Thorn Virias lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. As a Guild Prelate, albeit one accused of treason, he enjoyed certain privileges, one of which was a comfortable, single cell. Another was that the cell had no listening-ports, so he knew nothing he said here would be overheard.
Sitting up, he took the sheet of paper from a pocket and read it for the seventh time, as if the words held some enciphered mystery waiting to succumb to his sharp intellect.
First charge: conspiracy to pervert the will of a fellow Guild Mage, before, during and after the fact.
Second charge: deception of senior Guild personnel in the furtherance of said crimes.
Third charge: collusion in said crimes with an agency outside the Guild, before, during and after the fact.
Fourth charge: causing the death of a Guild Neophyte through reckless and callous disregard of training protocol.
The remaining charges detailed on the sheet were less serious, but the least of them carried the automatic penalty of dismissal from the Guild. The three main charges mandated death.
During his brief hearing earlier that day, Thorn had refused to answer all questions put to him until all other evidence had been heard; this was his personal privilege as a member of the Presidium, and a mere formality. Another privilege granted him was the right to pass a written statement to the Conclave, for the eyes of the Senior Inquisitor only, and he had taken full advantage of that right.
We'll just have to wait and see if the bait's taken, he thought, folding the charge sheet and putting it back his pocket.
He closed his eyes and lay back.
After a period of dreamless sleep, Thorn awoke to a gentle rap at his cell door and sat up, the iron chains on his wrists and ankles clanking.
His heart pounding, he said, “Enter."
The door opened to reveal Lord Horin, clad in golden robes. Thorn rose to his feet, his heavy fetters permitting only a clumsy bow.
"Greetings, Lord Dominie."
"Greetings, Lord Prelate.” Horin's impassive face gave Thorn no clue as to the Dominie's inner feelings, but the mere fact of the senior mage's presence proved he had at least read the note.
After an awkward silence, Horin pushed the door to and said, “I gave the guard permission to go and eat. We will not be disturbed."
Thorn nodded. “Thank you, Lord Dominie. You read my note?"
"I did, Thorn. If you are trying to usurp my position, you will have made the worst mistake of your life."
Thorn smiled. “Have no fear on that score, Lord Dominie. I do not seek higher rank. I am more than happy to remain as a Prelate.
"How went Master Afelnor's hearing?"
Horin sighed. “I extended a point of personal privilege to grant him the defence of outside influence, as you suggested in your note, and I have barred the Conclave from accepting rebuttal evidence without my authority. We ended the hearing on the charge of wilful trespass, adjourning after Senior Mentalist Tritt intervened. I would have been here sooner, but I have been playing cards. Had I lost too suddenly, it might have aroused suspicion."
"You did well, Lord Dominie,” Thorn said, as if he were the senior mage, bestowing praise on an inferior. “By setting up Loras for an acquittal on the first charge, you will not need to hear Magemaster Kargan's evidence on the matter. By allowing the defence of outside influence, I can claim the same mitigation."
"What do you expect from this trial?” Horin scowled, but Thorn had not expected him to be happy at the turn of events.
Thorn rubbed his chin. “A full acquittal, of course! Loras Afelnor's prior conviction should be quashed, and the more recent capital charges of trespass, petty treason and conspiracy should be upheld for him and his co-conspirators."
"You demand perversion of the course of justice,” Horin snapped, a pair of angry, red blotches appearing on his cheeks. “What makes you think I will go along with this… this farrago?"
"You have already begun this process, Lord Horin,” Thorn said, his voice as smooth and cold as iced silk. “You are no innocent participant in this affair."
"I have committed no crime,” Horin blustered, but the Prelate knew the Dominie was hooked.
"Not yet,” Thorn said. “Even so, you must admit you have already stretched the rules a little, Lord Dominie. I have a trusted ally within High Lodge. He has a copy of the note I sent you, and he is prepared to swear it is a true copy of the one I gave to you. You must admit that it might make interesting reading if it were ever to reach the Conclave."
This was pure bluff on the Prelate's part, but he was more than willing to gamble that it would never occur to Horin to use Mage Sight on a fellow Guildbrother; this would be a gross breach of the Guild protocol ingrained in Horin since his first day as a Student. Thorn had, of course, been subject to the same indoctrination, but, where a Questor might spend fifteen years in training, a Specialist Mage might spend most of a Secular lifetime; fifty or sixty years at least.
