“It is said that the first blacksmith was a chosen of Sazin – or perhaps it was Sazin himself. People like to tell children about the first sword ever forged, and how it was wielded by the hero against demons and all sorts of nightmare, fighting off dark forces with mystical power when all of humanity's knowledge about warfare consisted of swinging their fists and throwing sticks. The art of Magesmithing, if it ever existed, has been lost throughout the ages, and in their attempts to resurrect this primal magic, Sazin's servants kept developing their craft and honing their skills, laying the foundations of our modern weaponry.

-Tarhas, History of the Known World”

* * *

Astrael

“Remind me why I'm here.”

For a moment, all Astrael got for an answer was the sound of the whetstone sharpening the blade. Bert had been at it for some time now, as if he wanted his sword to be able to cut through steel and rock. Sitting on his small chair, obsessively caring for the edge of his weapon, working with the poor light of the two torches on the walls.

“Because,” Leon finally said, “you're my squire.” Bert and Leon had the only two chairs, and so Astrael moved a wooden crate and sat on top of it while they waited.

“I don't believe anyone would bother freeing him,” Leon kept on. “But we better be careful. It can't hurt to stand watch just this one time, anyway.”

Astrael glanced behind, to the door of Therenus' cell. It wasn't exactly a cell – just a room – and that was probably the reason why Phiramel had ordered that Leon and Bert guarded it. A mere room... Astrael frowned. If he wanted to avoid any risk of him escaping, he'd have put Therenus in a cell and have it heavily guarded. Is he trying to bait possibles allies of the elder that we don't know about? Someone the high-priest believed could get past guards and jailers, anyhow. Perhaps he was simply being careful, putting men he could trust in front of the door, men that wouldn't be bought.

With Laurentias Feanir as his employer, Bert's handsome pay can hardly be beaten, and Leon fancies himself a honourable knight. What about me then? I'm neither handsomely paid, nor honourable.

“I am indeed one of your squires,” he finally replied.“Have you perchance heard inept rumours that may have helped you decide to call me here tonight, when I'd rather watch over my sister?”

“I do know that you can hold your own in a fight. I trained you, and everyone knows you... neutralised... one of the young mistress' would-be assassins with your bare hands.”

“You flatter me. I used a stone pot.”

“I don't do flattery,” Leon said sharply. “His excellency asked us because he trusts us, and I in turn asked you because I trust you.”

“And because you can't fight anymore.” Seeing Leon's unamused face, Astrael sighed. “Is losing your sense of humour also a consequence of being stabbed in the leg, dear friend? You'll heal, won't you?”

Leon kept silent and simply held onto his wooden clutch. If you're not going to fight, at least give me your armour or something. Since the conversation had ended, he had better mimic Bert and make sure his weaponry was ready. Though he guessed that whoever Phiramel feared would try to free the elder, they wouldn't come accompanied. Or else they'd be more than the three of them here to watch the prisoner.

Therenus shouldn't have many allies who remained faithful to him. I wonder if he actually has any left.

Astrael inspected his crossbow, and choose his ammunition from his deadliest bolts. He put the cranequin in place and stretched the string. “You're going to use that?” Leon inquired with apparent genuineness, to which Astrael answered with a stunned expression.

“Why, of course. Or do you expect me to swing a bloody sword in this corridor?”

It was large enough for four or five men to stand side by side, but still too narrow and limiting for proper swordplay. Leon glanced at the sword-sharpening Bert, who showed off his throwing knives and gave a grunt that sounded like a chuckle and a groan at the same time. “I'd personally expect you to use stones and whatnot, crush and flatten some skulls, all these things,” the merc said with knowing smiling eyes. “Funny trend you're developing here, innit?”

Footsteps in the corridor interrupted whatever prospects of banter they had. “There we go,” Leon muttered as he got to his feet and gripped the handle of his sword.

The face that emerged from the shadows wasn't one Astrael had been expecting. “Master Odel,” he greeted. The Vieran was in leather attire, rapier in hand, an odd look of determination on his usually mocking and arrogant face.

“Peculiar jailers,” he simply stated.

“Why are you here? Shouldn't you have left Callir by now?” Astrael wondered as he raised his crossbow and aimed for the man. “...Or maybe you hope he'll make you rich if you manage to free him.”

Odel stared at them for a moment, and shrugged. “I suppose it is too much to ask that you three look the other way?” His request was met with wary silence and so he scoffed. “Think what you want, but I believe the elder to be innocent.”

