Daughter of Regals (52 page)

“‘To do so, we must
acknowledge that pity and forgiveness are in God’s hands, not ours. They are
too high for us. We cannot ask whether this crime or that may be let pass. On
our souls, we cannot! We can only call evil by its true name and consign it to
fire, as the will of Heaven demands.

“‘The name of the evil
which we are called upon to judge this day is witchcraft,
witchcraft!
The
woman Thamala is a
witch,
self-confessed and abominable, defiant of all
things holy. And no ordinary witch! So cunning is her malice that she nearly
dragged down an innocent young man with her.’ As I have said, the High
Templeman put the best face possible upon his defeat. Thamala had risen again
to her knees. New blood seeped from the wounds which Templeman Knarll bad
opened on her back. But Crossus Hught had already dispensed with pity and
forgiveness. ‘Men of the judica,’ he concluded, ‘the judgment is yours. What
is your word?’

“For a moment, your
fathers remained mute under the High Templeman’s gaze—not doubting what their
word would be, of course, but wondering who would be the first to speak it. By
virtue of his years and his great wealth, Dom Tahl often took precedence. But
upon this occasion both Ser Lew and Dom Franc had cause to stand forward, if
for no other reason than simple gratitude that their sons had not been called
to give evidence against Dom Peralt. Had I wished to call attention to myself,
I might have spoken. Thamala’s guilt was certainly plain to me. It was awkward
for Crossus Hught that no man sprang up at once to offer verdict.

“But the moment was
short—too short to do more than gall the High Templeman. Then Dom Peralt stood
slowly from his seat.

“‘High Templeman,’ he
said, ‘no word is required here but mine. All have heard the witch’s
confessions. But only I have experienced her seductions. Only I have felt her
foul power.
My
judgment is sufficient to doom her.’ As he spoke, Thamala
bowed her head, but gave no other sign that she heard him. ‘And I proclaim that
she is the most evil of all witches, deserving of excruciation and death.’ His
voice had the sound of a man who had been truly humbled.

“His gaze, however, did
not waver from Crossus Hught’s hot glower. ‘High Templeman,’ he continued, ‘if
you will permit it, I will give her to the cauldron myself. Her vileness has
besmirched me, and I wish to aid in her punishment. By so doing, I hope to
cleanse her touch from my soul.’

“At this, High Templeman
Crossus Hught studied Dom Peralt narrowly. He did not know what to make of the
young man’s offer. It has always been the Templemen themselves who cast witches
to the cauldron. But almost at once he saw the benefit to himself. Thus far,
the tale of this judica did not promise to augment his stature with good King
Traktus. But if he could report that the honor of a reckless young Dom had been
questioned by an overzealous subordinate—and that he, Crossus Hught, had
determined the young man’s innocence during the judica—and that the young man
had been allowed to deliver the witch to death himself, thereby restoring his
good repute beyond all doubt—why, then the High Templeman would have no reason
to fear that he might lose by the tale.

“But he was too wise to
sanction such a breach of custom without encouragement. Holding Dom Permit’s
gaze, he asked softly, ‘Men of the judica, what say you to this?’

“Dom Franc and Ser Lew
responded instantly, ‘Permit him!’ It could be seen in their faces that they
did not mean to deal gently with their offspring when the judica was done.

 “Other men promptly
added their voices. Every proof of Dom Peralt’s innocence secured their own
safety further. In moments, the will of the judges was plain.

“The High Templeman
nodded gravely, but betrayed no satisfaction. ‘Very well,’ he said to Dom
Peralt. ‘The deed is yours. Her death will indeed go far to cleanse your soul.”

‘It would have been
seemly if Dom Peralt had spoken a word of thanks or obeisance to the High
Templeman. But perhaps the solemn duty he had undertaken confused his sense of
fitness. Or perhaps he was serious now as he had not been before the slaver
Growt, and so did not see the wit in thanking Crossus Hught. He glanced once
around the upper tiers of the chamber, then left his seat to approach the
witch Thamala.

