THIRTY-THREE
AS RYDER’S GROUP neared the outskirts of the city proper, they saw the unending line of Adepts flanking either side of the thoroughfare, with only a few paces separating them. A crowd had gathered, already huge and milling behind the silent Gardai. Upon sighting the company, the buzz of their voices rose like an accusation.
Argus had wasted no time in summoning reinforcements. This was no guard of honor waiting to escort them; more like the Great Moot reenacted. Ryder saw the full complement of Adepts assembled before him. He sensed their mood was merciless.
Their small procession continued up the steep incline leading to the summit of Eagle’s Head.
Ryder studied the faces he passed, trying to read their expression. A few were familiar, brief flashes soon lost in the morass. He tried to sense the overall mood, but there was only an overwhelming feeling of confusion. The happenings of the past week had been too much for the people to accept. They had glutted both their tolerance and understanding.
He heard scattered calls interspersed among the crowd. Some were bold. Others were almost a whisper. Some offered encouragement, while others were accusatory: the rainbow-colored pendulum of humanity, which could so often swing from one side to the next without rhyme or reason.
They kept on. The road narrowed as the press of bodies struggled against the cordon of Adepts, all of them seeking a clearer view.
They reached the heights, and the towering shape of the Star Chamber rose in front of them. The great doors stood open and beckoning. They entered, even as the clarion call of a horn sounded, issuing not a cry of attention but warning.
The Swordkind had followed. They trooped into the Great Hall en masse, two thousand strong. First went the Shiul Mha D'In, and behind them the Dao N'Athair. Then the Dao I'n, the wearers of the White. They too were Swordkind and must have a voice.
Ryder saw the diminutive figure of Kronus high in his seat of office, looking lost and forlorn. The memory of that first time came back to him like the ring of a hammer, yet he smiled. He was now certain these proceedings were not the crux. Some other force directed the play and would decide the outcome—no matter the whim of these blinded overseers.
With measured and unhurried tread, he mounted the steps. After a brief nod of greeting to Kronus, he stood waiting in silence.
The Rudd, the Grimman-Seth, and the D’ia Mor had already assembled, as had Ashara and her cousins, Mendiko and Reed Brynn-Jago. Niobe of the Magi came last, and she gazed long and hard at her daughter. Even though her eyes were sightless, the baroness could not withstand such inspection and turned her head away.
Then the primus rose to address the assembly. A patchwork quilt of midnight and scarlet and white overlaid the hall. Before he spoke, he paused to look at the body of Zel. It lay in plain view without a shroud. Though the corpse now bore a fresh robe, there was a sagging emptiness in its center.
“The High Council will bear witness to these proceedings.” The primus’ words were clipped short. “Yet this affair is the providence of the Swordkind. They alone must decide its outcome.”
Argus strode forward as if the statement had been his cue. Yet before he could speak, Fortunatus declared loudly for all to hear. “We must address the first crime before we address the second! It is the law!”
The archduke paused, already half-seated. He straightened once more, and his anger was naked in the harsh rasp of his voice. “Who are you to make demands upon the High Council, or dictate its actions?”
Fortunatus moved away from the Magi to stand alone at the lowest point of the Great Hall, the focus of all eyes. He seemed to tower above all others as he rose to his full height and answered, “I am Fortunatus of House Mondragon, Son of Owen, Archduke. I demand my right!”
There was shocked silence, and Niobe suddenly rose to add her voice. “I, Niobe—daughter of Owen, Archduke—bear witness to his claim!”
The assembly’s murmur rose, for they could not believe what they heard. Even the Grimman-Seth stood stunned and speechless.
Kronus’ voice came suddenly, startling them all. “As Keeper of the Codex, I uphold the claim, sire! As Chief Chronicler and Keeper of the Great Seal, I also bear witness!”
Victor waited until the murmurs subsided. With lowered brows, he cast a single glance at his sister before nodding his head as though to himself. “So be it…Brother. Yet it matters not…”
“It matters!” Fortunatus thundered. “Your son was Code-breaker!”
“There was no Code-breaker in the Korda!” Victor returned with a voice equal in power. “They fought as equals and he was victorious! The law upholds him, even in death.”
“Brother…it is you who are blind.”
Niobe spoke the words loud enough for all to hear. The primus turned to face her, and the two regarded each other in silence, the one unseeing and the other blinded by hate. Then Victor Mondragon deliberately turned his back and moved to the edge of the balcony. His holo floated above the assembly, suddenly magnified to a gigantic proportion.
“I am Victor Mondragon, Primus and First Voice of the Pentarchy! Do the Gardai stand with me?”
Argus took two steps forward and his foot thundered upon the floor as he came stiffly to attention. He smote his breast, and his voice shook with emotion. “My lord…unto the death!”
Victor’s eyes traveled over the assembled Swordkind. Sluggishly but steadily, they rose one by one to stand with the Lord Marshal. Once started, the momentum built until at last all were on their feet. Their sudden shout resounded throughout the hall, reflecting an unmistakable and ringing affirmation of their loyalty.
