Loras heard a now-familiar clanking announcing the opening of the cell door, which swung aside to reveal Questor Olaf. The former mage sat up on his bed, feeling a rush of relief when Olaf addressed him.
"The Conclave awaits you, Master Loras."
Now, Loras vowed, he would have his say, no matter what the members of the Guild court might do to restrain him. He stood to allow Olaf to unfasten his chains from the stud in the centre of the cell floor, trying not to smile.
If they want to quote laws and regulations at me, they will find that I can play their little game, too, he thought.
His former friend stood up, clapping a hand to the small of his back and wincing as he did so.
"Even a Seventh Rank Questor cannot avoid the depredations of age, eh, Lord Mage?"
"Nonsense,” Olaf grumbled. “I am only eighty-seven years old. I must have sat too long by an open door, or some such."
Loras raised an eyebrow, but he said nothing. He knew Olaf was at least ten years older than that. Mages might on average live far longer than Seculars, but they were by no means immune to the passage of time.
"Good luck, Questor Loras,” Magemaster Crohn called from the opposite bed, and he was echoed by Magemaster Kargan and Questor Dalquist. Loras acknowledged them with a courteous nod and a ghost of a smile.
"You're not to accord the prisoner that title!” Olaf snapped, rounding on Crohn.
"Did I just hear you utter a vulgar, Secular contraction, Questor Olaf?” Kargan asked, sitting up, his face contorted in mock-horror. “Surely not!"
Crohn and Dalquist smiled, and Olaf's cheeks reddened.
"You must be hard of hearing, Mentalist Kargan. This often accompanies enhanced age."
Kargan burst into a deep guffaw, and Olaf rose to his full height.
"Be silent, prisoner! Have you forgotten that you are on trial for your lives? This is a serious matter, and I will not have it treated with juvenile jocularity! Remember that your every word here is heard and recorded."
Both Crohn and Kargan stiffened, and their smiles fell from their faces. Loras, too, realised he had almost forgotten the gravity of the charges levelled against him and his fellow prisoners. He had begun to think of his trial as a contest between him and his accusers; a game of skill and cunning.
I have heard of ‘prison madness', he thought, when men succumb to the pressures of long confinement and lose their hold on reason. I think I have just seen its spectre; I was looking forward to baiting and berating the Conclave, without a thought as to the possible consequences for all of us.
"My humblest apologies, Lord Mage,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. “Please forgive our puerile foolishness. It will not recur, I assure you."
"I apologise with all my heart, Questor Olaf,” Crohn said, rubbing his left temple. “Our asinine behaviour was unforgivable."
Kargan and Dalquist did not speak, but their abject expressions spoke for them.
"This Conclave will be treated with due respect,” Olaf growled. “I will tolerate no more buffoonery."
With that, he tugged Loras’ chains. “Come with me, prisoner. We must not keep the Conclave waiting."
As the smith stumbled behind his warder, he began to rehearse his speech to the court. Outright confrontation would, he now realised, be treated as contempt; a more circumspect approach seemed eminently desirable.
"Enter!"
Loras, freed of his fetters, stepped into the hall, feeling his heart beating faster and the hairs standing to attention on his arms, legs and back. He knew he might have only one chance to get his point across; one chance to have his voice heard. He did not want to waste it.
He heard a soft click as the door closed behind him.
"The Conclave admits the prisoner, Loras Afelnor, of the village of Lower Frunstock,” Rithel intoned; the officious, hectoring Voice who had so badgered him two days before.
Bang-bang!
"The Conclave is in session, by order of the Lord Dominie of the Ancient and Honourable Guild of Magic-users, Sorcerers and Thaumaturges,” Rithel declared, unseen in the shroud of darkness that hid Loras’ accusers from him. “I request permission to read from the closing records of the Conclave's last session with the prisoner, Lord Dominie."
Loras knew his chance might be slipping away from him; as he remembered it, the Conclave had ended his last session with a concerted call for the death sentence. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lord Horin's voice forestalled his incipient protest.
"The Chairman begs the Conclave's indulgence. After diligent reading of the moments of the previous session, I believe that certain Guild Laws of conduct may have been overlooked in the Conclave's desire for swift justice. The prisoner will be allowed to speak freely in his own defence, as required by Guild Law 1.6.12."
Loras felt as if his pounding heart would leap from his chest, to jump around the floor like an angry, red frog. He felt sure that the hateful Rithel would spout some formal reason for why such a motion might be disallowed, but the Prosecutor held his tongue.
For some reason, Lord Horin seems to be on my side, thought Loras, hardly daring to breathe. They will not go against his wishes… will they?
"Is there any counter-argument?"
A long moment passed, seeming like an age, before the unseen gavel rang out again.
"So stipulated,” Horin said. “The Conclave offers the prisoner the right to offer a defence for the charges laid against him, if any. Speak, prisoner."
Loras took a deep breath; so deep that he began to see bright sparkles behind his closed eyelids.
