Reign of Madness (Revised Edition) (12 page)

“Yes, I believe that. But,
why
did he stab your son?”
Rezkin asked.

Mayor Quey’s face was nearly purple with rage as he argued,
“What does it matter? He killed him!”

Rezkin’s icy blue eyes darkened, and his hand hovered over
his hilt. He said, “I have killed many people, Mayor Quey. Do you accuse me of
murder, as well?”

Mayor Quey’s bloodshot eyes nearly burst from his skull as
he took a step back and clamped his mouth shut. “Th-that is different,” he
replied in a much lower voice. “This is not some battle or noble duel. This was
that
man killing
my
son in an alley by the tavern.”

Rezkin shrugged and said, “I cannot say if it is any
different, since this
court
failed to describe the incident or present
any evidence.
Why
was your son in an alley by a tavern? Why was this man
with him? Who else was there? Where are these witnesses who saw the stabbing?
How did the knife get from this man’s boot into your son’s chest, and how many
of Master Kai’s injuries were acquired prior to the killing?”

Magistrate Jiruthis’s eyes narrowed, “He was injured during
the fight with the deceased.”

 “And, yet, the deceased has not a mark on him aside
from the stab wound. I assure you, I have many more questions, none of which
were answered in the proceedings of this
court
. I am not saying this man
is innocent. I am only saying that this court has failed to convict him of
murder
.
This man’s story is of the last moments of your son’s life, Mayor Quey. Do you
not think it deserves to be heard?”

“You do not even know this man. Why do you stand for him
now?” Mayor Quey asked heatedly.

“You are correct, Mayor Quey. I do not know this man. In
fact, I have never seen him before, but I
do
know that had he wanted to,
he could have killed your son before receiving a single scratch. Why would he
allow himself to be beaten to a pulp
before
he killed his opponent?”

Mayor Quey’s eyes darted to the magistrate who was scowling
at Rezkin with fire in his eyes. Magistrate Jiruthis stated, “I have already
declared the verdict in this case and sentenced the prisoner to death.”

“On behalf of this man, Kai Colguerun, I issue an appeal of
your verdict based on insufficient evidence.”

“Your appeal is denied,” Jiruthis replied.

Captain Jimson stepped forward and stated with authority, “I
am Captain Jimson of the King’s Army on personal assignment from General
Marcum. You will recognize this man’s authority, which is greater than your
own.”

“With all due respect, Captain, this is a civil matter
outside your jurisdiction. I do not know this man, nor do I recognize his
so-called authority over
my
court,” the magistrate asserted.

Rezkin took a threatening step forward, “Then, I relieve you
of your duties, Jiruthis. A new magistrate will be selected to preside over
this town – one that knows how to conduct a proper trial.”

“You have no right!” Magistrate Jiruthis bellowed.

Faster than Jimson could blink, Rezkin had drawn Kingslayer
and held it at the magistrate’s throat. The city guards had not even registered
the movement before several of the townsfolk gasped in recognition of the
blade. The night was dark, but the blue swirls of the Sheyalin blade danced in
the firelight. Drascon’s eyes widened in surprise, but Wesson was unfazed. The
magistrate’s eyes followed the silver and blue blade down its length and
finally flicked up to meet Rezkin’s icy stare.

The warrior lord’s deep, forceful voice rumbled, “I have
every
right.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Rezkin noticed a couple of men
surrounded by guards pushing their way through the crowd.

“Make way!” a guard shouted. “Make way for the baron!

Rezkin sheathed his sword and took a step back as he turned
to greet the baron and his son.

Drom Nasque, Baron of Fendendril, was an unassuming man of
average height and medium brown hair and eyes. He was of healthy weight but not
extremely fit, and he wore well-made tailored clothes that would befit any
other merchant or minor noble. The baron’s son, Waylen, was slightly taller
than his father at about seventeen years of age. He had the same medium brown
hair as the baron, but his eyes were closer to amber. He wore a simple,
well-made tunic and breeches with light embroidery along the edges. His only
adornment was the shortsword at his hip, which had a silver wire grip. The
black scabbard had a few silver adornments, as well.

“What is going on here?” the baron demanded upon arriving at
the scene. The baron’s eyes found Captain Jimson, and noting his uniform,
demanded, “Captain, explain.”