"You said that you are in possession of… controversial information concerning me,” Horin said, his eyes hooded. “Before we discuss the matter any further, I wish to know more."
Thorn made a lengthy show of inspecting his immaculate fingernails before he responded.
"Well, let us see,” he said, admiring his flawless, manicured cuticles. “There is the matter of your… unwilling entanglement with my mother. You might have committed no crime there, but your carefully-cultured image of strength, celibacy and self-control might be more than a little tarnished if that ever became public knowledge."
"You cannot possibly prove-"
"Oh, I have much more interesting titbits than that, Horin.” Thorn deliberately omitted the honorific to underline his control of the situation. “I do not choose to give you full details at this time, but I trust you remember a young lady of negotiable virtue in the town of Marada, where, as I recall, you lost your purse and a rather important document after a passionate and drunken encounter.
"I have plenty of other interesting and embarrassing tales to recount, some of them quite shocking in their explicit detail."
"The Conclave would not believe you, Lord Thorn.” Horin's blazing red cheeks stood in stark contrast to his ashen face. “I could order your evidence to be expunged from the record as hearsay."
"But mud sticks, doesn't it, Horin? I can, of course, produce witnesses for many of these sordid little interludes, should it ever become necessary. If I am going down, I swear I will take you with me. Even without direct proof, I am sure the Conclave would love to hear of an interesting episode involving five thousand gold pieces that never found their way into the Giana House accounts when you were Prelate."
After a long, tense period of silence, during which Thorn regarded Horin's bulging eyes and slack jaw with cool amusement, the Prelate smiled.
"There is no need for these lurid little episodes ever to come to light,” he said, in a soothing voice. “I am no threat to your position, Horin, as I have said. I am content with my current demesnes, and I would be happy to give you a witnessed affidavit attesting to the fact. All I want is for… mutually acceptable justice to be done. Loras and the accused Magemasters have committed acts of conspiracy against a lawful authority, as well as the crime of petty treason. There can be no doubt about that. Justice is not always clear-cut."
Thorn noted Horin's tilted head and suspicious expression, but he knew he just needed to add a little more sweetening to the pot.
"I cannot deny my own fallibility, and I would accept a recorded motion of severe censure from the Conclave, barring me from higher rank in perpetuity,” he said, with a sigh, “as long as I am permitted to retain the rank of Prelate and my seat on the Presidium. That is all I ask for; all I want."
Thorn's heart sang as Horin gave a resigned nod. “Very well. Some of the members of the Conclave, such as Tritt and Rethin, are my devoted allies and susceptible to persuasion. Others know I have hitherto chosen to overlook some of their own transgressions. Also, as you say, Guild Laws have been broken here; this cannot be denied…
"Yes, we can do this, Lord Thorn."
He said ‘we', the Prelate thought. That's a good sign. Horin won't let me down now. With any luck, he'll even begin to believe this was his idea.
"I commend myself to the Conclave's decision, Lord Dominie,” he said, trying to keep his expression grave and sorrowful as he rejoiced inside. “Justice will be done."
"You may rest assured on that, Lord Thorn. I will make sure of it."
Horin was an ambitious, powerful mage, and he had played the risky game of Guild politics for many years. He had managed to ascend the greasy rungs of the organisation's ladder of seniority by the ruthless garnering of information and its careful, strategic dissemination. The ambition of most mages was to reach the lofty position of House Prelate, but the Guild held far greater prizes, with the accolade of High Dominie as the ultimate lure. In order to retain this glittering crown, a man could not be content to sit back and bask in glory after decades of struggle and skulduggery. On his journey to the summit, he would have trodden on many fingers: the fingers of other ambitious men who sought to find the smallest chink in his armour.
Men as hungry as he for power and prestige.
I see I made a bad mistake, he thought, taking a sip of wine from the goblet at his side as he sat in his comfortable, tastefully-appointed chamber. I appointed Thorn to the Presidium because I thought him safe and conservative; a useful buffer against some of the more hawkish members.
Yes, I made a mistake there. However, if he thinks I'm in my dotage, he's got another think coming. If he thinks I'm stupid enough to bow to his demands in the hope that he'll just sit back and throw away his evidence against me, he has no idea of how Guild politics really works.
