For long minutes the woman stood silently, her rich gown becoming dirtied by contact with the rusty iron of the bars as she leaned against them. Erik glanced up and found that as she looked from man to man, only the new prisoner could return her gaze, and at one point he even smiled slightly. But for several of the men her penetrating gaze was too much, and they began to weep. Then at last her own eyes began to fill with tears and she said, “Enough.”
Lord James nodded curtly once and motioned for the two guards to escort her out of the cell. When they were gone, he said, “You men will face trial this afternoon. Kingdom justice is swift; those of you found guilty of capital crimes will be brought back to this cell and in the morning we will hang you. You’ll be given one last meal and time to make your peace with the gods. Priests of the twelve orders will come for those who ask for shriving, and for the rest of you who don’t wish to speak with a priest, well, you can spend time contemplating your sins. If you have an advocate, he will be allowed to speak for you before Prince Nicholas; if you don’t, you must speak for yourself or the Crown will convict you by default. There is no appeal, so make your brief persuasive. The King is the only man who can overrule the Prince, and he’s busy.”
Without another word, the Duke of Krondor turned and left the cell block. A guard waiting in the connecting hall reached in and pulled the door shut behind him.
The men stood silently for a long minute, then one, the man called Slippery Tom, said, “Something about that witch gave me a chill.”
“It was like having me mum finding me with my brother’s sweets on festival day,” said another.
Slowly they sat, and when every man was back in his place, Roo turned to Erik and asked, “What was that all about?”
Erik shrugged. “You know as much as I do.”
“She read your minds,” said the newcomer as he returned to his contemplative pose.
“What?” came from several of the men. “She read our minds?”
Without opening his eyes, but with a very faint smile, the newcomer said, “She was looking for some men.” Then suddenly his eyes opened and he glanced from face to face. “I think she may have found them.”
His eyes lingered on Erik and he said, “Yes, I think she has.”
The midday meal was plain but filling. The guards brought in a platter of bread loaves and a round of hard cheese, as well as a bucket of a vegetable stew. No knives, forks, or other potential weapons were permitted, but dull-edged wooden bowls were provided for the stew. Finding himself suddenly hungry, Erik shouldered through the press at the bars as the guards handed out the food.
“Here, now!” shouted a guard. “There’s enough for all of you, though why you’d have any appetite when you’re going to hang tomorrow is beyond me.”
Erik took a bowl and grabbed a loaf of bread, broke off a hunk of cheese, and returned to where Roo sat. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”
Roo said, “If the guard’s not lying, there will be more when I get to the bars.” He rose slowly and moved to where the press of prisoners was lessening, then took his bowl and held it close to the bars as the guard filled it with a metal ladle. Then a loaf of bread and some cheese was given to him, and he returned to Erik’s side.
One of the prisoners said, “The food’s better here than at me mum’s!”
That brought a weak laugh from two of the men, but the rest ate in silence.
Shortly after the meal, the guards came to escort the prisoners to the Prince’s court. Each man’s leg irons and shackles, wrist irons and collars, and all the chains were inspected. The newest prisoner, the Isalani, stood silently as the wooden collar was presented to him. He said, “I will cause you no difficulty.” Then with an enigmatic smile he said, “I am interested in what is about to occur.”
The guard sergeant seemed to think about it, but the man walked quietly out of the cell and stood in place behind the man who had been led out before him. The guard sergeant made a curt nod, indicating it was all right, and the other prisoners were put in the line.
“All right, any of you makes a break, we shoot you down and that’s the end of it. So if you prefer a crossbow bolt to the rope, now’s your chance. But be warned, if the bolt doesn’t kill you outright, it’s a messy, pitiful way to go. Saw a man with his lung punched out of him; that was a sight. Now, move the prisoners along!” The company of crossbowmen lined the hallway where they marched, and the prisoners, now numbering twelve, were led through the palace, up to the Prince’s hall.
Dirty, poor, and miserable, these men were ushered into the presence of the second most powerful man in the Kingdom, Nicholas, Prince of the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles, brother to King Borric, Heir Apparent to the Crown. The Prince was a man of forty-some years of age, and his dark hair was still almost entirely without grey. His eyes were dark brown and deeply shadowed; the stress of burying his father was obvious, etching deep lines on his face.