The Saints of the Sword Read Free Page B

constantly, anxious for a glass of water that was conspicuously kept from him. He looked about to faint.
    “Now, I’m not a man of vendettas,” the Inquisitor declared. “You all know me. I’m a humble servant of the emperor. All I seek is justice.”
    There was skeptical chuckling from the crowd. Dakel took it good-naturedly.
    “ ’Tis true,” he said. “Justice is the sole commandment of this court. So I don’t read these charges with any relish or malice. I read them with great regret for the duke’s offenses. Through the things he has done, we are all diminished.”
    An expectant murmur bubbled up. Dakel let it dissipate before continuing. He whirled on the duke.
    “Duke Angoris, you are called before these good people of Nar for crimes against humankind, for sedition, for treason, for barbarity, and for genocide. These are the facts in my ledger. Shall I read them for you?”
    Duke Angoris began to croak an answer but the Inquisitor silenced him with a flourish of his sleeves.
    “People,” he said, turning again toward the crowd. “Worthy citizens.” He smiled. “Friends. When you hear the charges against Duke Angoris, you will have no doubt as to the rightness of this tribunal. I know there are those among you who doubt what we do here. Do not doubt. Listen. And keep your ears open for the most appalling tales.”
    Angoris grit his teeth. He had no barrister to defend him, only his own wits and the infrequent opportunities Dakel gave him to speak. The Inquisitor glided closer to the dais and unrolled the scroll in his spidery hands. He read it to himself, shaking his head in disgust.
    “Duke Angoris,” he began. “On the first day of winter you usurped the throne of the south fork of Dragon’s Beak. You killed the surviving members of Duke Enli’s household and took control from the ruling magistrate, who had been sent there by our own emperor. Is that so?”
    “The throne was empty,” Angoris said. “The emperor’s to blame for that.”
    “And in your killing spree the magistrate and his wife were murdered also, correct?”
    Angoris was silent.
    “You impaled them, did you not?”
    The duke groped for an answer. Every word in Dakel’s ledger was true, but admitting it came hard. Angoris was astubborn man, with a head like granite and a fiery streak of independence. He had declared himself duke of the south fork of Dragon’s Beak after the death of Enli, the rightful duke. Then he had set out for the ruined north fork.
    “Answer the question,” rumbled Dakel. “Did you not order the magistrate and his wife impaled?”
    The duke answered, “I did.”
    “And upon murdering the magistrate and taking Grey Tower, you found an unused cannister of poison in the keep. The illegal gas called Formula B, isn’t that also correct?”
    The Inquisitor hovered over the duke, waiting for an answer. Duke Angoris shifted, his eyes darting around the vast chamber.
    “No answer?” Dakel’s immortally blue eyes watched his victim like a cobra’s. “The poison, Duke? Have you a recollection?”
    “I … I found the poison in the castle, yes. It was left there by legionnaires of the Black City. I didn’t put it there.”
    “And what did you do with the poison once you discovered it?”
    “I’ll not answer that,” spat Angoris. “Not to this court, and not to you. You have already judged me.”
    Dakel the Inquisitor, the very soul of the Protectorate, grinned wildly at the duke. “That’s fine, Duke Angoris. I’ll tell the story myself.” He turned like an actor toward the spectators in the candlelight. They were citizens of Nar who had come to the Tower of Truth for a show, and the master of the house would not disappoint them.
    “Good Narens,” he sang. “Let me tell you what this self-proclaimed duke has done. He has used the grievous and criminal poison called Formula B against the people of the north fork of Dragon’s Beak. These are people just like himself, you see, but Angoris