Inquisition on Trial

Prologue to Chaos - Chapter 2

Salmanor Hardin’s eyes swept the throne room with an angry glare. “This questioning is a waste of time,” he said imperiously.

The high priest’s words hung in the silence that followed. When King Danor finally spoke, his voice was cool with disapproval.

“Do you truly regard your Inquisition as so above the law, Salmanor,” he began slowly, “that you have no obligation to answer to the Crown for your actions?”

Hardin’s eyes widened. “Answer for my actions?” he asked indignantly. “Are you serious?”

“Very,” the King replied.

Danor leaned forward on the Carlissan throne. He waited, eyes fixed on the high priest’s face. The moments stretched on into another angry, awkward silence.

The King’s appearance matched his reputation as the most formidable warrior in Carlissa. He was tall and powerfully built, with a neatly kempt mane and beard of auburn hair. They framed a face with dark eyes and hard features that were handsome, but not overly so. It was the nose — just a little too large, and a bit too hooked — that kept them from true beauty. His manner was commanding, and he exuded an aura of visceral masculinity.

“What is there to answer for, Your Majesty?” Hardin demanded at last. “I thought I had been asked to appear before you to give aid and counsel in the crisis that faces us. To receive thanks, not endure accusations. You speak as if the Inquisition had done something wrong in ferreting out a dangerous blasphemer from among the highest ranks of Carlissan nobility. You dare call it to account for fulfilling its holy duty to defend the Covenant?”

“So you say,” Danor said evenly. “Omitting, of course, that the accused also happens to be a lord of the realm of Carlissa.”

“And a member of its high council,” Aron added. He stood beside the throne, at the King’s right hand, and Gerard was at his side. The brothers had cleaned up as best they could from their battle, but still wore their scorched cloaks. The elder prince’s blond beard had been hopelessly singed by the dragon’s fire, and he had shaven it completely. The hard, angular lines of his now exposed face were set in an angry expression as Hardin turned his gaze on him.

“You of all people should understand, Your Highness,” the inquisitor said. “You and your brother. You confronted that demon worshipping traitor in an act of bravery rarely seen even in the storied history of this land — and he tried to murder you in cold blood. Surely you don’t question the Inquisition’s case against him?”

“I do question it,” Aron countered. “You brought your accusations in secret and in surprise, Salmanor. Behind the accused’s back, when he wasn’t even present to defend himself.”

Hardin waved a hand in dismissal. “Zomoran would have had a chance to answer the charges tomorrow before the council. Instead, he and his conspirators chose to run. And even your grandfather voted with the other regents to expel him from the Grand Academy.”

Danor’s eyes narrowed. “He did so only after securing their commitment to hear Zomoran’s appeal,” he said tightly. “Emil had a right to face his accusers, and to answer their accusations, however damning.”

“We all respect the seriousness of the charges you’ve presented, Salmanor,” Aleanne said soothingly. “But you must admit that the way you’ve handled this case raises questions.”

The others turned to her. A woman of middle years with brown hair and dressed in a flowing blue robe, her kind expression contrasted starkly with the tall man at her side. He wore chainmail armor of shining bluesteel. His face was proud, and he looked at the inquisitor with hard eyes.

“Your presence at this meeting was not requested and is not required, Lady A’Venna,” Hardin said sternly. “Nor was yours, General Darren. Return to your duties at the Cathedral at once. That is an order.”

“They are here on my orders, Salmanor,” Danor cut in, before either could respond. “As High Priestess of the Order of the Lady and Captain General of the Order of Light, they are, after yourself, the two highest ranking members of the clergy in Lannamon. They are here because I intend to find out whether your inquisition acted alone in this move against the Crown, or if the Church as a whole was involved.”

The inquisitor looked at the King in shock. Gerard broke the awkward silence that followed.

“I take it, Your Grace,” he said, turning to Aleanne, “That your order was not a party to this?”

“No,” she said. “I knew nothing of the case against Emil until earlier today.”

The King nodded. “As I suspected. Augustus?”

The armored man shook his head. “We were both kept in the dark.”

He turned his gaze on the High Priest, and his proud eyes flared angrily.

“And had I known, I would have opposed the decision,” he added. “I don’t deny that this evidence against Zomoran is damning, but the law on this is clear. The Crown should have been involved in any case brought against a member of the civil government. To do otherwise courts chaos and violence — as we saw this very evening.”

Hardin glared at the Captain-General defiantly.

“And if the Magus had allies in that government?” he challenged. “Co-conspirators, as he did at the Grand Academy? How many dragons would have descended on the city this night, had he received warning that he was about to be exposed?”

“Do you have evidence of that?” Lord Rugon asked intently. The head of the High Council of Carlissa, he stood beside the throne to the King’s left. “That Zomoran had allies in sedition? On the council itself?”

The High Priest smiled. “We were working to secure that evidence when the magus attacked.”

Gerard barked an angry laugh. “That much was obvious,” he said. His voice was bitter, and the others turned to him in surprise.

