Free The Innocent Mage by Karen Miller Page B

bell and hammer. On the wall behind the dais hung an enormous tapestry of an unsheathed sword. Just in case folks forgot what they were doing here, most likely.
    Aye, right. As if that was like to happen.
    Off to the right side of the dais was a small desk and a plain unpadded chair. The desk had a pile of paper on it, but no inkpot or pen. Asher couldn’t see the point of that. He shrugged; the mystery would surely be explained sooner or later. And if it wasn’t he could always ask the prince later.
    Although whether the prince would answer him was another matter entirely. Too bloody secretive by half, was His Royal Highness Prince Gar.
    The sound of hushed conversation rose from the floor of the Hall like the rolling of waves onto a distant sandy shore. Filtering through the stained-glass windows, sunlight from the world outside splashed a palette of colours over every face and turned the attending City Guards’ uniforms into patchwork quilts. Asher counted twelve pike-wielding, po-faced officials: one on each side of the main doors, four along each wall, and the last two flanking the raised platform beneath the hanging sword. None of his friends was among them. Pity, that. He could’ve amused himself pulling faces at ‘em.
    The Royal Gallery he occupied in such solitary splendour ran almost the full length of the Hall. There was a similar gallery directly opposite, but it was completely filled in. A private place for the prince or the king or the Master Magician to gather his or her thoughts before hearing folks go on about their troubles, he guessed.
    The door in the Hall’s rear wall opened, then closed I behind Lady Marnagh. Her silk and brocade tunic had been smothered with a plain robe of dark green. She crossed to the small table and stood behind it. The guards on either side of the dais rapped their pikes onto the tiled floor hard: and sharp, three times. At the Hall’s entrance, the guards flanking the open doors swung them closed with a muffled: thud. Silence fell like an axe. :
    Then everyone seated in the Hall stood, eyes turned towards the end of the private gallery. A moment later a section of the gallery floor detached and descended with slow majesty. Asher felt his jaw drop. No ropes or mechanical devices guided the platform’s progress: it moved by magic.
    Of course.
    Inch by inch, the unsmiling form of the prince was revealed. He was draped neck to knee to ankle in a gold and crimson brocade robe. His silver circlet had been replaced by a heavy, plain gold crown. His expression was grave. Thoughtful. He looked … older.
    The platform stopped a mere whisper above the floor. The prince stepped down and took his seat on the dais. Then he lifted the hammer from its hook and struck the bell three times. The air inside the Hall chimed. Shimmered. Asher felt something cool and invisible dance across his skin.
    ‘We are gathered today, by His Majesty’s authority and in his name, for the purposes of justice.’ The prince’s voice carried effortlessly to every corner and listening ear. ‘Barl give us grace and wisdom and honour in its seeking.’ Bowing his head, he kissed his holyring.
    ‘As you ask,’ murmured the crowd, ‘Barl mote it be.’ All round the Hall, lips were pressed to forefingers, ringed or not.
    The prince replaced the hammer, then rested his hands on the arms of his chair. ‘Be seated. And let us hear the vexatious matter that brings us hence today.’
    With a rustle and a scraping of the petitioners’ chair legs on the tiles, everyone sat. Intrigued despite himself, Asher waited to see what would happen.

CHAPTER FOUR
    ‘Who seeks my judgement in this matter?’ asked the prince.
    A young woman seated at the right-hand table stoo She was short and plump, her dress an unflattering shade custard yellow. ‘I do, Your Highness.’
    The prince nodded. At the small desk Lady Marnagl closed her eyes and twice passed her left hand across the stack of paper before her. Orange sparks