Tales From Behind The Green Door

[Badstench]

Rhia had suggested that the Phantom was active again, and Judge Fury had leapt to the conclusion that the presence of the assassin heralded something momentous. Someone was in immediate danger. He hadn’t known who or why at the time, but action needed to be taken nonetheless.

He had called on Thorndew, him being the Judge given responsibility for apprehending the members of the Shadow Society, but in light of this new revelation, Fury imagined that it was his companions at the table of eight who had attracted the interest of the grand assassin. They were in immediate danger, so the action that was needed, needed to be taken now!

“Keddin!? Can you hear me? Are you out there?”

It took a few seconds before Judge Fury heard keys being rattled at the door, then Keddin appeared.

“Yes?”

Judge Fury spoke with urgency. “Listen, Keddin. The Phantom Assassin is in this city right now. Even as we stand here, he might be sizing up his target. You have to let me out of here.”

Keddin looked at Judge Fury with an expression that bordered on disbelief. He’d heard a lot of reasons from prisoners why they should be freed, but his was a new one. The Phantom Assassin? He feigned a fit of coughing to disguise an involuntary scoffing sound. “The Phantom, you say? Would that be the same phantom who was public enemy number one.... twenty... no, thirty years ago?”

Judge Fury stared back at Keddin, stung to reality by the comment. Thirty years? By all that was reasonable and right, Keddin had uttered a simple truth; if the Phantom Asassin was in Trithik, here and now, why, he’d be pushing sixty years old! He’d be the same age as the Judge Advocate, at least!

“Keddin... maybe it isn’t the Phantom. Maybe his lieutenants are here under his orders. They haven’t all been caught. Dravnia is still out there, and Yillura and Perryn. Jodd Stormtoe was never found. Any one of them could be in Trithik right now.”

“And Igtheon could be marching up the high street with an army of demons,” returned Keddin with a hint of sarcasm. “Fury, I can’t let you out on such a weak petition. I’m surprised you would try a ploy so transparent.”

Judge Fury looked such a sight of misery and desperation that Keddin admitted, “You have another visitor, though I’m loath to allow him the visit since you thought to engage my sympathy in such a shameless way.”

“A visitor?” echoed Fury dully. He was drained of all stature befitting his position as a Judge, as a person deserving of dignity. He was in gaol, locked up and abandoned by his colleagues, helpless to his friends who, he was sure, were in peril. He looked a figure of utter despair.

Keddin felt sorry for Judge Fury. At that moment, he wished he wasn’t the captain of the City Watch, for then he wouldn’t have to see this man of high regard and reputation become, as he seemed to be right now... a wretch.

In this respect, the plan concocted by Varsil Demonsoul had reached fruition. His revenge against Judge Fury was materialised.

What a pity Varsil wasn’t there to see it.

~~~~~~~~~

When Scout entered the holding area, Judge Fury exhibited a gleam of hope. He could convey his suspicions about the Phantom Assassin to Scout, who could then warn the other members of the table of eight as soon as was practicable. Fury realised that he had to broach the matter cautiously and without opening himself to questions that might encroach on the subject of Scout’s father (him being inextricably intertwined in the history of the Phantom), but, as it turned out, he needn’t have concerned himself with that; Scout was just as dumbfounded as Keddin had been when Fury started blabbering on about the Phantom Assassin, though he was more circumspect in concealing his scepticism.

“Keddin has a good point, Fury. The Phantom would have to be an old man now, even if he’s alive at all. There might be a good reason why he disappeared from knowledge all those years ago... he could have just up-and-died!

“How convinced did Rhia sound about this? Is it possible she has her information wrong?”

“That’s always a possibility, Scout, but she’s not one to blab a matter as important as the Phantom without being certain of its validity.”

“Well, that begs another question – how reliable are her sources? I mean, from what you’ve told me about Rhia, she doesn’t exactly mix in the most trustworthy of circles.”

“That’s true,” Fury acceded, “but I respect her enough to trust her appraisal of the information. If the Judges didn’t have that trust, there would be no point to what she does for us.”

Scout had reached an impasse. Short of admitting that his opinion on the whole matter was preposterous, he didn’t know how else to dissuade Judge Fury from wasting his energy. As far as Scout was concerned, The Phantom was, indeed, consigned to the pages of history. His existence hadn’t been newsworthy since before he was born. If ever the name of the Phantom Assassin was spoken now, it was merely invoked as a threat from parents to naughty children... the Phantom had become nothing more than a bogey-man of fairy-tale and fantasy
.
All Scout could offer was a half-hearted promise to pass Fury’s suspicions to Bogmuck, then to everyone else when they got back from Charna. Judge Fury nodded his acknowledgement of the promise and felt somewhat better. “T’is better to be forewarned than... whatever the rest of the saying says,” he thought.

~~~~~~~~~

“I’ve got something else to talk to you about,” said Scout, “something further to this debacle with the murder charge.”

Judge Fury raised an eyebrow in query.

“I’ve been running over the events of the past few days in my mind,” Scout continued. “It occurs to me that Varsil has seemed very chirpy recently, and that only happens when he’s up to mischief. Regardless, when Mordi came to us with the news that Keddin was going to arrest you for Varsil’s murder... do you recall?... everyone in the bar was shocked. Even Vurii joined the crowd around Mordi to hear what he had to say.”

“I think I was too shocked, myself, to notice them,” admitted Fury.

“I don’t wonder,” agreed Scout. “But, of all the people who crowded around our table that day, there was one person I would have expected to be more horrified by the murder of Varsil than anyone else.”

Judge Fury pre-empted Scout’s observation... “Bogmuck!”

“Bingo! But, Bogmuck didn’t bat an eyelid. I remember, he just sat there with that gormless look of his. Fury, Bogmuck wasn’t surprised at all.”

“Bish! You’re thinking that Bogmuck already knew what Mordi was going to say?” and when Scout nodded, he rightly deduced, “So, whatever fiendish reason Varsil had for framing me, Bogmuck was in on it?”

Scout looked at Judge Fury affirmatively. “Varsil somehow got Bogmuck to collude with him... then to keep quiet about it.”

Fury slapped his hand against the bars of the cell in angry realisation. “That sneaky little runt!” he swore, but then he completely flummoxed Scout by throwing his head back to roar with laughter.

When Scout was convinced that Fury had finally gone over the edge of reason, the Judge got himself under control enough to explain, “That’s actually relieving news, Scout.”

“Eh?”

“Well, I don’t believe for one second that Bogmuck would’ve helped Varsil if he thought it would cause me harm. Bogmuck hasn’t got an evil bone in his body, but he is susceptible to a good joke... at least, his idea of what constitutes for a good joke. Varsil managed to convince him that they were playing a joke on me.” Fury laughed again. “This whole tragedy is nothing but Varsil’s warped idea of a prank!”

“Be that as it may, Fury,” said Scout indignantly. “There’s something you’re overlooking here.”

“What’s that?” asked Fury still chuckling.

“Fury! There’s a dead body lying in the morgue! Varsil’s ‘prank’, if that’s what you want to call it, required three people to pull off – him , Bogmuck and a dead guy. Who the hell is the dead guy and how did he become dead?”

[Badstench]

“You’re right,” said Judge Fury contritely. “You’ll have to forgive my levity, Scout. Over the last few days, I’ve been a bit stressed wondering why Varsil has tried to frame me for this murder. The realization that it was just Varsil being a wanker, as opposed to being a complete wanker, has lifted a lot of that stress from me.

“I have to believe that Varsil isn’t responsible for the death of that man at the morgue. To think he would murder someone as part of a prank against me, well... that’s a stretch too far for anyone’s imagination. Still, the true identity of the body might help in finding out exactly what happened to him, and that would expedite my freedom sooner rather than later.”

“How much later is ‘later’?” asked Scout. “I mean, just suppose we can’t identify who the dead guy is and Varsil doesn’t show his face any time soon... how long are you likely to be locked in here?”

