The Arkanist

Chapter Fourteen: The Hall of Lords

Chapter Fourteen: The Hall of Lords

The oak doors closed with a low, rumbling thunder, giving way to a thick and heavy quiet. A single brazier hung from the vaulted ceiling of the barren entrance-hall, shivering through the darkness in a cold glow. I had been in here before, not too long ago, but although the stone had not changed, it wore a different cloak, with gaps and holes and tears through the cloth that had not been there before.

The philos stopped me before we went any further. "I've convinced my brother to allow you a trial. He would not have it any other way."

I looked at him in honest disbelief. "I'm to be on trial?"

"To join his company you've to have a trial," the philos said, matter of fact. "They will decide whether you are able to leave as the lord's man or remain an exile because of your father's suicide. The law states that any man in the relation of a Damned is to be rejected any rights of association and recognition with and by the royal courts."

I breathed deeply. "Who's deciding?" I knew well as anybody my jury was more important than anything I could say in defense. Corruption at its finest.

"The Keepers," he said. "As they do with all formal trials. You're lucky it wasn't the Alyins, being this a matter of religious punishment. You'd have had no chance, but the Keepers, they'll at least hear your plea. Whether you will be admitted is another question." He pursed his lips.

"Is it possible?" I asked, my face gone hard.

"Possible, yes," said the philos. "Just unlikely. The Lords of Raenish have served under the assumed guidance of Aylar for hundreds of years now. Back then, you'd have been burned at the stake for your father's crimes, Damned just like him. But times have changed." He held me tight in his hands. "Let us hope you change the times again."

I nodded heavily, a great weight with my movements. "What if I'm not allowed?" I said. "What happens then?"

The Bastard of Riveiar looked me in the eyes and I saw things I wished I hadn't, but in the end, all he said was: "I don't know."

I bit my tongue, suddenly angry. I don't know where the anger came from, probably somewhere deep and true, from the places we visit scarcely, but it came, hot and fuming and wild. I think, it meant I cared, that I truly cared. "You don't understand," I heard my voice say. "I need to go. I need to find this out. These people, they stabbed a pike through my father's heart! He knew that would happen! Why would he take his own life if he knew that was going to happen!"

"I don't know," said the philos again. And it was, for all the world, the only thing he could have said, but I did not listen to logic. I listened to madness.

"That's not good enough!" I said, hard as iron through smoke. "I need to find this book, I need to find answers, but what if I can't? 'I don't know' isn't helping me find any answers, and it never will!"

Then the philos pushed me against the wall, with a strength I never knew he possessed, and I froze. "I don't know what will happen, that's the truth, Kaedn. If you're scared of the truth, then you shall never find the answers you seek. Understand? To find, you must lose. You will never find anything without losing something. Never. It's about time you understand that."

He released his grip, and I slumped back to the ground, body trembling. The fury of quiet men is a thing to start storms. It should be avoided at all times. If I only I knew that then.

"Let's go," he said then, picking me up. "If you want something, you must take it, and face the punishments of defeat, for without defeat there is no victory." He held me again, rough and true, like a father would. "Follow me."