The Star of Morcyth: The Morcyth Saga Book Five (11 page)

James stares at the man, then turns to look
at the King. A snicker can be heard from the group of onlookers and
he quickly glances to the source and he’s shocked to see Lord
Colerain there. The satisfied look upon his face makes James’ blood
go cold.

“How do you plead to these charges?” the
King asks.

Plead?
he thinks to himself.
On
the face of it, guilty. I did in fact do all those things, but not
in the context this Ambassador is stating.
He stands there in
indecision while the entire court stares at him. Never good in the
spotlight, his anxiety begins mounting and his stress level
increases.

Stammering, he says, “Did I destroy an
island? Yes, I did.” Around the room, those watching the
proceedings gasp in surprise. “I and a friend went there to rescue
another who had been captured during the Empire’s sacking of the
City of Light. We were rescuing him from slavery.” A murmur can be
heard running through the crowd at his words.

“As far as hurting and degrading a prominent
noble, that would have to be Lord Cytok.” At that the King’s eyes
widen slightly in surprise. “He took several of our traveling
companions captive and was in the process of torturing them. We
rescued them as well.”

“Enough of his lies!” the ambassador
exclaims. “He has confessed the guilt with his own words your
highness and we demand justice.”

“But your majesty,” exhorts James. “None of
what I’ve done has been done in malice or with the intent to hurt
anyone. It was the Empire’s actions which caused me to do what I
did, just to survive!”

“Impertinence!” shouts the Ambassador. “The
Empire demands that he be given over to us, now!”

“Demands?” the King says back to the
Ambassador with an edge to his voice. “You are in no position to
demand anything, Ambassador. We shall not be rushed into judgment
on this matter.” Turning his attention to where James is standing
before him, he asks, “As for you, James. This will not be decided
here, today. We must consider all aspects before rendering our
judgment. Will you give us your parole not to flee until this
matter is settled?”

As James is about to answer, he feels the
tingling sensation suddenly spike. The robed man behind the king is
staring intently at him. “Yes, your majesty. I shall not leave
Cardri until at such time this is resolved.”

Glancing to the robed man, the King receives
a nod. “Very well, then. You may go, but we strongly caution you
against doing anything while we’re in judgment which would turn our
decision summarily against you.”

“Yes, your majesty,” replies James. Out of
the corner of his eye, he sees the officious man approaching him.
“Follow me sir,” he says.

James gives the King and his court a bow
before turning to follow the man from the room. They leave through
a different side door from which they originally entered. A page is
waiting for them outside the door and the officious man says, “Take
this man back to his inn.”

Bobbing his head, the page replies, “Yes
sir.” To James he says, “This way.” As the page leads him out of
the castle, James tells him to take him to the Silver Bells. He
didn’t realize just how long it’s been since he first talked to
Ellinwyrd until he leaves the castle. He must have been waiting
outside the Royal Court for some time for the sun has already gone
down and the first stars are beginning to make their
appearance.

All the way back, James’ mind churns over
what happened to him back at the Royal Court.
Why would they let
me go on my own recognizance? Maybe that wizard back there had
truth-read me? If so, I should try to figure out how he did it. It
may come in useful.

Once past the gates into the middle section
of town, the page continues leading him directly to the inn. When
they are but three blocks away, James sees a crowd of people
congregating near the entrance to an alleyway. “Wonder what’s going
on over there?” he asks out loud.

The page says, “Maybe they found another
body?”

“What?” James asks.

“Earlier today, they found a woman’s body
mutilated in a different alley near here,” he says. “It happens
sometimes.”

James is slightly unnerved by the callous
way in which the page just shrugs off a woman’s death. Is that sort
of thing so common around here that no one pays any attention to
it? “Was she a prostitute?” he asks.

“Most likely,” the page replies, “though I’m
not entirely sure.”

Could be why the reaction, prostitutes are
looked down on in most societies so their deaths tend not to be too
bothersome. It does sort of go with the trade.