“That depends on the Judge Advocate. He seems determined to see this thing go to trial, to make a public spectacle of the proceedings. I’m being used as a means to show the people that the Law is sacrosanct and that no one is above it.

“The Advocate, Pyrond... everyone who matters... knows the body in the morgue isn’t Varsil, and Thorndew has assured me that this will all be resolved in due course. If we can speed the resolution along, I can concentrate on the matter of the Phantom.

“Scout, your first task is to bring Bogmuck here. We need him to tell Keddin that Varsil isn’t dead.”

Scout paused. “There’s a problem with that, I’m afraid.”

“A problem? How so?”

“Well, I haven’t seen Bogmuck for the past few days, not since Keddin arrested you. I was looking for him earlier today, but he’s vanished... as effectively as Varsil did.”

Judge Fury stared at Scout incredulously. “How can Bogmuck disappear? He’s big and noticeably ugly! Someone must have seen him over the last three days.”

“He might be holed-up with Varsil somewhere?”

“For three days? If they’re in the city, they’d need to show their faces sooner or later, even if to satisfy their bellies. Someone must have seen them... a food-seller, a beggar, a watchman. No, I think it more likely they’re not in Trithik, and it may be they’re not together at all.”

Scout looked thoughtfully blank. “Fury, you know Varsil better than I. Have you any idea where he might hide?”

“My first idea would be somewhere in Gudderang’s End, but I discount that for reasons already stated. No, he’ll be somewhere outside the city, but I have no idea where.”

When Scout was unable to add anything more to the discussion, Judge Fury changed tack. “Perhaps we should concentrate on trying to find out who the dead guy is?”

Scout brightened at this. “Actually, I’ve already been thinking about that, Fury. The body was identified as Varsil because of the ring... Varsil’s ring. His face was so mashed that a positive ID couldn’t be made, but he wore clothes similar to Varsil, had the same colour hair cut in the same style, and he was the same build and height. It would be a simple thing to suppose the body was Varsil’s just because of the ring.

“Do you recall Ehris?”

Judge Fury blinked. “Ehris?”

“He’s a visitor to the Adventurers Collective. Turns up with that giant-of-a-fellow – I think his name is Grymlok. Anyway, I’ve sometimes mistaken him for Varsil at first glance.”

“You think the dead guy might be this Ehris?”

Scout shrugged. “It only ‘might be’. The person who could best help with finding Ehris would be Mordi.”

“Why Mordi?”

Scout looked at Judge Fury like he was a child. “Fury... how well do you know the adventurers who drink at the Collective?”

“What do you mean?” asked the Judge perplexed. “There’s Mordi, Scarsdon, um... Krynlym, Jadix, that axe-master... wotshisname?... Thordon? And... ummm.”

“Precisely. You might know their faces and a few names, but you don’t really concern yourself with them as people unless they’ve come to your attention through unlawful transgressions. I suppose you’re aware that our group is known as the Table of Eight?”

“Of course I know that!” spluttered Fury with an annoyed scowl. “What’s that got to do with it?”

“My point is that Varsil might have a good reason for playing this ‘prank’ of his. You hold yourself on a pedestal, Fury, even if you don’t think so. A lot of adventurers who frequent the Collective think that you’re an arrogant arse! You’re as bad as Rokmokkara!”

Judge Fury’s jaw fell open.

“Furthermore, quite a few of them are delighted to know that you’re in gaol. To some of them, it’s a rollicking good joke, even if they don’t know that it’s Varsil’s joke.”

Judge Fury stared at Scout for a moment, hurt of feelings. He broke the silence by saying petulantly, “I am not arrogant!"

“Yes you are. Did you know that the table in the opposite corner of the room also has a name, and that the adventurers who sit there are a group whose exploits are just as well known as ours?”

Judge Fury was blinking rapidly, betraying the fact that he was desperately trying to think who Scout was referring to.

“Bish, Fury! They’re known as ‘Mordi’s Mob’, and if you knew that, you’d know that Mordi is the recognised leader of a group of five adventurers, Ehris being one of them.”

~~~~~~~~~

Judge Fury sat in silence. Scout decided that he’d been too free with his opinions and, likewise, fell silent, shifting uncomfortably on the wooden bench outside Fury’s cell.

After an interminable amount of time, Judge Fury sighed. “Right, then,” he said matter-of-factly. “You now have two tasks, Scout.”

“I do?”

“Yes. You keep looking for Bogmuck, and you also find out from Mordi where Ehris is.”

When Scout remained seated, Judge Fury added, “And doing it now would be a good idea!”

Scout turned a shade of red, whether by embarrassment or anger, Fury couldn’t tell, but as his young friend rose to leave, Fury called after him... “Scout?”

“Yeah?”

“Was that arrogant enough for you?” he said with a huge grin.

~~~~~~~~~

If Scout’s visit had achieved one positive thing, it was to shift Judge Fury’s thoughts from his current woes to the contemplation of his own personality.

“They think me arrogant? Why? I have done nothing to warrant such a reputation. I have been good to all of those men... to the women, too! I have championed the existence of the Adventurers Collective, joined with them through adventures perilous, fought alongside them. I have lived with them, laughed with them, cried with them. I have saved quite a few from the attentions of the constables and the city watch.

“To be sure, I’ve had to stop some behaviour when it bordered too close to breaking the law, but that was done with their best interests in mind.

“So, I don’t know the names of many, but that’s no cause to resent me, is it? Without me, many of them would be dead, or knowing the displeasure of Thane Pyrond in his gaols, or...”

Judge Fury caught himself. He suddenly realised that he was thinking about the members of the Collective, not as free-spirited adventurers, but as wayward mercenaries who were requiring of his guidance and leadership, and it suddenly dawned on him,

“Oh, Igtheon’s nutsack!. I am arrogant!”

For adventurers are exactly what he’d already described; free-spirited men who put their lives in danger every time they heft a shield and a sword to go out and battle against denizens of evil. They are paid mercenaries or unpaid seekers of fortune and fame engaging against the enemies of the kingdom. Many of them are killed in this pursuit, others are maimed for life.

“And when they return to civilization whole of body and health, they don’t come looking for guidance from me; all they want is to enjoy themselves... to drink in the company of their friends... to commiserate over the friends who were killed. They get horribly drunk and brawl amongst themselves because they know... the next time, it might be them who doesn’t return.”

~~~~~~~~~

Judge Fury felt the lateness of the hour on day four of his incarceration. He ate the food delivered by a watchman, then laid on the cot in his cell, preparing for sleep and hoping that tomorrow would bring some developments to speed his release.

Before he drifted away to slumber, he wondered on the relationship between Varsil Demonsoul and Bogmuck. He remembered the meeting with the ugly villager... was it four or five years ago?...during the war against the goblins.

Sometime between then and now, Varsil had encountered Bogmuck again. He would be interested in knowing why Bogmuck had come to consider Varsil so highly; how they had become such close friends?

In actual fact, the last thought Judge Fury had before he slipped into the land of dreams was, “I could murder a mug of Hammertongue”

The thought had him chuckling to oblivion.

[Badstench]

INTERLUDE: THE TABLE OF EIGHT: BOGMUCK (Part 2)

Bogmuck and his five refugees encountered the encamped army from Trithik near the end of the same day they had fled the village. He was taken to the tent of Thane Pyrond after the message he carried, secured with the seal of Judge Fury, had been verified.

The Thane didn’t deign to acknowledge the smelly peasant when he was relieved of Fury’s message, and Bogmuck soon found himself escorted to the area of the camp that housed the support force. He asked one of the soldiers what he should do, but a shrug was all he received in reply.

“You’re free to make your way to Mirgspil or Trithik. There are carts emptied of supplies returning to those cities quite regularly. See if you can get a ride with one of those.”

“But I will fight. I come with soldiers and kill gobbles.”

The soldier regarded Bogmuck disdainfully. “This is a proper army, boy. There aren’t any draftees here. The soldiers of the Trithik garrison know how to handle a bunch of undisciplined goblins. We don’t need civilians getting in the way.”

When Bogmuck looked crestfallen, the soldier relented by offering, “If you want to make yourself useful, ask around the support camp… see if anyone needs a hand with anything.”

Bogmuck got a job with Provisions, peeling the endless number of potatoes that went with a piece of bread and a cut of beef handed out to the fighting soldiers twice daily. On the second day after his arrival, the army camped near to his abandoned village and, on the third day, very close to the eastern shore of Lake Ironrain. At the last location, Bogmuck helped with the digging of trenches and the erecting of wooden palisades; a semi-permanent camp was being built from which the Trithik garrison would launch its counter offensive against the goblins.

It was while Bogmuck was carrying one end of a wall-strut that he saw the riders of the ‘point-guard’ again. He noted that there weren’t as many as there had been two days previously. They were mud and blood soaked, and they rode past with jaws set in a grim weariness. Bogmuck recognised the one who had poked him with a spear… ‘Varsil’, he remembered. The man met his eye as he rode past; there was recognition in the look, but no acknowledgement.

Bogmuck was to see the riders one more time before the base camp was packed up and ordered to continue westward in pursuit of the defeated goblins; the numbers of the ‘point-guard’ had dwindled to half the original forty and, this time, the one called Varsil was not among them.