“She had not moved from
her knees. When he set his hand to her shoulder, she stiffened as if expecting
to be struck again. But she did not resist him. She had reconciled herself to
death. As he lifted her, she assisted him as well as she could.

“In the heat of the kiln
and the molten iron, with all the eyes of the judica upon them, they climbed
the ramp toward the rim of the cauldron.

“Starved and beaten as
she was, she had no strength for the ascent. The reflected glow of the metal
showed fiercely upon her swellings and bruises. Dom Peralt was compelled to
support her, one arm around her back, one hand on her shoulder. For that
reason, he did not resemble a man who intended to hurl her into agony when they
gained the head of the ramp.

“At the rim of the cauldron,
they halted. She leaned, half stumbling, toward the terrible heat, as though he
had already thrust her to fall. But he caught her back. A smile made savage by
the direct radiance of the iron twisted his mouth. He gazed into her face—but
she would not raise her eyes. He was her slayer, and she had chosen this death
to pay her debts.

“Roughly, he turned her
away from him. His hands clamped her sore shoulders. If she had tried to
struggle— even if she had been healthy—she could not have escaped his young strength.
Her head hanging weakly, she did not struggle.

“‘Thamala,’ he said in a
voice which we all heard, ‘you are doomed. This I do for justice.”‘

Ser Visal lifted his
flagon to his lips—and lowered it without drinking. “My puppies,” he said
slowly, “you will not be more surprised than your fathers were by what
transpired.” Several of the candles had failed, and the dimmer light seemed to
give his face a grim intensity, almost a keenness, as though he were not as fat
and soft as he appeared. “As you may imagine, the attention of every man in the
chamber was fixed upon Dom Peralt and the witch. None who witnessed the event
were able to account for what they saw.

“From somewhere about
the tiers, a goatskin full of water was hurled into the cauldron. Striking the
molten iron, it burst with such an eruption of steam and noise that the
onlookers ducked their heads. High Templeman Crossus Hught and Templeman Knarll
recoiled against each other. The cauldron and the head of the ramp were
obscured from view.

“When the vapor
cleared—before any Templeman could call out—Nm Peralt and Thamala became
visible again. She lay on her side on the ramp, her manacles held against the
stone. In one hand, he gripped a hammer which he had worn hidden under his
belt—in the other, a hardened chisel that he had borrowed from Growt. As the
judica watched in astonishment and horror, he struck the iron from Thamala’s
left wrist.

“Templeman Knarll gaped
to shout, but Crossus Hught was quicker. ‘Guards!’ he thundered. ‘Treachery!
Beware of witchcraft!
Guards!’
A thrust of his thin arm impelled
Templeman Knarll toward the ramp.

“Nevertheless, Dom
Peralt might have succeeded in his attempt. Only a moment was required. But he was
 inexperienced with Growt’s tools. His first blow was  luckier than he
deserved-his second, unluckier. As he swung the hammer, the chisel slipped from
the manacle. Striking the stone, it twisted from his grasp, skidded away, and
fell to the floor beside the kiln.

“At that moment, the
inner doors crashed open. A company of guards charged into the chamber, waving
their swords—ready to butcher a whole host of helpless witches and weaponless
young fools. Templemen dove into the tiers to clear the path of the guards.

“Dom Peralt did not
hesitate. At the his bravado—did not fail him. Pulling Thamala with him, he
jumped after the fallen chisel.

“But when he had
regained the tool, he made no effort to use it. Rather, he gave it to Thamala
and thrust her to the floor. He had no time to break her remaining fetter. The
guards were too near.

“To counter that threat,
he did what no sane man would have done, regardless of his courage. He put his
shoulder to the side of the cauldron and pushed.”