"The prisoner begs the honourable Conclave's indulgence,” he said, opening his eyes. “As has been stipulated, Law 1.6.12 of our… of the Ancient and Honourable Guild of Magic-users, Sorcerers and Thaumaturges may have been unwittingly overlooked. The prisoner respectfully suggests that Guild Laws 28.1.19 and 1.6.14 also pertain."
Almost before the former Questor had finished speaking, Lord Horin said, “The Chairman moves that the prisoner's statement be entered into the record as fact. The Chairman also moves that the prisoner be allowed further freedom to continue in his defence, before unwitting transgressions of the Law are discussed."
"So moved,” another, unseen Inquisitor grunted. Rithel held his counsel.
Horin banged his gavel. “Prosecutor Rithel?"
Loras heard Rithel curse a little under his breath.
"So stipulated, Lord Chairman.” The Prosecutor's words sounded as if they had been ripped from his mouth, and Loras suppressed a smile. Of course; the Conclave might pretend to be a democratic assemblage, but only a foolhardy mage, or one devoid of ambition, would go against the Dominie's wishes.
"Go ahead, prisoner… if you must take up more of the Conclave's valuable time,” the Prosecutor muttered.
"Thank you, Honoured Justice,” Loras said.
He cleared his throat. “Before I begin, gentlemen, I wish to know in full the charges against me, so that I can offer a pertinent defence. I have already been tried and convicted for the attempted murder of a Guild Prelate, but I have a right under Guild Law to hear the new charges against me."
"You were stripped of Guild membership, prisoner, as you well know,” Rithel snapped. “You have no right-"
"Then why am I being tried according to Guild Law?” Loras demanded, clenching his fists. “This court has no powers over the affairs of Seculars!"
After a brief silence, the former Questor heard a sudden, frantic confusion of mutters and whispers from behind the curtain of darkness. The only words he heard were “…damned House-lawyer…"; “…a mage or a Secular…"; and “…need a stipulation one way or the other…"
As the hubbub came to an abrupt halt, Loras heard Dominie Horin's familiar drawl: “It is moved that the prisoner be granted temporary but full Guild status for the duration of this Conclave, and that that the trial be conducted in accordance with Guild Law. If found ‘Not Guilty’ on all charges, prior and present, this status will be confirmed. Should the prisoner be found ‘Guilty', penalties will be assessed according to the dictates and severity of the Laws of the Guild."
"So moved."
"Prosecutor?"
"Stipulated, Lord Chairman,” Rithel said, with a deep, theatrical sigh.
Loras heard the rustle of a scroll being opened, and the Prosecutor said, in a dull monotone, “Charge One: that the prisoner did wilfully breach the conditions of his prior sentence on entering Guild demesnes-to wit, the grounds of Arnor House. Charge Two: that the-"
"I wish to offer a defence for the first charge, before others are discussed, Lord Chairman,” Loras interrupted.
"This is intolerable!” Rithel mumbled, but he nonetheless confirmed the Dominie's seconded motion to allow this request.
"Speak, prisoner."
"Questor Loras,” the smith said, suppressing a smile.
"What?"
"The Conclave has granted me full Guild status, Prosecutor,” Loras said. “I should be addressed as either Questor Loras or as ‘Firelord'."
"Your pardon, Questor Loras,” Rithel growled, sounding as if he were suffering from severe dyspepsia. “Please offer your defence, if any, to the first charge."
"Thank you, Honoured Justice,” Loras said, in a courteous voice, emboldened by this minor but significant victory. “My defence is simple; in confirming that I held no Guild status from the time of my prior conviction, the Conclave has determined that I could not be held accountable for any breach of Guild Law."
Rithel's response was immediate and fiery; “It was a condition of your prior conviction, delivered before you were stripped of your Guild membership, pris… Questor Loras!"
"It was not, Prosecutor Rithel,” Loras shot back, his voice as smooth as the scarlet silk he wore. “The very first condition of my sentence was that I was hitherto stripped of all rights and status within the Guild. Feel free to consult the Arnor House records, if you doubt me. Only after that pronouncement, after I had been deprived of my Guild Ring, were subsidiary conditions pronounced. Since they were delivered only under Guild Law, I was no longer bound by them. I move that I be declared ‘Not Guilty’ of this charge."
"You cannot ‘move’ anything,” Rithel's disembodied voice intoned. “You are not a member of this Conclave!"
"I apologise, Brother Mage,” Loras said. “I suggest that I be declared ‘Not Guilty’ in regard of this charge."
"Your defence is noted, Questor Loras,” Lord Horin said. “What is the next charge, Prosecutor Rithel?"
"Charge Two: that Questor Loras did, with malice aforethought-"
"My apologies, Lord Chairman, gentlemen of this Conclave,” Loras said in a firm, loud voice. “I respectfully wish to decline that any further charges be heard until the question of my Guild status and, therefore, my culpability at the time of the alleged offences, is defined. This may be of primary importance to my defence."