~~~~~~~~~~

[Dear reader, it behoves me to explain at this point, that the history of Bogmuck coincides with greater happenings in the world that is Sryth. To explain the history of Bogmuck, it is necessary to explain the momentous occurrences that were shaping the Kingdom of Tysa at that time. To do this, I will dispense with italics and explain the war against the goblins in a font that is easy to read.]

~~~~~~~~~~

To say that the goblins were defeated is to suggest that the humans were victorious. The truth is not as admirable as the proclamation!

The army from Trithik engaged the goblin forces in numerous battles until, by a miracle, they met with the remnants of the Mirgspil garrison. The latter had taken a defensive position inside a walled village and were perilously close to being overwhelmed when the reinforcements from Trithik arrived. A tremendous battle ensued that included all the reserves available to Thane Pyrond.

By strange decision, the goblin Warlord quit the battle and withdrew his legions to a distance beyond the comfort zone Thane Pyrond considered wise to pursue. This allowed enough respite for the surviving Tysian villages to pack up and ‘run-like-hell’!

The practical upshot of the war was to see much of the western territory claimed by Tysa be abandoned. Thane Pyrond used the remnants of his army to shepherd the surviving villagers back toward Mirgspil, by which time the main Tysian army had arrived from Graldok.

But too much ground had already been lost to the goblins, who were still pouring down from the Felrundin ranges in frightening numbers. The decision was made to erect a strong defence line rather than counter-attack.

To this day, the maps of Tysa show the lands west of Lake Ironrain belonging to the Kingdom of Tysa. The reality is that goblins now rule that territory, and the only thing that stopped them advancing further was... Spring arrived!

When the Fell Winter ended, so did the need for the goblins to migrate. They had been slaughtered by the thousands during the war, but they had kept coming; starvation had forced them out of the Felrundin ranges in search of food and better living conditions. They found those conditions on the lowlands west of Lake Ironrain, and when their camps were erected and made habitable, there was no reason for them to leave.

To the goblins, it seemed they had entered a golden age, but to the humans of Tysa, it was an affirmation that the Age of Igtheon had come one step closer.

*

[Badstench]

INTERLUDE: THE TABLE OF EIGHT: BOGMUCK (Part 2)

Bogmuck decided that he’d had enough of peeling potatoes and hoping vainly for a chance to fight goblins, so he took the opportunity to catch a ride to Mirgspil, there to discover a city and a city life. The man who drove the cart was a nervous sort, and when he spotted a company of goblins in the distance, he turned his mules so abruptly that Bogmuck lost his balance and fell onto the road.

Bogmuck was still trying to shake the shock of his landing when he realised the cart was already gone. He took refuge behind a large rock as the goblins ran in his direction.

About then, Bogmuck heard a voice swear in the Tysian language. He braved himself to peer above the rock, and saw...

There were twelve goblins chasing a human, and they had almost run him to ground. The human was near to Bogmuck’s hiding place when the man turned to make his stand. He pulled a sword from its scabbard and yelled defiantly at his pursuers, “Come get me, then, you fuckers!”

Whether the goblins understood him or not, they agreed that they were going to “get him”, and they snarled... which was their way of laughing.

When Bogmuck looked over the rock a second time, the man saw him and yelled, “Are you just gonna sit there and watch, or will you help me?”

Bogmuck said, “I lost my staff. I think I watch”

The goblins paused in the realisation that there was another human in the vicinity and that their odds had suddenly been halved.

This gave enough time for Varsil Demonsoul to say, “You know, if they kill me, they’ll kill you next!”

Either way... help the man or not... Bogmuck realised he wasn’t much longer for this world. The goblins knew he was there, and once they’d killed the man with the sword, their attentions would shift to him.

He shut his eyes and thought of a herd of goats being stolen, and that made him angry enough to stand up and yell, “You stole my goats!” and he threw a rock at the nearest goblin.

~~~~~~~~~

To this day, Varsil Demonsoul keeps a memory of the ugly goat-herder gone beserk. He was such a whirlwind of rock-throwing that it afforded Varsil the chance to cut two goblins down, slash another, and scare the rest so thoroughly that they ran away. But, it only took a few seconds for Varsil to realise that the goblin’s flight wouldn’t last long. They had been surprised by the presence of Bogmuck, but would soon rally for another assault.

To Bogmuck he said, “Can you run?” and without explanation, he sprinted away.

And that’s how Bogmuck met Varsil Demonsoul the second time.

*

Day 4:
Scout had every intention of pursuing Judge Fury’s request to locate Bogmuck and Ehris, but a more important matter claimed immediate precedence. The afternoon sun had faded to the deep blue/grey of evening when he exited the watch tower. He looked to the right, in the direction of Blade Square, then hitched his trousers, took a deep breath and strode purposefully in the opposite direction.

The Keep of the Thane stood in the East Quarter of the city surrounded by a moat and protected by armed guards. The function of the latter was mostly to act as a deterrent against the unannounced petitioners who constantly besieged Thane Pyrond on a daily basis. Everyone, it seemed, had a request or a complaint or a matter of importance that needed attending to, but presenting those matters to the Thane was only possible through a long and officious regimen of form-filling. If the petitioner could not produce the necessary documents, they would not get past the guards.

Scout approached the guards and was routinely challenged.

“Don’t waste your time,” said the guard in charge. “Even if you’ve got the right papers, it’s too late in the day.”

“I’m not here to see the Thane,” Scout answered. “I want to speak with His Worship, the Judge Advocate.”

“Oh, well, that makes... absolutely no difference at all. The Judge Advocate is not in audience, either.”

“I’m not here on business,” Scout lied. “I am acquainted with His Worship. I’m here on a personal matter.”

The guard looked unimpressed. He favoured the young adventurer with a sneer. “And I’m a good friend to the King. Now, piss off!”

The curt dismissal caused Scout to bristle with annoyance. He had never before used his authority as the son of a Lord to demand anything, but the smarmy manner shown by the guard irritated him. He drew himself to his full height, puffed out his chest and glared at the guard with as much righteous indignation as he could muster.

“Listen you, I am Lord Hollendale of Thulwy, noble by birth and entitled to see whoever I please within Thane Pyrond’s Keep. The Judge Advocate is known to me, and I’m willing to bet your rank against a swift demotion that he’ll be angry when I tell him the manner of the treatment I have received here.

“Now, you go see whoever you have to see to get me an audience with His Worship, or, believe me, it will go very badly for you!”

Scout kept his expression stern in the face of the older man, even though his heart was thumping and his hands were shaking, but the evocation of his title had an immediate effect. The other guards stiffened to attention, causing the first to follow suit.

“Lord... Hollendale was it?... of Thulwy?”

“That’s right.”