Leon was probably about to retort something angry, but Bert spoke first. “Oh, I don't particularly think he did it either. This here is my job though,” he said, pointing a thumb to the door behind him, “and I honestly don't care much for politics and all that.”

“Don't you want to do the right thing for once?” the Vieran suggested with a smile. “You must be tired of doing all the beating, and killing, and dirty deeds of men you don't even believe in. I know, I've done it too during my travels.”

Astrael listened carefully, hiding his bemused expression as best as he could. Bert seemed equally amused. “As dirty these deeds may be, they put food on the table, lad – much more than food alright, the Feanir house pays well. Does doing the 'right thing' get me anything, aside from the thanks of some disgraced three-hundred years-old gramps?”

Odel ignored the taunt and didn't give up on persuading them. “Aye, you won't get paid in silver. I'll not get paid for what I'm doing either. Elder Therenus may be rich, but I doubt we'll have the time to bring his money with us as we escape.” He paused, glanced at Leon, and sighed. “But honour and morals. These are more important than coins to me.”

“You talk about honour and freeing a man accused of the worst crimes...” Leon Feanir drew his sword, and let go of his clutch. “We've had our issues. I respect you despite everything, as a fellow swordsman, and as a fellow man of honour. But take one more step and you'll be dying for the wrong cause.”

“Hrrm, I agree,” Astrael pitched in. “Out of consideration for my sister who looks up to you, her fencing master, I'll close my eyes if you just walk away and leave the city. We'll not say a thing to his excellency Phiramel.”

“Phiramel, Phiramel. Look at you,” he said in a suddenly bitter tone. “Even the young mistress' brother, yapping and barking. Like dogs thinking they own the world now that their boss has gotten rid of his rival.”

Bert got up and stretched his fingers. “And is your own boss so important that you're prepared to be killed trying to free him?”

“Hah!” Odel pointed his rapier toward Bert. “I'm the best swordsman this cursed city has ever seen. You guys are... an old man, a brat, and a cripple. Don't make me laugh, and let me pass.”

He took a step forward, and immediately staggered. Fell against the wall, then the ground. One wide opened eye full of surprise, the other pierced by a throwing knife. Blood flowing from his eye-socket, running along his cheek, dripping from his ear, only to become a puddle of black liquid around his head on the stone slabs. Odel's convulsing hand wouldn't let go of the rapier, and the three of them watched silently as he let out faint groans and gurgles.

When it stopped, Bert crouched near him, took his knife back, and cleaned it.

“You... Why-...” Leon shook his head and exhaled deeply. “Why did you do that?”

“What?” Bert said nonchalantly as he turned to the knight. “If he really was the best swordsman or whatever, only a fool would let him show his skill. Or do you perhaps have a death wish, sir Leon?”

The bloodsguard clicked his tongue and sat back on his chair. “Astrael, go call a servant or something. We need to inform his excellency.”

Astrael nodded and strode over Odel's corpse. “It's a shame,” he muttered. Rina will probably be sad.

The rest of the night passed without any issue. In the morning, before the trial, Astrael went upstairs to check on Rina's condition. Horace had taught him that patients exposed to strychnine poisoning required a lot of rest in a dark and silent room, and it seemed the temple's doctors shared that opinion. She still had seizures and convulsions, as well as trouble breathing, but she would make it through. The amount she had put in her cup of wine was more than what was required to kill an adult, but thanks to her body's tolerance, it had been just enough to fake a credible assassination attempt.

The eight knights standing watch in front of her chambers wouldn't let Astrael enter – Phiramel's orders – but regardless, she probably wouldn't regain consciousness for a day or so. He'd still come by this evening just in case.

As he took the stairs once more, a voice called out to him. “Where are you going?”

He turned and was met with Julia, holding her red robes as she hurriedly climbed down the steps. “To the trial.”

“Shouldn't you be getting some sleep? You've been up all night.”

“Leon told you?” She looked around and nodded, and he observed her for a moment. It was uncanny for her to genuinely worry about him. “I'm supposed to be a witness anyway. Come along. You're going too, am I right?”

He resumed his walk and she followed soon after. “There's a rumour going on,” she said, and he glanced behind. “Word is you're being recommended for the bloodsguard.”

Astrael didn't answer immediately. That's new. “Where did you hear that?” he eventually asked.

“Everywhere.” Julia shrugged. “You've saved the young mistress from both blade and poison, and you're being trained by the captain of the bloodsguard himself. People like to talk about these things, is it that surprising?”