When they reach the inn, the page makes his
farewells and returns to the castle. Inside the inn, James finds
Miko, Illan and Dave having their evening meal in the common room.
Taking a seat at the table, he relates what happened at the Court
and the accusations of the Ambassador.

“Seems that since they can’t get you by
force, they’ll try another route,” observes Illan.

“Looks that way,” he replies. “Have any of
you heard about the women killed around here recently?”

They all shake their heads no and he
proceeds to fill them in on what he learned. “It’s a bad time for
this sort of thing to be happening,” he says when he’s done.

“It’s always a bad time when someone dies,”
states Dave.

“I know, but now with all that’s going on up
at the castle, I just hope they don’t get the idea it’s caused by
me,” he says.

“Do you think they’ll decide against you?”
his friend asks.

“I hope not Dave,” he replies.

“What do you plan to do if they decide to
hand you over to the Empire?” Illan asks.

“I’m not going with them, that’s for sure,”
he states with finality. “But I’ll worry about that when the time
comes.”

“If you go against the Royal Court’s
decision, wouldn’t that put them against you too?” Miko asks,
worried.

“Who knows?” says James in exasperation.

Illan and Miko then fill him in on what
they’ve learned. Miko was surprised when James didn’t react to the
fact Lord Colerain was in the city until he explained that he had
already seen him in Court.

“Do you think he had a hand in it?” Miko
asks. “You being summoned I mean.”

Shaking his head, James replies, “I doubt
it. He’s probably just around to enjoy the situation. By the way,
where are Jiron and Fifer?”

“I don’t know,” Illan replies. “They left
out of here several hours ago and weren’t too clear as to where
they were going.”

“I hope they’re not getting into any
trouble,” he says as he digs into his dinner.

The time for the match draws near. Jiron and
Fifer begin making their way through the dark streets on their way
to the courtyard behind the inn. “Nervous?” Fifer asks.

“Not especially,” Jiron replies. Even when
fighting in the pits, he never once became nervous or anxious. Some
of the others had thought him somewhat odd because of that, but the
closest emotion he ever feels at this time would be a sense of
expectation.

Other people on the streets are heading in
the direction of the courtyard, the word of the impending fight
must have spread throughout the poor section. As they reach the
inn, they find carriages of obviously wealthy individuals waiting
out front. “Seems this goes on a lot around here, they even attract
the nobles.”

Moving through the alley to the side of the
inn, they make their way through the milling crowd. As they
approach the courtyard, the press of people becomes thicker and
thicker until they have to practically force their way through.
Jokingly, Fifer says, “I guess we should’ve arrived earlier.”

“It would seem that way,” replies Jiron.

Near the end of the alley, a group of thugs
are blocking the entrance to the courtyard. When Jiron tries to
move past, one of them says, “Here now, who do you think you
are?”

Without even pausing, Jiron strikes out with
his fists and the man falls to the ground. His two buddies
immediately turn on Jiron and before the others in the crowd even
know something is afoot, Jiron drops them too. Stepping over their
comatose bodies, he enters the courtyard and passes through the
edge of the crowd.

“Needed a warm up,” he jokingly tells Fifer.
“Glad those guys could oblige.” Fifer breaks into a laugh at
that.

Passing through the edge of the crowd, they
enter the open space in the middle of the courtyard. The barman who
arranged this fight stands over to one side with several of his
cronies. Upon seeing Jiron, he disengages himself and makes his way
over. “Didn’t think you were going to show?”

“Sorry about that,” replies Jiron. “Was a
little bit delayed.” Looking around, he asks, “Where’s my
opponent?”

“They haven’t arrived yet,” the man replies.
“They’re known for being fashionably late.”

Throughout the crowd are not only the riff
raff of the area, but wealthy individuals as well as those in
between. To one side a pavilion of sorts has been erected, the fact
that it’s currently unoccupied leads Jiron to believe it’s for the
group putting up the other fighter.

The barkeep asks, “So what weapons are you
going to choose?”

Jiron pats the knives at his waist.