“Sir, I apologise. If you’ll permit me a moment, I will advise the Judge Advocate of your presence.” And Scout waited, feigning annoyed impatience for the benefit of the guards who remained by the gate.

Five minutes went by before the first guard returned in the company of another man. Scout almost up-chucked through a nervous reaction when he noted that the newcomer was walking toward him dressed in a bright cuirass emblazoned with the sign of a gavel, and it wasn’t the Judge Advocate.

The armoured man studied scout with a blank expression before breaking into a grin. The nod of his head was a bow of deference very slight, but enough to convey the meaning to the guards; Scout was recognised.

“Lord Hollendale, if you’ll follow me, the Judge Advocate will see you.” And he abruptly turned to walk through the gates of the keep with Scout in tow.

They had passed out of earshot of the guards when the man said, “That was a very brazen approach, Lord Hollendale. If the guards hadn’t believed you, you might be walking to the cells right now.”

Scout’s brow was furrowed. “Excuse me, but have we met before?”

The man paused and looked at the young adventurer. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. I was with the Judge Advocate when he went to Thulwy to pay his respects at your parents’ funeral.”

Scout gasped. “You’re the one they call ‘Bounty Hunter’, the personal protector of the Judge Advocate!”

His guide raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Bounty Hunter? Yes, I’ve heard that epithet before, though it confuses me why I should deserve the name. You are right that I am protector to the Advocate, but that is merely the assignment ordered of me by the King. I am actually the Captain of the Royal Huntsmen, which has nothing to do with the hunting of criminals or the claiming of bounties.”

Scout accepted the explanation without voicing the hundred other questions that begged to be asked, for the man known as ‘Bounty Hunter’ was a famous person renowned for his exploits and abilities. Instead, he followed the man in a stupor of awed silence.

~~~~~~~~~

They crossed the inner courtyard to an open door of massive dimension, climbed a wide staircase, proceeded along a hall lined with suits of armour and austere portraits, turned into a lesser corridor, and finally stopped at a plain door. Bounty Hunter was about to knock, but paused and turned a wary eye on Scout.

“The Advocate has asked for a private audience, Lord Hollendale, but I would be remiss in my duty if I didn’t ask you to divest yourself of any weapons you have on your person. Please assure me that you are not armed.”

Scout’s acquiescence was immediate and unquestioned; he lifted his shirt to show there was no sign of dagger scabbard attached to his belt, then sheepishly removed the knife hidden in his boot. “Just this little blade. It’s for protection, you understand?”

Bounty Hunter took it from him with a sardonic smile. “I understand completely”, he said, and knocked lightly at the door.

[Badstench]

Scout was nervous when he entered the chamber, but the Judge Advocate greeted him with a wide smile and an extended hand.

“Let us dispense with a shoulder cross, young master Hollendale. Your hand is more befitting this welcome.” And Scout was instantly transported to the memory of a man he had met eight years previously beside the graves of his mother and father. He had been curious as to the identity of the man, dressed as he was in robes of black and surrounded by the air of authority, but he’d also felt comforted by his presence – comforted and comfortable. The same feeling was instilled in him with this meeting as the Judge Advocate regarded him warmly.

They stood in a moment of shared regard before the Judge Advocate said, “Forgive me for staring. I am amazed at the resemblance to your father. You are so like him.”

Scout answered honestly. “I am pleased to hear you say that, my lord. Sometimes, I find it hard to remember him. I mean... it was a long time ago, and I only remember through the eyes of the child I was.”

The Judge Advocate nodded. “I understand. You were too young to lose both parents so tragically. How old are you now?”

“I’ll be 24 in a few months.”

“A man, you are, and a fine example of manhood, too, if I might say”. The Advocate held Scout’s hand a while longer, then seated himself in a comfortable chair. He waved Scout to a similar chair and poured two glasses of a light brown liquid from a decanter, handing one to his guest. “Ryorsian brandy,” he explained. “One of the few vices I allow myself in private.”

Scout sniffed the glass and blinked at the quality of the alcohol. “Whoa. We don’t have anything this nice at the Collective.”

The Judge Advocate watched him sip a few draughts before asking, “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Scout stared into his glass, feeling a little sheepish. “I lied to the guard at the gate, my lord. I told him I was here to visit on a personal matter, which is only partly true.”

“Whatever the matter is, young master, I am happy to receive you. I was fond of your father. I see no reason to deny his son the same respect. Tell me, what is on your mind?”

Scout paused. “When I met you those many years ago, you told me that if I ever needed anything, I could ask.”

“Yes, I remember. The offer still applies to the Lord of Hollendale Estate. Is there something you require now?”

Again, Scout paused, followed by a slight cough as he cleared his throat nervously. “I don’t ask for myself, my lord, but for my good friend, Judge Fury.”

When the Judge Advocate made no response, Scout continued, “He is imprisoned wrongly. He is no more capable of murder than I, and to think he would harm Varsil Demonsoul is beyond belief. This whole matter is nothing but a silly joke played by Varsil that has got out of hand. I have come to you with evidence that Judge Fury is innocent, because no one else seems interested in it.”

The Judge Advocate listened as Scout relayed his ‘evidence’ by way of Bogmuck’s collusion with Varsil Demonsoul, and his suspicion that the body in the morgue was an adventurer who only resembled Varsil.

When the Advocate noted a pause in Scout’s reasoning, he interjected, “Scout, we already know Judge Fury is innocent. The task set us is to prove his innocence. Do you understand me?”

“But I have the proof!” exclaimed Scout.

“No you don’t. You have supposition. You have theory. You have an idea without facts.” And when Scout looked crestfallen, the Judge Advocate intoned his summation of events; “We have a body that resembles Varsil Demonsoul. The body was clutching a pendant that belongs to Judge Fury. Judge Fury was heard to threaten Varsil after an argument in the Adventurers Collective. Judge Fury was seen to leave the Collective sober and angry. The body was discovered an hour later, the victim of a vicious bashing.

“All the evidence points to Judge Fury being the perpetrator of this crime!”

“But you, yourself, said that Judge Fury is innocent! Why don’t you just proclaim it so and set him free?”

“Because we can’t, and Judge Fury knows the same. To set him free without letting the investigation run its full course would show undue leniency to a member of the justiciary, and do you know how that would look?”

“It would look like favouritism?”

“Yes, but it would also make the whole system of the King’s Law look corrupt!”

Scout had heard much the same from Fury, but when the explanation came from the Judge Advocate the reason seemed to hold more relevance. This was not just a matter of one person’s guilt or innocence, it was a public exposition designed to show the common people that the Rule of Law, the very fabric of society, applied to everyone, no matter their status or position. It was a stratagem necessary to prove to the people of Tysa that they could trust their King and His government.

Scout nodded his understanding, but the Judge Advocate saw that the young lord chewed his lower lip with his thoughts elsewhere.

“I see you accept the explanation, but it isn’t what you wanted to hear. Is there another matter that concerns you?”

“Forgive me, sir, I know you only arrived to Trithik earlier today, but Judge Fury has been locked in a cell for four days. When I visited him this afternoon, I was concerned when I first saw him. He looked lost, if you know what I mean. I’ve never known Judge Fury to be anything but in control, but it seemed to me that he was despaired. It was a shock to me.”

The Judge Advocate leaned forward in his chair, the fingers of his hands knitted together in a gesture of contemplation. “Despaired, you say? That is not a description I would associate with Judge Fury. He has a strong will and is intelligent enough to know why his incarceration is necessary. Are you sure it was a look of despair? Maybe he isn’t well?”

“No, he isn’t well. I think he’s made himself sick with worry.”

“How so? Judge Thorndew visited him today with words of reassurance. Fury is merely being held as a suspect toward an arraignment, and I can assure you, young master, the matter will not go to trial. Judge Fury will be freed in due course.”

“I don’t think that’s what he’s worried about.”

“Oh?”

Scout hesitated. He wasn’t sure if the Judge Advocate knew of Fury’s belief that the Phantom Assassin was in Trithik. Scout, himself, didn’t believe it, and he didn’t want to raise a matter that might indicate a lapse of reason from Judge Fury. His friend needed all the help he could get right now, not an examination of his state of mind. Any further complication to the matter of Varsil’s stupid prank might actually work against Fury.

Thinking quickly, Scout voiced his concern for the identity of the victim lying in the morgue at Lyrelock Monastery, and for the possibility that Varsil might actually have killed the fellow to initiate his prank.

The Judge Advocate wasn’t fooled for a moment. He recognised the obfuscation from Scout, but chose not to question it. He had already guessed why Fury would display signs of mental anguish, for he knew about Rhia’s hint to him concerning the Phantom Assassin. This was a subject he didn’t want to discuss with the young Lord Hollendale, a subject he would avoid by any means because of the connection it entailed to Scout’s father.

So the Judge Advocate continued the game begun by Scout, pretending that the current subject under discussion was all about the well-being of Judge Fury and to the reaching of a swift conclusion surrounding the ‘prank’ played by Varsil Demonsoul.

“It seems to me that Judge Fury’s advice is sound. If you can locate Varsil Demonsoul and discover the identity of the corpse, the arraignment would become a mere formality.”

Scout nodded, but continued to look rueful. “My lord, I’ve already spent two days looking for Bogmuck. He is the person most likely to know the whereabouts of Varsil, but I can’t find him, either. It is my worry that the search might go on for a few days yet. In the meantime, Judge Fury remains locked away.

“The reason I’ve come to you is to ask if the arraignment can be fast-tracked. Can it be done tomorrow, or even the next day?”

The Judge Advocate looked thoughtful. “It is not an impossible request, but it is highly irregular and it may work against Judge Fury. The reason this particular arraignment should be permitted to run its normal time-frame is to allow Captain Keddin a thorough investigation.

“Scout, we are not just sitting back for the sake of appearances. It is my belief that Captain Keddin will eventually find some evidence that will free Judge Fury even without the presence of Varsil Demonsoul. Patience is a virtue, my young friend.”

Scout sighed. “So, given a ‘normal’ time-frame, when will the arraignment happen?”

“If everything remains as it is now, Judge Fury will have to remain in his cell for another week, at least.”

