The Trial

Sand swirled red and black, compacted into six stone pillars holding up a cathedral of law. Shadows played over men, dwarves, and wizards, intense and blinding a thin barrier dividing the theater's audience from their actors. Up above on stands molded around thrones, four judges sat and a king to break the vote.

The two grand seats, littered with gold and bejeweled with diamonds, belonged to the two gods-ordained judges, Manis and Rum'den. Below them, linked together, were two subordinate judges whose seats were littered with plain silver. They sat patiently, seeming content to whittle their thumbs while others talked. Orik, who had less power in court despite his kinghood, was seated to the side in a seat made comfortable in its velvet livery.

Murtagh and Theodore, as his defendant, sat between majesty and the pain-hungry masses, with the unenviable position of capturing both attentions.

It most certainly was a pain to look up constantly, and the bright light certainly didn't help. A pain Theodore decided he wouldn't suffer. A subtle spell bent light from his eyes, and Theodore conspicuously chose not to meet any judge's eyes for prolonged periods.

Theodore was comfortable being watched. Thousands of eyes looking at everything he did was familiar. What was uncomfortable was the level of scrutiny the wizard had to bear. An army of scribes scratched through a fortune of velum, frantic in a way that indicated they were determined to record absolutely everything said and done.

They sat just below the tent of judges in neat columns. The overhanging diases partially hid them from the enormous chandelier that lit the room. Giving just enough light to see and write while leaving them still obfuscated from all the room's glare. However, Theodore could still see what drew their eyes.

Some focused on Manid and Rum'den, along with the two other subordinate judges.

Some looked at Murtagh with furtive looks. A mixture of fear and anger twisting their faces even as they furiously wrote. Theodore could note their expressions despite his distance from him because of how exaggerated they were.

Many paid the new king mind, and Orik did his best to look suitably kingly for them, though Theodore could tell it was a struggle. The dwarf's jaw flexed as he strained himself to keep awake. As king, he was allowed no chemical assistance.

Despite rarely speaking, the scribes gave Theodore special attention. He suspected it had something to do with the mysterious power wizards held. Word of 'Magics Deep' had spread far.

Such special attention wasn't surprising; extraordinary abilities had a way of making themselves extraordinarily well known. It was, however, grating.

Theodore had been chronicled before but never by political minds so invested in seeking 'truth.' It seemed that every time he lifted a hand or made to yawn, these scribes quickly added a page to their collection. From what he could see, they already held a stack dozens of pages thick—a quarter novel, perhaps.

If he hadn't known better, Theodore would have thought of himself as part of some major epic filled with exciting adventures. As it was, he tried not to move too much so as not to cause too many cramped hands.

'Perhaps they would be kinder in their telling then.' Theodore thought.

Though somehow, the wizard doubted it would have much effect. While he had no way of reading what they wrote now, he had read of logs of similar trials in the past.

In his research for this trial, he came across mention of a most peculiar case of overtelling.

He had read about a dwarven general named Haddock who had killed his wife. At one point, the general had a scribe interpret an odd frown he made some twenty hours into his trial, and that same scribe had 'insight' as to its meaning.

The scribe had named it a guilty frown. Perhaps Theodore would have found that tolerable if he had stopped just there, but the scribe, Erling, thought himself adept at reading the dwarven psyche. He chronicled the man's inner monologue throughout the entire trial without ever bothering to ask Haddock himself for input.

That piece of rambling garbage made Erling a fortune. He later constructed an entire novel about the experience, which was popular.

Theodore had asked Orik about it, and it seemed many dwarves took the scribe's words as fact. Even now, dwarves use Haddock's name to describe berserk dwarves who were close to committing crimes of passion.

It seemed to Theodore that dwarves believed more quickly in these things than humans did. There was an element of naive gullibility to them that unsettled the wizard. That was because Theodore had come across much more than one 'Overtelling.'

Overtelling and sometimes boasting, from what Theodore could discover, were simply part of dwarven culture. Tied so inherently that to take it away would cause dwarven culture as a whole to crumble

It was part of the reason so few were ever found innocent during their trials.

