Dragon Wing – Death Gate Cycle 1. Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman

Biting his lip, the Head Clark sat back down and glared at the High Froman, who smiled complacently.

“The accused may proceed.”

“Thank you, Yonor. You see, I’ve always wondered why there are parts of the Kicksey-Winsey that are dead. In some sectors it sits idle, rusting away or getting covered over with coralite. Some parts haven’t moved in centuries. Yet the Mangers must have put them there for a reason. Why? What were they supposed to do and why aren’t they doing it? And it occurred to me that if we knew why the parts of the Kicksey-Winsey that are alive are alive, and if we knew how they were doing it, then we might be able to understand the Kicksey-Winsey and its true purpose!

“And that’s one reason that I think all the scrifts should get together and pool their knowledge-”

“Is this leading somewhere?” asked the High Froman irritably. His headache was starting to make him nauseous.

“Er, yes.” Limbeck nervously put his spectacles back on. “I was thinking these thoughts and wondering how I could make people understand, and I wasn’t paying much attention to where I was going, and when I looked around, I discovered I had wandered completely outside of the Het town limits. Quite by accident, I assure you!

“There weren’t any fierce storms in the area just then, and I thought I’d take a little look around, sort of distract myself from my trouble. It was difficult walking and I guess I was concentrating on keeping my footing, because suddenly a storm struck. I needed shelter and I saw a large object lying on the ground, so I ran for it.

“You can imagine my surprise, Yonor,” said Limbeck, blinking at the High Froman from behind the thick glass lenses, “when I discovered that it was one of the Welves’ dragonships.”

The words, echoing from the squawky-talk, resounded in the Factree. Gegs stirred and muttered among themselves.

“On the ground? Impossible! The Welves never land on Drevlin!” The Head Clark was pious, smug, and self-satisfied. The High Froman appeared uneasy, but knew-from the reaction of the crowd-that he had allowed this to proceed too far to stop now.

“They hadn’t landed,” Limbeck explained. “The ship had crashed-”

This created a sensation in the court. The Head Clark leapt to his feet. The Gegs were talking in excited voices, many shouting, “Shut him up!” and others answering, “You shut up! Let him talk!” The High Froman gestured to the warders, who shook the “thunder,” and order was resumed.

“I demand that this travesty of Justick stop!” boomed the Head Clark.

The High Froman considered doing just that. Ending the trial now accomplished three things: it would rid him of this mad Geg, end his headache, and restore the circulation in his lower extremities. Unfortunately, however, it would appear to his constituents as if he had caved in to the church, plus, his brother-in-law would never let him forget it. No, better to let this Limbeck fellow go ahead and speak his piece. He would undoubtedly string together enough rope to hang himself before long.

“I have made my ruling,” said the High Froman in a terrible voice, glaring at the crowd and the Head Clark. “It stands!” He transferred the glare to Limbeck. “Proceed.”

“I admit that I don’t know for certain the ship had crashed,” amended Limbeck, “but I guessed that it had, for it was lying broken and damaged among the rocks. There was nowhere to go for shelter except inside the ship. A large hole had been torn in the skin, so I entered.”

“If what you say is true, you were fortunate that the Welves did not strike you down for your boldness!” cried the Head Clark.

“The Welves weren’t in much position to strike anyone down,” returned Limbeck. “These immortal Welves-as you call them- were dead.”

Shouts of outrage, cries of horror and alarm, and a muffled cheer rang through the Factree. The Head Clark fell back into his seat, stricken. The Offense fanned him with her handkerchief and called for water. The High Froman sat bolt upright in shock and managed to wedge himself firmly and inextricably in his chair. Unable to rise to his feet to restore order, he could only wriggle and fume and wave the flashglamp, half-blinding the warders, who were attempting to pull him free.