He sat back in his plush chair and smiled; it was a humourless expression that Thorn would not have liked, had he seen it.
Thorn made a far bigger mistake by showing his hand before all the money was on the table, Horin thought. I may have underestimated him at first, but I've played this little game at a much higher level than he has. With Thorn out of the way, nobody will dare testify against me.
If I go along with his little plan, I have a senior man who knows he can blackmail me with abandon. If I get rid of him, I have four Seventh Rank mages, good Guild men who will owe their lives to me. If I am responsible for Loras Afelnor's death, I may lose another Seventh Rank thaumaturge's loyalty; that of Loras’ grandson, Grimm. If he's still alive, that is…
I'm sorry, Thorn, but the potential gains just don't square up with the risks. You lose, old friend.
Horin drained his goblet, savouring the wine's heady aroma as it flooded into his appreciative nostrils.
Ballemian Sunset, ‘48; he thought, eyeing the empty bottle with some regret, not such a bad little vintage after all. I should have trusted the Head Doorkeeper's advice; I'll have to ask him to buy a few more cases.
Loras could not sleep, however hard he tried to empty his mind. As soon as one tendril of thought drifted away from him, another slid into his sensorium to replace it.
Something is very odd here. At first, I thought Lord Horin was siding with me, the way he interrupted-what was his name?-Rithel. I thought he was a fair man, who wanted only justice. Then, he adjourned the Conclave for a game of cards, of all things. My guess is that he wanted further instructions before he went further, and I would be more than willing to bet that Thorn is involved.
Loras rolled over, to the dissonant accompaniment of clanking chains, cudgelling his brain in an attempt to retrieve long-buried information that might help him. For many minutes he fought to remember the details of the trial he had undergone so many years before. At the time, he had been so confused and consumed by guilt that he had barely registered the Conclave's pronouncements.
Think, man; think, damn you! he raged inside his head. What are the rules concerning Guild trials?
A vision swam into his head.
A row of grim, scowling men faced him, and he looked at the floor, too full of self-accusation and self-hatred to look them in the eyes. Thorn stood at his side and squeezed his shoulder in a friendly, fraternal gesture as the Prosecutor began to speak.
"This Conclave is called to order. Under Rule 28.1.19 of the Rules and Regulations of the Guild of Magic-users, Sorcerers and Thaumaturges, I now pronounce the charges levied against Loras Afelnor, Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank, known by the Guild cognomen ‘The Firelord'."
That was one strike against this so-called Conclave: Rithel, acting as Prosecutor, had ignored an important rule of evidence, and he had refused to give details of the charges against Loras.
The Prosecutor consulted the scroll before him, as Loras stood in misery, staring at the marble tiles.
"Charge One: in contravention of Law 1.6.8 of the Rules and Regulations of the Guild of Magic-users, Sorcerers and Thaumaturges, the prisoner is accused of high treason against the Guild, in the person of its lawful representative…"
That was not helpful, although the fact that the Prosecutor had taken care to enumerate the charges in detail was an interesting memory. There had been something else…
"Under Law…"
What Names-cursed Law had it been? Loras knew that, if he were to try to confront this farce of a Conclave on its own terms, he would need to be able to quote the Law with precise detail.
"Under the requirements of Law 1.6.12, we now invite the accused to offer his defence, if any, of the charges against him."
"I offer no defence at this time, Lord Prosecutor."
"Under the requirements of Law 1.6.14, I petition the Conclave for permission to offer mitigation against these charges!” Thorn cried, and Loras’ heart surged with love for his loyal friend…
Loras sat upright, his eyes staring and unseeing; his mouth gaping and unspeaking.
This Conclave is illegal! he thought, his heart pounding as the shocking awareness blazed inside his head. If need be, I will demand that Law 1.6 be read in full! I am entitled to hear the charges against me. I am entitled to present a defence. I am entitled to have another speak in my defence. They cannot deny me that!
We will see who can quote Laws and who cannot, he vowed to himself. I will demand that my trial, and that of my fellow prisoners, be conducted in full accordance with Guild Law, and I will be heard, if I have to scream my demands from the depths of the deepest dungeon.
If you want to condemn me, you will have to work at it, my friends. If you think you can browbeat a Seventh Rank Questor into submission, you are making a grave error.
With that, he sank back on his bed and drifted into dreamless sleep with a faint smile of hope stitched across his mouth.
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