No, he thought. He expected to be offered a proposition of the sort, at some point. Either knighthood or a place in Rina's guard. Though most of them are from the nobility... But I suppose it comes down to me being Rina's brother, again.

“Well, let us not speak of such boring matters,” he said with a smile. “We have a trial to attend. It's my first, I hope it'll be interesting.” Hearing Astrael's comment on the job's dull nature, Julia frowned, but did not reply.

They exited the temple and were blocked by a small crowd of servants and churchmen right outside the gates. Going through it required a bit of pushing and gymnastics, but once they had managed it, Astrael and Julia were assaulted by the sight of an even more crowded plaza. A dense mass of people surrounding the entrance of the building, guards blocking the way at the base of the stairs, and a figure standing tall, one arm raised, the other neatly folded behind him as he spoke to the plebs with a powerful voice – Phiramel.

“...stands accused of treason, heresy, and associating with foreign nations to assassinate Xito's chosen! Let the trial begin!”

A few whispers among an otherwise silent crowd. Astrael studied the others who stood out atop of the stairs. There was Therenus, in chains and flanked by two guards, and a group of various people sitting on chairs and benches not far from them. “The jury,” Julia whispered. “Selected among the church, the nobility, and the common people.” Astrael scoffed. Selected. No doubt that Phiramel would have supervised the selection of the jury.

But the elder must already know that.

Witnesses came and go, servants and priests and lords, describing their versions of the event to the public and the jury, and the tales they told ranged from explicitly accusatory, to barely useful. They heard Therenus' cupbearer, his slaves, his former associate lord Danalion, the bloodsguard Petrus, and so on. Lord Feanir's turn came, then his son Leon, then his squire – Astrael. None of their testimonies were necessary to convince a jury that was certainly already bought by Phiramel, but to him it was probably important to persuade the people that Therenus wouldn't be sentenced to an unfair punishment.

Astrael only hoped that the elder had enough oratory verve to hurt Phiramel's firm grasp on the audience. He would eventually get to speak in front of everyone, to defend himself, and perhaps call some of his witnesses if he had any. I hope he thinks the best defence is offence.

The testimonies went on, Phiramel pitched in here and now, directing the many tales through his questions and comments, and the crowd was now booing. The jury had made shocked and frightened faces, adding to the dramatic reactions. Finally, it was Therenus' turn to speak.

He stepped forward, pushing away the guards who still clung to his arms. “People of Callir,” he began calmly, attracting glares from the jury because he wasn't even bothering to look at them, “you must think me a beast. You must think me a vile creature, a demon, something unworthy of a name. And I would join you too in this opinion, if I were in your shoes, because just like you, I wouldn't know the truth.

“...I see some among you don't even have shoes. I recognise a few of you, to whom I gave shoes. You all know me. You all know the name of the man who gave you shoes, clothing and food. That same man will never be able to give shoes, clothing and food to those who have nothing. Tomorrow I'll be dead, and there is nothing I can do about it.

“I can only confess the truth. And the truth, my fellow citizens, is that you are being tricked by this man, Phiramel. But you, proud Callirians, won't be fooled by the empty words of a treacherous actor. You are better than that, and deep down, you don't even need me to tell you. You don't need me to remind you it was I who, with your fathers' help, brought a tyrant to justice, do you? You don't need me to remind you it was also I who, with the help of the noble house Danalion, resurrected Callir's trade and diplomacy with the rest of the world. You are right to be doubtful, for it also attracted many dangers, but know that without it, I could not have brought you clothes and bread and fruits, which I continued to do even when his excellency Phiramel replaced me.

“And I certainly don't need to remind you what this man did when he became the high-priest. Did he bring you food for your children, tools for your craft, decent clothing for your sisters and daughters? No? What did he do, then?” Therenus scoffed. “He granted holy pardon to the exiled royal scum who fled the city because they kept oppressing our people! You all remember that, don't you?”

Whispers in the crowd. Therenus glanced behind him, pointed a finger toward Laurentias, and looked back toward the people. “We all know that some of his friends, first among them being the good lord Feanir, are monarchists! His family, and many others, had a long history of betrothal and friendship with the various kings and queens our precious city saw through its teary eyes! I advocated for their forgiveness, because children should never be blamed for the sins of their fathers, grand-fathers, and great-grand-fathers... And now they see their new monarch in the figure of Phiramel. What a fool I've made of myself – and you, my people, will be the ones to pay the price of my mistakes.

