, letting his natural surprise color his tone for the audience. “Why would someone resort to such a… draconic form of affection?”

Endrance glanced at High King Mastadon, their eyes meeting. “I’m not entirely sure.” Endrance said. “But my standing theory, is that they wanted to force me to become stronger, faster.”

Endrance looked down at Ahmed. “Perhaps this person had some plan for me.”

“So who is this person?” Ahmed asked.

“… My mother.” Endrance said.

Weldom and High King Mastadon shot to their feet, but couldn’t object without also revealing the importance of the question that was about to be asked. In a whisper, Endrance heard Ahmed speak to him. “Remember.” He warned.

“Who was she?” Ahmed asked aloud.

Weldom opened his mouth to speak, and Endrance stood, drawing all eyes in the courtroom.

“Oh, you’ve probably never heard of her.” He said loudly. “Her name is Valeria.”

* * *

Joven paced back and forth in front of the courtroom doors. He had arrived just behind the king of the Iron Satrap, but he had been firmly told that there were no more seats and the doors were locked, before he could push his way past the men who tried to stop him. Though he was unarmed, save for the burlap wrapped staff he had set against a bench, they had taken him as a serious threat and several men with spears stood at either side of the doors, nervously twitching every time Joven pivoted on his heel to pace the other direction.

He had stayed up the entire night, helping the damned elf settle out of date accounts. He mostly had to just stand there, looking impressive and growl once in a while when the accountholder tried to wriggle out of paying up. There had been one brief and terrifying moment, when he had almost walked out into the street right after midnight. Meryl had managed to save him, but he refused to believe what he had seen. The ancestors themselves scouring the streets of trash and vermin? Impossible.

There was suddenly a great chorus of shouting and cries from the other side of the door. Joven heard the sound of furniture crashing to the floor. He stepped back away from the door, picking up the staff and holding it to his chest as the spear men turned towards the door, puzzled.

The doors exploded open, a funnel of energetically arguing faces, as mages and kingdom officials alike, poured out of the courtroom; the cacophony of voices too loud and jumbled to make any one conversation stand out.

The crowd cleared out quickly, lasting, at most, thirty seconds. Joven looked at the dispersing people and then back at the spear men.

“Can I go in now?” he asked. One of the men nodded, visibly shaken.

Joven walked in, and got his first look at the courtroom. Benches were on their backs, flipped over by many people standing violently at once. Parchments were strewn about the room, and the three kings argued amidst themselves while Endrance sat wearily in the center of a dais. Around it, several people talked energetically.

Joven walked up as Klaira, Weldom, Ahmed, Alana, and the fat mage talked.

“Are you sure it’s her?” Alana asked, looking to Ahmed.

The tanned man shrugged. “You can tell he was not lying. The spells on the circle-”

“Are not inviolate.” The fat man added. “He could believe that it’s her.”

“It could be another woman named Valeria.” Weldom added. “There isn’t any kind of monopoly on the name; and she did have an effect on thousands of lives. It’s possible it was just a woman named after her.”

“There is circumstantial evidence that points to it being her.” Ahmed stressed. “How many of you read her written works?”

Klaira raised a hand. “I had to study her twelve volumes on artifice as an apprentice.” She said. “Endrance’s explanation of engraving channels of power into silver included several notations that were explicitly developed by her.”

“So?” Alana asked. “He could have read the books too.”

“Or he could have been taught by one of her apprentices, Kaelob.” Weldom said. “Either way…”

Joven finally shoved past Alana and Klaira and thrust out a hand, catching Weldom by the throat as he lifted the mage into the air in a sudden lunge. Everyone else, except for Ahmed and Endrance, backed away swiftly as Joven snarled at the man.

“Joven!” Endrance called out as the barbarian swung the mage through the air. Weldom’s back crossed the outer perimeter of the dais and stopped, a reddish light and buzzing sound resounding as the circle’s wards flared into life. Weldom’s eyes widened in pain, unable to retaliate for lack of both concentration and air. The three kings stopped their arguments to stare as the lone, outnumbered barbarian held one of the elite High Magus pinned.

“Mage!” Joven bellowed into Weldom’s face. “If you ever, EVER, try to take my charge away from me again, no magic, no force in the world, will stop me from finding you and ending you!”

Endrance looked to the other mages. The fat man and Alana were raising their hands and preparing to cast something. They didn’t understand that if Joven had meant to kill them, they’d already be dead. If they threw any magic at Joven and it didn’t kill him, it would turn into a serious fight to the death.

“Do you understand me?” Joven shouted. Weldom’s face was turning from a deep red to a purplish color.

There was no time to try to talk anyone down. Endrance gritted his teeth, powered up his wards, and leapt through the ward circle. He felt a powerful spell crack against his defenses, pain rinsed over his body like a thin curtain of water, and he came out the other side, the red haze of the wards trailing off of him like a shroud as he interposed himself between Joven and the others. He pushed more power through his wards than he had thought safe, hoping his natural resistance to power had developed enough to protect him.

