[Set the day after Lucc testifies.]


        Under other circumstances, at another time, Allenel Gilford would
have chosen to have dinner at the Dragon's Inn, in the company of old
friends.  That wasn't an option this night, not after the way the day in
court had ended.  Marisa would be working the evening shift, waiting
tables.  Another juror, John the wainwright, was sure to be there as well.

And there was a better than half chance that Brawl, the minotaur, had not
headed directly there to try the morning's shipment of Travian ale.  Add
to that the surety of Archibald Chisholm having claimed a seat, where he
could recount, at great length, the day's proceedings ...  Too many
opportunities for people to pester him about what ruling he would issue
the next morning.

        Instead, he had asked Elektra to have a meal waiting for him in
the office, where he could start reading, and start considering what he
would say when he donned his judge's robes and took the bench again in the
courtroom.  Truth, he had little appetite for it, the fresh smells of
roasted chicken and baked bread, the cinnamon from the dessert doing
little to lessen the knot in his stomach.  But she had gone to the trouble
to fetch it back from the Dragon's Inn, on a tray prepared by Judy Rogers
herself, so Allenel made himself finish at least half of everything before
pushing it aside.

        It wasn't long after that he realized he wasn't even registering
the words on the pages before him.  What book was this one, anyway?
Allenel lifted it to look at the lettering on the spine ?  Gilthwait's
Essays on Government.  With a sigh, he folded the book closed again,
fingers smoothing over the worn leather.  A good two hundred years had
passed since Truber Gilthwait had spoken his last words before swinging at
the end of a rope, courtesy of a king who did not particularly care for
the man's advocacy of certain .... radical .... viewpoints.  Not all the
books had been lost, though, and this one had belonged to Allenel's own
father, the late Judge Gilford.  One of the few things he had left of his
family.

        Allenel rubbed his eyes and left the book where it lay as he
pushed his chair back and slipped his jacket onto his arms.  He already
knew what Gilthwait had to say in his Sixth Essay Regarding Injustice.
Re-reading it, or the First through Fifth Essays, wasn't going to help,
though it might be a useful way to pass some time without having to
actually make a decision.  The Sixth through Twelfth Essays, needless to
say, would serve only to put him to sleep.

        Perhaps a walk would be helpful.  Some fresh air (or as close to
fresh as could be obtained in Montfort).

                * * *


        The marketplace was still lively enough, though at this hour there
were considerably fewer people wandering through the aisles of stalls.
And a number of the merchants, seeing the end to the business day, had
begun to pack away their goods.  Allenel stopped to buy some tobacco, to
give to Barnabas later.  And a small whistle for Toby -- he would have to
find time to visit with the boy, now that Lanaera and Morrighu had brought
the children back to Montfort.  As he was placing the whistle into his
vest pocket, he caught sight of an auburn braid at the sweets-stall across
the aisle.

        "For yourself?" he asked, not stepping too close to the woman when
he spoke.  He also made sure to keep his expression neutral as Iaondrin
turned cold blue eyes towards him.  Her ever-present scowl on that pretty
face could be comical at times, but he had no desire to test her reflexes
or skill with the blades at her waist.  He eyes dropped to the papers the
merchant-woman was folding over the wares.  "Sugar-cubes.  For the horses,
then?"

        "I plan to poison them first," Iaondrin remarked, passing over a
copper.  When the woman -- Marilyn Wheelson, Allenel remarked to himself,
widow of Har Wheelson and grandmother of three ... his mind began going
over all the history of the woman's family in Montfort before a shake of
his head cleared the thoughts away -- When the woman stopped at the
comment, Iaondrin just held her gaze steady and her hand out with the
money.  "It will be quick," the auburn-haired woman added.  "That damned
stallion," she continued with a glance back to Allenel, "is costing me too
much to keep stabled."

        When Marilyn still would not take her money, Allenel allowed
himself a small smile and a nod to the merchant.  "It's fine, Mistress,"
and that was enough for the transaction to be completed.  And he added
five copper to buy a jar of hard candies for Toby and the other children.

