[Mkguild] Justice in Vengeance Refrain (9)

[Ryx]

“It was unwarned, unprovoked, and coldly methodical.  Cold blooded would be 
exactly how I might characterize it, your grace.”
“My thanks, your grace.” Tathim stood, clasping his hands behind the small of 
his back as he stood regarding Malger.  “Before I withdraw to consider all that 
I have heard, and myself witnessed, in the past hour I would like to say a few 
words.  You, Malger the minstrel, are a mere commoner.  By sufferance the acts 
for which you are accused merit little more than a swift removal of your head 
from your shoulders.”  Murikeer gaped at the proclamation and Elvmere gasped 
softly.  Sho and the other assembled animals growled discontentedly while 
Motense’s mouth tightened in a victorious sneer.  Holding up one hand to silence 
the grumblings Tathim continued.  “But I am learned that those who were slain, 
and those who yet live, held under their charge the unlawfully imprisoned 
smallfolk of several kingdoms.  Kingdoms which, in turn, could very well wish to 
pursue their own methods of justice on those who survive.”  Pacing back and 
forth upon the dais his eyes roved the assembly levelly.  “And, as he spoke of 
carrying out his actions under a warrant of justice from just one such kingdom, 
the accused falls under the aegis of his homeland moreso than my own demesne.  I 
am very well tempted to put him in chains and send him back for just such 
justice.
“But I can little afford the retinue that would be required for such an 
extradition, and am, as such, left in a quandary.  On one hand, summary justice 
is swift and warranted, relieving me of a thorn which has pricked me when I can 
little suffer its touch, while on the other I can simply acquit the accused of 
any wrongdoing, allowing his justice, and simply allow him to leave.”
“Such would be unwise, your grace.” Motense warned darkly.  He shut up when the 
Baron seated next to him grabbed his upper arm and squeezed rather solidly.  
Apparently the two were not at all in agreement and the bear’s recent revelation 
of his culpability left the Baron with questions of his own.
“Sire,” the lady Asthill’s handmaiden quavered into the momentary silence after 
the Earl’s outburst, “I might offer a solution worthy of easing your quandary?”
The Earl rounded on her abruptly with a glare at the woman’s temerity.  She 
wilted under the harsh glare and bowed her head, fading a pace back behind the 
Lady’s chair.
“Say on, woman.” Tathim hissed, crossing his arms behind his back once more.  
Swallowing her fear the woman, well into middle age but still quite striking in 
appearance, sidled out from behind the Lady’s chair.
“Sire, why not let the Gods decide his fate?” She spoke toward her shoes with 
both hands clasped demurely, if tightly, in front of her stomach.  In his chair 
Malger twitched and scowled with a frown while Murikeer hissed a soft epithet.  
“Aside from the Follower who provides you counsel, we are followers of the Light 
and under the laws of the Temple as a vassalage of Sathmore.  Allow the Gods to 
decide, by right of blood.”
“Ere he lives, he is innocent, and should he not the verdict is moot.” The 
Lothanasa rumbled quietly from her huge divan.
Pacing the dais Tathim stroked his mouth with one hand while he regarded the 
floor before his feet.  Motense scowled, having seen Malger’s prowess in combat 
and fearful that such a trial would be a pointless acquittal of the reviled 
minstrel.  After several long moments of heavy silence the Earl heaved a sigh 
and flexed both hands in futile helplessness.  “I see no other way to easily 
satisfy both sides of my indecision.” He said at length.  “Your words have 
wisdom, child.”  Raising his head he scanned the crowded hall, “Let it be so; a 
trial before the Gods, and let them be the final arbiters of the accused’s 
fate.  Who stands forth as the tribunal’s champion in this?”  Everone looked 
around at everyone else for several breaths, no one readily willing to stand 
against the minstrel.  Lessan himself had clearly illustrated the minstrel’s 
skill with combat; he had crippled two merceneries of the Whitestone Tower, 
center of the greatest masters of war throughout much of the known world.  If 
the two others who had been slain were likewise trained it showed that Malger 
was a fearsome foe, indeed.
“I shall champion House Asthill’s charge, your grace.” Rumbled one of the 
Lothanasa’s burly guards.  Apparently the quartet spoke very seldom indeed for 
many of the locals gasped in surprise at hearing him speak.  Even the Lothanasa 
seemed surprised at the unexpected outburst.  Her mouth gaped momentarily and 
then she glared at the man.  Murikeer took one look at him and quailed.  He was 
six feet or more of stone solid muscle and, as he served as the huge 
Lightbringer’s bearer, given to surprisingly indefatigable stamina.  Malger had 
not eaten, or slept soundly, in almost five days and was showing that strain 
with every line of his body.