~~~~~~~~~~

[Badstench]

Scout left the audience with the Judge Advocate determined, more than ever, to find Varsil Demonsoul. He bid the third most powerful man in the Kingdom of Tysa farewell, invigorated by the Advocate’s departing words... “Judge Fury is fortunate to have a friend like you, Lord Hollendale. Find your friend, Bogmuck, and find Varsil Demonsoul. Make your enquiries after the identity of the dead man, and when you are successful, come back here. My door will be open to you.”

But when the door was closed, the smile on the Judge Advocate’s face was replaced by a deep frown. He heard the soft click as another door opened behind him – a secret door – and he felt the presence of the silent watcher.

Said he, “The decisions we made those many years ago, Hyra... I truly hope they don’t come back to haunt us now.”

*

INTERLUDE: THE TABLE OF EIGHT: BOGMUCK (Part 3)

Bogmuck could only manage a lumbering run behind the swifter Varsil Demonsoul, which he did with much ‘whooping’ and hollering and laughter. The gap between the two fleeing humans was widening until the rogue, concerned by the cacophony of noise made by the goat-herder, was forced to turn around and run back in the direction from which he’d already come.

“What, by all that’s sane, are you doing?” Varsil demanded.

Bogmuck puffed to a stop and commenced to hop a strange little dance. “Did you see me? I hit a gobble on the noggin. He will hurt. Har har.”

Varsil’s jaw dropped open at the ridiculous sight of the big man grinning as he hopped from foot to foot. “Would you, please, shut up! With all the noise you’re making, even a bunch of totally deaf goblins could follow us.”

Unbeknown to Varsil, the goblins had already decided against a pursuit of the two humans; they had only chased Varsil because he had looked an easy target that might offer them a bit of sport, but when the second human had appeared and pelted them with rocks, and Varsil had used the distraction to kill two of their brethren, the rest decided that the ‘sport’ was no longer fun. They took their wounded comrade and turned away.

A short while later found Varsil Demonsoul and Bogmuck walking across a hoarfrost-covered field with their backs to the late afternoon sun. This was something Varsil had learned through his years of adventuring: that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, so if one becomes lost (as he was), one can always acquire a general sense of direction at least twice a day.

They mostly walked in silence, but at one point, Varsil asked the lumbering goat-herder, “Were you serious about simply watching while the goblins killed me?”

Bogmuck shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. You killed two gobbles, I hurt one, we safe.”

Varsil persisted, “Yeah, but you do realize that if I’d been killed, the goblins would have killed you, too?”

Bogmuck returned Varsil’s look with a blank expression. “But you not dead and me not dead. You think too much.”

“Are you stupid, or something?” asked Varsil, not willing to let his ugly companion have the last say.

This caused Bogmuck to pause in his stride, and, for a moment, he looked incredibly sad. “Yes, “ he finally admitted. “I stoopid.”

Varsil grunted, and they resumed their silent trudge.

~~~~~~~~~

The following day, the two humans encountered a road, and it wasn’t very long before a cart happened by going in the direction of Trithik. When they arrived at the city, Varsil turned to bid the goat-herder farewell. He saw that Bogmuck was looking through the gates in frightened consternation.

“Have you got any money?” the rogue asked, mindful of the fact that neither of them had eaten since the fracas with the goblins. When Bogmuck shook his head, Varsil flipped him a few coins.

“There’s a few doss houses along Wall Street… that’s the road that follows the wall all the way around the city. You should also find a few food sellers to satisfy your belly, but don’t buy the crunchy things that look like cockroaches… because they’re cockroaches.” Varsil ended with a lame smile.

He made to offer Bogmuck a shoulder-cross, but since the big fellow had never experienced the gesture before, he didn’t respond.

~~~~~~~~~

[Badstench]

Bogmuck watched Varsil enter the City and disappear among the many passers-by. He was suddenly alone… more alone than he had ever been during his solitary life as a village goat-herder. The city was an alien environment full of unfamiliar faces and uncaring strangers, and though Bogmuck drew a few looks of startled curiosity because of his ugly features, people mostly chose to avoid or ignore him.

When Bogmuck had spent the last of the few coins given to him by Varsil, he was thrown out of the doss house and left to wander the streets. The Fell Winter still kept an icy grip on the seasons, so Bogmuck experienced nights of bitter cold huddled in doorways seeking whatever comfort he could find. He had to rely on the pity of other people for his food, by begging or accepting the most menial of tasks whenever opportunity dictated. He cleaned sewers, swept chimneys, picked up manure excreted by horse and ox and mule, and sometimes by humans. When there was no work, he would trap rats for the few pennies offered as reward, incurring the wrath of the professional rat-catchers who would beat him when they found out. Sometimes, Bogmuck was reduced to eating cockroaches, and he would think wistfully of Varsil’s warning the first day he had arrived at Trithik... “Don’t’ buy the crunchy things that look like cockroaches”. At least those cockroaches had been roasted. Bogmuck was forced to eat the ones he caught raw and wriggling.

Hunger and the cold began to take its toll on Bogmuck. He lost much of his body mass, becoming gaunt and stooped, and, even though the Fell Winter eventually abated, it is likely the goat-herder wouldn’t have survived a second year on the streets of the city. Lesser beings in his predicament might have resorted to a life of crime for survival, but this never occurred to Bogmuck. For all the ill treatment he had received in the past, and for all that the inhabitants of Trithik ignored his plight, he never once considered hurting anyone to appease his hunger.

He missed his goats – that was the one thing he regretted in life, but if anyone suggested that his life had been one of misery and hardship, Bogmuck would probably have shrugged.

