Chapter 19

His Excellency, Montis Shoban’Rohass, High Priest of the Alorian gods, was roused from his deep dreamless sleep by loud incessant knocking on the door to his bedchamber. He rubbed his eyes and looked around. The twilight shrouding the room implied it was very early in the morning; too early to be woken up so rudely.

“Stop knocking and come in already!” The High Priest groused.

The door opened and his secretary, Urshan Calabree, entered the chamber and bowed. “I beg your forgiveness for waking you so early, your Excellency, but more and more disturbing news arrived during the night and I felt the urgent need to inform you.”

Shoban’Rohass glared at the man. “What happened? Spit it out!”

The secretary bowed once more. “Dozens of our brethren were murdered in most horrible ways. They were slaughtered and their eyes removed before their corpses were hung up. This happened everywhere in Katerra. The exact numbers aren’t known yet but at least five dozen brethren were murdered during the night. Most of them had been tasked to spread the news about today’s heresy trial,” the secretary paused to take in a deep breath before he continued. “All incoming reports are naming the same perpetrators as the murderers of our brethren - Evanis Danjala and her band of brutes.”

The High Priest sighed and shook his head. “That woman is a demon, sent by our archenemy to test our faith,” he piously surmised. “I knew we had to expect a violent response when we arrested the heretic but it became necessary. Today’s trial will rob our enemies of their blasphemous figurehead and that’ll weaken their position tremendously. Without their false god, they’ll be seen as what they truly are - certainly a most ruthless band of thieves and murderers but still nothing more than simple criminals and not the dawning of a holy prophecy.”

Shoban’Rohass climbed out of his bed and got dressed, helped by his secretary.

“Did we receive notice about the result of the heretic’s questioning?” The High Priest absently asked while dressing. “How long did it take to convince this supposed god to submit to a religious trial?”

Urshan Calabree visibly flinched when he heard the question. “The report on the heretic’s interrogation was actually the reason I woke you up, your Excellency,” he groveled. “Since we still hadn’t received any notice about it an hour ago, I sent a brother to investigate. Phyrros’Kharban, the Order’s master inquisitor, and his apprentice were found dead in the corridor before the interrogation chamber. Most disturbing about this is that the old Imperial emblem was cruelly cut into the foreheads of the dead brethren and no traces of their murderer could be found. The heretic was still chained within the chamber. He obviously had been most diligently questioned but he still refuses to submit and after the two brethren were found dead no one has continued his interrogation.”

The High Priest had listened speechlessly. “Someone broke into the dungeon, killed two inquisitors, carved the Imperial emblem into their brows and walked away again without anyone noticing anything and not even a trace could be found?” He reflected, stunned.

His secretary simply nodded in response.

Shoban’Rohass roused himself from his stupor by soundly slapping his servant in the face. “Ridiculous!” He shouted. “And why didn’t anyone continue his questioning? I need to be certain he will submit!”

The secretary glanced at the High Priest then lowered his gaze. “Your Excellency, it’s reported the prisoner is severely hurt and a continued questioning bears the high risk of killing him.”

“Gods grant me the patience not to smite the ineffectual!” Shoban’Rohass huffed, then took a deep breath to calm down. “If the heretic doesn’t submit, we have to make sure he can’t be understood at all.”

“The Inquisitor pulled out most of the prisoner’s teeth and his nose is broken,” the secretary assisted. “It is very difficult to understand what he says.”

“Good!” The High Priest approved. “Make sure he is cleaned up and cover as much of his wounds as possible; I don’t want his injuries to be too obvious. He can still walk on his own, can’t he?”

Urshan Calabree shrugged in response. “I doubt it.”

“Never mind; his guards can support him. Just make sure he is in the courtyard at noon. That’ll have to do.”

The secretary nodded and eagerly left the High Priest’s bedchamber to execute his superior’s orders.

The weather was anything but inviting; dark clouds covered the sky and it was unusually cold for late autumn. Still, the first spectators turned up on the courtyard of the Marble Cemetery long before noon. They spent the time watching the preparations for the trial. Numerous workers were building a podium for the judges and a stake for the accused. An hour before noon several thousand onlookers framed the yard and more were pushing their way into the courtyard with every passing moment. Close before midday more than twenty-thousand Katerrans enclosed the courtyard, keenly awaiting the promised trial. In contrast to the noisy crowd, the many hundred black-feathered visitors, lined-up in an orderly fashion along the roof edges of the marble temples, observed the spectacle gravely and in complete silence.

