Chapter 6 – Trial by Iron

Waking up with a violent start, Kaz realized that night had already fallen.

I should try to stop getting injured unless absolutely necessary. I should have just quietly gone with Ranik instead of trying to protest my innocence.

With a grimace, Kaz sat against his cell’s wall directly across from the door. At least there’s the torchlight leaking through the cracks in the door.

{This is quite possibly the most professional jail cell I’ve ever seen. There’s just barely enough space to get up and stretch, but not enough to pace around. The only light coming in is from the cracks around the door, and it seems this is intentionally part of the design. Also, there’s this weird small hole in the corner…} Ahriman’s voice grated against Kaz’s mind as he spoke.

Yeah, that’s where the prisoners shit so the guards don’t have to clean it. It’s part of the Keep’s sewage system. The first lord Zhakar decided that the Citadel had to be as self sufficient and efficient as possible. By eliminating most of the previous waste disposal labor with a sewage system, the staff could focus more on military needs.

Kaz sighed as he leaned back against the wall. He could sense death energy nearby, and realized that he was being kept in the Citadel’s outside dungeon instead of the Keep.

I guess I’m not considered a particularly important prisoner, then.

*Groou GROOOUUUU*

{Holy hell boy, when was the last time you ate something?} If Ahriman had eyes, they would’ve been wide at that moment.

Look, I don’t even know what day it is now. All I know is–

*Clank* “Oy pipe it down in there. Here’s your food so you don’t die before sentencing”

Kaz didn’t even have time to respond as a grubby hand shoved a tray of food through the door’s slot.

Losing no time, Kaz rushed towards the tray. Feeling his way around the tray, Kaz discovered that there was only a small loaf of hardtack along with a cup of room temperature water.

Well it’s better than nothing. Kaz eagerly dunked the hardtack into the water, and waited for the bread to soften.

{... Is this real life? What kind of prisoner food is that?} Ahriman, who was used to luxury befitting his former status as Master Apothecary, had never even known that hardtack existed. In fact, Kaz was certain Ahriman had not even drank water for years.

It’s the most basic of soldier rations. Hardtack is near unspoilable if kept dry, so it’s used as rations on military campaigns as well as sea voyages.

{Something that has to be turned edible via soaking in a liquid can’t possibly be tasty, much less nutritious.}

I did mention it’s the most basic of rations right? Plus it’s not like I have anything better to eat right now. Anything is better than nothing, and I’d rather not faint from hunger during this little witch-hunt of Pagan’s. Between bites of bland tack, Kaz finished what little water was given to him.

{Done eating? I can’t believe you actually finished all of that. If I could gag, I would. Now, I’ve gathered enough death energy to bestow upon you a Soul Magic technique. It’s a basic method of gathering death energy to strengthen the body. Now close your eyes….} Ahriman concentrated, then used branded the meditation technique onto Kaz’s brain.

This feeling will never get better will it? Kaz winced as pain shot through his brain, but concentrated on the . As he kept cycling the words, Kaz started to feel the death energy gathering and entering his body.

“................” Unintelligible whispers of the dead filled Kaz’s ears as his body greedily absorbed the gathering death energy.

It seems that although their souls are gone, lingering traces of emotions remain at the site of death. At the very least, practicing the Chant will take my mind off of my current situation. Sitting silently in the dark, Kaz eased into a meditative trance as he kept up the Chant.

At the Citadel’s highest point, Pagan finally finished the mountain of paperwork that was necessary to facilitate his untimely inheritance of the Lord’s position. Stretching his arms back behind his head, Pagan’s muscles flexed as he stood up. Walking out of the office, Pagan barked an order to the messenger waiting outside.

“Go find Major Goran and tell him to bring the prisoner to the Circle of Iron. It is time for me to pass judgement.”

“Your will be done, Lord.” The messenger briskly walked towards the barracks, eager to finally see somebody punished.

The last couple of days since the recapture of the Citadel have been frustrating in the extreme. There was nobody to blame, I doubt the troops even know how the Janaroian soldiers managed to break open the West Gate. It’s a real pity for Kaz that he’s to be my scapegoat, but this sentencing will allow me to offer an excuse to the Emperor as well as shift the brunt of the soldier’s anger onto Kaz.

Feeling satisfied with his plan, Pagan walked leisurely down to the kitchen where he picked up a large meat bun along with a flagon of cold juice. Eating as he walked, Pagan arrived at the Circle of Iron just as Major Goran threw Kaz into it.

Landing face first into the dirt floor, Kaz accidentally breathed some of it in and started coughing. Looking up, Kaz realized that he was in the middle of the Circle of Iron, a circular arena about 10 meters in diameter surrounded by large chunks of iron ore.

“Kazimir Taleeb. You are hereby accused of being a traitor of Klavan. You were the insider that opened the gate for the Janaroian soldiers, facilitating the fall of the Blood Citadel.” Pagan’s eyes lit up as he verbally crucified Kaz in front of the gathering crowd of soldiers and civilians.

Numbly staring back at Pagan, Kaz could do nothing at the moment. Waiting for his chance to speak, all Kaz could do was barely stand up.

“Your traitorous actions are those unworthy of a true son of Klavan. The thousands of soldiers who have died are because of you. Under the authority of the Empire, I sentence you to death.” Pagan finished with an impassive look on his face, fully aware that this was a farce. Somebody needed to take the blame for the Citadel’s fall, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be Pagan.

The gathered crowd was getting more and more unruly.

“Traitor! I can’t believe the Steward’s son would do such a thing!”

“Is this how you repay old Lord Zhakar’s hospitality to you over the years?”

“Good for nothing historian! Your family were righteous, defending the Lord to the death, but you were nowhere to be found? Such luck couldn’t possibly be a coincidence!”

As the crowd jeered at Kaz, he felt as if there were only one way out of this.

“Pagan. I invoke the right to Trial by Iron.” Kaz’s anguished voice pierced the voices of the crowd. Nobody was on his side. Nobody would stand up for him. Kaz was, for the first time in his life, truly alone. Kaz’s challenge to Pagan had clearly astonished the crowd. They had never expected that a civilian without any formal martial training would actively want to duel a blademaster.

{What?! Kaz you stupid idiot. How do you expect to defeat a blademaster in a duel when you don’t know how to properly hold a weapon? Your only hope is to hex him and throw a couple of Frozen Spears at him.} Ahriman knew that if Kaz died, he would lose his chance at life. No longer with the power to fuse to another soul, Ahriman’s life depended on Kaz surviving.

I can’t do that you old codger. I would win the duel, probably, but what then? I can’t possibly get away even with a Death Warp since there’s so many people around. I’d be surrounded and cut down the instant I displayed magic. Kaz resignedly stood straight up and looked at Pagan, who seemed surprised.

“Heh. So the traitor has some guts left after all. It would’ve been so boring if you just laid down and took the punishment. So be it! I, Pagan Zhakar, accept the challenge to Trial by Iron of Kazimir Taleeb. Major! Bring us the weapons.” An eager grin had plastered itself onto Pagan’s face. It seems today won’t be boring after all, Pagan mused to himself.

Major Goran thrust the duelling club into Kaz’s hands, then handed another one to Pagan. Nervously, Kaz inspected the weapon that just might save his life today. The club in his hand was about the length of a longsword, only made of wood but studded with rounded iron balls along the length of the club. The crafted leather grip was cool and fit effortlessly in Kaz’s hand.

This is a very well made instrument, although I really wish I could have admired it under less unfortunate circumstances.

Looking up at Pagan, Kaz raised the club up in front of him with both hands and tried to adopt a ready stance.

This is an uncomfortable distance...only about 2 meters between the two of us. Shaking nervously, Kaz did not at all look intimidating.

“Hmph. We’ll see how long it takes you to yield.” Pagan raised his club to chest height straight up, then lunged forwards swinging his club down.

Unable to dodge, Kaz attempted to block the club aiming for his neck with his own club. Losing his balance in a panic, Kaz managed to deflect the blow meant for his neck to his shoulder.

*CRACK* The full force of the studded club slammed into Kaz’s shoulder.

“AAUGH” Kaz screamed in agony as he struggled to defend himself against a second blow.

Yeah, my shoulder is definitely fractured. His left arm suddenly unable to support the weight of the club, Kaz tried to retreat as pain shot through his body.

“There’s no running in the Circle of Iron, Kaz.” Pagan had a smirk on his face as he steadily approached Kaz. Pagan swung his club again in the same manner, aiming at Kaz’s left shoulder.

*CRACK* Unable to block a second blow to the same place, Kaz had no choice but to take another hit in the same place.

Despite an even greater pain than the last hit, Kaz refused to scream. His legs buckling, Kaz fell to his knees with his left arm hanging uselessly at his side. As Pagan approached, however, Kaz suddenly swung the club in his right hand at Pagan’s legs.

“You don’t have the martial ability to hit me with such a tactic such as that.” Pagan sneered as he disarmed Kaz effortlessly by hitting the club out of his hands. Holding the club in both hands, Pagan slammed the club like a bat into the middle of Kaz’s chest.

*THUMP* *CRACK* Blood spilled out of Kaz’s mouth as he flew backwards nearly a meter. Lying in the bloody dirt, it took all of Kaz’s effort to raise himself to a crawling position.

The crowd had gone silent. Although this was a formal Trial by Iron, it looked more like bullying to them. There was no question that Kaz would be defeated, but the brutality of Pagan’s blows intimidated all but the most veteran soldiers within the Klavan crowd.

“I...I yield.” Kaz admitted his defeat between bloody coughs. Moving his right hand to access the damage, Kaz winced in pain.

Yeah, that definitely feels like several broken ribs. But I believe I can still get out of this...I guess history is really going to save me after all.

“So, you admit your defeat. Do you have any last words before your execution?” Pagan slowly drew his longsword after handing the duelling club back to Major Goran.

“Yes...According to the laws set down by Venta Klavan, I have choice of punishment after my defeat in the Trial by Iron. I choose exile instead of execution.” Kaz barely managed to spit out his choice, considered by nearly all Klavans to be the dishonorable choice.

The crowd murmured again, surprised by Kaz’s words. Pagan, however, looked happier than before. Hah, I can’t believe he chose exile! This disgraceful decision will further destroy his reputation. I was worried that this would look like a farce, but for Kaz to willingly choose exile will only serve to make others think he’s actually at fault.

“I’ve never expected to hear those words. But here you are, surprising me again. Ranik! Get the branding tools, and gift Kaz his choice.”

“Your will be done, Lord.” Ranik grinned as he went to fetch the ceremonial tools. It would be his first time using them in a long time. Pulling out a short, black knife, Ranik went to work carving the Brand of the Exile on Kaz’s forehead.

Greatly weakened from his duel with Pagan, Kaz could do nothing but grit his teeth as the Brand was carved onto his forehead. The Brand was unmistakable to any Klavan, it was a ritual scarring in the shape of a snake, reserved for the worst traitors and criminals. After several minutes, which to Kaz felt like hours, Ranik was finished.

“We’re done here. Ranik, return this scum to his cell, and we’ll throw him out first thing in the morning. Everyone, return to your duties.” Pausing one last time to spit on Kaz, Pagan started walking back to the Keep. The crowd, following their Lord’s example, all took their turns spitting on Kaz before leaving. Kaz had long since fainted from the pain burning on his forehead, so Ranik tied a short rope to Kaz’s arms.

As he was dragged across the desolate courtyard back to his cell, Kaz’s blood left a trail on the silent field.

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