Ser Visal wiped the
sweat from his face, scrubbed his bands on the front of his robe. His eyes
stared in amazement at remembered visions. “It was plain to all in the
chamber,” he said softly. “Every man of the judica witnessed it. And no wonder
that we fear to speak of it now! We saw the pressure of his great frame against
the iron. We saw his clothing take fire from the heat. We smelled his flesh as
it burned. We heard the howl wrung from him in hideous pain..

“And we saw the brick
which held the cauldron upright crumble.

 “After that”—Ser Visal
threw up his hands—”chaos. The cauldron tilted and fell, pouring molten iron at
the guards. In instant panic, they did their utmost to avoid that liquid agony.
Some sprang to safety among the seats. Others were hurt only by the spattering
droplets. But a few were too slow. They lost feet and limbs before they were
pulled free.

“Amid the shouts and
screams and confusion, only a few of us saw that Dom Peralt retained
consciousness, despite his tremendous hurt. Thamala held the chisel against her
manacle as he raised the hammer and brought it down with his last strength.

“She had been tortured
and starved for days, reduced to such frailty that she could hardly stand. But
she did not fail him. As the iron fell from her waist, she called up her
power—and both she and Dom Peralt seemed to vanish as though they had ceased to
exist.

“A moment later, all the
wood of the outer doors burst from the hinges and bolts.

“At once, the High
Templeman roared, ‘They flee!’ Brandishing his miter like a club, he sent every
guard and Templeman within reach chasing outward in a rush. And we followed,
half thinking that we might yet recapture the witch and her rescuer, half
desiring only to escape the pain and ruin of the judica.

“But Dom Peralt and
Thamala were gone.

Abruptly, Ser Visal
tossed down the dregs of the bitter wine and thumped his flagon to the table. “The
rest you know,” he said brusquely. In a surge of flesh and robes, he gained his
feet. “The witch and her consort were not found. A great search was made, and
many men and good-women were offended by it. A writ of excommunication was read
against Nm Peralt. But no sign of him or the witch was found.

“The breaking of the
outer door was a ruse, of course. Neither he nor Thamala had the strength for
flight. They remained in the judica, and she kept them from being seen, until
the chamber was left empty. Then they made their way to whatever means of
escape he had prepared for them.

“That is enough. Vespers
will be rung soon. You must go.” Balancing his bulk on his stout legs, Ser
Visal started toward the door.

Consternation stopped
our mouths. He was not done— surely he was not done? There was so much we
wished to know. Yet he was on his way to the door without a backward glance.

The son of Dom Tahl,
however, was accustomed to leadership among us, and he spoke when the rest of
us could not. “Ser Visal, how do you know all this?” Was there a hint of
warning in his voice—a threat? Perhaps he meant to tell his father what he had
heard. “How do you know what ruses Dom Peralt and the witch used?”

Ser Visal turned. In the
failing light, the gaze he cast toward Domson Thal appeared furtive,
frightened. “It needs no great wit,” he replied with an effort of blandness. “I
have heard that the injured guards are recovering remarkably well. Without
exception, they suffer less than expected—and heal more rapidly. And some admit
that they felt a beneficent influence while they waited for succor.” He
shrugged his mounded shoulders. “Witches are known to be healers.”

Domson Tahl frowned and
nodded. But at once he asked, “And how do you know what Dom Peralt and the
witch said to each other in his cell?”

Bulging in his fat
cheeks, Ser Visal’s eyes shifted among us warily. Still slick with sweat, his
skin had a pasty color. Twice he opened his thick lips and closed them again,
gaping like a fish. Some of us nudged Domson Tahl warningly. Others clenched
their fists. We wanted no harm to come to Ser Visal for the things he had
revealed to us. But at last he swallowed his fear and accepted the full risk of
his tale.

“Do you louts have minds
of stone?” he retorted acidly. “Who do you suppose threw the goatskin of water
into the cauldron?”

Turning on his heel, he
left the Hound and Whip.

We followed him out into
the dusty street and the evening. Some of us staggered a little from the wine
we had consumed, but drink had no effect on Ser Visal. He was as steady on his
feet as a sack of grain as he walked away.