A large number of priests, armed with staffs or clubs, were busily engaged in curbing the impatient crowd when finally the gate of the main temple opened and a procession of the highest religious authorities from the Alorian priesthood exited the building. The Seven priests strutted across the courtyard toward the erected podium and adopted the seats allotted to the judges; the High Priest took the one in the middle. A big barrel-chested priest stepped in front of the podium and announced in a clear, carrying voice:

“The vigilant priesthood of the Alorian gods accuses a man named Jabbit of heresy.
The accused submitted to religious law.
He will be tried and judged by the highest representatives of the devoted Alorian priesthood.
Bring forth the accused!”

The gate to the temple of Purity and Devotion opened and a hundred Bhansun warriors streamed out of it. Pushing and shoving, they forced the crowd to open a wide corridor. Into the corridor marched a group of another twenty Bhansun guarding the accused. Jabbit was held up between two guards by a pole beneath his shoulders and they half carried half dragged him out in the open. He wore a new gray smock, long-sleeved and covering his body from his neck to his ankles. His face had been freshly washed but a new crust of dried blood framing the nostrils of his broken nose and the reddish drool seeping from the corners of his mouth, ruined the impression of a clean appearance.

The attention of the crowd was split when a regiment of Imperial soldiers intruded into the scene. The soldiers pawed a path through the crowd for the carriage they escorted. Jabbit and the carriage arrived at the podium of the judges at exactly the same time.

An officer opened the door to the carriage and then offered his arm in support for the Emperor, who slowly descended out of the coach. Once outside, Dharos of Tunapor used a crutch to support his last few steps until he stood in front of the podium. Dharos shook his head as he first looked at Jabbit; now as unable as the aged monarch himself to stand without support. Then he turned and directed his gaze on the seven judges sitting on the podium.

“I had heard about the trial,” he said and a small smile flitted across his weathered face before he continued. “I heard about it although you didn’t invite me to witness this heinous travesty of justice. I think this time the missing invitation is excusable, though, since I also heard all your messengers out in Katerra have been killed during the night. I can’t remember the last time I received news with such a strong impact on my mood. But when I heard this morning two of your torturers had been killed and the Imperial emblem was carved into their foreheads my mood further brightened and I was full of hope this would become a beautiful day. Now I see what you’ve done to this young man and all I feel is disgust. However, I’m here in my official role as Emperor and I demand to hear the accused confirm that he submitted to be tried by you under your religious law.”

“There is only one binding law; the law of the Alorian gods,” The High Priest answered. “Empress Callandrea broke the law of the gods and the gods ended her dominion. But all of Aloria paid for the Empress’ crimes with blood and death. Soon enough the gods will end your tyranny as well and then you’ll have to face your own judgment. For you, Dharos of Tunapor, are as certain a blasphemous heretic as the man who stands trial today.”

The Untar of the Order of Justice and Redemption loudly intervened before the Emperor could reply to the High Priest. “Unfortunately the accused is presently unable to answer you but he submitted himself under religious law before several trustworthy witnesses!”

The Untar’s statement elicited a reaction from the crowd. A strangely clothed man forced his way out of the masses of spectators. He carried a sack on his shoulder and purposefully strode towards the podium.

“I’ve witnesses,” he rasped, “Eyewitnesses.”

The man took the sack from his shoulder and spilled its content in front of the podium. The twenty-thousand onlookers gasped as one-hundred and thirty-six bloody eyeballs dropped on the ground.

“This is a message from my Commander, Evanis Danjala,” the patch-man hoarsely announced. “None of you, priests of dead gods, will escape my retribution.”

The Emperor had to heavily lean on his crutch to remain standing while his laughter shook his body.

“Congratulations! Evidently you enraged an extraordinary dangerous woman,” Dharos gleefully commented. “Now let’s finish this farce!”

The old King walked close to Jabbit and looked at him. “You don’t have to say a word,” he said. “Nod, or just blink, if you want me to rescue you from those sanctimonious butchers.”