Chapter 20: A Day in Court

“Why do I speak to a lapdog of Minist?! Is there no priest of the Eternal Song here?!” Scurra sneered at Kezodel. She knew it was a mistake to issue such an insult—what could it win her? But after being ignored, mildly castigated for her petitions, and set aside for over a week, she now faced flat out insults, and for a moment, she lost her cool.

“Ah, but I remember your brother,” Kezodel noted. “And I remember I told him not to return to these lands. Yet, what should he do?” he shook his head. “And to pick flowers, you say? How am I to believe that?”

“It is the truth of it,” Scurra glared.

“Yes, he wrote it in a letter—a letter you do not have,” Kezodel smirked. “So, not only does your brother return on some dubious quest, but he goes west, where a war rages out of all control—and I am to believe it is for flowers?!”

“I ask that I be allowed to go west and find him,” Scurra answered.

“The west is closed. All that are in it are criminals and collaborators,” Kezodel replied. “Do you truly hope to locate this petty vagrant among so much wanton bloodshed?” He stared at Scurra.

“You have granted entrance to other militias,” Scurra noted.

“Bouge militias,” the Muaha interrupted. “The situation is bleak, my cousin! Yet, I will make you a promise. I will take mercy on your brother,” he claimed. “We will make a most immediate inquiry, and I vow to return him safely to the border, that is, on the off chance that we have captured him,” he finished in a smug manner.

“Shall I be surprised if you cannot find him among your labyrinthine prison system?” Scurra huffed. “It is quite apparent to me that a reformation of court and council is in order!”

“Now, now,” Kezodel reprimanded. “I do not prescribe how the Jindleyak handle their internal affairs, I will not have you insulting ours...”

“Your people flee to our lands by the thousand!” Scurra lambasted. “They flee with nothing but terror in their hearts! As brothers and sisters, we provide succor and refuge at great cost to ourselves! And what standing do you have to complain of Jindleyak affairs?!” she charged.

“Enough!” Kezodel snapped. His face grew red with rage. “You verge on contempt!”

For several seconds, Scurra stared and fumed at the man. “Alas, I am done,” she replied in a calm manner. “If you will not allow me to search among your forts and outposts to see him freed, then I must beg you to find my brother, find him and return him.”

“Yes, yes.” Kezodel quickly agreed. “Now I will hear no more of it! If he is among us, we will find the cripple and we will send him running—but I will take no more of your abuse!” he leaned forward. “Unless you should like to abuse me in private,” he added with a lewd gesture.

Several of the audience chuckled.

Scurra turned away in disgust. The Jindleyak delegation followed as she marched from the center of the floor.

“Next business!” Kezodel ordered.

The chamberlain stepped forward as Scurra and her associates left. “Now we shall hear from Gliedian, High Commander of Camp Calderhal, Defender of the Western Front, Blessed Brother to the Muaha!”

In the corridors of the Great Court, Scurra turned to Traust, the head of her Jindleyak escort. “I apologize. I feel I have wasted your time.”

“This court is usually a waste of time. At least with you it is an entertaining waste,” Traust noted. “Now that you’ve exhausted the court, what will you do?”

“I shall go west to find my brother,” Scurra stated. “It was in my vision. I must see to it that he is freed.”

Traust shook his head. “He does not lie about the war. The western country is quite dangerous.”

“And I am not?” Scurra began. “But first I must write letters. Will you see them posted?”

“In this land, we run our own mail,” Traust stated. “When you go west, let some of our cousins go with you. Bouge lands are no place for a lone traveler, especially a lady.”

Immediately, Scurra wanted to deny him. She looked about the court among the various dead-faced guards, all of them decked in weapons, all but a few of them bigger than her, and thought of the men she’d meet at war; filthier, even more unpredictable. She cut the conversation and turned to a steward of the court as he approached.

“Lady Scurra!” the steward stopped in front of her with a hasty bow. “Sincerest apologies, but you must come with me. His excellency requires your most immediate return.”

Degorouth guards heard the command and moved to cut off her exit. Despite a dozen Jindleyak militiamen, armed to the teeth and formidable, there were far too many of Kezodel’s Degorouth to refuse. A shiver ran up Scurra’s spine.

