With a motion of his hand, Wylin ordered his troop to hold their position and maintain their silence. He wanted to be certain the rear guard was in place and his prey was in sight before he made his move. There were many avenues in the sewers where two men could run and hide in the dark. He did not want to be chasing the rats through a maze of tunnels. Not only was it unpleasant down there, but Wylin knew the archduke wanted the thieves for the morning festivities and would not be pleased with a long delay.
Soon they came into view. Two men—one tall and broad, the other shorter and slimmer—dressed in warm winter cloaks with hoods pulled high, rounded the corner slowly, pausing from time to time to look about.
“Remind me to compliment His Majesty on the quality of his sewers,” one of them mentioned in a mocking tone.
“At least the slime is warmer than the river,” the other replied.
“Yeah, too bad this is happening on the coldest day of the year. Why couldn’t it be the middle of summer?”
“That would be warmer for sure, but could you imagine the smell?”
“Speaking of smell, do you think we’re getting close to the kitchen yet?”
“You’re the one leading; I can’t see a thing in here.”
Wylin waved his arm. “Move in, now! Take them!”
The castle guard rushed from their positions in an adjoining tunnel and charged the two men. From behind, more soldiers raced forward, blocking any retreat. The troops encircled the two, swords drawn and shields at the ready.
“Careful,” Wylin said, “the archduke says they are full of surprises.”
“I’ll show you surprises,” one of the soldiers from the rear said, and, stepping forward, struck the tall one with the pommel of his sword, dropping him to the ground. Another used his shield and the second man fell unconscious.
Wylin sighed and glared at his ranks, then shrugged. “I was planning on letting them walk but this works too. Chain ’em, gag ’em, and drag ’em to the dungeons. And for Maribor’s sake, get their heads up before they drown. Braga wants them alive.” The soldiers nodded and went to work.
“This hearing of the High Court of Melengar has been assembled in good order to review allegations made against the princess Arista Essendon by the Lord Chancellor, the Archduke of Melengar, Percy Braga.” The strong voice of the chief magistrate boomed across the chamber. “Princess Arista stands duly accused of treason against the crown, the murder of her father and brother, and the practicing of witchcraft.”
The largest room in the castle, the Court of Melengar had a cathedral ceiling, stained-glass windows, and walls rimmed in emblems and shields of the noble houses of the kingdom. Bench seats and balconies were overflowing with spectators. The nobles and the city’s affluent merchants pressed in to see the royal trial of the princess. Outside, many common people had been gathering since dawn and waited in the snow as runners reported the proceedings. A wall of armor-clad soldiers held them at bay.
The court itself was a boxed set of bleachers composed of tiered armchairs, where the ranking nobles of the kingdom sat. Several of the seats were vacant but enough had arrived to serve Braga’s purpose. Still frosty with the morning chill, most of the court wore fur wraps as they waited for the fire in the great hearth to warm the room. At the front stood the empty throne, its vacancy looming like an ominous specter before the court. Its presence was a stark reminder of the gravity and scope of the trial. The verdict could decide who would sit there next and control the reins of the kingdom.
“This judicial court, comprised of men of good standing and sound wisdom, will now hear the allegations and the evidence. May Maribor grant them wisdom.”
The chief magistrate took his seat and a heavyset man with a short beard wreathing his small mouth stood up. He was dressed in expensive-looking robes that flowed behind him as he paced before the jury, eyeing each man carefully.
“Lords of the Court,” the lawyer said, addressing the bleachers with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “Your noble personages have by now learned that our good king Amrath was murdered seven days past in this very castle. You may also be aware Prince Alric is missing, presumed abducted and murdered. But how could such things as these happen within a king’s own castle walls? A king might be murdered. A prince might be abducted. But both in the same night and one after the other? How is this possible?”