“Your grace I must protest!” Elvmere gasped as he stood, his chair scraping 
loudly on the wooden floor as he thrust it back.  “Our master is hardly in any 
fit condition to enter into combat with the least of your retainers, much less 
one of her bruins!”
“I am afraid the matter is set, lad.” Tathim sighed with a shake of his head, 
“It is for the Gods to intervene, now, for it has been lifted from my hands.”
“Fat lot the Gods give a damn.” Malger moaned when he took one look at the 
champion he would have to face.
“Let us withdraw.  At high sun we will re-convene upon the house commons and the 
accused will face our champion in the Gods’ Judgment.”  He stood before his 
throne-like chair and turned to face the assembly.  “Malger, you will be allowed 
to retire to the chambers I have allowed your students to use, that you might 
prepare yourself.”  He looked toward Sho and her retinue.  “Sister, you and 
yours may retire to the commons, or remain here in the hall, as you desire.  I 
have not the accommodations to extend proper comfort to you or yours.”
The archivist Thomas beamed merrily, “Your grace, I will aid them in any such 
small way as I can.” He burbled ebulliently from his post to the right of the 
Earl’s dais.  Tathim smiled and chuckled softly with a slight shrug before 
circling around behind his chair and down the rear of the dais to a door in the 
back wall.  The lady Asthill fell in behind him and, after a brief glance back 
toward Malger, her handmaiden followed the Earl’s seneschal through the door.  
Motense fumed silently before following them, with the Baron close at his heels 
and, one by one, their personal guards.
“Malger,” Elvmere muttered worriedly as they crossed the commons through the 
throng spilling from the feast hall.  The six guards that came with them 
continued their wordless escort toward the wing which housed their chambers.  
“What are we going to do?”
Staggering a little in his exhaustion, aided by Murikeer’s strong hand on his 
elbow, Malger could only shake his head.  “We?  Nothing, Elvmere.” He panted 
breathlessly.  Misanthe held his other arm, offering her own strength.  Though 
small she was surprisingly strong.  “I fight.  When this is all over, you and 
Murikeer must continue on.”  He looked aside to catch Elvmere’s worried gaze.  
“You have your pilgrimages, don’t let my folly destroy them.”
“Malger, you must not think that way!”  One of the guards held the door open and 
they entered the dim interior of the guest wing.
Swaying as he navigated into the narrow hallway Malger grasped at Misanthe’s 
supporting arm and shot Elvmere a condoling look, “Be realistic, Elvmere.” He 
sighed heavily, “I’m a wreck.  I still suffer the injuries from a fight less 
than a week gone.  I’ve not slept two candlemarks at a time in days, and my only 
real meal in that time was this morning.  Do you expect in any way that I have 
any hope of surviving that goliath’s touch?”
“But-“ Elvmere fretted, wringing his hands fitfully.  The guards took up 
positions at the door while the four travelers filed into the guest room. “You 
must not give up!”
“What’s to bother.” Malger slumped on the bed and sagged forward, arms on knees, 
while he panted heavily.
“Master, he is right, you must not-“ Misanthe said plaintively from Malger’s 
side.
“Damnit, girl!” Malger snapped, raising a hand back and scowling at her.  She 
did not wither away from the expected strike, merely turning her head slightly 
and backing her ears.  After a moment Malger merely let his hand drop to her 
shoulder to give a gentle squeeze.  “I am not your master.” He sighed after a 
moment, “You are free now, and I am Malger.  Just Malger.”
~~
            The last bells of the high hour faded from the Temple belfry and 
silence held sway but for the light early summer breeze that stirred the grass 
and tugged at Murikeer’s light clothes.  Beside him Elvmere held one hand 
tightly around his tree and tried not to look away.  Misanthe stood beside him, 
one arm loosely slipped through his free arm while Murikeer stood alone a pace 
away.  The archivist Thomas stood on their side of the commons with the huge 
towering bulk of Sho upright beside him.  The rest of the menagerie stood in a 
loose group around them while still more held outside of the open gates.  