“Very well,” she said and took a step back toward the audience chamber with her Jindleyak countrymen in tow.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 20.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Meu kissed Wenifas as they first entered the city. She also kissed the shaman so that both ladies had some idea of what transpired as they made their way through town and into the Great Court where everything preceded in a foreign tongue.

Although Wenifas welcomed the kind thoughts of the shaman, they were not constant. Meu used a light dose of venom which allowed the priestess and the shaman to hold back their thoughts if they chose. Wenifas could shut out the others all she liked, which was very much appreciated, but it also meant the shaman kept her out of his half of his thoughts, which was inconvenient.

Baet and Carringten did not have such immediate translation and had to rely on the constant interpretation of Toar. Yet, as they entered the main audience chamber where Kezodel held court, the immediate petitioner spoke Ministrian, and the court responded in kind. Indeed, they recognized the petitioner, and more importantly, his charge. Their business was just begun.

The chamberlain stepped into the open half circle reserved for the petitioning party. “Now we shall hear from Gliedian, High Commander of Camp Calderhal, Defender of the Western Front, Blessed Brother to the Muaha!”

Gliedian pushed to the center of the half circle, followed by twenty or so men, including one in irons. “Your worship,” the High Commander addressed the Muaha. “We have captured an enemy general. We ask that he be condemned and given a public execution, so the people can share in our triumph!” Gliedian gestured to the Saot gentleman bound in irons.

Carringten hissed and ribbed Baet with his elbow. He pointed at Gliedian’s entourage, at two figures that stood near the back, old comrades in arms, Garf and Banifourd.

With a nod, Baet pointed Carringten toward the throne where Kezodel sat. “Look at that sword,” Baet whispered. “Makes Vearing’s claymore look like a toothpick.” An impossibly large weapon rested next to the throne, which could be nothing more than decoration. It was seven or eight feet long and as thick as an apple tree at its base. On the other side of the throne was an equally preposterous shield, eight feet around and gilded with precious stones and metals.

Although Kezodel was large for a man, these instruments were far too big for anyone to wield. To think of fighting with them was comical. Not that it mattered. There were at least a hundred guards about the room, all armed to the teeth, with more roaming the other rooms and halls of the greater court.

As the others concentrated on Gliedian and his most unfortunate prisoner, Meriona approached the chamberlain. “Is his excellency hearing many cases today?” she asked.

The chamberlain looked up at the lady and noted the slight pin she wore: two fangs, one gilded in silver, the other in gold. Since she was a person of standing, he answered her kindly. “The day’s work is all but done. This is the last of our petitioners,” he shrugged. “Do you have business to bring before the court?”

“I do indeed. I apologize for my hastiness, but it is a pressing matter,” she said as she gave the man a conciliatory smile.

“Immediate?” He asked as a frown stretched across his face.

Meriona shook her head. “I should not wish to interrupt this business,” she waved a hand at Gliedian and his entourage. “But if you can fit us in after the current gentleman, such an arrangement would be most fortuitous,” she held up a gold sol, recently pressed, with the bright seal of Minist upon it.

A smile broke across the chamberlain’s face as he took the coin. He nodded emphatically. “Yes. I do believe we shall have a few minutes! Will you require long, or is it a straight forward matter?”

“I should think five minutes if the court is in haste,” Meriona smiled. “Even if we should prove most entertaining, I do not see us taking more than fifteen,” she said, though she believed it might take an hour or more once Fedring’s coin was discovered—not to mention the time and the hand wringing there would be about hanging another half dozen criminals—but if it was half as much money as she thought it was...

Now that Meriona thought about it, she wondered if it might not go on into the night, or better yet, might she get to see another closed session? Still, if she had her way, they’d all be charged as the duke’s lieutenants, servants, and collaborators. They’d all be hanged. Then, none of them could possibly speak of Fedring’s coin, and Meriona would get a healthy share of the profits.

The chamberlain gave a nod. “Well, we shall see to you promptly,” he said with a smile.

