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Wergild: Chapter Twenty Two: Sentences Passed
The final chapter in a complete Eberron Novel: Orgok and Tef discover their fate.
Chapter 22: Sentences Passed
“That one,” Orgok instructed the guard.
He was unable to pick up the longsword himself. His hands remained in manacles, locked firmly behind his back until his judgment.
The small armory room held racks and racks of blades, crossbows, and armor. Bundles of spears and pikes where propped standing up in the corners.
The soldier held up the blade for him to examine. It was inscribed in dwarven runes, those used by the goblin-kind as well. The inscription was in the tongue of the goblins. He didn’t really need to see it, but read it all the same, as a reminder. The side he looked at read “My Hope: To Die in Battle”. The soldier turned it over at Orgok’s bidding. The other side of the blade read “My Glory: the Blood of My Enemy”. It was a good sword. It was not a work of art by any stretch, but for nine generations, it had served as the clan sword of his people.
“That’s the one,” he said.
The guards led him back to his chambers, through the long well-decorated halls of Castle Otharaunt. Once inside, he was guided to a chair. He sat, and they removed the manacles. The guard backed away cautiously, and exited. He knew the guards would present the clan sword to the court. If he lived through this, it would be his again.
The verdict would come soon, he knew.
He looked out the windows. Two dozen crossbowmen stood covering the window. He chuckled at the level they’d gone to in making sure he remained for the trial. One of the guards had asked him just last night if it was true he’d beaten the chimera single-handed. Orgok would have said more honestly that it nearly mauled him to death, and told the soldier as much.
At some length, Murias arrived at the door.
“They’re ready for you, Orgok.”
Orgok nodded and accompanied his companion to the great hall, now serving as court chambers.
Once in his appointed position, the court came to order. Nazlash ir’Wynarn presided over the trial, rapping a finely polished marble stone on a marble plaque to call order.
“Orgok, in the request of Wergild, made lawfully under the ancient codes of Galifar, the court demands a payment of seven thousand three hundred fifty gold be paid to the clan lord of the Mreesh’nok clan by the estate of Lord Ekhenas d’Orien.
“In the countercharge of escaping slavery, the courts rule that the hobgoblin Orgok was a prisoner of war, and not the property of Ekhenas d’Orien. This decree also declares that Briganius of the Hindirogin Clan was also unlawfully sold into slavery. The estate of Ekhenas d’Orien is ordered to pay each man a back wage of one hundred gold for their time served. It further orders thorough examination of the slaves owned by Ekhenas d’Orien and that such slaves who are held unlawfully be set free at the expense of Ekhenas d’Orien.
“In the charge of assault against Lord d’Orien, we find the defendant guilty, and sentence you to a punishment of twenty lashes with a whip.
“Is there any statement you’d like to make to the courts at this time?”
Orgok nodded and cleared his throat.
“Lords and ladies of the court. It was with great difficulty that I stayed my hand and spared the life of…” Orgok paused, forcefully willing himself not to start cursing, “of Lord Ekhenas d’Orien. I have extracted my pound of flesh, although to be quite honest, much less that a pound.”
At this, several of the Aundair Nobility suppressed chuckles.
“And for my generous gift of life to Lord d’Orien, I ask that I never be forced to hear of him again. I request that the family Orien find some very secluded place to put him, because I will not hesitate to end his life if I hear even a hint of his existence again.”
Fenisoth d’Orien sat watching. Next to him was Ekhenas, looking pale and broken of spirit. Fenisoth’s eyes burned with a remarkable hatred.
“It is not within the power of the court to grant such a request,” Nazlash said solemnly, “but house Orien is fairly warned.
“These proceedings are finished. The punishment is to be carried out immediately. The payment of the fine is to be made immediately. Take the prisoner out to the whipping post.”
The Aundair captain bound Orgok’s wrists, led him out into the yard, and attached the rope to a metal hook, stretching Orgok’s arms over his head. The captain then proceeded to deliver lash after last. The stinging strokes laid gashes in his back, but Orgok barely flinched. Before this whole ordeal, this might have been enough to reduce him to screams.
The gathering of soldiers stood awestruck when Orgok’s hands were untied, and he walked away under his own power. In truth, he was in agony, but he would not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing his pain.
He returned into the great hall, and took a seat. The gathered procession looked on in amazement that he returned so quickly.
Tef was brought in, and Orgok watched her with great concern.
Murias stood up.
“If it pleases the court, may I remind you of the…,” he began.