All but those few who stood with the Pat’Riark. Upon their countenances now lay an expression both grim and dire.
Victor raised his hand and silence reigned once more. He focused upon the spot where Ryder stood waiting. “Do you admit you attacked and slew my son?”
Ryder’s face wore a trace of a smile as he answered. “I do.”
“So be it. You condemn yourself.
“No! This cannot be!” The Rudd had stepped beyond the confines of their cube. It was the same three elders of the Zuma who had recently stood, yet now Myr spoke with the aid of a growler. “We witnessed what took place along the shore, even though we did not declare ourselves. There was provocation…the slaying of the tharfi…”
Victor raised his hand, as much to quell the expected outburst by the Grimman-Seth as to refute the Rudd. “The Code is plain…even though it may be as you say. He who raises his sword against another in anger is Code-breaker.”
He waited, but no member of the Rudd Zuma offered any further argument. “Yet I am not blind as some have suggested. Even I can see that such a stricture as the Code should be open to interpretation. That is why I now pass sentence not as a father, but as Primus of the Pentarchy.” He regarded Ryder once more. “I will not seek death, though you may come to wish for it. Instead, you shall be confined to Gehenna. There you shall remain until the moment of your final breath…” He smiled. “…However long that might be.”
Once more, the silence of the tomb descended upon the hall.
Ryder watched her upon the balcony: Ashara Sid, the woman he loved. A cold numbness came over him, a feeling of helplessness. The Swordkind had decided and their decision was irrefutable. There was now only a vision of darkness stretching out before him. A darkness that would be life without her.
Though it seemed for a moment Argus might challenge the decree of life imprisonment, he did not.
All eyes turned to watch as the Pat’Riark mounted the steps until he stood before Ryder Talisman. Reverently, he removed the Kryll from his breast and draped it around Ryder’s neck.
“This now belongs to you, for you are the Riark of Swords in truth.”
There was an audible sigh as the entire number of the Swordkind let loose their collective breath.
The voice of the primus rose harsh and unyielding. “Remove his sword and shields!”
Argus moved at once, his eagerness readily apparent, yet his steps slowed and then halted. Ryder’s eyes now glowed with a strange light only those few upon the shore had ever witnessed.
“Approach me not,” Ryder warned, “or you too shall end as Zel.” With a care equaling the Pat’Riark’s before him, he withdrew his sword from his sash and handed it to Fortunatus. One by one, his shields followed.
“I return your gifts. They have served me well.”
Fortunatus bowed stiffly and moved away as Ryder turned toward the balcony of the Sids. His gaze rested upon Ashara, and it seemed to all present there was now a visible thread uniting them. Then Ryder’s eyes grudgingly dropped away.
“Mendiko Sid!” his voice hurled outward, ringing with command.
The startled Prince of Sid rose to his feet and stood poised indecisively for a moment upon the high balcony. Then it was as though he heard and understood the wordless command. He leapt to the floor and his shields expanded, cushioning his fall perfectly. He waited as Ryder descended the steps and paused, standing tall and majestic in front of him.
“Raise your sword!”
Mendiko hesitated, his eyes wide with apprehension, yet he drew his sword as bidden and raised it on high.
Ryder deliberately clasped the hilt, placing his hand over his friend’s. Once again, he fused his mind with Mendiko’s and felt the barriers blocking the Sword Thane burst like the sundering of an impassable gate. From the prince’s throat issued a groan reflecting both pain and pleasure, yet most of all—awareness. His sword now flamed brightly with the High Power.
Even as Mendiko gazed upward in shock and wonder, Ryder withdrew his hand. Still, the sword continued to burn with the glare of intense violet.
The Adepts within the Hall rose to their feet as one and cried out their salute.
Ryder smiled then, a sad and fleeting smile of parting. “This is my gift to you, Mendiko, Adept of the Swordkind. You have been my true friend and sword brother.”
He turned and walked only a few paces, then raised his head to look at the primus. The Kryll now burned brightly upon his breast, exuding a light none had ever seen.
“Once before, I swore to uphold the Pentarchy and its rule of law…yet only so long as honor remained.” Slowly and deliberately, his eyes circled the gathering now standing in mute witness. “I no longer see honor here.”
All eyes watched him as he turned. With a bearing like a king, he marched down the long aisle and through the great doors, followed by Argus and a score of the Gardai.
They continued to watch, mesmerized, listening until the footsteps receded and there was no longer any sound to be heard.
From Mendiko’s eyes, the joy drained away even as the flickering glow of his sword faded. Slowly, as if he could no longer support his weight, he dropped to one knee and wept.
***
The Great Hall had long since emptied, yet Kronus had stayed alone and forlorn. His eyes stared into the hollowness. His arm remained outstretched, as though he might bring back the one who had left. He was uncertain…uncertain if he had witnessed end’s beginning…or beginning’s end.
END OF BOOK TWO