“It is what it is”.

~~~~~~~~~

One night, Bogmuck was walking along an alley. His gaze was turned downward, searching the cracks in the cobbled stones for the sudden movement that might betray the location of a cockroach. When he turned a corner, he was confronted by the sight of a group of men beating the bejabbers out of someone who was trying to fend off their blows with outstretched arms. Fists and boots were raining down on the victim with vicious intensity.

Without thought to his own safety, Bogmuck launched himself forward and crashed into the whole group. His momentum carried him past the surprised muggers and into an unforgiving brick wall, whereupon he bounced backward and fell to the ground unconscious. Bogmuck’s heroic intervention proved the saving of the man who was being beaten, for his assailants became quite distracted from their frenzy of violence. They took what valuables they could find, kicked Bogmuck a couple of times, and ran off.

~~~~~~~~~

When Varsil Demonsoul burst through the green door with a ragged figure slumped over his shoulder, Judge Fury couldn’t know that the first words out of his mouth were a repeat of the words he’d uttered the very first time he’d encountered Bogmuck.

“Varsil, what the hell have you got there?”

Adam Jadefang leapt dextrously out of the way as Varsil deposited Bogmuck onto the table, but his first words were not so dextrous. “Oh, Hell! What is that godawful stink?”

Young Ned plainly agreed with Adam Jadefang’s exclamation, for he was furiously fanning the air away from his face with one hand while pinching his nostrils closed with the other. Dragonbane was busy shuffling his chair backwards away from the source of the smell.

It’s true, Bogmuck was about as dirty and smelly as a human can ever get. Months of living on the streets without recourse to fresh water (except when it rained), decent food or clean clothes meant that his personal hygiene had become sadly neglected. His hair had grown long and matted, and little white ‘things’ could be seen skittering among the locks of the whole unsightly mess. His nails were long and filthed, and if there was any part of his skin that wasn’t similarly filthed, it certainly wasn’t on the visible parts.

~~~~~~~~~

For all that we know about Varsil Demonsoul, what possessed him to take pity on Bogmuck? One could suppose he was grateful to the man for saving him twice – from the goblins and from the beating in the alley. Perhaps he felt responsible for Bogmuck’s physical state, him having left the goat-herder in the alien environment of the city where he was not equipped to survive. Perhaps it was a mixture of both.

Whatever, when Varsil managed to lift himself off the ground after the attack in the alley (perpetrated by members of a local criminal gang who had been ordered to smack Varsil around because of an unpaid gambling debt), he thought to check on the unconscious figure to make sure the man wasn’t dead. It took him a few moments to recognise Bogmuck, whereupon he hefted the emaciated remnants of the once-big man over his shoulder and made his way to the Adventurers Collective.

Stranger still, it was Finkle, the dwarf masseuse, who took control of the situation after Bogmuck was laid out on the table in the shadowed corner of the room. Vurii was having a well-deserved night off and had left Finkle in charge of the bar. Initially, the dwarf was outraged that Varsil would sully the guild-room with a creature so smelly. It had been her intention to throw them both – Bogmuck and Varsil – back through the green door.

What stayed her? Truth is, when Finkle saw the face of the ugly man and his overall condition, she saw a person with deformities not unlike her own. She remembered the many difficulties experienced in her own past and took pity on Bogmuck.

She insisted that Young Ned perform whatever healing magicks he knew on Bogmuck’s injuries. She pointed at Dragonbane, who was of similar height and build to the goat-herder, and ordered him to fetch clean clothes… from his own wardrobe if need be. She ordered Adam Jadefang and Judge Fury to carry the bewildered man to the steam room. She looked at Varsil Demonsoul (without sympathy for his own bruises and abrasions), and ordered him to go buy a hot-meal from a reputable food-seller.

Bogmuck was conscious when they washed him. It was the very first time he experienced a hot shower. His head was completely shaved; the nits and lice were flushed down the drain along with whatever other nasties had made a home in his matted hair. He was dressed in the clothes provided by Dragonbane (which actually fitted quite well), and he ate the food sourced by Varsil. It was the first decent meal Bogmuck had eaten in a long time.

*

Do the gods bless babies when they are newly born? If so, then one can only assume that the attention of the gods was elsewhere when Bogmuck was born. Premature and misshapen, he was not gifted with looks, intelligence or dexterity. His life was one of servitude and solitude, and this is how he might have existed to the end of his days had fate not intervened.

What the gods miss, maybe angels take special notice of, and maybe Bogmuck was being lead by an angel the night he saved Varsil from more than just a beating.

Whether true or not, Bogmuck found himself included to the company of a group of men collectively known as the Table of Eight. This confused the goat-herder no end, for there were only five of them plus himself, and even he knew that the number eight configured more people than that.

Regardless, Bogmuck’s new companions taught him the ways of an adventurer, with Varsil being the patient teacher on most occasions. He would often tease and insult the ugly man, but no one sitting at that table was fooled… Varsil developed a special fondness for Bogmuck that was returned in kind. The two became inseparable, an odd pairing of misfits who would never admit to the word, ‘friendship’.

*

One thing more needs to be mentioned concerning the history of Bogmuck – just as the number of people that constitute the Table of Eight isn’t constant, nor is the physical reality of the actual table.

While Bogmuck was being scrubbed in the steam room, Adam Jadefang and Young Ned agreed that they would never again eat or drink anything placed on the table upon which Bogmuck had lain in his filthy rags and lice-infested hair. The table was rolled to the green door and thrown outside. Finkle didn’t notice the missing piece of furniture, because Adam Jadefang pulled a replacement table to the vacated position and rearranged all the others in a more-or-less symmetrical pattern.

However, the next morning, Vurii spotted the different configuration of the room straight away. She also noted the newcomer being plied with hammertongue at the table of eight, and also noted the bruises and black eye that adorned Varsil’s face. She wrongly deduced that the bar had hosted another brawl in her absence, but decided to let it slide this time. The place was looking clean enough, and she’d had a thoroughly entertaining time in the company of a very nice gentleman the previous evening.

She was in a good mood.

[Badstench]

Chapter 8
THOFYRA

Day 5:
Captain Keddin placed a large bowl of tepid water and a flannel towel on the bench outside the cell before unlocking the barred door. He called the Judge’s name in an urgent whisper. Fury blinked his drowsiness away, aware that the hour was early enough to deny the sun’s rise.

“Keddin? What is the meaning of this? What time is it?”

“Forgive me, sir,” Keddin said in a continued whisper. “There is someone waiting for you in the office. The early hour is necessary for discretion and some urgency, but I managed to convince the fellow to spare a little time for your ablutions.”

“Oh? Who is it?”

“The one called Bounty Hunter, the personal protector of the Judge Advocate. You are to accompany him to Trynd Keep.”

“At last,” thought Judge Fury. “Now I’ll get some answers and a chance to convince the Advocate to have me released”, but out loud, he said something that sounded quite strange to Keddin, “Bounty Hunter, eh? How did he look?”

“Sir? I don’t understand.”

“Ah, never mind,” returned Fury somewhat whimsically.

A few minutes later, he was acknowledging Bounty Hunter with a curt nod. “Thof. You’re still an early riser, then?”

“Greetings, Judge Fury.”

Fury noticed the formal use of his title immediately, obvious against his own use of familiarity. “It’s to be like that is it, Captain Thofyra? After all these years, I’d imagine we could address each other with greater congeniality?”

Bounty Hunter returned the remark with a baleful smirk. “I am here to conduct you to Trynd Keep for a meeting with the Judge Advocate. It is not an official meeting, being as how it bends the rules of legal propriety, and I was not asked to conduct you there in a congenial manner. All I require from you is to put this cape on and pull the hood over your head until we are safely out of the sight of any curious eyes.”

Judge Fury was about to say something more, but the presence of Captain Keddin stilled his tongue. Instead, he donned the cape and hood as requested and followed Bounty Hunter to a covered carriage waiting outside.

Keddin returned to his desk and sat down with a heavy sigh. “I wonder what that was all about,” he thought.