Above the whispers of the Jay and the chamberlain, Kezodel leaned forward and spoke with a great voice, as he stared at Creigal and Gliedian. “A general, you say? And what is his name? Would he speak? Is he agreed to his crime?”

“I speak quite fine, Muaha Kezodel,” Creigal began in Ministrian. “My name is Dandifrod, and I am incorrectly identified. I am but a traveler, looking for investment in distant lands. I have no army except two men and a guide.”

“This is an alibi,” Gliedian asserted. “It is the only lie he speaks. But our sources have confirmed him beyond a doubt. His true name is Creigal berDuvante, Duke of Gaurring, and he means us no good.”

“Gaurring?” Kezodel frowned. “This is a land far from our own.”

“It is as far as the capital itself, your grace,” Gliedian replied. “It shows how far our enemies will go to destroy us.”

“He is a duke you say? This is a title of great weight among the Saot is it not?”

“There is none above him but the King,” Gliedian affirmed. He turned to Banifourd. “This man can identify him beyond a doubt. In exchange for nothing more than his honest word, we ask that he be granted his life and freedom.”

“And what is your name?” Kezodel asked the man.

The esquire gave a low bow. “I am Banifourd deMetrius, your honor, and he is indeed the Duke of Gaurring. Until most recently, I have served in his company.”

Creigal sneered at Banifourd. “You are false! You indeed served in my company and know my name—but it is not Creigal! Let ‘em see your own papers and what company you served!”

Banifourd held up his hands. “Unfortunately, I have lost my papers.”

“Convenient,” Creigal noted.

Banifourd gave a pious nod. “You do not dispute that I was your man?”

“Speak your half truths, traitor,” Creigal spit. “You may fool this court, but you will not escape god’s justice!”

Kezodel frowned. “One man’s word against another... Is there no more evidence?”

Gliedian pulled a paper from his pocket. “I also have this: a letter intercepted from Count Drefford of Wibbeley that identifies Creigal berDuvante and praises him for his accomplishments in conquering these lands!”

This caused a stir among the court. Kezodel signaled Gliedian to approach the throne and bring with him the letter. He took the note and studied it for several seconds, then lifted it in the air and waved it about. “Truly we have captured an important man! This is quite a blow to our enemies!” the Muaha gushed. “Still, a man of such title... must we execute him? To wash the streets with such royal blood. Can he not be ransomed?”

Gliedian hedged, “He is guilty of many crimes, your Grace. He is a scourge, a danger to you and your people as long as he lives. We think it best if he is dispatched immediately.”

Kezodel frowned, “It is often hard to know the proper path...” he began.

“If you think a reward is in order,” Gliedian cut in, “the Empire might be able to agree to such terms.”

“I should think we cannot accept less than a hundred gold sols for such a ransom,” Kezodel mused.

Baet shook his head and whispered to Toar. “He does not know Gaur at all if he thinks us to be such paupers.”

“He is not looking to ransom the man,” Toar answered. “Only to milk the Empress for doing her dirty work.”

Demure, Gliedian backed a pace. “I think we can agree to such a sum,” he acquiesced.

“Then I am satisfied,” Kezodel continued. “An execution is set! This prisoner will die two weeks from today, at the hour of noon!”

“Are no terms given for my release?” Creigal asked. “Although I am not a rich man, a hundred gold sols is not beyond my reach.”

Kezodel sat tall on his throne. “To the prisoner, I offer these terms for his unconditional release: a hundred times a hundred gold sols to be delivered no later than the hour of execution!”

“Well, that is more like it,” Baet whispered as he calculated the sum with wide eyes.

“And why is so much demanded of me?” Creigal asked.

“Do you think enemies pay the same ransom as friends?” Kezodel sneered. “If you should survive, I will see you poor and buggered.”

Creigal held out his empty hands. “Even if I had such money, do you expect I can have it delivered in two weeks?”

“I do not,” Kezodel answered. “Indeed, I do not expect you to deliver anything. I simply expect you to die, your grace. If you wish to live, I suggest you petition your gods. Perhaps they shall save you—but tell them to be quick! Time is of the essence!”