Maxamillian’s huge wagon had been led from the forest’s edge and the hyena, 
Mylere, sat upon its buckboard like a victorious knight upon a conquered 
throne.  Around it the remainder of the menagerie clustered to witness the 
judgment of the Gods.
            Malger stood in front of his students, his posture slumped.
            Across the commons, in front of the Temple and ancient elven tower, 
Earl Tathim sat upon a wagon onto which his chair had been lifted.  The Lady 
Asthill sat beside him while their retainers and guards stood around the wagon.  
Earl Motense and Baron Vareshad had been relegated to chairs set before the 
wagon.  The former looked positively livid at the show while the latter held a 
curious intensity in his gaze.  Once more the golden dog sat at his side, it’s 
head resting on one of his knees to be stroked distractedly.  Motense was 
carrying on some one-sided conversation toward the Baron which he studiously 
attempted to ignore with an occasional nod or mutter to make it seem like he was 
following it.
            “I will dispense with the useless formalities in the interest of a 
swift resolution.” Earl Tathim called out to the crowd, which was far larger 
than the tribunal earlier in the day.  “The minstrel Malger, son of Fendil, 
stands accused of murder.  Those that he is accused of killing have, themselves, 
been accused of crimes for which murder pales by comparison but I am not given 
to judge.  In light of the balanced weight of justice it has been decided that 
the man, Malger, will face a champion in combat to the death.  The Gods will 
choose his fate and justice will be served.
            “Lightbearer Thurn has volunteered to be the Gods’ champion.  Thurn, 
please step forward.”  The Lothanasa’s guard stepped out from the shadow of the 
temple and strode leisurely to the center of the commons.  He was clad only in a 
simple leather brigandine kilt and sandals.  In one hand he carried two swords.  
One was a longsword that seemed diminutive against his bulk while the other was 
the one Malger had surrendered when he was taken into custody.  On the other arm 
he bore a stout buckler rimmed and studded with iron.
“Will the accused please step forward.”
Without a backward look Malger marched toward the center of his courtyard.  In 
one hand he carried the sword that he had lost during his fight at the caravan 
and Murikeer had retrieved.  Its edges were nicked and its tassels tattered but 
under Murikeer’s care it was once again polished to a gleam.  He wore nothing 
more than a light vest of silk, thin cotton leggings left loose at mid-calf, and 
his most careworn pare of calfskin boots.  Standing before the huge bulk of the 
Lightbringer’s divan-bearer Malger looked like little more than a child facing a 
giant.
The man extended Malger’s sword, hilt first, toward him as he approached.  “The 
mistress told me you brought no armor, boy.” The man rumbled as Malger accepted 
the weapon back.  “So I wore none.”
“How kind of you.” Malger quipped flatly as he stepped back a couple of paces.
“May the Gods bear witness to these proceedings.” Tathim intoned from his perch 
on the wagon, “Gentlemen, you may begin when you are ready.”
Thurn leaned forward slightly and gave a probing poke with his longsword toward 
Malger to open the fray.  The move was leisurely executed but occurred with 
spectacular speed.  Malger leaned back slightly and did not raise his swords to 
parry as he was sufficiently out of reach.  The tip of the bruin’s blade darted 
in and came up a few inches shy of his vest before it was withdrawn.  Taking 
Malger’s lassitude as fatalistic resignation to his fate Thurn leaped forward 
with another straightforward thrust.
Steel rang in the silence as Malger sidestepped and batted the thrust away.  The 
big man’s reach and longer blade gave him an overwhelming advantage that he used 
to its fullest, letting his thrust sweep away with the parry and then reversing 
its motion with a swift chop.  Malger ducked and parried upward with one sword 
laid back along his forearm.  Though the slice bounced harmlessly overhead the 
weight of the man’s swing nearly pushed him to the ground.  Malger staggered 
with a huff and danced a few paces out of reach.
“Not going to tire me out swinging this dinner knife, boy.” Thurn taunted 
softly, smiling as he continued to worry Malger into retreat with desultory 
swings of his blade.  Despite seeming careless in their delivery none of them 
allowed the blade to swing so far as to leave Malger an easy opening to 
riposte.  “I carry my mistress and her chair everywhere, this toy is a feather 
by comparison.”
“A showman never gives up the show, bear.” Malger hissed, already winded simply 
trying to fend off the heavy impacts of the sword.  “My mistress has already 
chosen my fate, and I will embrace it.”  He made no motion to return any of the 
bigger man’s attacks, merely choosing to parry or evade them.  Pitching his 
voice low he danced up under a swing and hissed up at the bigger warrior.  “Just 
favor me with a swift end, when the time comes.”
