Lord Odfrey’s brows knotted. “Dain—”

“I am eld. Neither Mandrian nor one of the faithful.” Dain shrugged. “When the knights let me sit and listen to their tales in the guardhouse, I felt as though I belonged. When they taught me swordplay, I could forget what I am. But there is no true acceptance for one such as myself.”

“Dain, I sought to protect you from harm,” Lord Odfrey said, looking upset. “I feared Mierre would hurt you cruelly on the field, and conceal it as a jousting injury.”

“Strange,” Dain said, unable to believe him. “Mierre’s dagger wounded me today, and now that I am accused of a terrible act I did not commit, you believe them, not me. How does that protect me from harm?”

“It will be the knights who judge you, not I,” Lord Odfrey said.

That answer was meaningless, for Lord Odfrey still refused to take his side.

Dain stared at him, hurt beyond measure.

Someone pounded on the door. “My lord, bid us enter!”

With a start, Lord Odfrey glanced in that direction. “Wait!” he called.  Dain heard an impatient murmur of male voices outside the door, and Sir Blait growling a response. Fear dried Dain’s mouth. If he could not sway Lord Odfrey, how could he prove himself to the rest? Would they let Hueh speak on his behalf?  Would the child tell the truth, or lie? It took courage to accuse the prince publicly of lying.

I shall do it, Dain promised himself grimly. Though they cut out my tongue for it, 1 shall make them hear how infamous their prince is.  The pounding came again on the door, more insistent this time.  Dain looked at Lord Odfrey in appeal. “Lord, tell me the law I am to be judged by. If I am to defend myself, I must know how.”

Lord Odfrey flung his ink pot at the wall. It shattered there, blotching the wall with a huge indigo stain. “Damne! Had you come straight to me, you would have had no opportunity to attack Gavril. I am certain he provoked you, but why in Thod’s name were you so foolish?”

“Open your ears to my words,” Dain said. “I did not attack the prince. Not once.  Not in any fashion. He came to watch while Mierre and Kaltienne fought me. Sir Roye told me I was wrong to have my weapon drawn in his presence, but was I to sheathe my dagger to avoid offending his highness, and let them stab me?” Lord Odfrey closed his eyes as though in pain. He drew in a sharp breath and opened them again. “You will swear to this?”

“Aye, of course I will swear to it,” Dain said fervently.

“Truth is the only defense you have.”

“My word against Gavril’s.” Dain sighed. “Will Hueh be allowed to speak for me?

Will Sir Roye?”

Lord Odfrey’s eyes were dark with anguish. He hesitated a moment before he said, “I have sent Sir Roye away. He is delivering a message from me to Geoffen du Maltie.”

Dain stared in disbelief. Cold chills ran down his arms. “Why?” he whispered.  “Thod help me, to save his life,” Lord Odfrey answered. His face held momentary despair, then it grew harsh again. “The man has been my protector since I won my spurs of knighthood. I will not let him risk his life by calling the prince a liar.”

The coldness in Dain spread. “And Hueh?” he asked.

“The child, by law, is too young to speak.”

Dain shivered, turned away, and went to stand by the window. He stared blindly outside, his heart pounding heavily. “Then I am doomed.” Lord Odfrey came up behind him. He touched Dain’s shoulder, but Dain flinched away.

“Forgive me,” Lord Odfrey said quietly. “They are innocents and I cannot let them be harmed by what has befallen you.”

“Of course,” Dain said bitterly. “As an eld, I am permitted no defense.” “No!” Lord Odfrey spun him around and glared at him. “Damne, boy! I would rather fall in battle than lose you. I lost one son. I do not—cannot lose another.” “I am not your son,” Dain said harshly.

“No.”

Dain flung up his chin, facing the man. “Would you defend me if I were?” Lord Odfrey clenched his jaw so hard a muscle leaped there. “In Thod’s name, how can I? When I became chevard of Thirst, I swore to uphold the law of the land. I tried to protect you, but you defied me, ran away, consorted with a foreigner, and have been traveling through Nold at a time when our lands are under fearsome attack. You defied Sir Terent by refusing to come straight to me. I could have protected you then, but nay, you fell into the trap set for you. Now you would accuse me of not defending you. How can I when you have rejected my every effort to protect you?”

Dain listened to him and felt his defiance crumble. His eyes stung, and he turned away, silent and wretched. His mistakes loomed large, and he saw now how wrong he’d been, how unfair he’d been to blame Lord Odfrey for his problems. His own independence and defiance had played into Gavril’s hands.  “What, then, can I do?” he asked. “For me to tell the truth will be to accuse the prince of lying. If I do that, will I break another of your laws?” “Yes.”