~~~~~~~~~

The carriage travelled slowly through the streets of Trithik, the driver ordered to proceed with as little noise as possible. This gave its occupants, Judge Fury and Captain Thofyra of the Royal Huntsmen, the opportunity to eyeball each other across the compartment. They were a number of minutes into the short journey to Trynd Keep before Fury broke the silence.

“I never figured out the cause of your anger against me, Thofyra. Against Varsil I could understand, but it was never my decision to see you punished for what happened. I didn’t even know about your demotion until after we were sent to Trithik.”

A spasm of anger flashed across Captain Thofyra’s face, but he would not be drawn to a response.

Perhaps unwisely, Judge Fury continued, “And it was you who gave Varsil his second name, let’s not forget. Is it any wonder the Elders were pissed off? They were working so hard to hide the existence of ‘Sryth’s Doom’ among us, and you start calling him ‘Demonsoul’! Hard to ignore that sort of indiscretion, don’t you think?”

Still the captain remained stonily silent, but Fury noted a slight narrowing of his eyes. Thought he, “One more push should get a response out of him.”

“It’s certainly not my fault you disappointed the Elders. You did that all on your own.”

“You Arsehole!” spat Thofyra. “You think I cared about being rapped over the knuckles for something as small as name-calling? Bish! ‘Demonsoul’ was one of the nicer things I called that little turd.”

“Then why, Thofyra? What turned you against me? We were such good friends once.”

Thofyra rasped, “Those days are gone, Fury. They vanished the day you defended Varsil Demonsoul over me. The punishment I received was nothing compared to the disappointment of your betrayal. As far as I’m concerned, you were never my friend!”

Judge Fury was utterly confused. “What, by Srythak, are you talking about? Betrayal? You’ve lost me.”

Thofyra barked a short laugh of derision. “You dare invoke the name of Srythak? I find that cruelly funny, Fury. You defend ‘Sryth’s Doom’, the supposed son of a demon, then defend your own actions in the name of the Holy One while not believing any of it – that’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it?”

“But, you don’t believe this nonsense about the prophecies any more than I do, or Varsil, for that matter. We obeyed the Elders because there was no harm to it and it afforded the three of us certain advantages. We continue to obey them for the same reasons, and also because…” Judge Fury’s voice trailed away beneath the gaze of contempt from his opposite.

“Oh. You did believe it?”

“I’ve always believed it, Fury, and I thought you believed it, too! But, you had me fooled. I thought your disbelief was the pretence, affected for the benefit of Varsil. When he did what he did and you defended him, you left me alone.

“I wasn’t punished for any perception of disbelief. I was punished for not reporting yours!”

~~~~~~~~~

The carriage was entering beneath the gates of Trynd Keep.

When it rumbled to a stop, Thofyra aimed Judge Fury a parting shot before he opened the door, “You betrayed me, Fury, and every day you continue to mock the prophecies is a further betrayal. Whatever you learn here this day, I just hope it shakes you awake!”

With that, the Captain of the Royal Huntsmen stepped down from the carriage and strode through the wide doors of the Keep fully expectant of the Judge to follow. Fury dutifully did so, but with his mind gone blank. The venom displayed by his old friend had surprised him, as had the reason for that venom, but it had merely come as another attack on his already overwhelmed psyche.

Uppermost in his mind was the threat posed by the Phantom Assassin to his friends. He needed to prevent any such possibility, but for that, he needed to get out of gaol. He had spent the better part of the previous evening strategizing how he would approach the Judge Advocate with reasons for his immediate release. On top of that, he’d been stewing over the fact that two... now three... people had called him an ‘arsehole’ on three separate occasions over the past week; Rhia through anger, Scout through exasperation and Thofyra through disgust. Judge Fury was not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner. His personal sense of self-worth was taking a battering that Varsil’s untimely prank had exacerbated.

The last moment before Captain Thofyra knocked at an ornate wooden door might have been Fury’s chance to offer his old friend some sort of explanation, but he didn’t. All that came from him was a stammered apology.

“Thof, I didn’t know… I didn’t realise… I’m sorry”

There was a moment when Thofyra’s expression softened, a wistful look that encompassed the memory of the years he spent growing to adolescence with his friend who was now a Judge, but that moment was fleeting.

“Save it,” growled the Captain. “Your apology is empty, especially when you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.”

*

Whatever strategy Judge Fury had devised for approaching the Advocate, it was forgotten when he entered the room and found himself confronted by… well, suffice it to say that any man of lesser standing than Judge Fury would probably have shit himself right there and then!

When a Judge sits in audience, it usually means that a matter of importance is being adjudicated. If the matter requires a judgement against a person, that person has usually done something pretty heinous. Judges don’t concern themselves with petty crimes and every-day petitions; these are over-seen by the magistrates. The Thanes perform the same duty for people of noble birth.

Dispensing justice is not the only task set the Judges, however. Society is an ever-changing entity; populations shrink and grow, new experiences and learning brings increased knowledge, inventions and discoveries open new horizons and possibilities. New ways of doing things necessitates the creation of new laws to keep everyone on an even playing field, and the Judges are kept constantly busy reviewing those new laws as well as changes to old laws. It can be a tedious occupation.

The practical upshot of this is to explain why the Judges are seldom encountered outside Talinus unless a specific reason dictates, and it is extremely rare for more than one to be encountered at any time. Therefore, it is not hard to imagine that an ordinary man might soil himself if he entered a room where sat three Judges!

[Badstench]

Captain Thofyra stood aside to admit Judge Fury into the room ahead of him.

This wasn’t the same room in which the Judge Advocate had hosted Scout; this was an antechamber next to the main court; an office, of sorts, where Thane Pyrond performed most of the routine business demanding of his position. Here, he familiarised himself with written petitions before facing the petitioners themselves in the main audience chamber. He would peruse documents then check the same against local ordinances and national decrees, sign approvals, rubber stamp denials, etc.

A large desk occupied the centre of the room behind which the Advocate regarded Judge Fury with a friendly smile. Behind him, Judge Knot was preparing a number of mugs for drinking, a pour into each of hot Kothian palo. Judge Thorndew was seated to one side of the desk, his eyes surveying the new arrival with warmth.

Opposite Thorndew sat Thane Pyrond, whose gaze was not so welcoming, but it was the person sitting next to him that caused Judge Fury surprise, for he had not expected to see the Guildmaster of the Adventurers Collective here. It added to his confused state of mind that set his head dizzying.

If Thofyra had not been attentive, Fury might have collapsed to the floor. As it was, the Captain caught him just in time. Judge Thorndew was first to leap out of his chair and grab Fury’s other arm.

“My friend, you are unwell?”

“No, no... I’m okay... just a bit light-headed.”

“Bish! You haven’t had anything to eat yet and precious little exercise over the past four days.” Thorndew turned a pleading eye to his superior, the Judge Advocate. “My Lord, we must delay this meeting.”

It was Judge Fury who insisted, “No! I need answers. You have come because of my summons to Thorndew concerning the Phantom. I know why the grand assassin is here, but I can do nothing about it if I’m stuck in gaol.

“This matter needs to be recognized and attended to now!”

With help from Judge Thorndew and Captain Thofyra, Fury was aided to a seat. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself.

“My apologies, Advocate. Thorndew is right... I just need some food and... Judge Knot?... can I have one of those mugs?”

The hot palo was soothing. Fury felt his strength return enough to wave Thorndew back to his seat. He nodded thanks to Captain Thofyra who, likewise, returned to his position beside the door. Everyone else was looking concerned, even Thane Pyrond, but Fury sent them all a smile of reassurance.

The Judge Advocate spoke an order to his protector, “Busy the cooks... get some food here.” upon which Captain Thofyra obeyed.

~~~~~~~~~

The moment the captain left the room, Judge Fury rounded on his superior. “You passed him over for what Varsil did? Thof was the best of us! Why did you punish him for our misdemeanours?”

It was Judge Knot who answered. “Be still, Fury. It was not the Advocate’s decision alone. All the Elders agreed. Thofyra was not worthy of a Judgeship.”

