The Reborn King (Book Six) (30 page)

“Like I said. The proof is undeniable. And he has already admitted his guilt.”

“Where is he now?”

Orias looked up. His eyes had become hot coals of fury. “The knights who captured him are arriving tomorrow. They are bringing him here for execution.”

Aremiel wanted to give words of comfort, but could think of nothing suitable to say. Instead, he simply asked: “What will you do?”

“I will speak to him myself.” The stone conviction in Orias' voice had taken on an alarming quality. “And if he is guilty, then I will smile as he dangles from the gallows.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Other than be my friend…no.”

Aremiel reached up and grasped Orias firmly on the shoulder. “I’ll always be your friend. You know that.”

The two boys climbed up to the ramparts and stayed there until well past the time they should have been in bed. Orias barely spoke throughout. Instead, he spent his time staring bleakly in the direction from which he knew his father would be coming. But unlike Morzahn’s previous visit, this time he would be a prisoner in chains.

Aremiel's heart ached for his friend. To look upon your own father and know him to be a traitor and a murderer must be simply unbearable.

When Orias was finally ready to go back down, it was nearly midnight. On arriving at the barracks, Aremiel found that a note had been placed on his bunk. It was from his mother.

“She wants to see me before I go to bed,” he explained.

“Then you should go,” Orias told him. “I’m sure she wants to know my condition. You can tell her I’m fine.”

Aremiel set off straight away to his mother’s chambers and knocked on the door. It was opened by a tall man wearing typical villagers' clothing. He looked at Aremiel for a moment, then departed down the hallway.

His mother was sitting at her desk, a grave expression on her face. She gestured for him to take a seat and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“Orias said that he is fine,” Aremiel blurted out before she could speak.

“I’m sure that’s what he said. But I doubt the poor boy is. How could he be?”

“Is it true?”

His mother took a moment before nodding. “I’m afraid there is little doubt regarding his father's guilt. He was captured while torturing another knight. The bodies of those he had killed were still lying close by.”

“Orias said that he was looking for the
sword
.”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “But what we don’t know is
why
he was looking for it.” The High Lady studied her son for a moment. “I have not always approved of how close you and Orias have become. You know that I think him to be unpredictable.”

“He’s my friend, mother,” he protested. “He’s always been there for me. And I trust him.”

“Do you trust me?”

He cocked his head. “Why would you ask me that? Of course I do.”

“Then trust that what I am about to ask of you is for Orias’ benefit. I need you to stay close to him.”

“Stay close? Of course I will. He’s my best friend. And right now he needs me. Why would I leave him?”

There was a long pause. “When Morzahn arrives, Orias will wish to speak to him. And when he does, I need you to be there.”

The full meaning of his mother's intentions suddenly became clear. “You want me to spy on him?” he asked, appalled.

“I want you to observe and listen,” she corrected. “I will not allow Orias to be alone with his father. He may well be vulnerable to his influence. The boy has far too much potential for me to allow him to be corrupted.”

“Then why let him speak to his father at all?” Then it occurred to him. “You want to know if Morzahn has actually discovered where the
sword
is kept.”

“Yes.”

“You really think he’d say anything with me there?”

“I doubt it,” she replied. “But Master Karlio tells me that you would make a gifted agent if you chose to pursue it. I spoke to him, and he says you may be able to read the meaning of Morzahn’s words.”

Aremiel frowned. “You should just ask Orias. He’d tell you. And he’s much better at agent craft than I am.”

“I simply can’t risk it,” she replied. “If Morzahn has found a way to reach the
sword
, he may have left clues for others to follow. I need to know.
Everything
depends on it.” She leaned in. Aremiel could see the wearied circles under her eyes. “Will you help me, son?”

Aremiel stared at his mother. As much as he hated it, he knew she was right. If Morzahn had indeed discovered the
sword's
location
,
the Order
must
know.

“I’ll help you,” he said. His voice was small and quiet.

His mother smiled weakly. “Thank you. Now get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a trying day.”

Aremiel stood up and kissed her goodnight. When arriving back at the barracks, he found Orias still awake, a candle burning low on the little wooden nightstand beside his bed.

“Did she ask you to spy on me?” he asked.

Aremiel opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“It’s all right,” his friend said. “I would have asked you to do the same. If my father was searching for the
Sword of Truth,
then she needs to know how much he has discovered. And torturing a man like Morzahn would do no good at all. He’d
never
talk, so they’re hoping he’ll say something to me.”

He smiled at Aremiel. “Don’t feel you’re betraying me for agreeing to do it. You’re not. You’re my best friend. But you are a member of Amon Dähl first. The well-being of the order is the most important thing of all.”

“I’m sorry.” It was all Aremiel could think to say.

“Like I said. It’s all right.” He sat up and blew out the candle. “Now get some rest.”

The next morning the temple was abuzz with activity. News of Morzahn’s betrayal had already spread, and as the two friends made their way to the main dining hall, countless whispers followed them. Words such as
murder
and
treason
could be heard echoing off the stone walls. Everyone avoided looking at Orias, but if this bothered him, he didn’t show it.

As they ate, the quiet of the normally noisy hall was painfully obvious. Morzahn would be arriving soon, and the tension was building.

Laraad slid into a seat beside Orias. “Well now. Can it be true? The mighty Morzahn - a traitor?” He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “How horrible that must be for you.”

“Don’t you have a door to fix?” Aremiel snapped.

