Chapter 17 #3
These were the thoughts going through Prime Minister Anthony Zevin’s mind as he arrived at the Doldrum Court with his escorts.
He made his way inside the courtroom, where he saw the beaten, abused, malnourished, and haunted girl standing in the witness stand.
There was a lawyer asking her questions, but such was her condition that the girl was not able to respond at all.
Upon the entrance of the prime minister in the court, everybody became silent.
It was a large circular theater wherein the court proceedings happened, and its length was lined by the Doldrum prison guards as well as the Vanguard soldiers.
Eldric sat at the front, as did Barrowhane, who now represented the leadership of the Vanguard.
Judge Jordan presided at the far end of the room, and also sat to the right the jury.
They listened to the proceedings, taking down notes. It was quite the spectacle.
The Aladrian prime minister went forward, nodded at the judge, and sat down beside Eldric.
“What a pleasant surprise, Prime Minister. Finally out of your fortress, at long last. I see that you are in good health,” Eldric said.
“Spare me your wit, Eldric,” the prime minister said, his expression stone cold. “My absence seems to have given you great confidence.”
“Somebody had to step up,” said Eldric.
“And apparently you thought that you could strong-arm the Vanguard and the court into doing your bidding,” said Zevin.
The judge banged his gavel and said, “Order in the court.”
The lawyer continued.
“Lesya Rosefield, the charges brought against you aforesaid are criminal. Do you have anything to say in your defense?”
The girl swerved out of weakness, her parched lips moving, but no voice coming out.
The Aladrian prime minister stood up in this court. His authority was higher than any of the judges, for heavy was the head that wore the crown.
“If I am allowed to interject, Judge Jordan,” he said, “then I will say this: the expedited nature of these proceedings borders on illegal. The treatment of this girl, regardless of whether she was a prisoner, a traitor, is inhumane, and the sudden inclination to not only punish her but also to inflict upon her the death sentence is unethical. These are my points, and I have stated them. What does the court say?”
This the Aladrian prime minister said while looking at the members of the court assembled to the left in rising benches. There was silence in the courtroom until Eldric spoke and broke it.
“These are private matters, Prime Minister. I would demand that you let them remain such.”
“Who gives you the authority, Eldric Solwyn, to decide what matter is private? This, too, is a citizen of Aladria. Whether she is guilty or not remains to be decided. You cannot condemn her before all the evidence is placed in front of you,” Anthony said.
“Forgive me, Prime Minister,” Eldric said, his voice rising, his stride broad, as he closed the distance between himself and the prime minister, “but the words coming out of your mouth do not seem to be yours.”
“And yet,” said Anthony firmly, “I stand under layers upon layers of magic-deterrent spells that protect this place, spells that you crafted yourself. If you are casting aspersions upon me, need I remind you that I cannot be possessed, nor, for that matter, am I influenced by anyone. Even you know that you have crossed the line.”
Then Anthony turned toward the members of the court and asked at large, “Does the court not concur?”
There were whispers and heated discussion amongst the members of the court, while Judge Jordan looked confusedly from Eldric to the prime minister, and then finally at Lesya.
When the court members were not able to produce a coherent response, the Aladrian prime minister stepped up to the court and said, “This trial is postponed, and Lesya Rosefield, as well as Elias Solwyn, deserve, for it is their Aladrian right, a competent lawyer of their own, and the members of the jury as well as the members of the court should be well reminded that justice is blind, and that due process applies to all, whether they are powerful mages, government officials, and even alleged sympathizers of necromancers.”
This last he said, nodding at Lesya.
“You cannot do that,” Eldric Solwyn roared.
“Oh, but I can, and I dare you to try to get in my way,” said the Aladrian prime minister, his voice just as loud.
“Where is this necromancer that you use as a scare tactic? Where is this war? Where are the prisoners that you claim Viktor Mortandagh took? More importantly, what harm has Viktor Mortandagh caused in Aladria right now?”
“Prime Minister,” Eldric said, clearing his throat. “He murdered Vincent Crenshaw, raised him from the dead, and made him incinerate a pub. You were there.”