“Sit down, Murias of Wyr,” Nazlash demanded. “We are well aware of all of the circumstances of the case.”
Tef stood, almost paralyzed with fear. She had gone through so much, risked so much, to see a wrong righted, and while she knew she would have to pay for her part in it, horror gripped her heart.
“Tef, you are charged with only one crime, conspiracy to commit murder on two of Aundair’s nobility. The courts grant leniency due to your age at the time of the event, but you are hereby banished from the kingdom of Aundair for life. If you are ever found within our borders, you will be put to death by fire. This is the finding of the court, to be carried out at the end of these proceedings.”
Tef sank into her seat. Her eyes moved about the familiar décor of the great hall, as she tried to accept the notion that her home and her kingdom were going to be taken from her. She closed her eyes, trying to accept it all as being fair.
At length, Ekhenas was called before the court. He trembled and sweated, looking waxen. Orgok smiled, feeling a distinct pleasure at the condition of Lord d’Orien. Better, perhaps, than him having thrust the blade.
“Lord Ekhenas d’Orien,” Nazlash said with force. “By writ, you are stripped of regency of Castle Otharaunt. Command of the stronghold will be granted to Lord Dronitos ir’Wynarn, until which time as Lady ir’Othar has been judged of sound mind to take her rightful place as ruler here.
“In the charge of Conspiracy to commit murder upon two Aundair Nobility, we find you guilty. An arrangement has been reached between house Orien and the courts of Aundair to spare your life, but you are hereby sentenced to a term of fifty years in prison for each murder. The chieftain of the Mreesh’nok clan should be glad to know this, as I find it unlikely he will ever see you again. Does the defendant have any words for the court?”
Ekhenas looked up with tear streaked eyes.
“I would like to request that my running hounds be turned over to the care of any family Orien member. But one in particular, the grey one known as Darter, be given to the changeling Tef. It’s really her dog.”
Orgok sat watching in bewilderment. Apparently, d’Orien did have a heart, just a very small one.
With the judgments read, the court adjourned.
Murias exited the great hall, where Lady ir’Othar stood, wearing a gown of pastel purple silk.
“Thank you and your friends for wresting me from the grip of that evil man,” she said kindly. “He poisoned my mind, and bent me to his perverted will.”
A tear formed in the corner of her eye.
“I doubt that very much,” Murias growled at her. “When you nurture a bad seed, you reap bitter fruit.”
“In any case, I will soon be lady of this Castle,” she said, suddenly cheery, “and there’s nothing you can do to prevent it.”
“That just goes to show that not all stories end well, my lady.”
Murias strode out, his head bowed, and his rage barely in check. D’Orien’s crimes would live on long past his own wicked deeds, it seemed.
Brig caught Orgok’s arm.
“What was that about your pound of flesh in the court?” Brig asked, “What did you do to him?”
“Let’s just say I trimmed the Orien family tree,” Orgok returned with a nasty grin.
The companions moved toward the outer wall, down to the docks, when Mith turned, hearing a sound like the fires of a blast furnace. Soon, everyone could hear it. Over the trees to the south, a house Lyrandar Airship appeared.
The long hull was divided into a fore and aft section, rather like a wasp. It stretched nearly a hundred and fifty feet in length. A ring of fire encircled the craft around its long axis. It was from this fiery ring that the roars could be heard. Strange metal supports swooped forward from the aft section of the ship, anchoring to the ring. The tail of the ship had what looked like fins, made of booms which stretched sail canvas. The craft drifted over the Castle, finally stopping above the inner wall, and started to descend. When the ring of fire was close enough to the ground to start scorching the grass, a rope ladder fell from over the side, and someone descended to ladder.
The man approached the gathering of comrades.
“I’m Captain Tovia d’Lyrandar. I’m here to see you to whatever destination you chose,” he said cheerily.
“We can’t afford this,” Brig told him.
“Don’t worry about that,” the captain assured him.
The crew of the airship swiftly pulled the team’s horses up in slings using cranes. One by one, the adventurers climbed the forty feet of ladder, onto the magnificent vessel. Murias slung Tef’s nervous running hound over his shoulder as he ascended.
With the passengers safely aboard, the ship drifted upward slowly. Brig clung to a railing, with white knuckles.
“I thought being on the water was bad,” he lamented. “At least there, if you fall overboard, you have a chance of swimming to shore.”
“Don’t fear, dwarf. House Lyrandar has never lost one of her sky ships.”
Brig seemed in no way relieved by the news.