Thurn danced back a step and swung his shield across to fend off an expected 
thrust of the inverted blades but neither lashed out.  The minstrel did not even 
poke him with the hilts.  Sweeping his sword down he tried to spear his opponent 
like a potato.  His blade sank a handspan into the earth as Malger writhed 
smoothly out of range and resumed circling.  With a growl he jerked the sword 
out of the ground into a muscular swing.  Dirt and grass arced away from his 
slice in a fan as Malger hastily danced back several paces.  “Then fight back 
and stop dancing.” Thurn hissed back at him.
Malger acceded to his demand and followed the arc of his swing, both blades 
suddenly flipping forward in blinding revolutions to rattle along the length of 
his blade.  One sang up its length in a skirl of steel on steel to catch the 
hilt of his blade while the other leaped upward to dart inward with a thrust.  
Leering, Thurn twisted his longsword, catching Malger’s blade with the forked 
quillon, and swept his shield overtop his extended arm to deflect the stab.  
Twisting his muscular arm he hauled Malger’s sword down and, leaning his weight 
against the trapped blade, raised his shield and brought it down with all of his 
considerable weight behind it.
Malger let out an agonized cry as the edge of the shield came down on his blade 
and it bent momentarily before snapping with a scintillating crack.  Shards of 
metal sang into the air and Malger fell back hastily, abandoning his hilt to 
jerk his stinging hand back.  The flying shards sparkled in the sunlight and 
then stopped, hanging frozen in mid air.  One halted a handspan from the face of 
Lady Asthill’s startled handmaiden like a spear.  Her eyes widened in surprise 
as they focused on the razor-edged shard of steel hovering before her.  She 
jerked back with a startled gasp and then glared angrily at Malger.  Slowly the 
shards began to float away toward the far side of the commons.  Unearthing 
itself from the earth into which it had been driven the tip of Malger’s 
shattered sword lifted into the air to join the floating shards.
Thurn watched the floating steel warily and circled away from their path, 
ignoring Malger for the moment while the minstrel clutched his hand to his 
breast.  Tears streaked Malger’s face at the demise of his precious weapon, one 
that had been gifted to him two decades before by the arms master who had 
trained him in their use.  The hilt shuddered where it lay in the grass and then 
began to slide away as if drawn by an invisible string.
As the floating remnants of Malger’s weapon reached his hand Murikeer lightly 
plucked them out of the air.  Across the clearing the Lothanasa watched his use 
of magic closely and only gave a slow nod as Murikeer met her gaze with his good 
eye.  He nodded in return, magic user to magic user, and handed the broken hilt 
to Misanthe.  The shards of the blade he let drop to the grass at his feet.
“Damn you.” Malger spat furiously, his voice breaking in grief.
“Gods aint smiling on you all too kindly, minstrel.” Thurn chuckled as he 
brought his focus back to Malger.  He had never let the minstrel get out of his 
sight while he avoided the queer floating steel.
“Curse them all.” Malger spun his remaining blade lightly in one hand but he 
felt what little strength he had left rapidly draining away.
“That’ll make them smile, I’m sure.”  Lunging forward Thurn swept his sword back 
for a mighty roundhouse sweep.  His blade whistled through the air and Malger 
did not even attempt to parry such a mighty swing.  Rushing in once more he 
ducked under the swing to deliver a stab at the man’s open midriff.
Exactly the maneuver Thurn had wanted.
Releasing his sword he let it fly away to fall safely into the grass and quickly 
brought his sword arm downward.  He deflected the stab with a twist of his 
buckler and hammered his forearm downward upon the minstrel’s back.  Malger 
staggered in mid charge with an explosion of breath, colliding with Thurn’s 
beefy legs solidly.  The bruin did not even shift his balance as he laughed at 
the puny weight thrown against him.  Twisting slightly his hand darted down to 
catch Malger’s weapon arm and yanked upward fiercely, ignoring the feel of fur 
under his fingers.  He had seen the revelation of the minstrel’s apprentices and 
already suspected that the minstrel was like them, some manner of 
man-turned-into-beast.  Malger cried out in pain when his shoulder was wrenched 
painfully, almost dislocating as he was hauled into the air.


      

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