to eat anything?’
Roo said, ‘If the guard’s not lying, there will be more when I get to the bars.’ He rose slowly and moved to where the press of prisoners was lessening, then took his bowl and held it close to the bars as the guard filled it with a metal ladle. Then a loaf of bread and some cheese was given to him, and he returned to Erik’s side.
One of the prisoners said, ‘The food’s better here than at me mum’s!’
That brought a weak laugh from two of the men, but the rest ate in silence.
Shortly after the meal, the guards came to escort the prisoners to the Prince’s court. Each man’s leg irons and shackles, wrist irons and collars, and all the chains were inspected. The newest prisoner, the Isalani, stood silently as the wooden collar was presented to him. He said, ‘I will cause you no difficulty.’ Then with an enigmatic smile he said, ‘I am interested in what is about to occur.’
The guard sergeant seemed to think about it, but the man walked quietly out of the cell and stood in place behind the man who had been led out before him. The guard sergeant made a curt nod, indicating it was all right, and the other prisoners were put in the line.
‘All right, any of you makes a break, we shoot you down and that’s the end of it. So if you prefer a crossbow bolt to the rope, now’s your chance. But be warned, if the bolt doesn’t kill you outright, it’s a messy, pitiful way to go. Saw a man with his lung punched out of him; that was a sight. Now, move the prisoners along!’ The company of crossbowmen lined the hallway where they marched, and the prisoners, now numbering twelve, were led through the palace, up to the Prince’s hall.
Dirty, poor, and miserable, these men were ushered into the presence of the second most powerful man in the Kingdom, Nicholas, Prince of the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles, brother to King Borric, Heir Apparent to the Crown. The Prince was a man of forty-some years of age, and his dark hair was still almost entirely without grey. His eyes were dark brown and deeply shadowed; the stress of burying his father was obvious, etching deep lines on his face.
He wore mourning black, and his only badge of office was his royal ring. He sat in the large chair at the end of the hall, raised upon a dais. The chair next to his, used by his mother when his father ruled only days before, was empty. The Dowager Princess Anita was in seclusion in her quarters.
Standing beside the throne was the Duke of Krondor, Lord James, and beside him, the mysterious lady who the Isalani said read minds.
The prisoners were ushered into the Prince’s presence and the guard sergeant had to order them to bow. The men made an awkward attempt, and at last the court was called to order.
Several onlookers lined the sides of the halls, and Erik noticed Sebastian Lender among them. That made him feel slightly better than he had in days.
The first prisoner was called before the Prince, a man named Thomas Reed, and to Erik’s surprise, the man called Slippery Tom moved before Nicholas.
Nicholas looked down on Slippery Tom. ‘What are the charges, James?’
The Duke of Krondor nodded to a scribe, who said, ‘Thomas Reed stands accused of theft and aiding and abetting in the murder of the victim, a spice merchant named John Corwin, late of Krondor.’
‘How do you plead?’ asked James.
Slippery Tom glanced around the room and tried to present as pleasant an expression as possible to Nicholas. ‘You Majesty –’ he began.
‘“Highness,”’ interrupted James. ‘Not “You Majesty,” “Your Highness.”’
Grinning as if this social gaffe were his worst offense, he said, ‘You Highness, it were this way –’
James interrupted, ‘How do you plead?’
Suddenly angry eyes regarded the Duke as he said, ‘I was attemptin’ to explain this to His Highness, sir.’
‘Plead first, then explain,’ said Prince Nicholas.
Tom seemed to think of his options a moment. ‘Well, strictly speaking, I guess I would have to say I was guilty, but only in a sense of it.’
‘Enter the plea,’ said James. ‘Do you have anyone to speak on your behalf?’
‘Just Biggo,’ said Tom.
‘Biggo?’ said Nicholas.
James said, ‘The next defendant.’
‘Oh, well, then tell me your story.’
Tom began to spin an improbable tale of two poor workmen attempting to do the right thing in a bargain gone sour with a spice merchant of dubious character who cheated the two basically honest workers. When confronted with his perfidious acts, the spice merchant had pulled a knife and in the ensuing struggle had fallen on his own blade. The two wronged men, regretting the malefactor’s death, had taken his gold only in the amount they were owed, which happened to be all he was carrying. ‘And that’s not all he owed us,’ said Tom.
Nicholas looked at James. ‘Corwin?’
‘Honest, for the most part,’ said James. ‘What I could find out tells me he occasionally received some Keshian spices without benefit of duty, but that’s not unusual.’
Nicholas said, ‘Why did John Corwin owe you money?’
With a feral light in his eyes, Tom said, ‘Well, truth to tell, You Highness, we was bringing the merchant some Keshian spice, without bothering to call it to the attention of the duty office at the Port Authority, if you see. We was only doing it to support our families.’
Nicholas glanced at the woman who had remained silent, and Erik followed his gaze. She looked at Tom for a moment, then briefly shook her head no.
Nicholas said, ‘What’s the state’s request?’
James said, ‘Thomas Reed is a habitual criminal, a self-confessed member of the Guild of Thieves –’
‘Wait a minute, lord!’ shouted Thomas. ‘I was just making some idle boasts, trying to get some respect from the guards –’
James ignored the interruption. The state asks for death.’
‘Granted.’
With that single word, Slippery Tom was sentenced to die the next morning.
Erik looked at Roo and wondered if the terror he saw in his friend’s eyes was as apparent in his own.
Slowly each man was brought before the bar of justice, and each time at the end of the plea, Erik saw the Prince look at the woman. Each time she shook her head no, save for once, when Biggo was on trial, when she nodded yes slightly. But it seemed to make no difference, for Biggo was condemned to the gallows with the others.
When there were fewer than half to be tried, the scribe called, ‘Sho Pi!’
The Isalani was brought before the Prince, and James recited the charges: ‘Sho Pi, a citizen of Kesh, Highness. Arrested for brawling. He killed a guard.’
‘Your plea?’ asked the Prince.
The Isalani smiled. ‘Plea? I have none. Highness. The facts are as recited.’
‘Then enter the plea as guilty,’ said Nicholas. ‘Have you anything to say before sentencing?’
The smile broadened, and the Isalani said, ‘Only that facts and truth are not interchangeable. I am but a poor student, formerly a monk of the order of Dala. I was sent to find my master.’
‘Your master?’ asked Nicholas, seemingly interested in the story, decidedly different than the run-of-the-mill pleas heard so far today. ‘Who is he?’
‘This I do not know. I was an indifferent student at the monastery where I was trained, save in the art of fighting. I admit to being unworthy of the calling; the Abbot sent me out, telling me that if I had a master he was outside the