and I trust you to be scrupulous in your telling.”
Though it was near midnight, Ysanne was not home when I arrived. No doubt she had heard of my trouble. Perhaps she had decided to sleep elsewhere. She had a number of places to go: the homes of friends or her women attendants, guest quarters in other parts of the Residence. I lit the nine candles of our mourning stone and sat beside it for a while, inhaling the sweet smoke and thinking of my beloved parents and sister, hoping that perhaps they could find my child wandering in the forests of the afterlife and give him the tender comfort they had always given me. Then I pinched out the flames and fell into bed, ignoring the two men who sat just inside the door to make sure that no one, not even their queen, spoke to me. I sank into sleep, wondering what they would do to young Howel, who had not known he might be corrupted by speech with the only Warden in Ezzaria.
The Council convened three days after my encounter, as soon as Kenehyr could arrive from his home in southern Ezzaria. Such charges could not wait. I spent the days training as usual, though on my own, not with Catrin and her students. In the other hours I read everything in the Queen’s library on demon lore. There was perishingly little. Nothing that hinted of demons who only desired to learn of the world.
Young Drych brought me word of the Council meeting as I sat poring over a manuscript that was telling me yet again that a demon’s only hunger was for death and evil. The young man was nervous and agitated, and spoke softly as if the guards could not hear. “What’s happening, Master? Is it a usual thing to have to explain yourself to the Council? I’m not good at talking in front of so many. And they’ve said none of us should hold speech with you until they say. I don’t understand it, when you are the finest . . . the strongest Warden we’ve ever had.”
I was touched that his faith in me was not shaken by what he had heard. “Don’t worry about it. You must always review extraordinary encounters with your mentor,” I said. “And sometimes the Council wants to hear of them, too, so that we all may learn. Especially now, as things are changing from what we’ve experienced in the past. You must always be ready to learn something new, to stay alert, to listen to your own reason and judgment. Sometimes we forget that. You can only do your best, and that’s all I’ve done. When your day comes, you’ll do very well.”
I wished I’d been allowed to review the case with Catrin, but her position on the Council precluded any contact with me until the hearing, even had I been permitted to speak freely. But she was intelligent and clever. She would know how to manage things to get it over with quickly.
The five sat in a half circle in a modest, high-ceilinged room with large windows and a softly shining floor of oaken planks. I was motioned to a straight-backed chair facing the Council. The room had no other furnishings. No hangings, no tapestries, no rugs or tables or footstools. Just warm sunlight. The scraping of the wooden chair legs echoed faintly in the emptiness, until all were settled and only the droning of bees and the occasional screech of a jay from the woodland beyond the window intruded on the silence.
Talar began the proceedings. Her iron-gray hair was twisted into a knot on top of her head, her smooth bronze skin taut over high cheekbones, and her jaw well-proportioned, but exceedingly rigid. “Seyonne, Warden of Ezzaria, you are summoned before this Council to answer the most serious of charges . . . ”
She took quite a while to recount them all. The first was, of course, that I had allowed a demon to retain possession of a victim unchallenged. The next was the killing of the slave merchant victim. Then followed Fiona’s list of slighted rituals, suspect teachings, and minor errors. The only real surprise was the inclusion of the lost battle.
A frowning Catrin, seated
Carol Wallace, Bill Wallance