Looking in disbelief, the barkeep exclaims,
“You can’t be serious!”

“Very,” replies Jiron.

“But you’ll not last a minute against their
champion!” insists the barkeep.

“I’ll be fine,” asserts Jiron.

Bystanders begin to notice Jiron and the
barkeep together and a buzz begins to circulate through the crowd
as he begins to be pointed out as the challenger. Money changes
hands as side wagers are placed.

Aside from the crudity of the surroundings,
this place isn’t much different than the pits he fought in back in
the City of Light before it was sacked by the Empire. Few places
ever brought a feeling of peace to Jiron like being in the pits. At
times that feeling bothered him, like he shouldn’t feel that way.
Maybe it’s because he had made himself there.

From the far side of the crowd, a hushed
murmur begins as the spectators begin parting for a procession of
several individuals making their way to the fight area. “They’re
here,” states the barkeep.

Five men come walking toward them, four of
them obviously being from the Empire. The fifth man, larger than
the rest is wearing a hooded cloak which covers his features. As
the men approach, the one in the lead says, “We’re here. Where is
the man to face our champion?”

Jiron steps forward and says, “Right
here.”

Looking Jiron up and down, he grimaces and
says, “I thought you had someone who would be more of a challenge
than the last couple.”

“He can fight,” the barkeep says nervously.
“I saw him in action myself.”

The man considers it for a moment and then
nods his head, “So be it.” Saying something in their language to
the rest of his group, they make their way over to the pavilion
where they prepare.

“Hope you can fight well,” the barkeep says
nervously.

“Why?” asks Fifer. “What difference would
that make to you?”

“If they have another poor fight, it could
be bad,” he admits.

“Been bringing him a few losers?” Jiron
asks.

“You could say that,” replies the barkeep.
“After the first couple of fights, no one around here is willing to
face their champion.”

“Just who is their champion?” Fifer
asks.

“A very fierce warrior,” he answers.
“Brought up from somewhere deep within the Empire. Rumor has it
he’s forced to fight for that man there, but why has never been
told.”

“Interesting,” muses Jiron.

“Looks like they’re ready,” the barkeep
says.

Glancing to the pavilion, Jiron sees the
leader of the group and the large hooded man coming toward them. He
and the barkeep, with Fifer staying several feet behind proceed to
meet them in the center of the cleared area. A hush falls over the
crowd as the two fighters meet.

Jiron looks beneath the hood but even with
the light of the many torches illuminating the courtyard, he’s
still unable to make out anything underneath.

The leader says something to his fighter who
removes the hooded cloak.

Jiron hears Fifer gasp as the features of
the man he’s to fight is seen. Tattoos cover most of his exposed
skin. Bearing two swords, one longer than the other, Jiron knows
exactly who or rather what his opponent is. A Parvati!

Breaking out in a grin Jiron gives the
Parvati a friendly nod. A murmur grows through the crowd at his
reaction. Never has anyone shown a reaction other than startlement
or fear when he removed his hood. Now here’s this man, shorter and
only bearing knives, giving him a friendly nod.

The expression on the Parvati’s leader’s
face shows his confusion as well. He has always revealed his
warrior’s features at the last minute to instill fear and doubt in
his opponents. But that didn’t happen here and he doesn’t know
why.

If the Parvati has taken any notice of
Jiron’s nod, he fails to reply. His expression remains placid.

The barkeep steps between them and says,
“There’s only one rule here. He who lives, wins!”

At that the crowd around them begins to
cheer and call out. Raising a red flag high over his head, he
continues, “When I let this go, begin the fight.”

The barkeep watches as the crowd moves back
a little bit further to give the combatants room to fight. When he
sees enough room has been cleared he waves the flag in a circle
around his head. Just before he drops it, Jiron says to the
Parvati, “May your swords drink deep.”

Stunned that he would know to say the
traditional Parvati greeting, the Parvati stands there motionless
when the red flag is dropped. “May your knives drink deep,” he says
a smile coming to him as he draws his swords.