‘Prisoners, Father,’ said Bael, pointing back to the hills. Clansmen were herding around twenty musketeers down to the low ground.
‘Have them brought to me,’ said Call.
Rayster ran across to the men guarding the musketeers. Moments later the prisoners shuffled forward to stand before Call Jace. Their eyes were fearful. Some were trembling, and one man’s breeches were stained with urine.
‘I bear you no hatred,’ said Call, ‘and not one of you will be harmed. So relax now. Many of your comrades are wounded. Some will die. Others can still be saved. I will leave you two wagons and some supplies. Tend the wounded, then get them away from here.’
With that he turned away from the astonished prisoners and strode to where Arik Ironlatch was supervising the stretcher men. They lifted the unconscious Kaelin and began to carry him away.
‘You think he will live?’ asked Call.
‘He will or he won’t,’ said Arik.
‘I don’t know why I bother to ask you anything,’ muttered Call.
‘You are in a sour mood,’ observed Arik. ‘Do you know why?’
‘Of course I know why.’
‘Aye, so do I, Call Jace. You are getting ahead of yourself, man. Tomorrow’s evils are not our concern now. There is nothing we can do about them. So enjoy the day. It was hard won.’
‘Seventeen clansmen are dead, Arik. Seventeen men with families and loved ones.’
‘I know that, Call. Saeka was one of them. He fell from the cliff in the night. I did not know until the dawn.’
Call gave out a deep sigh, and laid his hand upon Arik’s shoulder.
‘Your son was a fine man. I liked him greatly. I mourn with you, Arik.’
‘Fathers should not outlive sons, Call. It is against the order of nature. My heart is broken, but I will still enjoy this day. You hear me? On this day Rigante courage overcame the might of the Varlish. We did not yield. We did not beg for mercy. So I am proud today, Call. Proud of my son, and proud of my people. I like to think that somewhere, far along the Swan’s Path, Connavar is proud too, and Bane, and Calofair, and all the heroes of the Rigante.’ There were tears in the old man’s eyes, and his voice broke.
Call felt his tension and brooding fears drain away. ‘Tonight we’ll get drunk together,’ he said. ‘I have a cask of forty-year-old uisge. We’ll toast the fallen, and salute the day.’
Arik brushed the tears from his eyes. ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘we’ll do that.’
The first morning of the trial of Maev Ring was filled with legal arguments concerning the presentation of evidence, the legality of the affidavit of Gillam Pearce, and the presence of two clerics, hired by Alterith Shaddler to document the statements of witnesses.
The Holy Court galleries were packed, and twenty armed guards stood by the entrances and exits. The bishop, in ceremonial robes of purple and white, sat at the centre of the Judgement Table, flanked by three senior abbots, and two court-appointed clerics.
The first news of the day was that the body of the bootmaker, Gillam Pearce, had been discovered in a side street that morning. He had been disembowelled and beheaded.
Alterith Shaddler had learned this only when presenting Gillam’s affidavit to the court.
‘The affidavit is signed and witnessed,’ said Alterith, ‘and according to the law can still be recorded. I also have statements from the witnesses testifying that the affidavit is exactly as Gillam wrote it. It cannot be denied.’ He glanced across at the four Knights of the Sacrifice, who were standing alongside the Judgement Table. Turning to face them he continued: ‘The fact that vile and evil men, seeking to pervert the cause of truth and justice, have murdered him should not prevent his statement being heard.’
The bishop lifted a gavel and hammered it three times upon a wooden block. ‘You will address the Judgement Panel, Master Shaddler.’
‘Which Judgement Panel would that be, my lord?’ replied Alterith. ‘The Panel of the Holy Court, or the Panel of Murderers who stand alongside it?’
‘How dare you?’ thundered the leader of the knights, stepping forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword.