Hanzorian
The prisoner is dead, to begin with. The man had been raving inside of his cell, and then one day, he simply ceased to be. Nenewyn examined him and determined that the cause of death was…idiopathic. I sighed. We had gotten all we wanted out of him, therefore I cared a little less about it than I otherwise would. Princess Illiana and Sir Victor - hm. He doesn't like being called "sir" by any person apart from the princess herself, so what title ought I to use when addressing him? I certainly considered him to be a friend but, all the same, it may be impertinent of me to refer to him solely by his forename.
I saw something out of the corner of my eyes, and I peered through my office window; I kept it open nowadays, and a cool breeze was wafting through. There, standing in the courtyard, waving at me, was the high inquisitor - I returned the wave, and smiled, but did naught else. Sorry, dear, but I am still working; I shall make it up to her at a later time. Casting me a glance and a smile she sauntered away. I sighed. In the same courtyard, far behind where the inquisitor had been standing, the two princes were engaged in some intense sword practice - I'd heard that Illorien himself had approached Valyrian and requested training in order to prevent future attempts on his life; I, too, was rather sick of the first prince making himself an easy target. But I paid the princes little mind, for I had other pressing matters to attend to.
There was another puzzle that Nenewyn was trying to help me to solve. The ingredients of that delightful confection we had the night that we rescued Mr. Popper's family. The hero had referred to them as marshmallows, graham-crackers, and milk chocolate - by alchemy, or magic, or by plain culinary science, I vowed that I would find out how to create them. The sweet biscuits were actually relatively easy, for Nenewyn could, at least, determine the recipe with what little skill she possessed in pattern magic, but her knowledge of pattern is novice at best. That is not to imply that I do not respect our court wizard, quite the contrary, but it is an objective fact that her considerable talents lie with other disciplines and her alarmingly large pool of obscure utility spells. Even without access to the redolent tree bark and the tropical orchid extract we could use pattern magic to replicate the flavor, and Princess Vardrina is a talented baker who can easily figure out how to get the correct texture.
Chocolate is not unknown to us, but it is harvested in far distant lands and costs a fair bit of coin in this region; this "America" that Victor speaks of has some means of producing it that permits even the poorest to have some, what is the secret? Marshmallow on the other hand, hmm, that is the name of a root that grows far away from here is it not? I had no idea that one could even extract something sweet from it. But no matter - the Shadar'kethal never fails to catch its prey and I will be able to treat Sharisiel to s'mores, by Elianora.
Oh, there's that cat-ears beastfolk maid; she was bearing a letter.
"Ah. Leave it on my desk, if you please." She obeyed, gave a bow, and presumably returned to her normal duties.
What's this? The royal seal of the Cara kingdom? A mission report from Princess Illiana. Very good.
"Dear Hanzorian, we hope that this letter finds you well. A great deal has happened since we first set out and I can say with absolute conviction that our mission has succeeded."
That was good news indeed, I continued, "First of all, I want to get this part out of the way because I know you were worried: your old pupil, d'Eldenne, is not the culprit. As a matter of fact, he still thinks of you fondly and has bade me wish you well. Oh, he's also gotten married since the last time you saw him, they have two kids - they named their son Han, after you,"
For some reason that put a smile on my face. Hm. Victor's influence no doubt. He had been right all along, I really just needed to relax. But that doesn't change the manner in which I execute my duties, and I was still on the job. The letter went on:
"The traitor has been apprehended, and as of this letter, his trial has yet to be carried out. But I wanted to report anyway, well, mostly because of your student since I knew it'd been eating you up. Victor told me, I'm sorry if it was none of my business knowing about it."
Her legendary kindness, touching. No, that wasn't sarcasm, it was brevity. "Sir Victor and I have become iron-ranked adventurers, by the way, and we've set up lodging in Caer Caradon, at Dion's Rest, in case you need to send us letters back; you can address them to Red Lightning. Victor has gotten pretty good at using a shield with his big knife, oh and brigandine armor really suits him!"
Princess, stick to the report, pray. Sigh. What's the use. This part is slightly different, as if written in haste. Hmm ah, I see, "Sir Victor just reminded me that we have some important information: the name of our enemy, the jerks who killed Elice: They're called the Black Order. Also the leader of the men who pursued me into the forest was called Wylt, he was the man who had the wand Nenewyn identified for us. I hope that helps."
I can just picture the scene; Victor placing his hand on her shoulder and gently reminding her to stay on task, then she begins frantically writing again. I will admit it brings a mirthful smirk to my lips. Still. Black Order, is it? That's a starting point for an investigation, I think. I must needs consult with Nenewyn and the lore-masters. This may require me to be away from Tor Anaura, if his majesty wills it. There was just a little more to the letter, speaking of how they had exposed the culprit at the queen's ball, which sounds very like Victor at this point.
What's this? They acquired two of Master Talrin's longbows? Such outrage, I'd been on his waiting list for a hundred years! What's this about the Black Order having ten of them? Doubtless despoiled!
I sighed, and returned to my paperwork.
Malcolm
Hello! I am Malcolm Kavian! Star of stage, dance hall, and occasional grand political conspiracy designed to sow chaos! Yes, the mad jester himself, playwright even! Did you know that almost nobody that watched Dreaming of Daisies realized that it was supposed to be a tragedy about a man who hides a black heart beneath a comical veneer and not an actual comedy? Well it turns out I was projecting myself into that character and didn't even realize it, but that's not the point. The point is that the people who watched my play lacked culture and couldn't appreciate the nuances, fools! But someone came along who finally gets it, understood the point of the character, and wouldn't you know, all it took was a bit of machina ex deus - that is to say, a man inside of a machine came down and made a crepe suzette out of some assassins.
The same man had actually complained a fair bit, as he escorted me here, to this bleak dungeon cell, about persons lacking in nuance - yes, people he called "terminally online weirdos" - what ever the short-devil that means. They sound like a pathetic pack of persnickety ponces, if you ask me. While we spoke, he told me he had liked my play; I asked if he thought it was funny, he told me that the language barrier made it difficult to understand the humor, but that he was moved by the protagonist's plight. Shock, horror, someone actually gets it! Well that doesn't matter. I've been here…I had to consult the scratches on the wall I'd carved, five days. Alas, the time has come for the final act, the epilogue, and there will be no encore, no sequel. Just my doom.
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I heard a clang. Well there you have it, they come. Oh, the jailer brought Victor with him. I bowed.
"Well good to see you old boy," I said, "came to witness the sad clown's demise?"
"Nah I'd rather not, but I will be watching your trial," he frowned, "the jailer and I will be takin' you to the queen now. It's a private trial, with just her as both judge and jury, but the Justiciar will be watching and helping out."
"What's a jury?"
"Never mind."
I waggled my finger, "I can't mind a thing, for I've no mind left."
He laughed, "you know. Ah, nevermind."
Was he going to tell me he wished we'd met under different circumstances, or something equally trite and cliché.
"I just have one favor I'd ask of you," I said.
"Name it," he said.
"Remember me. Remember that I once lived."
He nodded, and we quietly moved along the long mile, to a small office where the queen was ready to pass her judgment. Just a plain stone room, with a plain drab desk, looking as gray and boring as everything else in this castle. I was seated before the table, in a lonely chair. On the queen's left was Lord Payne, and on the right, oh, a paladin with a full-faced sallet is it? Ah, they wanted someone who could detect lies - they couldn't have picked a more intimidating fellow if they tried. My makeup had been removed as had my jester's outfit, and now I was wearing pajamas with black and white stripes - oh, no, they weren't responsible for the stripes: I did those myself with pattern magic. Based on something Victor had said, figured it might make at least someone laugh. The queen was not amused - huh, when I noted that fact Victor got a strange look on his lips like he was holding back laughter, unable to keep a straight face. Odd fellow, oh well, I wish I could have gotten to know him better, really seemed a decent chap. Her majesty looked at me, and I did my best to make eye contact, but oh the shame, the absolute shame.
"Malcolm Kavian, court jester and chief of entertainment and enrichment," she began, "you are charged with a serious crime under royal law. Upon an unknown day, you did divulge secret information to malicious parties which led to an attack on my personage and the deaths of six members of the royal army."
"I do not deny the facts, your majesty."
She nodded, was her voice shaking? Oh, majesty, ugh, such regret as I've never felt.