        Iaondrin slipped the sugar-cubes into her own belt-pouch.  "I
suppose an apple would do as well," she mused, not quite falling into step
with him as they walked away from the stall.

        "I suppose," Allenel agreed, but he couldn't add anything before
someone stopped him -- Lionel Merritt, whose family had lived on Borland
Street for four generations, above a bakery that had been demolished
during the final days of the Church, and then rebuilt.  A fine,
long-standing member of the community, who saw fit to comment before
Allenel could cut him off that it would be best if Fillip Menagrem were
simply to be hanged the next morrow.  Allenel pulled away, grim, with no
reply, and just kept walking.

        "You could use poisoned sugar-cubes," Iaondrin offered, and then
stopped when he turned his own glare upon her.  "Or maybe that's not your
way," she added uncertainly, without continuing to say that it was not the
way of many people, including her own.

        "It's not."  Allenel stopped, drawing a breath before he could
lose what little temper he had left.  "It's not," he repeated with less
heat, and actually laid one hand on her shoulder before he realized it.
He let it drop again as quickly, both seeing and feeling the way she
jerked -- though no knives appeared in her hands.  "Go see to your
horses."  He could tell she was ready to disavow any responsibility for
them, but she just shrugged, looked at him strangely, and stepped away.

- - - - - -

        The next morning, Archie Chisholm was sure to be there early,
taking comments from the gathering spectators, inquiring gently or
sometimes not so gently whether any of them thought Fillip Menagrem
deserved whatever he got.  But oh, wasn't it a terrible thing that Lucc,
that fine young man, had been put in that position -- an injustice, it
was, that he had been made the focus of this trial.  (Chisholm, if nothing
else, knew better than to try to cast even the slightest aspersion upon
Lucc's character.  Native son and all that, and apparently well liked --
only the kindest comments about Lucc, he made sure.)

        When everything was called to quiet and the jury was led in,
Chisholm made sure to smile beneficently at young Marisa.  Why, what a
rumor he had heard there -- was it true?  Had she taken the gold?  That
was a dilemma, should he report it or not?  If anything, the girl was as
well liked as Lucc, hard-worker, engaged to be married...  He'd have to
track down this shifty fellow who'd been seen talking to her, get the full
story behind that ....

        Too many things to keep track of.  Archie made himself lower his
notepad and pencil as the door behind the bench opened and both prosecutor
and defense attorney stood.  Allenel Gilford didn't look like he'd had
much sleep the night before.  'Haggard,' Archie began scribbling, 'torn,
undoubtedly, by thoughts of the horrors perpetrated by the vile criminal
Menagrem, and unable to rest until the villain receives the punishment he
deserves ...'

        " ... too long the belief that any measures may be taken as long
as we sincerely believe the result is justified."  Archie stopped,
blinking as he looked up to focus upon Judge Gilford.  What was
this?  What was he saying?  This didn't sound like, 'have the blackguard
hanged!' or even something like 'call your next witness.'  ". . . cannot
be the standard here.  Not the methods of the Limpia.  Not the firm
conviction of the Church."

        Allenel Gilford folded his hands, eyes moving over the gathered
assembly in the courtroom, then the jury.  "A forced confession is no
confession, and in this courtroom can represent nothing more than the
desperation of a man under torture to escape that torture."  Archie's
pencil dropped at that, hitting the floor with an audible 'tink.'  "Many
of us had loved ones who endured such treatment."  His gaze lingered over
those who, like Gilford himself, had lost fathers and sons, mothers and
daughters.  "Others have themselves endured such treatment."  Lucc
himself, everyone knew...  Allenel's own brother.  He could, if he had
wanted, look at so many members of the audience and name for them the ones
they had lost.  "I cannot and will not countenance that as the standard of
truth for this court."

[Lucc]

Lucc met Allenel's gaze as the young judge studied the courtroom. Approval
shown in the young woodsman's blue eyes.

