‘Why are we doing this here instead of in the throne room?’ I asked Daran before the proceedings began.
‘I want everyone here in the city to hear the testimony, Aunt Pol,’ he explained. ‘Let’s fix it so that the Bear-Cult doesn’t reappear just as soon as my back’s turned.’
Daran sat on a large, ornate chair – Elthek’s, actually – which Torgun’s soldiers had dragged out of the temple and placed where everyone could see it. Then the Bear-Cultists, still in chains and seriously disheveled, were dragged up out of the temple dungeon and forced to sit in a huddled group at the foot of the broad stair that led up to the temple door. The square was full of people as the proceedings began.
Kamion, Warder of Riva, rose to his feet to address the assembled citizens. ‘A crime has been committed here on our island, my friends,’ he began, ‘and we are gathered here to sit in judgment.’
‘What crime are we talking about, Lord Brand?’ a well-coached townsman demanded in a booming voice that could be heard all over the square. The Rivan Warder, I noted, was not the sort to leave anything to chance.
‘The crime of witchcraft,’ Kamion replied.
Elthek, battered and bruised by Captain Torgun’s fists, tried to leap to his feet, but that’s a little hard to do when you’re chained to other people.
The proceedings went smoothly, I thought. Kamion’s questioning was masterly, and the witnesses all confirmed the fact that Elthek had performed ‘magic’ at the gathering in the gorge.
Then Captain Torgun dragged the Rivan Deacon to his feet.
‘What say you to the charges?’ Kamion demanded of the prisoner.
‘Lies! All lies!’ Elthek almost screamed. ‘And that law doesn’t apply to me!’
The law applies to everybody,’ Daran told him firmly.
‘I’m a priest! I’m a Deacon of the Church of Belar!’
‘All the more reason for you to obey the law.’
‘It wasn’t really magic!’
‘Oh?’ Daran said mildly. ‘I can’t call up ghosts or create another moon or make rocks bleed. Can you, Lord Brand?’
‘I wouldn’t even want to try, your Highness,’ Kamion replied.
‘Let’s get on with this,’ Earl Jarok boomed.
‘How say the people?’ Daran asked in a loud, formal voice. ‘Are these men guilty of the charge of witchcraft?’
‘YES!’ the crowd roared. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that deer on the other side of the Isle were startled by the sound.
‘Return the prisoners to the dungeon,’ Daran instructed. ‘I will consider this matter and devise a suitable punishment for this foul crime.’
I’ll be the first to admit that the entire business was crudely staged, but we’re talking about Alorns here, and subtlety’s never been an Alorn strong point.
The extended period during which Daran ‘considered’ his final judgment gave the prisoners plenty of time to look out through the tiny, barred, ground-level windows at the grim stakes out in the square.
It was cloudy on the day when Daran announced his judgment, one of those cool, dry days when the clouds obscuring the sky gave no hint of rain, but when the light casts no shadows. We all trooped down to the temple square again, and the convicted felons were dragged up out of the dungeon to learn their fate. The artfully prepared stakes surrounding the square hinted strongly at what that fate was going to be, and the captives all seemed moderately terror-stricken.
Daran took his place in the seat of judgment, and an anticipatory silence fell over the crowd. Although it was cloudy, it wasn’t really dark, but there were still quite a few burning torches in the hands of the gathering.
‘I’ve considered this matter, my friends,’ Daran announced, ‘and I’ve come to my decision after much thought. The crime of witchcraft is abhorrent to decent men, and every effort should be made to stamp it out. This particular outbreak, however, is the result of stubborn stupidity rather than a deliberate courting of the powers of darkness. The Bear-Cult is misguided rather than intrinsically evil. We’re not going to need those torches, friends, so put them out.’
There were some murmurs of disappointment about that.
‘I’ve spoken with my father, the king, about this,’ Daran continued, ‘and he agrees with me that our main goal in this situation should be to separate the Cultists from the rest of the population. We could separate them by building fires with them, but father agrees with me that such a course might be a bit extreme in this case. It is therefore our decision that these criminals be sentenced to perpetual internal exile instead. They will be taken immediately to the archipelago standing at the northern end of the Isle and remain on those islets for the rest of their lives. Our decision is final, and this matter is now closed.’
There were shouts of protest from the crowd, but Captain Torgun somewhat ostentatiously moved his troops into position.
Elthek, the former Rivan Deacon, smiled faintly.
‘Don’t be too happy, Elthek,’ Kamion told him. ‘His Highness has sent word to his grandfather, and the Cherek fleet will make sure that none of the Cultists who evaded capture will be able to rescue you. You will stay there for the rest of your life, old boy. Oh, incidentally, winter’s coming on, so you’d better get to work as soon as you arrive building some sort of shelter. Winter comes early up there, so you haven’t got much time.’
‘What are we going to eat?’ one of the prisoners demanded.
‘That’s entirely up to you. We’ll give you some fishhooks, and there are wild goats up there. That should get you through the winter. When spring gets here, we’ll drop off some farm tools, chickens, and seeds for planting.’
“That’s all right for peasants,’ Elthek objected, ‘but what about us? You surely don’t expect the priesthood to grub in the dirt for food, do you?’
‘You’re not a priest any more, dear boy,’ Kamion informed him. ‘You’re a convicted felon, and the throne has no obligations to you whatsoever. Dig or die, Elthek. It’s entirely up to you. There are seabirds up there, and I’m told that bird-droppings make excellent fertilizer. You’re a very creative fellow, so I’m sure you’ll do just fine.’ Then he smiled faintly as Elthek’s expression showed that he was gradually beginning to realize just exactly what Daran’s seeming leniency really meant. ‘I’d just love to stay and chat with you some more, dear boy,’ the Warder said, ‘but his Highness and I have pressing business at the Citadel. Affairs of state, you understand.’ He raised his voice slightly. ‘I think the prisoners are ready now, Captain Tor-gun,’ he said. ‘Would you be so kind as to escort them to their ships? They have a great deal of work ahead of them, and I’m sure they’re all eager to get started.’