Cruel laughter broke from the assembled audience. Carringten frowned and checked the sword at his side.

“Do not be rash,” Meriona huffed. “It is death to pull your weapon in the presence of the Muaha. Do you not see all the guards?”

“Let it be done!” Kezodel banged his gavel. “And now we shall recess for the day…”

Gliedian bowed as a deep smile played across his face. He turned to leave and motioned for his men to bring Creigal along.

Wenifas noted the dismay of Baet, Carringten, and Toar. For a split second, she thought she should feel vindicated by their pain. But no—a man was sentenced to death, and she had no reason to believe he was guilty. The trial was so quick and the evidence of wrongdoing so very thin! There was just one witness and only one letter?!

“Meriona, Jay of the Empress!” the chamberlain called. Surprised to hear the name, Gliedian stopped. His men also turned to see the Jay.

Kezodel sat back. He turned to his chamberlain, curious to know why he was still called to judge. “The court is thick with Ministrian affairs this day! Our blessed cousins provide us no end of business!” he boasted. “And what can we do for you, Meriona, Jay of the Black Throne?” He called to the audience and waited for her to snake her way down to the floor.

Meriona stepped into the half circle alone, save Krumpus, who follow close on her heels. “Your grace,” she began unaware of the shaman’s antics next to her. “I have captured the lieutenants of this doomed general...” she trailed off as she noted Kezodel was not looking at her, but at the interrupting shaman.

While Meriona spoke, Krumpus stomped through the half circle reserved for the judge’s audience, made a sharp turn toward Creigal, looped his elbow under the duke’s, and pulled him back into the half-circle. With several drying heads of foxbane about his neck, the shaman then began to berate the judge in Tallian Hand. There was a wildness in the shaman’s eyes and a petulant scowl upon his face. Wenifas felt a surge of righteous indignation burn through her mind as the shaman allowed all his thoughts through. She knew the feeling. It was the same way she felt as she lay with Derris and talked of the hypocrisy of the Baradha, only propelled by an iron will. Aghast, she clutched her babe and took a step back, sure his actions would doom them all.

“You cannot…!” The chamberlain began to intercede. Krumpus pushed the man roughly out of the circle. Several guards imposed themselves and checked their weapons. Men all around the court checked their weapons, including Baet, Carringten, and all ten of the Jindleyak militia.

“No,” Kezodel ordered, and waved his men aside that he might see the shaman. Kezodel stared at Krumpus, turned sour, and leaned forward with an annoyed expression. “I know you,” Kezodel said, his face red with anger. “So it is true, despite your exile, you do return to my kingdom!”

Whispers grew among the audience.

“Quiet!” Kezodel snapped. “What is he saying?!” He yelled at the chamberlain.

The chamberlain brushed himself off as he stood. He shrugged and blushed at Kezodel. “It is Tallian Hand, your excellency. He speaks the silent language of Tronde.”

“I know what he’s doing, you imbecile! I wish to know what he says!” Kezodel glared about the room. “Well? I know several of you speak the Hand! Someone tell me, what he says?!”

“It is his fingers,” a decorated man called from the crowd. “They are twisted and weak! I cannot make out what he means...”

Several others grumbled and nodded their agreement.

“What of his sister?” Kezodel asked. “She cannot have gone far! Return her! She can make it out!”

Several stewards ran from the room in various directions.

Kezodel glared at Krumpus. “While we wait for her, let us attend our official business, shall we?” Kezodel turned back to Meriona. “The Jay was speaking before you so rudely interrupted. I should like to hear what she has to say about this rather diverse collection of petitioners she has brought before us. Am I to believe that some are the Duke’s trusted lieutenants...?” He searched among Meriona’s companions and stopped as a dim recognition once more puzzled his face. His head tilted. “Toar?” Kezodel stared at the Trohl. “Toar, is that you?”

Toar stiffened.

“You are much older... Has it been such a long time since you deserted your post and robbed me?” Kezodel asked. “You look strong, becoming—and yet you return? There can be only one reason. Do you wish to beg back your position? Amilea will be most pleased...”

“I cannot steal what was never yours!” Toar glared at the Muaha. “And I’ll never return!” he finished.