Power for dwarves lent heavily to reputation and rumors, and those were fickle things. They were difficult to cultivate and impossible to contain, and so because of all that interpretive terror, Dwarves were scared to move unnecessarily during trials.

It was part of the reason Theodore wouldn't scratch his chin.

It started as a tickle earlier in the session, something the wizard had managed to ignore as he tried to remain stately. His back was straight, his nose upturned and the proper amount of imperious, but still, he itched.

It was an itch that only grew worse throughout Manid's monologue, which had gone on for almost three hours. His protracted, droll manner was engaging at first but had begun to wear on the wizard. He barely drew a gawf or a laugh anymore at some of the utterly absurd things he said.

Theodore was tempted to scratch, but one of the trial scribes had begun to focus exclusively on him. The wizard couldn't quite summon the shamelessness to itch his skin bloody as he wanted to, and Orik had warned him against such 'needless' actions. Theodore did at least want to try to appear good.

Theodore instead manipulated his skin to rub the itchy part of his face, making a rolling friction that he didn't think anyone would notice unless they looked very closely. The relief that came afterward was pleasurable and distracting. Though it hardly mattered if he listened to the judges ranting, it seemed they would talk and shout no matter what happened.

Rum'den began an impassioned monologue of his own now as Manid fell silent. The dwarf's face became tomato red with passion as he spoke.

So much blood was flushing his face that it looked as if it would expand and balloon, and yet he was so animated. Theodore was sure he would keep talking even if his face were to burst. The dwarf had red hair that complemented his wild complexion. His blue eyes were wide and bulging so that the whites of his eyes could collect light and sparkle with complication.

The judge didn't hesitate to go on at length about the importance of law and the folly of lying before the gods, occasionally glaring down at the defendant and the audience, who always suitably cawed in fear and awe as was expected of them.

Even Theodore managed to maintain a reverent expression, and it seemed convincing. He could see the scribes with self-satisfied smiles as he watched them out of the corner of his eye.

Soon, Rum'den reached his finishing sermons, his fervor pitching his brow, turning them up so stern that metal would have an easier time bending. Theodore almost feared on his behalf that his brows would never fall again.

The object of all hate besides Theodore was slumped tiredly in his seat. The wizard looked more closely and found that the rider had, at some point, fallen asleep for his trial. He wasn't alone in his slumber.

That sound, like the edge of a rainstorm rumbling in the distance, was the snores of dwarves. In fact, Theodore, at times, forgot he was under a mountain. He had subconsciously mistaken dwarven snores for lousy weather just outside the court's walls when he first heard its rumble. It was only when he magically enhanced his hearing to pick apart the individual sounds of snoring that he realized what that sound was.

It seemed the dwarves had begun to cycle, a common practice during very long trials. Theodore had read about it in the few texts he finished on dwarven tribunals. The dwarves in front would remain wakeful, but as they tired, it would be improper for them to slump or hunch over. They would fall back, and more wakeful dwarves would take their place in front where the scribes could see.

Because of Murtagh's role in the war effort, the courts decided to jam a week's worth of trial into only three days.

It made sense that many dwarves had grown tired. Many had already spent three days in court with only slight intermissions. At least today, the trial would end.

The judges were as wakeful as ever only because they drowned themselves in stimulants. Every so often, a court runner would come and hand them little red bottles, and they would drink and spring into tirades as Rum'den did now.

Murtagh didn't have that luxury, and Theodore didn't either, but his mind was trained, and Murtagh, despite all his power, didn't have such an advantage. There was no need to blame the boy, but he needed to wake now.

Theodore elbowed Murtagh subtly, and the rider woke with a start; the rider's eyes shot around the room, alert for danger before he remembered where he was and gave a half-muttered grunt of abased acquiescence.

Murtagh glared at Theodore, and the wizard studiously ignored his heated gaze.

"I will soon have to speak in your defense, and so I figured it would be best for you to be awake for it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Theodore could see several scribes start furiously writing as he said that, though he doubted they heard what he had said to Murtagh.

He wondered what they wrote instead.

The frightening thing about these scribes was that they were sworn in the ancient language never to write flat-out lies. Even Erling, who chronicled Haddock, had at least believed what he wrote, and he had been all the more dangerous because of it.