Dain swore softly beneath his breath. The trap was even worse than he’d thought.  Gavril had him from every side. “If I run away, for real this time? If I never return?”

Sorrow creased Lord Odfrey’s scarred face. “You will be wanted for life. You can never cross Mandrian borders again, for the king will set a price on your head.  If I or any knight here see you, we will be bound by our duty and fealty to seek your life. I do not want that, Dain. Do you?”

“If I remain here and go through this trial, will I die?” Dain asked bluntly.

“I know not. I hope not,” Lord Odfrey said with a sigh.

“But you cannot promise me.”

“Dain,” Lord Odfrey said, his voice serious indeed, “if you wish to escape Thirst, there is a way out, a hidden way known only by me. It was shown to me by my father, and his father before him.”

Hope flashed through Dain. He grabbed at the offer like a drowning man. “Where is it?”

“You will go, then?” Lord Odfrey asked.

“What choice have I?”

Lord Odfrey dropped his gaze and nodded. “Very well. I will show you the way.”

The knights outside pounded on the door again. “My lord! We must have him.

Surrender him to us now!”

“A moment more,” Lord Odfrey called back, and strode across the wardroom to the fireplace. He pressed a stone, and a small, concealed door opened in the wall.  “Through here. Quickly.”

Dain hurried to it and had started to duck into a cramped, musty passageway draped with cobwebs and smelling of mice when a suspicion tickled the back of his neck. He paused, hesitating, and glanced back.

Lord Odfrey scowled at him and gestured for him to go. “Hurry. You have no more time.”

“What will become of you?” Dain asked. “If I go, it will be known that you allowed me to escape. What will befall you?”

“Do not worry about me.”

But Dain was thinking of what the chevard had said to Lord Renald. “You said I was your responsibility. Will you be punished for defying the prince?” “No.”

“Tell me the truth,” Dain said fiercely.

“If you’re going, you must go now,” Lord Odfrey said with equal fierceness. “It is the only way to save you.”

“Will you stand trial in my place?” Dain asked.

Lord Odfrey said nothing. They stared at each other a long moment in the silence, then Dain slowly backed out of the escape passage and pressed the stone to close its door.

“Dain!”

“No,” Dain said softly, “I will not run if it means you will be destroyed in my place.”

“I have a better chance than you.”

Dain shook his head. “You have given me much kindness this year, lord. I will not serve you ill in repayment.”

“In Thod’s name, you must go!”

Dain turned away from him and resolutely opened the door. He found himself faced by a delegation of six knights, half Thirst men and half Lunt. His heart was hammering again, and from behind him he could feel a wave of despair pass through Lord Odfrey. Dain’s knees felt weak, and he was sore afraid, but he forced himself to face the men with his head held high and his gaze steady.  “Take me to your assembly,” he said.

The Hall of Thirst Hold stretched long and narrow, with a high vaulted ceiling spanned by thick wooden beams and hung with Thirst banners of green. The head of a stag bearing immense, spreading antlers was mounted at one end of the Hall; the massive head of a black, snarling beyar was at the other. Tapestries covered the wall on one side of the Hall, while shields interspersed with chevron-patterned arrangements of swords and rosettes of daggers adorned the opposite wall. Long trestle tables littered with trenchers, riddled wheels of cheese, bread crumbs, and platters of picked-over meat bones stretched the length of the room in a double row, leaving an empty aisle that reached all the way to the great hearth at the north end. Large enough to roast an ox, the hearth stood cold and empty this summer’s night. Torches set in iron sconces on either side of the chimneypiece flamed vivid red, hissing and smoking and dripping hot pitch.

When Lord Odfrey walked into the Hall, the musicians fell silent and the knights sitting at the tables stopped their chatter. Pewter tankards of Thirst cider banged the tables. Benches scraped back, and the knights rose to their feet.  The chevard had put on a dark green cloak over his gray tunic. The torchlight glittered on his jeweled cloak pin, signet, and marriage ring. Grim-faced, Lord Odfrey strode along straight-backed, with one hand resting lighting on his sword hilt.

Dain followed behind him, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes in the Hall, from Prince Gavril on down to the lowliest page. Next came the six knights in solemn procession.