“Anyway, house Lyrandar is deeply indebted to you for your services to the kingdom and our house, whether you know it or not,” the captain said jovially. “So I’m here to take you anywhere you wish to go. Name the destination.”
The group looked at one another.
“I rather liked my time in Zilargo,” Brig offered.
The others nodded.
“I’d love to visit the Codex Vault in Korranberg,” Murias added.
“All in favor of Korranberg?” Orgok asked.
Everyone raised their hands.
“Korranberg it is, Captain,” Orgok affirmed.
Tef turned her attention to the landscape below, as she watched the castle Otharaunt shrink to the north. The view into Eldeen Bay was unparalleled from the deck of the sky ship. She looked at the Wynarn River, as it snaked to the south, farther than she could see.
She scratched at the ears of the thin dog sitting beside her. He was the last piece of her past, the only thing left from her time at Otharaunt. Her life had a way of taking itself apart and putting itself back together, an instability that made it hard for her to keep caring. She turned from the panoramic view, to look at the four companions, and Murias in particular. Maybe, she thought, maybe this time she’d get it right.
…
Draziu led his horse through the woods, toward the trail ahead. The peasant man Dontus walked alongside, leading another horse.
“Here we are,” Draziu remarked, as the prison carriage rumbled toward them.
The wizard waved at the captain of the guard accompanying the cart, and motioned him forward. The peasant watched just out of earshot. At length, the captain dismounted and walked to the rear of the cart, unlocking the door, and retrieving the prisoner.
“Dontus. Over here,” Draziu beckoned.
Dontus had just met the man, but felt like he’d know the chap his whole life.
“In you go, then,” Draziu offered. “Don’t worry. It’s a bit of a joke on a friend.”
Dontus didn’t get the joke, and didn’t care. It seemed like good fun. He climbed into the wagon, and stared out the barred windows as the captain locked the door.
Draziu looked at Ekhenas, and then glanced back at Dontus, satisfied with the similarity.
“This is never going to work, Draziu,” Ekhenas said weakly. “They’ll figure out it’s not me soon enough.”
The pair stood at the side of the road, watching as the procession got back under way. When they were only fifty feet or so away, Draziu pulled a slender wand from a case at his side and leveled it at the caravan.
A little spark of fire shot out, and flew under the carriage, erupting into a globe of fire which instantaneously engulfed the whole procession. Then, as quick as the fire had rushed out, it was gone, leaving screams of agony in its wake. Draziu launched a second one, ensuring the horses dropped dead as well as the riders.
A scream still emitted from the wagon. With a puzzled look, Draziu approached the prison carriage, and opened a satchel. He withdrew clay flasks and smashed them one by one on all sides of the carriage, dripping lamp oil over the entire vehicle. He drew the last flask, and threw it against the carriage’s side, watching the alchemical concoction ignite itself, as well as the plentiful fuel of the lamp oil. Thick black smoke began to roll into the sky in a twisted pillar.
With his work complete, he returned to the weary looking Lord d’Orien.
“You were saying?”
He helped the man into the saddle, and mounted the other horse, turning away from the scene of carnage.
“Really Ekhenas, I just don’t know what you’d do without me.”
…
Orgok sat with his four companions in the cheery pub in the merchant’s sector of Korranberg. Their presence had ceased to draw the attention of regulars after a week.
“So, you’re taking off in the morning?” Brig asked, not his usual jovial self.
“Yeah,” Orgok said, staring into the mug of ale.
“How long will you be gone?” Tef asked.
Orgok raised his head to meet her eyes.
“I don’t know. I’ve got a lot to do. I need to go back to Volaar Draal, set my clan sword to rest, and then see to my clan.”
“So, this is the end of us then,” Tef said sadly.
“No. I’ll find time to come back to visit. And you all can come stay with me and my people any time you want.”
Everyone at the table lapsed into silence.
“So, you’re putting the byeshk blade in storage?” Brig asked.
“No, the other one. The one my captain carried. What, you think I’m crazy?” Orgok gave a mock sneer at the dwarf.
But Brig kept watching the hobgoblin.
“That’s a long way to ride to put a blade in safekeeping.”
Orgok only nodded.
“Why are you really going back?” Brig persisted.
“Because I got this pain in my gut. I did the best I could at making things right, and the pain still won’t go away. The only place I ever felt any relief from it was in Volaar Draal,” he admitted. “I need to go lament the loss of my kin. And it might take some time.”
“There’s hope for you yet, soldier,” Murias said, raising his tankard.
Orgok met the toast and smiled.
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