Kezodel’s eyes glazed over as he stared back at the Trohl. “After all the privilege and honors I gave you, you come back to throw insults at me? And after the troubles you caused. What is it you do with these others?”

Toar snorted. “I remember everything you gave me, and I remember everything you took!”

Kezodel grew dark and was about to reply as a large group of guards escorted the Lady Scurra and the Jindleyak delegation back into the room. “We shall return to your sins,” Kezodel pointed at the native guide. “But first, we have such good news for the lady, Scurra!” He beamed with false alacrity.

“What is it?” Scurra snapped as she was pushed to the front of the room once more.

Kezodel pointed at the shaman, “I believe you know this man.”

With a gasp, Scurra ran at her brother and gathered him in a hug.

“Yes, yes. It is all very sweet,” Kezodel began. “And I have found him with irregular speed, have I not? Now tell us, what is this miscreant saying? Why does he interrupt and defend a condemned enemy of the state?”

Scurra turned to her brother as he waved his hands about in the silent language. “What is wrong with your hands?!” She gaped as she stopped them from waving. She held his fingers in her own, and gently rubbed them as she turned on Kezodel, “What have you done to him?!”

“Me? Nothing!” Kezodel insisted. “The injuries are his own!”

“His speech is sloppy and stiff because of it,” Scurra frowned as she stared at his feeble fingers. She did not know it was a miracle he could move them at all.

“I want his words,” Kezodel leaned forward. “Not a rundown of his ailments. Now, tell me what he says!” he snapped.

“I cannot,” Scurra huffed. “It is gibberish!”

The shaman’s righteousness flared in Wenifas, and bravery caught in her soul. She handed Evereste to Meu and took a step forward. “I can speak for the man.”

“And who is this?” Kezodel frowned. “My court is most cluttered with strangers today!”

“Ignore her, your highness,” Meriona charged. “She is but a priestess, and a self-important one at that,” she glared.

“I can speak for the man!” Wenifas snapped at the Jay. “By the will of the gods, I can do it, and I shall!” she huffed. She allowed her own frustrations to fuel her as she pushed passed Meriona. Krumpus turned to Wenifas and signed in broken language, though she did not need his signal to know what he meant. She was still connected through Meu’s venom. She stood tall and began in a loud voice. “This court is a sham!” She pointed at Kezodel. “You are an enemy of the people, and you draw the wrath of the one true god down about your ears!” Wenifas admonished.

“Blasphemy!” someone yelled. “Execute her with the Saot!”

Kezodel raised his hand to quiet the crowd. “Is this what you say?” He turned from Wenifas and stared at the shaman.

Krumpus stamped his foot, nodded his head, and glared at the Muaha.

“Then the soft god of Jeiju approaches? Am I to be scolded and shamed for my many crimes?” Kezodel sneered. “Don’t waste your time with the tired tripe of your nine-fingered Lord of Pieces! I serve the twin gods of the Eternal Song, and know theirs is the true law!”

A wildness overcame Wenifas as indignation streamed from the shaman. “Do not mock, Kezodel! You may have power among men, but you do not hold a candle to the true power of powers! Man as a race comes out of the deep dark ocean, like so many fishes! They no longer swim in schools of common interest, but must find themselves to be individuals, with the light of love in their hearts! Turn from your selfish interest and set your brethren upon the proper path, or you will meet a most immediate doom!” she scolded.

“You threaten me?” Kezodel huffed and straightened on his throne.

Wenifas turned to the crowd as Krumpus continued to wave his hands, and since she was still caught by his wildness, she continued to yell and harangue. “All the false idols must fall! Gods and governments that enslave instead of enlighten shall be ground to dust! We, the many fishes will become as Tronde, Rigel, and Jeiju before us! As heroes of lore! We will become as the Odim Kalodim, bound to each other by sacred love!”

The crowd booed and mocked her. Several threw bits and bobs of trash at her.

Wenifas turned on Kezodel once more and yelled above her critics. “Ebertin belongs to the god of gods and the city will be restored to her proper virtue! If you repent, then you shall stand at her head! If you persist, then a dark time must follow, and you shall be the first swept into her sewers! Now bow, Kezodel! Bow before the true god, or be swept aside for your deceptions and mockery!”