"Accused enters a plea of guilty then. However," she brought out a large book and opened to a bookmark, "there is a question of the appropriate charge against you. Malky - she paused - Lord Kavian - did you receive any monetary compensation for the information you divulged."
The hells did that matter, I rolled my eyes and said, plainly, "no, your majesty, I did it for no cap, of my own will, not a dram of precious metal was given."
The helmeted knight said "truth."
The queen nodded again and began to run her finger in the book, which I now realized was our penal code, "in that case, I can not in good conscience specifically charge you with treason - the secrets clause specifically requires an exchange of state secrets for money or for personal gain. Therefore I must charge you instead with the still serious, but less severe charge, of conspiracy and as an accessory before the fact regarding the deaths of my men."
Well I suppose if you wanted to be pedantic, yes, that was technically true. I didn't feel any less like a treasonous swine. This didn't feel like my usual self loathing, no, somehow that had died down over the last few days; that laugh, it really did something. Oh don't mistake me - I still felt a crushing sadness squeezing my soul like a jungle python on all sides - but I think I no longer hated myself, or life in general, though neither was giving me joy per se. Was this actual remorse for my actions? Well no matter, come now your majesty, lay it on me would you.
"I plead guilty to these charges," I said.
The queen nodded. "Very well then I see no need to drag these proceedings on any further," reading off of the Justiciar's script, I see. My queen why do you look so sad? "Before I hand down my sentence, I will ask one last question. Do you, or have you ever," gah, is she crying? "Truly desired my death? Would you - see the end of - this queen Arabelle?".
I looked down. My heart had been in such turmoil before. But I already knew the answer and the more I thought of it, the more it manifested. I didn't actually want her to die. I'd realized this the night of the ball, and it stung then, but hearing the woman herself ask it was unbearable. To see her alive, able to ask me herself thanks to Victor and the princess, struck a chord in my heart as masterfully as a virtuoso lute player. Gods. I had very nearly been party to the death of my beloved queen who gave me a home, who tolerated my biting commentary and let me eat at her table, who cared for me. If it hadn't been for Red Lightning, she would be gone - because of me!
"No, your majesty." I think I was crying again,"I…I did what I did because I wanted to feel again. Something more than this suffocating madness."
The helmeted hamfist said, "truth."
Huh? The queen smiled a little, still teary eyed. "I shall now hand down my sentence. Malcolm Kavian, first of all, your employment at the palace shall be terminated," together with my life, no doubt, "second, your land and titles shall all be stripped from you; the house of Kavian shall officially cease to exist. Your former lands and assets shall be distributed amongst the families of the five soldiers and the civilian coachman who died in the attack," reasonable, I thought, "and finally," She paused, well, here goes. She hesitates. Huh.
"My queen?"
"Silence, please." She'd remonstrated me but remained gentle as always, "You are banished from this realm. You are not to enter into any civilized part of our lands unless it is in the custody of your new wardens."
"Exile," I cried, "surely, my queen, I deserve far worse than that!"
"Perhaps, but, I have come aware of certain mitigating circumstances and the fact that you possess information which may prove useful in the elimination of the mastermind who orchestrated both the attempted assassination of Princess Illiana of Anaura, and upon my own noble personage, with the intention that it should send this land tumbling into chaos. It is to this end that you are put to task: you are hereby ordered to join the hero summoned from another world on his quest to defeat the mastermind as an official member of Red Lightning." She turned to Victor, "the prisoner is yours now."
"Aye, aye, your majesty," he did that three fingered salute again. The manacles were taken off, and I was left utterly speechless. Well, I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Perhaps I may yet have a part to perform in this play after all! Oh, her highness the lovely elf joined us after we left the Justiciar's office. After we passed the last barbican before the city streets proper, I turned to Victor.
"It would seem I have been sentenced to forced heroism. Was this, too, your doing, old boy?"
He stuck his thumb up, "Guilty as charged."
"But, why?"
He grinned, and her highness also had a funny expression like a sick pumpkin, what a weird awkward smile that girl - oh - she was anticipating some sort of catchphrase, wasn't she? And he said, "Just doing my good turn for the day."
Are you curious about the scene where Illorien and Valyrian start training together?