The rider doubtless was a subject of some imagined ridicule in their minds.

To a dwarf, humans were only slightly less flighty than elves. He had no doubt they noted Murtagh's more mercurial behaviors to reinforce what they already believed.

"Now it is time for the defense to speak. Would Lord Theodore Lupin please stand and represent this traitorous rider's case?" Rum'den announced as he finished his own shorter monologue. His eyes were still crazed with the potion, and his beard and long braided red hair were trembling with anticipation.

Theodore was calm as he hummed affirmatively and stood up. In this third session, like the previous one, the judges' rhetoric lasted about three and one-quarter hours. It seemed the court had found its rhythm.

Now came the questions-and-answers portion, which was usually done directly with the accused. Only Orik's forbearance and Theodore's research revealed the defendant's position. The dwarves hadn't actually used one for centuries since the time of the riders.

According to Orik, it had taken quite some convincing to allow a foreigner to take the role, but Orik was no ordinary king. He had taken the throne by the rite of arrival, and so the judge had no choice but to give him special consideration.

The judges asked, and Theodore would find justification both real and imagined. For the most part, he had used the oaths the rider had sworn as an excuse—oaths that he had been forced to swear to the black king through the use of Murtagh's actual name.

Though, in part, that excuse had been dismantled when Murtagh was asked to repeat his oaths Verbatim. They had only used the slightest amount of gruesome torture to tear it out of him.

And so because they knew all of Murtagh's oaths, the court now knew that Murtagh had no choice but to betray the Varden, something Theodore considered a minor victory. They also learned the red dragon rider had made the wholly unnecessary choice to kill the Dwarven king and that he had done it without the black king's input.

Truthfully, if Theodore hadn't extracted promises from Orik, the wizard would be in tatters about how to solve Murtagh's current situation. King's slaying was a grave crime. As it was, Theodore was at least sure that, in the end, he would have his say.

"Now for the final question. How does Moran's son feel about the things he has done?"

Manid asked, impatient to have the trial done despite all the talking he had done just minutes before.

Theodore looked at Murtagh, who looked drowsy, his lips cracked and bleeding. His hands and feet chafed from being bound with overly tight chains that made an unpleasant clanking whenever the rider decided to move. The wizard handed him a conjured glass of water. A small kindness that was greeted by hostile glares from all dwarves who noticed him doing it

Murtagh, without a second of consideration, gulped down every drop, his eyes losing their glossy sheen.

"Do I have to repeat my question? Does Murtagh, son of Morzan, regret his actions?"

"No," Murtagh somehow summoned the strength to give a bloody smile. However, it came out more as a pained grimace.

'Well, the boy really does know best how to ensure his execution,' Theodore thought.

The wizard twirled his blackthorn wand between his forefinger and thumb idly. As he slowly stood from his chair, Rum'den and Manid rocketed from their padded thrones. The two dwarves looked ready to sully their hands with Murtagh's blood. A few dwarves in armored plates seemed prepared to join them.

A few more adventurous jumped over the courtroom dividers with weapons drawn. They were crazed warrior rearing to spill blood. They gave shouts as they ran forward. The guards started to come forward to block them, but the wizard could see the mob had caught them unprepared and that they wouldn't come soon enough.

Theodore, with a flick of his wand, let a splash of red fall over them. The lot of them, a dozen or more at least, slumped over unconscious. Several fell violently and would wake with concussions. Theodore felt they deserved no sympathy.

'How barbaric are these dwarves?' Theodore wondered. There were warriors in court ready to rip Murtagh apart, and they had been allowed because the dwarves saw the rider as dangerous, but for them to act without any provocation was madness.

Theodore might have tolerated them torturing the rider barely, but he would not tolerate violence with no purpose against someone whose life belonged to him.

His pride wouldn't allow such embarrassment.

Theodore flicked his wand, and a whip of fire streaked out to lay placidly on the floor surrounding him. He waited for more dwarves to rush the divide.

There was silence in the courtroom. Other armored dwarves near the divide fell back in horror; they looked at him as one would a wild panther. One of the dwarves wearing white cloth who had stood off to the side before, a dwarven healer assigned to Murtagh to ensure that he wouldn't keel over and die despite all his mistreatment, checked the pulse of the fallen dwarves.