“How dare you...” Kezodel glared.

Wenifas ignored his sneer. She turned on the general audience for one last go. “It is now upon man to carry the water! God restores our role, and we must do our part! All that will not, all that stand in the way, will be swept aside!” She turned back the Muaha. “It is you, Kezodel! You must answer! Lead this backwater hovel into the light! Lead these wretches—as god requires—or you will lie at the foot of those you scorn with your sins fully exposed!” she finished. “Choose, Kezodel! Choose now, for the time of your judgment is at hand!”

Wenifas finished and the wildness about the shaman subsided. The Muaha glared as he signaled for the room to be quiet. A fury twisted his features. He stood up and seemed to grow as he did so. Indeed, the man must be ten feet tall, and broad across the chest with thick arms and legs!

Thankfully, his clothes grew with him.

Now a giant, Kezodel pulled the impossibly large sword from off the throne with one hand, and began to swing it about with ease and skill. He took up the shield in his other hand as he continued to glare.

“Fine,” Kezodel began, as he took a step forward. “I’ll kill you myself.” Standing twice the height of anyone else, he strode toward the petitioners.

The crowd backed away and created a wall that Wenifas and the siblings could not back through. The priestess remembered herself. She blinked several times as she stepped back in horror. Scurra drew her long knives as she too backed up. Krumpus stepped in front of the two women, brushed aside his cloak, and turned up the pointy end of his stick. “STAHB!” Krumpus called in his broken tongue, his eyes wild once more, his hair standing on end. “DUMABRUCHES!” He yelled as he shielded his sister and Wenifas with his cloak.

“And now you die, cripple,” Kezodel smirked and raised his sword.

Before he could strike, a deafening boom sounded from above, and the dome of the court cracked open like an egg. Lightning forked through the room. With a collective gasp, the audience closed their eyes and sucked in their breath. The force of rushing air pushed the crowd back and caused the doors to fly open. Large chunks of marble fell from the broken dome. Several massive slabs fell on top of the bewildered giant. Kezodel lifted his shield, but to little avail. As big as he was, he could not stand against the crush of stone and was immediately buried as the ceiling collapsed. Fragments broke from the falling stone and shot about the room. Krumpus was thrown off his feet into Wenifas and Scurra, and the three crumbled to the ground.

As sudden as it all began, the calamity was over. A haze floated about the room as a collection of groans and coughs broke the silence. Bewildered, the audience took stock of the situation. A good number of people lay on the ground, injured, unconscious, even a few dead. Cries, and moans echoed throughout the great chamber.

At the head of the Great Court, in front of the untouched throne and under a mound of marble, lay the crushed form of the Muaha. His twisted body expanded into something grotesque. Kezodel was no longer pretty by any standard. There were large, wicked talons on the remains of a visible hand. There were wild patches of hair all about him. Small leathery wings jutted from his back, twisted and broken by the rubble. Many of the audience stared, unable to understand what had become of their judge as birds gathered and chirped at the edge of the massive hole in the roof, as they flew down and congregated on the judge’s makeshift tomb.

Meu was the first to understand the transformation. Wenifas caught Meu’s thoughts, and one word slipped from her tongue. “Chimera,” the priestess said, as Meu recognized Kezodel’s true nature. Wenifas repeated it as she stood to her feet. “Chimera!” She pointed at the dead form of the Muaha.

The term caught and was repeated about the room. Chimera! Chimera? Chimera!?

The trickle of people that slipped from the hallway thickened. A full on exodus from the grand chamber commenced.

“Dark magics are upon us!” Gliedian roared. He pointed at Krumpus, Wenifas, and Creigal. “Kill them!” He ordered his men. “Kill them all!”

Birds of every sort dropped in from the broken ceiling. Robins, jays, finches, magpies, hawks, eagles, owls... They flew in the faces of the men that moved against Creigal and stopped their advance.

“God is with us still!” Wenifas yelled. “She sends all manner of beasts against her enemies! Now flee! Flee before her or perish!” she continued.