The knights of Thirst were sober, but the men of Lunt were not. Dain smelled the fermented ale in their cups and on their breath. He read fierce judgment in their gaze. Their minds flickered against his: guilty/guilty/guilty/guilty.  At the head table, which was still laden with supper remains Prince Gavril sat with the priest and Lord Renald. Only Lord Renald had the right to stay seated in Lord Odfrey’s presence but none of them rose.

The torchlight gleamed on Gavril’s golden hair. He wore an indigo doublet of silk. His handsome face smirked with triumph, and his slender white hand toyed with the jeweled hilt of his poniard.

Sir Los stood behind his young master’s chair, looking stolid and bulky. His expression was stony, his eyes forever watchful. The priest was a short, swarthy man with a sunburned tonsure and worried, nervous eyes. Wearing his robes, he looked hot and unhappy.

With his own protector standing behind his chair, Lord Renald leaned back, seemingly at his ease, but his dark eyes held a frown. When Lord Odfrey reached the table, Lord Renald rose to his feet and bowed.

Lord Odfrey inclined his head stiffly in return. Their exchange of courtesies made Gavril look haughty and churlish. When the prince continued to sit in Lord Odfrey’s presence, a faint murmur of disapproval spread across the room. Gavril seemed to ignore it, but his dark blue eyes flashed with disdain. Glancing to one side of the Hall, Dain found the worried faces of Thum and Sir Polquin among the crowd. Sir Polquin scowled at Gavril and Thum looked furious.  Lord Odfrey’s gaze passed over Gavril coldly and sought out his captain-at-arms.

“Who have been chosen judges?” he asked.

Sir Bosquecel, looking stern and official in his mail and surcoat, came forward.

“The judges will be Lord Renald, his captain-at-arms, and myself.” Dain blinked worriedly. Lord Renald seemed fairly neutral and open-minded, but Dain had already heard the man warn Lord Odfrey not to risk offending the king.  Dain did not think Lord Renald would fail to follow his own advice. The second man Dain knew not at all. Sir Bosquecel had always been kind to Dain in the past, but now he stood rigid and stalwart before Lord Odfrey and did not glance at Dain once. Even if Sir Bosquecel took Dain’s side, that left two whose votes were at best uncertain.

Prince Gavril finally rose to his feet. “A representative of the church should also be a judge,” he said.

The priest beside him jumped up hastily, looking more nervous than before. “I shall serve as I am called to serve, my lords,” he said in a thin, breathless voice.

Ignoring the priest entirely, Lord Odfrey looked at Gavril with scant patience.

“Such is not the law.”

Gavril flushed, and for a moment hatred for Lord Odfrey gleamed in his dark blue eyes. “It is the custom at court to include the church as a courtesy.” “We are an assembly of warriors, your highness,” Lord Odfrey said in a voice like stone. “We will follow law here, not lowlander custom.” The pink flush in Gavril’s face darkened at the rebuke, and some of the knights laughed. Gavril glared at them. “Very well!” he said a bit shrilly. “Let us begin.”

Sir Bosquecel looked offended by the prince’s brusque command. Watching, Dain got a glimmer of an idea. If he could cause Gavril to lose his temper and display to these men his true personality, then perhaps they might believe what Dain had to say. It was a thin plan, but all he had.

The ceremony began with the head table being pushed back and Dain placed in front of it to face the entire Hall.

A herald wearing Thirst livery came forward and cleared his throat. “Lords and knights,” he announced, “let it be known that the trial of one eld youth, known as Dain, has now begun. Let truth be spoken by all. Let all hearts be open to receiving the truth, as we are taught by Tomias, servant of Thod the Almighty.” Someone pounded his tankard on the table at the rear of the Hall. “Hang ‘im!” the man shouted drunkenly. “Hang ’im in a river tree an‘ let the keebacks peck out his eyes!”

Lord Odfrey whirled around. “Seize that man!” he roared. Two Thirst knights strode down the length of the Hall toward the offender.  “Gently,” Lord Renald said with an apologetic shrug. “Chances are he’s one of mine.”

Lord Odfrey was not listening. His fist was clenched at his side and he fumed, “Drunkenness in my Hall. I will not have it.”

The knight who was pulled forth to stand on wobbly knees was not a Lunt man, however, but Thirst. With food and ale spilled down his green surcoat, he let his head loll a moment before he waved and flashed a drunken grin. It was Sir Vedrique, assigned to Gavril’s company of guards.