Once, back when he still was a ghost, he had traveled with the foxwoman,
Kitrina, through the sewers - on a desperate bid to save Allenel Gilford's
life from the Limpia; and in Lucc's heart he felt a welling of gratitude
that the gods had allowed him the opportunity.

Between his appearance on the stand and this morning he had weighed the
price of his choice - that moment between heartbeats when he could have
spoken against Eric Hood's use of the knife. That act had cost them
justice for Denlira .....as had his speaking the truth of it. All the
bitter night he had faced his self-recriminations. And with the dawn he
had made his way up to where Morrighu and Lanaera housed...for once
thankful that Brion was staying in town during the trial; otherwise he
wouldn't have been able to go to the Hillrover farm.

Lucc hadn't been able to speak of what troubled his heart, but he
suspected that Morrighu saw the truth of it. She gave him water to wash
himself, and a hot meal; then took his calloused hand in her pale one and
led him to where the children slept...Toby, Gwion, Skete and Carr in one
room, and Marla in her own. And in Morrighu's room was a cradle for the
babe, Sol'as.

~For them,~ he told himself, whatever pride or pain his choice cost him
Truth must be served so that these children could live free of
tyranny. Or at least have the strength to speak up in the face of a rising
tyrant.

Then, once he had dressed for court, she met him at the porch, and
silently touched his face with her chill hand. And he saw forgiving love
in those ancient, ice-blue eyes.

[Allenel/Others]


        Naive, some would call him.  Idealistic, without any justification
for that idealism.  If he were not so tired of the whole affair, he might
have felt some uneasiness at what could follow.  "The confession is
stricken."  Before the words were even completed, Perrin Mayce was on his
feet, and only one hand kept the defense attorney from speaking
immediately.  "Patience, counsel, save your words.  I cannot expect the
jury to dismiss what they have heard so easily, and still weigh the
charges against the defendant fairly."  He turned to look at the twelve,
among them Marisa and John.  "Please do not think I treat your service
lightly.  I do not.  But you are discharged from continuing to
serve.  Mr. Everett?"

        Arno Everett studied the tips of his shoes for several long
seconds before looking up.  "The Crown objects to the proposed dismissal
of charges," he said quietly, eyes fixed somewhere over Allenel's left
shoulder.

        "I imagined you would.  The Crown is, of course, free to restate
its charges, if it can do so.  This matter is declared a mistrial,"
Allenel paused briefly while the spectators started to speak, waiting
until they had settled again into uneasy quiet.  "The defendant shall
remain in custody.  Court is adjourned."  And he had lowered the gavel and
disappeared from the bench before the shouting could begin.

[Brion Hillrover]

The Bailiff watched the Judge leave.

Beyond keeping fights from breaking out his main duty rested in making
sure that the prisoner was safely escorted out by Guardsmen.

~Perhaps Justice has already found him,~ Hillrover contemplated, studying
Fillip Menagrem, who appeared listlessly interested in Judge Gilford's
decision. If it hadn't been for Perrin Mayce's efforts the boy would have
looked much more haggard, and probably would have continued to mutter to
himself; as it was he appeared pale and jumpy.

But the Guard reported that at night, despite the efforts of the Tower's
Guardian and wardings, Denlira's spirit continued to slip to Fillip's
cell. Not that any ever saw her - she was gone the moment they opened the
cell door.

Then his Guardsmen would hear Fillip crying, and when they went to check
on him they would find him huddled in a corner.

The Bailiff's attention moved over to the Royal Envoy, Lawrence Ournel,
and to the Prosecutor Arno Everett. He considered both to be good men, and
he wondered what their decision would be. Would they seek justice for
Denlira by taking the trial to Bleckner? And what effect would that have
on Montfort since its first trial ended in a mistrial?

Finally, once he saw Fillip escorted away, Brion turned to follow Allenel
back into the inner chambers.


[Archibald Chisholm]

        Archibald Chisholm wasn't among those who engaged in an immediate
and loud debate in the aisles.  He sat in place, tapping the tip of his
pencil against his chin, contemplating exactly how he would write this one
up.