"Really, Lord Chairman!” Prosecutor Rithel expostulated. “This is becoming a bear garden! First, the accused claims Guild rights, and then he throws Guild responsibilities back in our faces! I move that a decision be made as to the general approach of this defence. If approved, this defence puts all the charges levied against this man at nought!"
"So moved,” another voice growled.
"So stipulated,” Horin said, his voice calm and almost bored. “Point of personal privilege: I declare Questor Loras’ request, and all defences based upon it, in order. Having noted the charge sheet, I move that the prisoner, Loras Afelnor, be declared ‘Not Guilty’ on the first charge. The evidence is clear; since Questor Loras was not a member of the Guild at the time of the alleged offence, he cannot be convicted by this Conclave."
Loras’ heart soared. He had expected a hard struggle, with every statement debated and every declaration attacked. What he had not expected was total exoneration by the Chairman of the Conclave. However, he did not dwell too long on this victory-he would not allow his fellow defendants to shoulder all the blame.
"Lord Chairman!” Rithel exploded. “Surely, you are not going to exculpate this… this damned, bloody traitor? He tried to kill a Guild Prelate, in the person of Lord Geral, by his own admission!"
"I have already been sentenced for that offence, Prosecutor Rithel!” Loras shouted. “Under Guild Law, having admitted my guilt, I cannot be tried for the same transgression again, unless new evidence comes to light."
"You admitted your guilt to this Conclave, in your own words!"
"I admitted it at my first Conclave, too, Prosecutor.” Loras fought his rising anger. “It is not new evidence; no further liability pertains. What is new evidence is that I now disavow culpability in that admitted act, and I wish to call witnesses in my defence: witnesses who may be able to prove my assertions. I call upon the Conclave to consider evidence that may overturn my previous conviction."
"You and the other defendants attacked Lord Thorn, Prelate of Arnor House, and you sought to depose him, Questor Loras! Do you deny this?"
"I do not, Prosecutor Rithel. I wish to show that my erstwhile friend, Lord Thorn, was intimately involved in my former disgrace, and, therefore, guilty of a greater crime. My fellow defendants will present evidence attesting to this. It was for this reason-"
Bang-bang-bang!
"You may not speculate on the evidence of any other prisoner at this time,” Horin declared, “or of the defences that they may or may not offer, Questor Loras. Is that clear?"
Loras nodded and bowed. “That is quite clear, Lord Chairman. I apologise for my reckless words. However, I wish to state that I believe these men blameless of the crimes for which they are held."
Scratch-scratch…
"Your statement is noted,” Horin drawled. “May we hear the next charge, please, Prosecutor Rithel?"
"Thank you, Lord Chairman. Charge Two: that Loras Afelnor did, with malice aforethought, scheme and conspire to bring about the overthrow of the lawful Prelate of Arnor House; to wit, Thorn Virias, called ‘The Iron-willed'. This is an act of mutiny. How plead you to this charge, Questor Loras?"
The former mage knew he could offer once more the blanket defence that he was not a Guild man at the time of the alleged act. However, he knew that doing so would throw full blame onto Kargan, Crohn and Dalquist. And yet, to plead guilty would annul his defence to the first charge.
What to do? he wondered, his thoughts racing.
"I beg the Conclave's indulgence,” he said, choosing his words with care. “Is it in order to request clarification on a point of law?"
After an interlude of muted muttering between the members of the court, Horin said, “It is, Questor Loras. Ask your question. As arbiter of this Conclave, I will answer you as best I can."
Loras shuffled his feet and cudgelled his brain. “Thank you, Lord Chairman. Is it permitted to introduce a counter-claim against another defendant? In other words: may an accusation of mutiny be overturned by evidence that the act was justified? Or is a Guild Prelate immune to any charge levied by a lesser mage?"
He knew this might be a contentious issue; the Guild authorities would not wish to start a precedent to allow rank-and-file mages to depose their seniors. Nonetheless, the fury of the discussion between the members of the Conclave surprised him.
"Point of Order, Lord Chairman!"
"The presumptuous upstart!"
"Really, Lord Chairman!"
"This could provoke anarchy!"
The banging of Horin's gavel brought the frenzied arguments to an end in a moment.
"Such a defence would depend on many factors, Questor Loras.” The Dominie's voice was calm and measured. “The main factor would be the severity of the counter-charge. The defendant would need to prove beyond all reasonable doubt that the said Prelate had demonstrated either severe mental disturbance, so that he was incapable of fulfilling his duties; or that he had committed, or conspired in, acts of treason endangering the security and integrity of the Guild. What is your counter-charge?"
Loras hesitated. He knew Thorn was already being held on some charge or other, but he suspected that it would be little more than one of failing to maintain order in Arnor House. The penalty, he suspected, would be light. He drew a deep breath.
"I accuse Lord Thorn Virias, Prelate of Arnor House, of High Treason,” he said, to the accompaniment of a chorus of gasps and shouts.
The die is cast, thought Loras. Let us see how it lands.
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