Lord Odfrey looked livid. “Get him out!” he ordered. “Secure him in the guardhouse.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

Sir Vedrique was hustled out, and Lord Odfrey gazed long and hard around the Hall. “If any other man here is drunk, let him admit it now and leave without censure. Stay, and if I learn you have voted in this trial with your judgment impaired, it will be a public flogging.”

Two Thirst knights stepped sheepishly from the crowd, bowed unsteadily to their chevard, and left.

A Lunt man also came forward and bowed to Lord Renald. “I fear, m’lord,” he said in a slurred voice, “that I am unfit for this occasion.”

“You may go,” Lord Renald told him.

Gavril stepped toward Lord Odfrey. “I am to blame, my lord,” he said lightly. “ ‘Twas my idea to cheer and reward the men for a hard day’s fighting. I did provide ale from my private stores, after Sir Bosquecel granted permission.” Lord Odfrey scowled at his captain-at-arms, who looked deeply troubled.  “I saw no harm, my lord,” he said quietly. “Permission was sought the moment we rode in, before this other trouble began.”

“I see,” Lord Odfrey said, and let it pass.

Dain, however, drew in a sharp breath and glanced at Gavril. How smug the prince looked. He must have planned this all in meticulous detail.  Why? Dain wondered. What had he ever done to warrant the prince’s total enmity?  Was this retaliation for that long-ago day when they’d scuffled over the bard crystal? Could Gavril harbor a grudge for something that trivial? Or did blind hatred stem simply from bigotry and prejudice? Gavril had gone to great trouble to see him destroyed.

The ceremony continued. A green square of cloth embroidered with Lord Odfrey’s crest of leaping stag and his bars of rank was brought forth by a trembling page. He handed the cloth reverently to Sir Bosquecel, who held it up by two corners and draped it across Lord Odfrey’s sword as it was drawn.  Dain noticed that tonight Lord Odfrey’s weapon was not the usual utilitarian blade that he wore into battle but instead one longer and very old. It was not fashioned of magicked steel forged by dwarves but instead of some metal equally mysterious, ancient in fact, with a resonance that traveled along Dain senses.  He had never seen such metal before, and he could not get a clear look at it with the cloth draped across the blade, but he closed his eyes and listened to the hum of it.

“I am Truthseeker,” it said within the hum. Great power flowed inside the blade.  Long ago, many battles had it fought. Images of blood and death mingled with war cries in tongues that Dain had never heard before. He shuddered and opened his eyes as the draped sword was pointed straight at his heart, then turned sideways and laid at Dain’s feet. Gold wire was wrapped around the two-handed hilt and a row of fiery emeralds studded the straight edge of the guard. Glittering and gleaming, Truthseeker lay on the floor in humility, but even the cloth could not mask its greatness.

Wide-eyed with awe, Dain stared at Lord Odfrey, and his entire image of the man changed to something new. Of what lineage was this man that he owned a sword made of god-steel? Such ancient weapons were legendary, more myth than fact in these times. Jorb had sometimes spoken of god-steel wistfully wishing he could touch some of it, just once, in his lifetime. In the olden days, dwarves and other treasure-hunters had scavenged the Field of Skulls in hopes of finding such a weapon among the fallen. To see a sword of this kind, here and now, obviously well preserved and handed down from generation to generation, so astonished Dain that he could not remain silent. “Truthseeker is—” Lord Odfrey’s gaze snapped to his in warning. As Dain broke off what he’d been about to blurt out, the chevard said a soft, grim voice, “My ancestral sword is named aptly. And you are found guilty, it will take your life.” Dain gulped, but Lord Odfrey was already turning away from him. Standing alone, Dain met the eyes of the assembly and told himself that doomed or not he would see the truth to tonight, would hold to his honor and show them eld courage.  The six knights who had escorted Dain here from Lord Odfrey’s wardroom now knelt in a semicircle before him. One by one, each man drew his sword beneath a plain cloth and held the draped weapon on the floor before him. The three judges stood facing Dain on his right; Lord Odfrey, Gavril, and Sir Los stood facing him on his left.

At the rear of the Hall some of the wounded knights hobbled in with assistance.  Four other men were carried on wooden boards, with Sulein hovering in attendance. A loud babble of conversation rose through the Hall, until the herald raised his hand for silence.

“Hear this!” he said, his voice ringing out so that all could hear. “The eld called Dain stands accused by Prince Gavril of crimes and foul deeds against his person. His highness will lay those charges now.”