Laraad had failed to make it into the advanced combat classes, completely dashing any hopes he held of becoming a knight. Instead, he'd been made a builder's apprentice. It wasn't a bad way to spend one's time. The builders of Amon Dähl were highly respected and their skills greatly prized. But nothing carried with it the same prestige as becoming a knight.

“Thanks to Orias’ father, all work and classes are suspended,” he replied with a sneer. “So tell me…how does it feel to be the son of a traitor?”

Orias didn’t reply, or even look up.

“Leave him alone,” Aremiel said. He slowly rose from his chair.  “Otherwise I’ll....”

Laraad burst into wicked laughter. “You’ll what? You'll give me a beating? Right here in front of everyone?”

Aremiel sat back down. “No. A
knight
learns to show restraint when dealing with fools. But I wonder if Master Builder Drekol knows that you’ve been stealing wine from his quarters.”

This shook Laraad for a moment. “You can’t prove that,” he blustered. Then his smirk returned. “Anyway, last I heard, you weren’t a
knight
. So quit pretending you are.”

“He may not be a knight yet,” Orias chimed in, his head still lowered. “But he
is
the youngest student ever to make it to advanced combat training. The very same class you failed, as I recall. And to answer your question: being the son of a traitor makes me feel angry. Very angry. And though I would never lay a hand on someone who tried to hurt me with cruel words, there are many forms of revenge. You would know this if you paid attention in agent training – assuming that you haven’t been kicked out of that as well. I have never actually considered becoming an agent, but it’s still amazing what you can learn there. There are several ways of causing severe harm to someone that leaves no trace.”

He finally looked up and locked eyes with Laraad. “And I know them all.”

The blood drained from Laraad’s face. “Well…I…”

“If I were you,” said Aremiel. “I’d leave now.”

Laraad growled angrily. “One day you’ll get what’s coming. Both of you.” Springing up from his seat, he stalked away.

“I’m sure he’s right,” Orias muttered. “But I think we all get what’s coming to us in the end.”

At that moment, the blare of a trumpet rang out. Morzahn had arrived. Everyone in the dining hall instantly jumped up and hurried to the nearest door. With just three narrow exits, it took several minutes for the crowded room to empty.

Only the two friends remained in their places. When the last person had finally departed, Orias let out a deep sigh. “I suppose it’s time,” he said.

They entered the main courtyard just as the gates were swinging open. Orias pushed through the crowd and made his way to the front. Aremiel followed him. Then a hush fell over the temple as a line of horses carrying the knights filed in. Aremiel held his breath until he spotted Morzahn.

Even when stripped of weapons and armor, and bound in chains, he was still an intimidating sight to behold. Tall, and possessing the mighty shoulders of a blacksmith, his medium length, black, curly hair and beard were unkempt and wild from the miles of travel. His skin had the texture of tough leather, while
his face, together with heavily muscled limbs, bore a multitude of scars from past battles. But for all this, it was the man's penetrating green eyes that captured the most attention, issuing the clearest warning imaginable of the awesome power that could be unleashed whenever necessary. Aremiel shuddered at the thought of fighting him. How could anyone ever defeat such a warrior?

He rode with head held proudly high, looking straight ahead and only glancing briefly down as he passed his son. Orias glared back with seething hatred. But if this affected Morzahn, he gave no outward indication of it.

The accompanying knights dismounted, then set about pulling Morzahn roughly down from his horse. It was obvious they would have liked nothing more than to kill the traitor there and then. But their code demanded justice…not vengeance.

They led him through the temple's main entrance, and then down to the cells in the basement. Aremiel had been there once when he was younger. It was a morbid place, with dank air and mold-covered stone walls. He had heard stories of elves being kept imprisoned there for decades, being fed nothing but stale bread and fetid water until they eventually wasted away and died.

Orias waited until the courtyard was cleared before entering the temple. Just inside the door, a knight was waiting.

He bowed to the two boys. “I am Dresher. The High Lady asked me to stay with you until Morzahn has been locked away. When they are ready, you will be sent for.” He led them to a small parlor in the west wing and offered them seats near the unlit hearth.

“The High Lady tells me that both of you want to be knights,” he said.

The boys nodded.

“Good. We can use more strong men. And I hear that both of you are exceptional fighters. Kioshi mentioned your names to me a few weeks before he died.” He looked at Orias. “You in particular. He said that your skill with a sword was uncanny for one so young.”

“I am grateful that he thought so,” Orias responded.

“And as for you,” the knight continued, turning to Aremiel. “He said that you were second only to Orias. And that you even surpass him in some areas.”

“I can’t think of anything in which I can surpass Orias.” he responded truthfully.

Dresher scrutinized the two boys for a moment. “You have been friends for some time, yes?”

“We have,” affirmed Aremiel. “Orias was the first friend I made here.”

“Then you will be pleased to know that friends are kept together once they become knights, if it is possible.”

“Assuming they will still allow me to become one,” said Orias. His tone wasn’t angry. He spoke as if simply weighing the balance of possibilities.

“Why wouldn’t they?” asked Dresher.

“With all due respect. My father....”

“He is not you,” the knight interrupted. “And though I cannot say how others in the temple may treat you after this, be assured that the knights judge a person on their merit, not their heritage. My father was a thief and a pirate. He was hanged from the Baltrian city walls when I was only four years old. Yet here I am. A knight of Amon Dähl. Your father’s crimes are only yours if you make them so. Never forget that.”

Orias bowed his head in gratitude. “Thank you. I won’t.”