“What do you mean, Your Highness?” General Banderman asked. The commander of Lannamon’s elite guard, he stood at Lord Rugon’s side. “What was obvious?”

“What my brother means, General,” Aron said firmly, “Is that we had a chance to speak with Zomoran before he fled. And to see the prisoners he freed.”

He faced the King. “They had been tortured, Father.”

Aleanne’s face went white, and Danor’s eyes widened. “Are you certain?” the King asked.

Aron nodded. “The woman’s hand was bloody and missing fingernails. There were signs on the others as well.”

Augustus Darren spun on the inquisitor.

“There are protocols for authorizing torture, Salmanor,” he said angrily. “They are strict, and for damned good reason. You know the kingdom’s history, and the Church’s role in it. What were you thinking? To do such a thing without sanction not only from the Crown, but even the senior clergy?”

“There was no time for discussion or debate,” Hardin told him coldly. “Or to coddle squeamish sensibilities when bold action was needed.”

His gaze swept around, holding each of them in turn.

“In your zeal to second-guess the Inquisition,” he said forcefully, “you all seem to have forgotten what has actually happened. A full magus, a lord of the realm of Carlissa and a member of its high council, has been revealed as a demon worshipper. You know the events of this night. There is no doubt about this. He attacked the Church. He killed seventeen guards and injured a dozen more. He summoned a dragon to the city, and came within a hair’s breadth of murdering both princes.”

“That’s not the point, Salmanor —” Aleanne began.

“It is the point,” he retorted hotly. “You all stand there, protesting about how your prim little views of ‘due process’ weren’t followed — in unmasking a traitor to the Covenant on the High Council. Does that truly matter now? The Inquisition was — and has been proven — right about him. And the civil government you’re trying to protect is likely infested with other cells of demonic acolytes. Instead of bickering, we should be planning further investigations to root them out.”

A shocked silence followed. Lord Rugon nodded reluctantly. Aleanne looked at the floor. General Banderman sighed with a note of grim acceptance.

Then Aron stepped forward. He walked up to the high priest and looked levelly into his eyes. His expression was confident and uncompromising, and he shook his head.

“No,” he said.

Hardin met his gaze evenly. When he spoke, his voice was a mixture of sadness and condescension.

“Such foolishness,” he said, “displays a serious lack of responsibility and vision. It is unbecoming in the heir to the throne of Carlissa.”

Danor rose to his feet. “Guard your words, Lord Inquisitor —” he began icily.

Aron held up a hand. “No, Father,” he said sternly. “I will handle this. Gerard and I were there. The high priest was not. I believe that his understanding of Zomoran’s fall is gravely mistaken, and I need to explain why.”

The King sat down. His eyes were proud as he nodded to his son.

“Very well,” he said. “We will hear your testimony, and your argument.”

Aron looked around. His resonant baritone carried forcefully across the room as he spoke.

“Emil Zomoran was once a great man,” he said. “A brilliant leader, scholar, and wizard, his loss is a terrible tragedy. As the high priest’s evidence makes clear, he was certainly being seduced by evil. Our words with him tonight only confirm this. And they lead me to believe that his soul has been on this journey for some time.”

He glanced at Gerard, who nodded reluctantly. The high priest smiled with a look of satisfaction.

“So I agree that the Inquisition has shown,” Aron continued, “that Zomoran held — and regrettably, taught — ideas that are repugnant to the Church. What it has not shown, however, is proof that he intended rebellion against the kingdom or harm to its people.”

“Ridiculous,” Hardin countered imperiously. “Have you read the charges? His sympathies are well-documented. His intentions were clear: to undercut the morals of Carlissan society and lead the people into the darkness of demon worship.”

“And therein lies the nub of the Inquisition’s case, my friends,” Aron replied earnestly. “Zomoran dared to disagree with church doctrine, you see. So of course he must be a dangerous traitor intending rebellion against the kingdom and its people. But does blasphemy equal treason? And if not, then should a man fear to lose his life for it? Does not the inquisitor’s premise equate Church and state — and in a way that has not been acceptable in this kingdom for many years?”

“Are you referring to the Codex War?” Darren asked cautiously. Aron nodded.

“We must not forget our own land’s history,” the prince continued. “How the Church tried to murder Aldran, first of the Killraven kings of Carlissa and my family’s own ancestor, for attempting to bring the ancient knowledge of Janthala back to the world. Had the adventurer mage and his allies not won the resulting civil war, the last two centuries of flourishing and enlightenment would never have happened.”

“That was different,” Hardin said. “Whatever his flaws, Aldran was no demon worshipper.”

“You’d never know that from the accusations leveled at him by the Church,” Aron countered. “And he certainly was accused of blasphemy, and threatened with death, for spreading ideas that defied church doctrine of the time. And when we examine the evidence against Lord Zomoran, is there proof that he did more than this?”

“Is that not enough?” Hardin scoffed.