His face alight with eagerness, Gavril stepped forward and pointed at Dain. “In the afternoon of this day,” he began with great formality, “this pagan creature did walk into the common chamber of the fosters and interrupt my conversation with Mierre and Kaltienne. He did swear at me and give me great insult, then without provocation he drew his dagger and attacked me, with intent to commit grievous bodily harm ... or my death.”

Dain stiffened, incensed by so blatant a lie, but he’d been warned not to speak out of turn. It took all the willpower he had to stay silent, even as hostile murmurs rose through the Hall. Their emotions beat at him, stronger than ever: guilty/guilty/guilty/guilty.

Clenching his jaw, he drew his bard crystal from beneath his doublet and clutched the pendant in his fist. He thought of Thia, his beloved sister, whose pale, blonde-haired beauty had been like a song in the air. She would not want to see him here, judged for his life by this assembly of men and bound by their treachery and lies. He thought of her proud spirit, her courage that had never faltered, even in her final hours as she lay dying of a Bnen arrow.  If he did not prevail tonight, he would join her spirit in the third world. But he would not go like a baseborn coward, cringing and pleading for mercy.  Dain stared coldly at Gavril, whose lying tongue had finally fallen silent.  Mierre and then Kaltienne were brought forward to speak their lies. Furious, Dain kept his shoulders erect and his chin high. Gavril had hated and persecuted him from the first day because he was an eld; there was no other reason. The prince’s blind prejudice did him no credit, and someday perhaps these men and others who followed him would see the truth of his character and follow him no more.

When the accusations ended, silence hung over the Hall.  Dain faced the assembly, refusing to act guilty or let his fear show. He had no witnesses to contradict the lies Mierre and Kaltienne had spoken. Truthseeker lay at his feet. He wished with all his heart that the sword would spring into the air guided by the hand of Olas, god of war and justice, to smite them.  But that was an unworthy wish, Dain told himself. His problems were his own, too small for the gods to concern themselves with. He had gotten himself into this by his own action and choices. Foolishly, he had played into Gavril’s evil hands.

The Hall seemed to grow warmer as someone else spoke at length. Dain stopped listening and let his mind drift. His arm was throbbing more than ever. He could smell the food not yet cleared off the tables. His stomach growled and rumbled, and took all his willpower not to grab some of the table scraps at his back.  Between his wound and his hunger, he felt faint. Yet he was determined to stand tall and look brave.

Something pale and indistinct near the ceiling caused the banners to flutter.  Trying not to sway, Dain let his gaze wander upward. He frowned at the shape, which swirled like mist and was no creature of this world.  His mouth went dry and for an instant he knew fear. But he sensed nothing evil about it. His eyes closed a moment, fighting off a wave of weakness, and when he opened them again the mist was forming itself into the likeness of a man such as Dain had never seen before.

He blinked, unable to believe his eyes, and glanced swiftly around to see if anyone else noticed this vision. But Lord Odfrey was speaking, and all eyes were trained on the chevard. Dain found his gaze drawn back to the vision. This stranger was an awesome sight, a handsome man in the prime of life, broad-shouldered and strong, with a chiseled face too angular to be Mandrian.  There was a look of the eld to his features, although like Dain his frame was as large and muscular as an human’s. His breastplate of gold embossed with symbols of hammer and lightning bolts gleamed as though with a life of its own. In his right hand this man held a magnificent sword with a blade that shone white and magical. His thick black hair fell to his shoulders, held back by a circlet of delicate gold that only enhanced his masculinity. His ice-blue eyes were eagle-keen. They pierced Dain as though they would look deep, to Dain’s very soul.

Unable to draw a complete breath, Dain felt his knees buckling. He tried to kneel before this king, but the apparition pointed his sword at him and his deep voice rang through Dain’s mind, “Kneel not to me, Faldain of Nether.” Dain gasped. From the corner of his eye he saw Gavril glance at him sharply, but Dain’s gaze remained rapt on the king. His heart was pounding with suppressed excitement. Faldain of Nether. The name ran through his thoughts. In his mind, Dain replied, “Great One, what would you have me do?” Again the apparition pointed at Dain with his mighty sword, which glowed now to a blinding degree, like a tongue of white flame. “Beware!” rang the words in Dain’s mind. “Danger lurks close. You must not fail.”

Dain frowned, finding this warning hardly useful. He had little chance of prevailing at this trial, especially the way truth was being mocked tonight.  “How can I win?” he asked the king. “Have mercy, Great One, and show me the way.”

“The way is already known to you. Lose not your courage against your foe.”