Jimson sought Rezkin’s approval, and the young warrior simply
shrugged and waved him forward. The baron noted the captain’s deference toward
the abnormally tall young man. When the baron’s eyes first fell on the
stranger, he started in recognition, but he immediately shook himself as he
dismissed the thought.

“Lord Nasque, I am Captain Jimson of the King’s Army,
assigned by General Marcum to escort a certain party to Skutton,” Jimson
stated.

“Oh, yes, Captain. It is good to meet you. I received word
that you would be providing escort,” the baron remarked. Jimson eyed Rezkin
sideways. He had not even known the baron was joining the voyage until a few
days ago; yet, somehow, the baron already knew the captain was providing
escort. He was sure Rezkin had something to do with it.

“Then, allow me to introduce Lord Rezkin, who is also
accompanying our voyage,” Jimson said.

Rezkin gave a slight bow in greeting and remarked, “It is a
pleasure to meet you, Lord Nasque, and you as well, Lord Waylen.” Waylen smiled
and bowed but did not speak.

“So, what is happening here that you needed to get
involved?” the baron asked.

“I am afraid I have had to relieve the magistrate of his
post,” Rezkin supplied.

Lord Nasque’s brows rose as he responded, “Is that so? It
must be serious, indeed.” The magistrate scowled fiercely at Rezkin, but the
tight swallow and half step back demonstrated his fear.

Rezkin nodded once, “Yes. He is incapable of conducting a
proper trial. When I confronted him, he became hostile and belligerent. I
issued an appeal for a proper retrial of the accused, and the magistrate
dismissed it outright. After that, he failed to submit to both the captain’s
authority and my own and failed to treat either of us with our due respect.
Since Magistrate Jiruthis is incapable of performing his duties and does not
recognize proper authority, I relieved him of his duties.”

Lord Nasque nodded as Rezkin spoke. At the end of Rezkin’s
explanation, he replied, “Yes, I can see the problem. I do not doubt you, Lord
Rezkin, but…I am afraid that I am not familiar with your House...,” he said as
he let the statement linger, waiting for the offer of information. The
magistrate raised his chin, regaining a bit of confidence. The baron noticed,
and, having failed to acquire the information he sought, continued, “Make no
mistake, I support your decision in this and will defer to your judgment
regardless of your authority. Still, I must ask, to whom do you belong?”

Captain Jimson stepped forward once again. “Baron
Fendendril, if I may? This is quite the gathering,” he said as he waved at the
frustrated crowd, which probably included most of the town’s inhabitants by
now. “It is late and we all have other duties. On my word as an officer of the
army, I assure you that Lord Rezkin has the authority he has claimed. Might we
finish here quickly and discuss this at a later time?”

Lord Nasque took in the spectacle around him. The irate mob
had not yet gotten its promised execution, and the magistrate and mayor looked
ready to mutiny. The guards were most concerned with keeping the crowd from
overwhelming them but continuously cast disgruntled and suspicious glances
their way.

“Yes, I see your point, Captain. Perhaps that is for the
best. We can send this man to the cells, and he can receive a proper trial in a
few days when the new magistrate assumes his duties,” the baron said.

“Lord Nasque,” Rezkin interrupted, “the defendant has
received many of his injuries at the hands of the guardsmen
since
the
incident that led to Preson Quey’s death. The man may still be innocent, and I
will not have him suffer further mistreatment.”

“Are you so certain of his innocence?” the baron asked.

“No, I am not,” Rezkin replied. “In fact, I have little
knowledge of the events of this night, despite having witnessed the
trial
.
But, if this town treats one accused in such a way, then others will follow,
and they will not
all
be guilty.”

“So, it is not the man you are defending, but the method of
justice?” the baron asked curiously.

An unexpected voice interrupted as its owner moved closer to
the gathered officiates. “Lord Rezkin holds a strong belief that nobles should
be held to a higher standard,” Tieran remarked. Looking over the magistrate,
mayor, and city guards, he continued, “It is a sentiment that I believe he
extends to any man of power and standing.” Tieran came to stand next to Rezkin,
and the baron eyed him questioningly. Malcius and Palis stood back a few paces.

“And, you are?” the baron asked.