The rush was painful, but euphoric. His wards pushed the reddish smoke away from him as their power magnified and for a split second, it looked like Endrance was several feet taller than he was before the spells popped like a soap bubble. Both spells thrown by the prosecution fizzled against his empowered defenses, and he knew then they had both thrown a spike of magic power meant to do maximum harm to the target without causing any possible splash damage to the person he was holding. They would have been enough to do some serious damage to Joven, but were not meant to punch through magical shields. Even so, his wards wobbled from the hit and the euphoric feeling vanished as the power was consumed to keep him safe.

“Stop!” Endrance shouted. His voice boomed through the room. The two hesitated, and Ahmed put a hand on Joven’s arm.

“Sir.” He said, “He can’t speak if you crush his throat.”

Joven realized he had been squeezing too hard and loosened his grip. Weldom took a breath, but was still pinned against the barrier Endrance had managed to breach.

“I got it.” Weldom croaked. Joven immediately dropped the man and turned to Endrance. As his ward turned to him, he thrust out the burlap wrapped bundle. Weldom sank to his hands and knees, coughing.

“Here.” Joven said. “Sorry I was late.”

The two mages on the prosecution dropped their hands, exchanging a glance.

“You aren’t supposed to be out of the circle.” Alana said.

Endrance looked at the dais. “Sorry.” He said, walking back and pushing through the wards. This time it took more effort, but he also didn’t have the adrenaline rush of panic to aid his attempt. Once within the barrier, he realized he still held what he could only assume to be the staff Joven had been working on.

“Oh.” He muttered. “Uhm… What do I do about this?”

Weldom rubbed his neck, rising to his feet. “You can’t keep that.” He said. Joven glared at him, and he quickly added. “Well, it will be returned to you with the rest of your personal effects after the trial is concluded.”

“Okay. Endrance said. “I’m going to open it now. I want to see what he’s done with it. Once the wards are down I’ll give it to you, all right?”

Weldom nodded, trying to clear his throat. Joven stood passively, hands at his sides, and for all Weldom could tell, he had dropped the matter. The High Magus moved cautiously away from the bodyguard and watched as Endrance unwrapped the barbarian’s gift.

Completed, the bone staff was beautiful. The bone was carved in an intricate pattern near the head of the staff, lines thinning into an arcane pattern of whorls and sigils that slipped beneath a black wrapped grip that was laced through with tiny silver electrical patterns. The bone had a strangely refractive sheen to it, shifting between many colors, depending on how Endrance held it in the light. The carved pattern formed a ring near the bottom, encircled in lines and arcane script.

He let the burlap fall to the floor and grasped the staff by the grip, feeling the comfortable layer of springy material. As he did so, electricity crackled from where the lightning spell scribed on his fingers touched the grip, coursing out from the point of contact and through the grip.

Endrance could feel the power inside the staff awaken with his touch. It was different than the power he had felt from objects before, where they were constantly radiating their energy like a bonfire. This thing’s strength was a deep, dull pulse, like the beating of an enormous heart in the dark. It didn’t tingle or burn his senses, but instead gave him the sensation of being near a conscious, possibly self-aware knot of power that was waiting, calmly, for his will to direct it.

“This…” Endrance said, stunned. “How?”

“Some elf said we had been working on some grand-thing, and helped me finish it.” Joven said. “Cost me all I had.”

“Elf?”

“She said her name was Meryl.”

Endrance, holding the Grandstaff, felt he was at the cusp of a whole different level of ability. It wasn’t a bucket holding resources, like he had initially planned on doing with the bone. It was instead something far more primal, and in the process, a force he wasn’t even sure he understood.

“That’s… an elven Grandstaff.” Ahmed said, concerned. “You’re saying you made that?”

“Uh…” Joven said, scratching his chin. “Yeah.”

“We’ve never even seen a Grandstaff in our lifetimes, and a barbarian manages to make one?” Klaira said, trying to keep from laughing. “Oh, I have not been doing my job if someone uneducated managed to pull it off.”

“Meryl helped.” Joven supplied. “Sold me the last bits I needed.”

“The elves never let those leave their possession. Even in death.” Klaira said. “We humans never even got close to being allowed to examine one.”

“Endrance.” Weldom said, “Once the High King leaves, I’ll lower the wards, and you’ll need to give that over to me. It’s too powerful to leave in your hands.”

Endrance looked around. “The High King is gone already.” He declared. The Iron and Veridian royalty were curiously watching their exchange, but their retinue looked like they were trying to get them out of the room.

Experimentally, Endrance waved the head of the staff through the outer ring of wards. He willed the staff to help him through the barrier. The resonant pulse within it shifted slightly, as if turning its head to recognize his request.

The ward circle crashed down, canceling out with a quite audible discord of spells being cut short. The air encircling the dais flickered in a burst of multicolored light, as the last of the spells died. Joven dove for cover and the mages around the dais raised their hands up defensively.

The spells warding him were down. Endrance shrugged and hopped down the step to the ground. He held out the staff, but turned to hand it Klaira. “Magus Klaira.” He said. “I give you permission to hold onto my equipment, but you do not have permission to disassemble or break anything. Is that acceptable?”