“No,” Aron said firmly. “I say that it is not. It may suffice to expel him from the Grand Academy, or even the High Council. Sympathy for the demonic religions is no virtue, and those august bodies would be well within their rights to no longer accept him. But we speak here not of ostracism, but of execution. Of crimes of speech for which the ancient penalty is death.”

“Then let it be carried out,” Hardin declared. “That is the law.”

“But should it be?” Aron asked. “Should a man face execution not for threatening his fellow men, but for disagreeing with them? Is ending that injustice not one of many reforms long overdue in our land?”

Augustus Darren shook his head.

“You are saying that Zomoran was not a threat to the kingdom,” he said. His voice was skeptical. “That is not what history teaches us to expect from those who preach demonology.”

Aron sighed. “And I fear that die is now cast,” he said. “Whatever his intentions before, the events of the last day have forever turned Zomoran from the Light. But it did not need to be so.”

“And what do you base that on?” Darren pursued.

Aron turned to Gerard. “Do you remember his words, Brother?”

Gerard nodded. “I do. He said, ‘I may actually owe Salmanor Hardin a debt for opening my eyes today. I see now that this society is decadent beyond redemption. It is time for it to be purged in fire and rebuilt from the ashes.’”

Aron nodded. “That is what I heard as well. Those words came only after the Church had provoked him into desperate retaliation — by imprisoning and torturing his associates, and threatening him with execution for heresy. And what they tell me is that he did not turn on his people until he believed that they had turned on him.”

He spun on the high priest.

“And for that, I blame the Inquisition,” he continued accusingly. “Why was this case brought to the Crown only after arrests were made, and Zomoran publicly humiliated before the regents of the Grand Academy? Is it not clear that this was done to gain political advantage, rather than out of concern for the consequences of provoking a full magus into open rebellion?”

“There was no time —” Hardin began.

“Of course there was time,” Aron countered. “You did not stumble on this evidence overnight. What you lacked was not time, but trust. Trust in the Crown to work with you for the good of the kingdom. Because your true agenda was not to prosecute a prominent heretic, but to use the opportunity he presented to strengthen the Inquisition’s hand in its ongoing debate over the reform movement.”

“That is a serious accusation, Your Highness,” Lord Rugon said cautiously.

“Nevertheless, I do make it,” Aron said forcefully. “And make no mistake. The consequences of the high priest’s reckless political scheming today are serious. Not only has he forfeited any hope of turning Zomoran back to the Light, but he has earned the kingdom a powerful and relentless enemy that it did not have before.”

He turned to Aleanne. Her eyes were wet and gleaming as she met his gaze.

“Could not a compassionate church, Your Grace,” he asked gently, “one that truly believed in the teachings of Lady Tianth, have at least tried to do better?”

She closed her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. “It could have.”

Salmanor Hardin glared at Aron. His face was a mask of undisguised fury.

“You display a stubborn naiveté about the seductive dangers of demonology, Prince Aron,” he said icily. “It will be your downfall, and the kingdom will one day come to regret it.”

He spun on his heel and walked from the room. The others watched him go with looks of astonishment.

Augustus Darren turned to the King. “Where is the Archmage?” he asked. “Should we not hear his counsel in this matter as well?”

“He is with the Queen,” Danor replied. “At the summit of the palace tower. They are working their magic to track the magus’ flight.”

“I fear they will be unsuccessful, though,” Gerard said.

Danor looked disappointed. “I had hoped that together they could locate him.”

Gerard sighed and shook his head.

“Zomoran will have cast a cloaking spell by now. And he’s a master of that kind of magic. Even Mother and Grandfather, with all their skill, would have to scry close to his exact location before piercing it. They might get lucky, but it’ll be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.”

Lord Rugon frowned. “And even if they do, will we be able to apprehend him?”

Aron turned to his father. “We will have to ask Grandfather Acheron for help,” he said.

“The Peregrine King?” General Banderman asked.

“Yes,” Danor said. There was a note of reluctance in his voice. “My father-in-law is not the easiest one to ask for favors, but he would do it. And there is nowhere in all Kalara that Zomoran would be safe from the pegasus warriors of Mount Cassandra.”

A long silence followed. Lord Rugon finally broke it.

“What happens now, Your Majesty?” he asked tentatively.

Danor sighed. “Salmanor will press his case,” he said. “And my son will press his.”

“We both will,” Gerard said firmly. “I stand with Aron in this.”

“And I with my sons,” Danor affirmed. “I fear that this will lead to a very public confrontation between the Inquisition and the royal family.”

Lord Rugon nodded reluctantly. “Then the High Council will have to decide where it stands,” he said, “when it meets tomorrow to hear the high priest’s case.”

“As will the Church,” Aleanne agreed. “The Captain-General and I must confer with the senior clergy. The inquisitor’s zeal to defend the Covenant is admirable, but his conduct in this matter is troubling. May we have permission to withdraw, Your Majesty?”

Danor nodded and stood.

“You may. This audience is concluded for now. We all have much to do, and much to prepare for in the days ahead.”

Next: Chapter 3 - The City of Rainbows