“Ah, I see you have not been to court in some time, Baron
Fendendril. Allow me to introduce myself,” he said with a sweeping bow. “I am
Tieran Nirius, Heir of House Nirius, Duke of Wellinven. Behind me are Lord
Malcius, Heir of House Jebai, and his brother, Lord Palis.” Ferrel, Guent, and
Jeyet, three of the House Jebai guardsmen stood further back with their hands
pensively gripping their hilts.

“I apologize, Lord Tieran. I did not recognize you. You have
grown since last I saw you,” the baron replied.

“Of course, Baron.” Tieran turned his attention momentarily
to Rezkin and grinned as he said, “Rez, when first I saw the angry mob, I
should have known
you
would be involved.”

Rezkin shrugged and replied, “Someone had to. Guilty or not,
this man would be dead right now if I had not stepped in, and the mystery of
the death of the mayor’s son would never be solved.”

“Well, we all love a good mystery, do we not?” Tieran asked
with an enthusiasm that did not match the tense mood of the event.

“What do you propose, Lord Rezkin?” the baron asked. Now
that the duke’s son had confirmed Rezkin’s identity, the baron felt more at
ease.

“I will take the man into custody, myself. I have some
questions for him, but I doubt he can answer them properly in his current
condition. I have both a mage and a healer at my disposal,” Rezkin added for
effect.

Tieran whipped his head around. “Since when do you have a
mage?”

“Since today,” Rezkin replied indicating Wesson who stood
wide-eyed off to the side.

“What kind of mage?” Tieran asked excitedly.

Before Wesson could respond, Rezkin stated, “He is a battle
mage.”

Tieran released a low whistle. With utter disbelief he
asked, “How ever did you manage to get your own battle mage? I could not even
get a battle mage if a horde of drauglics invaded the duchy.”

“I-I am a journeyman,” Wesson interjected, not wanting the
duke’s heir to get the wrong idea.

“Still, a battle mage is a battle mage. I am impressed,
Rezkin. I did not know you had that kind of clout, although I must wonder just
why, exactly, you think you need a battle mage.”

Rezkin shrugged, “It never hurts to have one.” Tieran’s
mouth hung open.

The baron started. “It never hurts…?” He turned his head and
grumbled under his breath, “Young lords running around with their own battle
mages. What is this kingdom coming to?” Then louder, he said, “Lord Rezkin, do
you really want to deal with
this
,” he waved a hand at the filthy,
raggedy beaten man, “yourself?”

“Yes, Lord Nasque, I do,” Rezkin replied firmly.

“Now, wait just a minute!” Mayor Quey shouted, as he finally
lost his composure. “What about my son? Where is the justice?”

Rezkin rested his icy stare on the portly mayor and said, “
Justice
is rarely carried out by an angry mob, Mayor Quey. I will discover the
truth
behind your son’s death, and the man, if found guilty, will be punished
accordingly.”

“Lord Rezkin, I might remind you that the ship is scheduled
to leave tomorrow morning,” Lord Nasque remarked.

“Have no concern, Lord Nasque. By tomorrow morning, I will
have the information I require and will submit my report to you before
breakfast. If you do not mind, you can rule on the matter and then we can be on
our way,” Rezkin proposed.

“Hmm, well, if you have everything in order, then I suppose
we can be done with this in a timely fashion. Still, it leaves me little time
to find a suitable replacement for the magistrate. I think it may be best to
send for someone from the outside,” he mumbled almost to himself.

“If that is all, Baron, I would like to take the prisoner
and return to my lodgings,” Rezkin stated.

“Of course, of course. I will have to do something about
this crowd,” the Baron stated.

Rezkin turned to the crowd and announced, “There will be no
execution tonight. This trial was a farce. The baron will personally rule on
this matter on the morrow. Anyone who has a problem with that can speak to
me
,”
he said as he gripped his hilt. The whispered rumors of the Sheyalin blades had
already spread, and people began backing away. “Disperse!” he shouted, and they
did.

Disappointed townsfolk began shuffling away, and Rezkin
motioned for the captain and lieutenant to collect the prisoner. Wesson stayed
close as they moved toward the crowd. People scattered like rats as Rezkin
strode forward, and Tieran and the Jebais trailed in his wake. Once they were
out of the crowd, Tieran and Malcius caught up to Rezkin. Palis hung back with
Wesson but was still close enough to hear.