Though they did little real damage, the birds caused a great deal of confusion and panic. It was enough. As the priestess admonished her enemies one last time, several of Gliedian’s men broke and ran from the room. Others followed. Only Gliedian and a handful of Ministrian shock troopers remained.

Carringten pulled Bence’s short sword. To a man, the Jindleyak delegation pulled their weapons and stepped in front of Scurra and her unconscious brother. Baet didn’t bother to pull a weapon at all. He stood so close that he simply balled his fist and struck Banifourd in the mouth. The esquire fell back as blood ran from his lip.

Gliedian pulled Thunder Maker from his belt and pointed the musket at Baet. Baet stared at the weapon and slowly raised his hands as he glared at the High Commander.

“I kill the first man that follows!” Gliedian roared. He pointed the weapon from one of his enemies to the next as he helped Banifourd to his feet.

Meriona grabbed Celesi’s hand. “We must leave!” she said as she pulled at the girl.

Celesi dropped her hand. “No,” she said, and glared at the Jay.

Meriona recoiled. “After all that we have given you, you abandon us?”

“I cannot abandon those that held me hostage,” Celesi snapped as she backed away from the Jay.

Meriona sneered and spit at the girl. “Then be a Trohl once more, you ingrate!” The senior Jay turned to Wenifas. “Come now, you fool!” she snapped at the priestess.

Confusion caught in Wenifas as she looked about the room. She stood with the men that murdered Derris, and although she felt the shaman was justified in his wrath toward the court, she could not see herself continuing with him.

Meu was no help. The wyrm had closed her mind and was distracted by the crushed form of Kezodel as she marveled at what had happened. The priestess turned this way and that, unsure what she must do. She took a step forward and held her hand out to the Jay.

Celesi grabbed her other hand, her face filled with compassion and pity. “Stay with us,” she said to the priestess.

Wenifas longed to return to her people, to ways and customs she found familiar. She thought perhaps a sense of normality could return to her life. She no longer needed to be a priestess. She could quit the church and dedicate her life to her children in a place that she was accustomed. Wenifas lifted her hand to Meriona.

“She knows,” Celesi whispered. “She knows you robbed Fedring. She means to see you punished!”

Wenifas saw the truth of it in the Jay’s eyes. It was only there for a split second before Meriona hid her true intent. Shocked, Wenifas recoiled from the Jay.

“Traitor!” Meriona snarled at Celesi.

“You’re not the only one watching!” Celesi shot back.

Meriona turned on Wenifas. “You are a blind fool! If either of set foot on Minist ground again, I’ll see you hanged—or worse!” The Jay spun around and ran after the retreating Ministrians.

Claiten clutched at his mother’s dress with one hand as he brandished his dagger in the other. Shock and confusion made his eyes wild. Wenifas ruffled her son’s hair as she glanced over the various men and women that still occupied the room. Scurra cradled the fallen form of her brother. Carringten and Toar smashed the irons from Creigal’s wrists. Meu inspected the corpse of Kezodel as she carried Evereste in her arms.

Sweet Naharahna! Wenifas thought. I almost left without my babe! She ran to the wyrm and took her child.

She turned to find herself standing next to Baet as the musketeer bent down and picked a piece of stone off the floor.

“Balls,” He whispered as he examined it.

“What have you found?” Wenifas asked, overcome by her curiosity.

“It’s a rock, a rock from the sky,” Baet said as he showed the meteor to Wenifas. The stone was about the size of a fist, a pitted ball of blackest iron with glints of every color.

“A bit of Luna,” Wenifas noted. She looked up as she realized this metal ball destroyed the roof and shot lightning through the room. She wondered that a bit of the moon should drop on Kezodel’s head just when they needed it.

And somehow the shaman knew before hand. She wondered if he was indeed touched by the true gods. She would not have believed such a thing were possible if she had not seen it for herself.

Yet, Wenifas was wrong in her assessment in one telling way. Though bits of the moon rained down on the world from time to time and still caused no end of trouble for the inhabitants, this rock was not from Luna at all. Not this rock. This rock was from much further afield.