“Allegedly,” said the prime minister. “Until all the facts are stated, until all the evidence is scrupulously observed and an unbiased court can decide if it was indeed Viktor Mortandagh or not, your word is not any better than anyone else’s in terms of strict judicial legislature and the laws written within the Aladrian Constitution. ”
Everything that Prime Minister Anthony Zevin was saying was plausible, legal, and true.
And so, realizing that, the judge banged his gavel and said, “The court has heard and acknowledged the remarks of the Aladrian prime minister. This session will convene in another week. By that time, if Lesya Rosefield and Elias Solwyn have not arranged counsel for themselves, counsel will be provided for them. A new jury will be selected, and members of the court will be randomized for complete transparency and unbiased judgment.”
There was a storm of an outrage that erupted in the court.
Court members argued amongst themselves.
Jury members rose up from their seats, and the people who had gathered to witness the prosecution of Lesya Rosefield screamed and shouted at the top of their voices, but no one was shouting louder than Eldric Solwyn.
For it was not Lesya Rosefield that he had qualms with, but the god whose prophet she claimed to be.
He had worked hard to bury Aeterna’s name, and yet here she stood as Death Shepherd to the Goddess of Death.
Her very existence was an insult to Eldric Solwyn.
For how could she know Aeternumancy when he had taken explicit pains to ensure that he had removed all literature pertaining to it in the world?
How was it possible that Aeterna, whom he held in such disregard, to the point of believing that she did not actually even exist, and if she did, she was just a lesser goddess of some distant tribe living in rural Romania, had transferred arcane secrets that were centuries old, long dead, arcane and buried, to this ordinary girl upon whose fate the fate of Aladria hinged?
Regardless of everybody’s protests, the court session ended, and Lesya Rosefield was taken across the courtyard to the Doldrum fortress.
She was placed in a cell on the fifth floor of the prison complex, a cell that was isolated from the rest of the prison by way of similar stairs as existed in Umbrveyl and the Doldrum Court.
She was flitting between consciousness and unconsciousness as she was dragged to her prison cell, and she remembered thinking to herself how on earth it was possible that she had been spared right now, and what manner of fateful intervention this was that the Aladrian prime minister himself had come down to vouch for her, to defend her.
Was it possible that Viktor Mortandagh had gotten to him, or was it actually, for once, justice prevailing over matters that had appeared otherwise unjust?
It did not matter because this was just a temporary measure.
It didn’t change the fact that her boyfriend was dead, and that she was already arrested, and that, if not today, then a week from now, the council or the court would reconvene, deem her guilty, and then be done with her.
She had not used her magic in such a long time, and she had not heard from Aeterna, which was now beginning to make her doubt if she had ever heard from her in the first place.
The guard threw her in the empty cell and clanged the prison door shut as he walked away. Farther down the hallway, he screamed at somebody, “You, girl, there’s a new prisoner in there. She needs tending to. Go tend to her.”
Lesya was at the brink of unconsciousness when she saw what was certainly a hallucination, because there was no way that it was her friend, Trisha Evermore, standing at the other side of the bars, looking at her. Trisha had tears in her eyes.
“My God, Les. What did they do to you?” she whispered.
* * *
Eldric, the judge, and the prime minister of Aladria were shouting at the top of their voices, heatedly, in Judge Jordan’s chambers. Judge Jordan was saying that both of their behaviors were unfit for the Doldrum Court, and yet neither of them listened to him.
“What is the meaning of this?” said Eldric, scorn dripping from his gaze. “How dare you come in here like this, and stop me from doing what is the right thing?”
The Aladrian prime minister laughed dryly.
“The right thing. You have gone insane, Eldric. Power hungry is not a look that suited you in the first place, and it does not suit you right now. You were an academe. You should have stayed so.”
“I was never an academe,” Eldric said, raising his finger threateningly.
“And you know that I did not study to become the best mage in this country only to be called an academe by a politician.” Eldric spat and walked away.
“A politician,” he continued, “who was so obviously in the pockets of Viktor.”
The Aladrian prime minister had more patience than Eldric, and so his next words were veiled and deliberate, uttered in an even tone.