“Not worthy? How can you say that? He was top in all our classes bar one, and that was swordplay. Only Varsil was better.”

Judge Knot was about to say something when the Advocate silenced him with a raised hand. “Fury, whether you can begin to understand our reasons or not, Captain Thofyra was never going to be a Judge. His abilities were recognised, but recognised as being better utilised elsewhere. Many of your acquaintances at the Adventurers Collective have had their mettles tested by him. As a weapon-master, Thofyra fulfilled our need at that time.”

“But Thof wanted to be a Judge. He lived for the day, and now he blames me for his failure.”

“His failure was his own, Judge Fury!” This from Judge Knot. “Thofyra showed his skill in weaponry and his loyalty to the cause, but he lacked an important ingredient.”

When Fury raised an eye-brow in query to the statement, Judge Knot answered, “He lacked The Gift!”

“The Gift.” Judge Fury repeated the phrase like it was poison to his tongue. “Like mine?... the ability to commune with the dead? I don’t think of it as a gift at all... more like a curse.”

“Then pity Judge Gallows,” snarled Judge Knot, “for he was gifted with the knowledge of shadows. It is why he became the Executioner in place of Judge Goldworth”

“And your gift, Judge Knot? What makes you special?”

The Advocate raised his hand again. “Come now, let us not be drawn into a spat of personalities. Fury, you know full well that both Judge Knot and Thorndew are diviners. It is a trait you also possess, though yours is channelled in a different way. Your particular ability is unique. It’s what sets you apart from the rest of us.”

“Yes, yes... this was all explained to me at the academy, and I was singled out for special attention because of it. I was tutored differently and by sages unknown to Thofyra and Varsil.”

“And a fat lot of good that did us,” mused Judge Knot aloud. “It only helps to prove you right about one thing… possession of The Gift aside, Thofyra was eminently more qualified for a Judgeship than you. He was, indeed, the best of the three of you.”

The Advocate hissed, “Please, Judge Knot, let it go.”

“No, Advocate. Fury should know this, if only to teach him some humility.

“Your appointment was not made through a unanimous decision, Fury. I had deep reservations about your early ascension to a Judgeship, not only for your commitment to the prophecies, but to the King’s Law as well. As it turns out, my fears concerning the former were well founded…”

Fury had reddened under the accusation. He bristled with indignation and would have responded, but Judge Knot over-spoke him.

“… so it is well for you that I was proved wrong about the latter. Yes, you have performed your duties here in Trithik satisfactorily, albeit not without controversies, but if I’d had my way, you would never have been made a Judge at all!

“I saw your wildness early – your inattentiveness during important lessons, your preference for the physical exercises over academic studies, your proclivity for running off with friends to explore crypts and cave systems – it amounted to a mind unsuited to the discipline required of the justiciary.

“I remain unconvinced of your suitability to this position, Judge Fury, and Thane Pyrond shares my feelings.”

~~~~~~~~~

Even though the last statement was true, Thane Pyrond thought it prudent to appear neutral in this discussion. Judge Knot was right, but his opinion went against those of more important men, namely the Judge Advocate, the king’s chief advisor, Magical, and the King himself. One did not lightly align themselves against any one of those worthies.

Still, at the time, Pyrond had argued vehemently against the new Judge’s posting to Trithik. Truth be told, it hadn’t mattered that it was Fury who turned up; it could have been anyone. The Thane was simply annoyed that a permanent residence had been created in his city to house a person of equal standing to himself, and this annoyance was magnified when the new Judge turned out to be a wet-behind-the-ears kid who arrived in the company of a weasel called Varsil Demonsoul.

That had happened eighteen years previously, and Thane Pyrond had suffered no end of crisis and controversy since. Is it any wonder he displayed little patience or liking for Judge Fury?

No, it is not!

*

[Badstench]

Fury had always found himself at odds with Judge Knot. The Elder had never shown Fury, the student, any leniency or warmth, and that mien hadn’t changed through the years since he had been made a Judge and posted to Trithik. There is no doubt that Fury respected Judge Knot, and even feared him a little, but the Elder’s lack of regard for Fury had been returned in kind. The three friends – Fury, Varsil and Thofyra – had dubbed the grizzled old Judge with many unkind nicknames, not least of which was ‘Judge-got-his-knickers-in-a-Knot’.

It is a fact that the names of the Judges are not chosen by their owners; they are given. Fury’s name was proffered by Judge Armstrong as a sly dig at the student’s reputation for having a nasty temper. It’s true! Fury was a terrible child prone to tantrums and his early teen years were punctuated by angry outbursts directed at his tutors when his inability to grasp lessons manifested in table-thumping and wall-kicking. Thankfully, Fury seemed to mellow soon after his sixteenth birthday (Judge Armstrong had rightly deduced that Fury’s sudden show of maturity had coincided with him being introduced to the pleasures of a woman for the first time, a trip to a whorehouse provided as a birthday present from Varsil Demonsoul).

Judge Knot had no discernable vices or habits but one; he always kept about his person a ball of ordinary twine with which he delighted in playing string-games. Fury imagined this was how he had acquired the moniker ‘Knot’, but that was only partly true.

A day had come when Judge Armstrong overheard Fury, Varsil and Thofyra referring to Judge Knot in a disparaging way. He took the boys aside to chastise them for their lack of respect.

Varsil had sneered, “Respect is earned, isn’t it? What respect does a man deserve who plays with bits of string and doesn’t engage in weapon-play?”

“You are wrong to think that a man’s capabilities are proven by his prowess with a sword, Varsil.” Judge Armstrong had admonished. “There are other weapons that, in the hands of one skilled, are just as deadly as a blade. Some weapons are even more fearsome, though you might not recognise them as being weapons at all.”

This had caused the young Fury much interest. “How so?” he asked.

Judge Armstrong’s answer came as a warning. “In the case of Judge Knot, I pray you never offer him cause to find out. Do not provoke him with your adolescent antics, my young friends. You will regret the day, believe me.”

Of course, with Varsil and Fury, Armstrong’s warning was like waving a red flag in front of a bull, and the boys determined to uncover the meaning of the Judge’s innuendo at first opportunity.

The opportunity arose the day Talwarden held his annual archery contest, with the spectacle being in Talinus that year. All the students of the academy had been excused their lessons to watch the competition, but Fury, Varsil and Thofyra snuck back to the empty school intent on doing mischief. They were surprised to hear an odd cracking sound from the weapons training arena and moved to investigate. What they saw froze them in amazement, for Judge Knot had seized the chance of solitude to practice with his weapons of preferment.

A blanket had been laid on the ground, and on this was arrayed an assortment of ropes and cords, but it was the items Judge Knot held, one in each hand, that fascinated the boys the most; two bullwhips, each tipped with a nasty looking spike!

Judge Knot had placed an assortment of empty bottles approximately 25 feet in front of him, some in a line along a wooden beam, others on the ground, and a few at various positions on a straw training dummy. In a dazzling display of expertise, he would cast each whip forward in an offset rhythm then snap them back with a flick of his wrist. Each flick elicited the cracking sound that had attracted the attention of the three boys, and they were mightily impressed to note how none of the bottles were smashed; just the tops were neatly scissored away from the stems. But, if they thought that was cool, it was nothing compared to the grand finale they witnessed.

Judge Knot began a series of pirouettes, the whips a-whirl high above his head. Of a sudden, he lunged forward, bringing one whip down to crack at the base of a bottle placed on the outstretched arm of a training dummy. The bottle flew into the air, then the second whip lashed out. But, instead of smashing the glass vessel in mid-flight, the whip wrapped around the body of the bottle. Judge Knot dropped the first whip and deftly caught the bottle as he snapped it back to him, whereupon he took off the stopper and calmly took a sip of whatever liquid it contained.

It would be fair to say that all three boys watched this display with their mouths agape, and not one of them dared make a sound as they crept away.

If they’d looked back, they might have seen Judge Knot watching them depart with a self-satisfied grin. “I won’t get any more trouble from them,” he was thinking.

*