They waited, one guard behind, the other before him at the door. Presently, the small door was opened. The priestess who opened it was a red-robed court custodian – a Fang of D’rek – who carried one small curved blade only, but this was more than enough to enforce order, for its sheath was sealed in wax and the blade saturated in a scorpion’s venom so potent that just being a Fang was the most deadly position in the cult, from accidental poisonings alone.
The hatchet-faced woman gestured him in. Only now did a tinge of unease brush his spine as it occurred to him that court sentences were sometimes served in a rather summary manner, and usually by the Fangs of D’rek. He entered, squinting momentarily, as the audience hall was very dark. Deliberately so, of course. The bench behind the heavy basalt table held seven judges – seven high-ranked priests. Tallow sat at the centre, the position of the Demidrek, and seeing this Tayschrenn could not keep a frown from his face. Before the court stood one priest whom Tayschrenn was surprised to recognize as Feneresh – he had not thought him sufficiently high in rank to be involved at this level. Similarly, he remembered two on the court as being far too low to be serving as magistrates. None were particular friends of his, nor allies of Ithell, while two, Salleen and Allatch, stood as longtime rivals of the former Demidrek. Tallow must have promoted these mid-echelon priests and priestesses within the last month. That sickening feeling returned to him in strength. He had not even considered the possibility of such a thorough winnowing of the ranks. Tallow had been very busy indeed.
He peered round the hall and made out a small audience, very small given the charges and – he presumed – the importance of the case. Feneresh gestured to him and announced to the court, ‘The accused.’ And from his pompous and self-satisfied smile, the loathsome fellow was obviously in his element.
The trial, Tayschrenn was surprised to see, had been in session for some time. Feneresh, acting as the prosecution, had already made his opening statement and now called upon a series of lesser priests and priestesses to answer questions regarding the accused. Tayschrenn could only lift one brow in silent commentary as he heard himself described variously as unfriendly, dismissive, cold, unfeeling, aloof, conceited, vain, ruthlessly ambitious, self-seeking, self-obsessed, deceitful, manipulative, and careerist.
He only frowned at the last few; these he’d certainly take issue with. He drew breath and addressed the court, speaking over Feneresh as he droned on. ‘All very well … but flaws of character are no crime.’
Feneresh threw his arms up in exasperation as if to say: See? What have I said?
Tallow, he noted, remained unmoved, his thick arms crossed. It was Salleen who leaned forward, fingers tapping the stone slab table before the court. Old Salleen, whose official role was overseeing cult discipline – such as at the Pits. ‘Of course,’ she agreed. She directed a cold glance to Feneresh. ‘You do have complaints of a material kind?’
Feneresh bowed. ‘Of course, ma’am. Merely laying the groundwork.’ He waved to another of the Fangs of D’rek. ‘Bring forth the priest Imarish Laccon.’
Inwardly, Tayschrenn winced. By the Great Worm’s Fate, that one was still rattling around? He would have nothing good to say.
The Fang brought forward an elderly, emaciated priest whose fringe of grey hair stood in all directions as if he’d just emerged from a windstorm. His rheumy reddened eyes darted about the temple until they latched on to Tayschrenn. He pointed, and began nodding fiercely. ‘Yes, yes,’ he croaked in his hoarse crow’s voice. ‘That’s the one. That’s the slimy dissembler. The trickster.’
Feneresh was waving his hands for silence. ‘Please! For the court: what is your accusation?’
The priest drew himself up as straight as he could. He pressed a knotted hand to his chest. ‘For near two decades I was assistant to dear old Ithell. You all know that. I wore the red sash and was proud to be of service!’ He shot a bent finger to Tayschrenn. ‘Then this one came along. Spreading lies about me, undermining my authority. Through his tricks and dissembling he wheedled his way into Ithell’s confidence. He turned Ithell against me … the man I dedicated my life to … and he stole my position!’
Tayschrenn could not help shaking his head. The old man had never really recovered from being asked to step aside. But he’d been half blind, and so very forgetful; indeed, Ithell had been of the opinion that his mind had been going, and that was over four years ago.
Feneresh clasped his hands at his back and, lowering his voice, asked, ‘What … tricks … exactly are we speaking of?’
The oldster nodded eagerly, the pointing finger quivering. ‘He stole documents and hid them – important cult communications – and blamed me! He forged fake notes, records and inventories – signed them in my name! All to make me look bad…’ the old man’s wet lips started to shake and he was blinking uncontrollably, ‘incompetent even … when I was just serving a great man! Broke my heart, the bastard.’
Tayschrenn knew he should stop shaking his head, but he could not. It was obvious that all the man’s resentment and bitterness at being set aside had settled upon his head. As to the missing documents, and the error-ridden records, yes, he had called Ithell’s attention to the oversights – duty had compelled him. And now Laccon had obviously deteriorated mentally even further; surely this must be obvious to all.
‘He even … even…’ Laccon wavered, swallowing hard and peering about as if lost.
‘Yes?’ Feneresh urged. ‘He did what? You can tell us – you need not fear him.’
Fear me? Tayschrenn sent a beseeching glance to Salleen – please! The man was leading the witness to elaborate.
The man wet his lips. ‘He even … even boasted about how he’d be the next Demidrek!’ Hugging himself, nearly shrieking, he added: ‘He said that he’d get rid of Ithell too!’
Quite a few of the audience gasped audibly at this revelation. Tayschrenn blurted a scoffing ‘Oh, come now!’ and instantly regretted the outburst. Six of the judges cast him glares, while Tallow kept his eyes lowered. Feneresh held both hands out towards Tayschrenn as if inviting all to examine him as if he were some sort of specimen, and murmured just loud enough to carry about the temple: ‘Quite remorseful, I see…’
Furious with the ridiculous proceedings – and more with himself – Tayschrenn clenched his teeth until their grinding chattered about his skull. He’d played into Feneresh’s oily hands. Yet Laccon’s infirmity and absent-mindedness had been known to many here. Surely they must see his accusations as the phantasms of a weakened mind. Tayschrenn glanced to the gallery, and while he’d never been one to exchange pleasantries or nods of greeting with the many who crowded the temple halls, it unnerved him now to see open loathing in the eyes of some gathered there.