[Brion]

At long last Brion was given the signal to usher the jurors into the
courtroom, and the new Bailiff opened the door to their stark waiting room.
"This way," he said, moderating his normally booming voice.

[Brawl]

"Gah!  Took you all long enough," Brawl declared at that, his own booming
voice a rumbling intonation that no degree or hope of moderation would ever
likely alter.  Massive and awesome the minotaur was, as he strode into the
chamber; he might well have been the embodiment of the stern and strict
justice observed here, save that he stalked out with no pretence at grace,
slouching carelessly in the place allotted him in the jury box.

[Archibald Chisholm/et al.]

        The only slightly intoxicated ink-stained wretch beamed in happy
anticipation as the jury filed in.  The early part of the morning had been
distressingly slow; he had come early, just to be certain to snag a spot in
the middle of the courtroom, and had spent the past two hours engaging the
curious spectators in rampant speculation about the chosen jurors, the
prisoner, the attorneys, and just about anything else that crossed his
mind.  Rumors, gossip, outright fabrications -- that was the best material
of all.

        Especially about defense counsel, Archie concluded.  The handsome,
but arrogant, young Perrin Mayce had both captured the imagination of
Montfort's public, as well as set its collective teeth on edge.  Or so
Archie intimated, to any who might listen, most of whom, if truth were to
be told (and Archie most assuredly hoped it wouldn't be, not too soon,
anyway) hadn't the slightest idea who Perrin Mayce was.

        Now there, that was a good choice for the jury, the minotaur!  A
fine drinking man ... bull ... bull-man.  However he was to be described,
he was to be admired for his prowess in emptying the kegs.  And Marisa!
Ah, wonderful, yet another juror carrying happy associations with the
drinking life.  Archie could hardly be more pleased at the pretty ladies
and strong-looking gentlemen.

        Granted, there were problems with trying to cast Arno Everett as
the character in any story.  The prosecutor was woefully nondescript.  A
quiet, unassuming little man, who carefully weighed every question
presented to him, declined to engage in any colorful conversation, and was
wholly lacking in any -- any -- any poetry at all!  There he was, at his
desk, hands clasped behind his back, turned to watch the jury enter.  Is
it fair? Archie asked himself. Is it fair that the champion of the king,
the protector of the innocent masses should be so _boring_?  And nothing
at all in him that might inspire Archie, no method by which he could be
cast in any light than that of a bureaucrat.  An unforgivable oversight by
the Crown, Archie already had concluded, not to send someone who could
match Perrin Mayce's fiery temperament.

[Fillip Menagrem]

While Brion Hillrover oversaw the settling of the jury, Privates Inleay and
Hollin were seeing the prisoner into the room. Fillip stared straight
ahead, and walked stiffly to his place; his steps made tiny by the heavy
manacles on his ankles. And though the bracelets on his wrists and ankles
were warded against magic the area around his seat had also been. Once the
prisoner had been settled the two guards took up their position nearby.

[Witnesses]

Off to one side sat some of the witnesses: Elektra Corach, Batista Dyer,
Lucc Caithe, and the King's Envoy, Lawrince Ournel. Elektra sat primely,
dressed in a starched blue linen gown, with a calm expression, but her
sharp gaze took in the room. Next to her the clothe merchant, Batista Dyer,
sat, looking just as proper in her royal blue velvet gown, with her black
hair pulled sedately up. In her lap lay a pretty little wood writing board
and a pack of pencils. She too was alert to her surroundings.

Next too her, and looking tired, was the King's Envoy. Lawrince Ournel was
garbed in a simple brown silk tunic and short cloak of a deeper brown, worn
over deep blue woolen trews. His blond mustache was neatly trimmed. He
would have dearly loved a quick nap to help make up for the hours of royal
duties and trial-related demands. At his side sat Lucc Corach; this day he
was garbed in a simple, but well-made, green tunic and trews. And though he
didn't look overly comfortable he gave Elenia and Serun a quick smile. He
appreciated the fact that the pair had come to lend both he and Elektra
moral support. The hour had come to begin rebuilding Justice in Montfort,
and they were to be a part of that history. For a moment Lucc closed his
eyes - as he wondered what oath would prove the most binding. The one given
to the mage and the knife so that they could bring Menagrem in for trial,
or the one he would be asked to swear in front of this court?

[Elkanah]

        He took a seat in the jury box next to the minotaur.  Elkanah felt
like sparing the other jurors from the big fellow.  The whole courtroom
smelled fresh as though it had been built recently.  Then again not many
buildings had survived the Church War and its conclusion, the False Dawn.
Unknowingly, Elkanah echoed Lucc's thoughts.  The buildings and people had
been restored and the time was nigh to rebuild such intangibles as
Justice.

        As Elkanah looked about the gathering, he recognized the two
guards who had brought him the jury summons as well as Counselor Perrin
Mayce and Prosecutor Everett.  Finally, his gaze fell upon the reason why
this whole trial had come to this point.  Elkanah saw a clean young man
with bracelets and manacles on his wrists and ankles.  But the eyes,
sunken, tired... trapped.

[Arno Everett/et al.]

        John the wainwright waved Marisa and the other ladies into the box
before him, not in a hurry to take his seat.  A nod to Brion Hillrover,
with whom he had lifted many a mug in the Dragon's Inn, and a glance about
the room. Many folk he recognized, many he did not -- such was Montfort,
John concluded, and thus it would always be.

        They were seated no more than a minute before bid to rise again.
Brion's deep voice resonated throughout the chamber, announcing the
arrival of the judge.  When Allenel Gilford entered, a sheaf of papers in
his hand, his black gown was neatly pressed and clean.  He did not quite
meet the eyes of anyone as he took his seat on the high podium and struck
the gavel one, twice, thrice.  Nor did he quite look at anyone as Brion
instructed all in the chamber to be seated and announced the matter to be
considered by the court.

        "Counsel," Allenel began -- dispensing with any speech and
proceeding directly to the issue at hand -- "I note that the witnesses are
all present in the courtroom.  Will there by any motion to sequester?"

        Arno Everett considered the tips of his shoes.  "The Crown takes no
position on the issue, Your Honor.  It is our belief that the witnesses can
render their testimony without being tainted by that given by others before
them."

        "I'm not sure I share your optimism," Allenel remarked before
turning to Perrin Mayce.  "And the defense's position?"

[To be continued.]