“You see this man, here, imploring that I be executed, appealing to your emotions, manipulating you with a false display of faith and fear for the chosen's life. He is a crocodile, and his tears are nothing but fabrication. He has been lurking all that time, waiting for an opportunity to get rid of me because as long as I breathed, Callir would see no king of any sort. And now, he has found that opportunity. He took advantage of the threats our beloved chosen of Xito had to bear, and set me up as the perpetrator! How could I, an eternal defender of the gods and the people's freedom, possibly want to harm the hero?” he said with his arms spread, gazing at the skies.

Then, after a moment, he bowed his head to the people. “Think what you want, and do what you must, citizens of Callir. You know who I am, you know in your hearts what I did and what I didn't do. You were strong enough to free yourselves from an insane king, don't be weak enough to be fooled and enslaved by another tyrant, simply because he thinks himself a priest of Xito.”

There were cheering and booing mixed in the crowd reactions. Astrael was quite satisfied, to say the least. If the plebs were as powerful as Therenus made it sound, then at least a few houses would reconsider their allegiance, and Phiramel would have to tread carefully as to not anger anyone.

Phiramel raised an arm and tried to calm the crowd. “It is unlike you to spout inaccuracies, elder,” said the high-priest to Therenus while the people were loudly arguing among themselves and yelling. “I think myself a high-priest – there is a difference. And I am certainly not the only one to think so. The whole city calls me high-priest, after all.”

The chatter died down, and Phiramel whispered one last taunt to Therenus before addressing the crowd. “People of Callir, you have heard the words of this man. And, must I say, it saddens me. It saddens me because he mostly spoke truth, genuine truth. Some of you may know that elder Therenus used to be my teacher, but he was more than that. He was like a father to me, and for many years, I looked up to him.”

That earned him a glare from Therenus, who struggled to free himself from the two breathing statues holding him by the shoulders.

Phiramel barely gave him a glance and went on. “I looked up to him because he saved the city from a tyrant. It is as he said. When we all did nothing, he, and he alone, stood up against the madness of the king, and united the citizens against it. I looked up to him because he was a wise, forgiving man, who knew when to scold and when to console. I looked up to him because as a high-priest, he found the time to care for the poor, when I wasn't able to do so – and he indeed kept doing so even after I replaced him because the position was too straining for a man of his age.

“That is why it saddens me to be in such a situation, where I am to accuse this benevolent man, the saviour of Callir, the man I consider my spiritual father, of the most hideous crime there is. You surely understand it. How devastating it is, to see the person you admire the most, being corrupted by foreign money to the extent of turning against his god and his friends. I do not blame elder Therenus for his crimes and his hate toward me, know that. I blame the Vierans, with their silver, their gifts and their poisonous tongues. They turned the noblest man I've ever met into a criminal. Their nefarious influence made him conspire to assassinate our beloved chosen, not because of hatred, or evil, but because of greed.

“Alas, no human can defy the will of the gods. I would have perjured myself to protect this honourable man, had his only mistakes been greed and violence toward someone else. Yes, I confess it before you all, I would have lied for him. That is to say how much I admire and respect him. But the one he tried to harm was none other than Xito's hero, and this is where my faith, my love of Xito, and my sense of duty, all fight against my personal affections and my respect for a fellow human.”

He then took a more commanding voice. “It is Xito himself who is offended by the violence against his chosen, and that is why I must side with the gods, rather than the humans. Understand that it saddens me to cast away my emotions, but I have no choice. I would not stand here before you if I had other options. I shall weep and mourn the man elder Therenus was, and curse fate for what it forced him to become. And I hope that we shall all learn from him, from both his virtuous acts, and his very human mistakes, so that we can become better men and women in the eyes of the gods, and so that we can become worthy of Xito's blood.”

He concluded his speech with a bow and a sad expression. Astrael felt his fists clench themselves. He didn't even need to hear to crowd's reaction to know. Therenus had been beaten at his own game. The only thing the plebs loved more than a display of abnegation, goodwill and faith, was an even bigger display of those, and Phiramel had perfectly understood that.

Astrael had to refrain from biting his own lips. His eyes staring at his feet, he heard Julia's voice. “Phiramel has won,” she simply said, though he couldn't know if the priestess was happy or bitter about it. He could have known, perhaps, if he looked at her face. But he simply turned around and walked away.

“...Yes, he did,” he slowly muttered as he stepped back through the gates. Therenus' death would be vain. No, worse than vain – it had not even happened yet, and it had helped Phiramel more than anything.