The healer announced that they still lived, and many dwarves gave sighs of relief. Theodore, feeling the tension had passed, let his fire whip fall to nothing in the air.

'Well, so much for looking good for the scribes,' Theodore thought as he conjured himself a toothpick and licked it between his teeth.

"We will be having a civilized proceeding or not any at all." Theodore scolded as he leaned against his desk with one hand. To all the dwarves, he seemed a giant of a man large enough to stomp once and snuff out many lives. Any dwarf that met his eyes felt like an ant apart from its nest.

Manid and Rum'den, as well as the two other judges, seemed at a loss for how to respond. The armored audience looked suitably cowed. A few less health-conscious souls, for the most part nobles, sent him dirty looks, though even they felt afraid, and so that was all they did.

Minutes of silence passed as the tension in the room began to build. Theodore made sure to give a few more surly warriors glares that would melt rock and boil blood. Though he used no magic to oppress them, he made sure to make an impression.

Inwardly, the wizard sighed, wishing he didn't have to be so heavy-handed. What better way to start a rebellion than for the king's friend to commit acts of violence and for that violence to have no consequence?

Oriks kingship was still fresh and fragile. He didn't need more trouble to deal with. Theodore looked at the king and gave a subtle nod as he met his eyes.

Orik seemed to agree. The king stood up from his seat more slowly than Manid and Rum'den, with an authority that was perhaps double their combined. His gold crown gleamed in the chandelier light, and with a clap of his hands, he caught everyone's eye.

"Enough. We will have a civilized trial. Shame, shame, I say to those who draw weapons in a place of law. Shame to those who use magic. Lord Lupin, if you cannot contain yourself, I will have you recused."

A slap on the wrist it was then.

"Of course, King Orik," Theodore said as he half-bowled and gracefully took a seat beside Murtagh.

The dwarves who sought violence knew even better how wrong they were and looked down in shame. Some were even afraid to look upon the king despite their earlier rebellious anger. Orik, their king, was seen as the pinnacle of morality, though that often was likely untrue for a king.

To be shamed by him or any king was grave indeed among the dwarves.

Rum'den, who looked abashed but still flushed with anger, cleared his throat.

"Seeing as the rider lacks remorse despite his actions and given what we have confirmed, I believe it is time to announce a verdict for Murtagh, son of Morzan. I have consulted Gannel, and Manid and I have conferred. We believe it is best, despite the rarity of both dragons and riders, to sentence both Murtagh and his dragon to death."

Rum'den looked down, self-satisfied, as he banged his gavel, which echoed with the solid thump of finality. The subordinate judges, who were still content not to speak, nodded in agreement.

The dwarves cheered, chasing away the shame they felt before. Some dwarves drew weapons and spun them in the air dangerously over their heads. Others stomped their feelings of justified satisfaction. The joy was infectious; many dwarves who would typically not smile had bright grins and audible sighs of relief.

Theodore didn't join them or object either. The wizard had known this was coming. Gannel, in his greed for magic, had come to him and told him of this likely result. Instead, it was time to argue about how his execution would take place.

The wizard stood and let the slightest bit of magic sizzle off and twist the air as he made his presence known and used a minor sonorous charm to make sure everyone would hear him.

"It is all well and fine to Execute Murtagh and his dragon." Theodore held his hands up in supplication for emphasis, ignoring Murtagh's look of betrayal. With his words, there was silence, and keen ears now listened.

"They have committed unforgivable crimes against all dwarves." Theodore postulated. He heard cheering as he said that. Many dwarves in the front nodded their agreement.

"They deserve to be punished."

Dwarves stomped their feet once again.

"The question I ask is, is it enough to chop off Murtagh's ugly head and take fire pokers to his dragon Thorn's eyes?"

There was some murmuring at this, but again, some dwarves agreed with him. The crowd thought that it wasn't enough for the riders' crimes.

"I say no. They deserve worse suffering for what they did to your fine king." Theodore's voice darkened as he spoke, adding a sinister tone that struck a vein of dwarven pride.

There was a hungry roar of agreement from the Dwarves.

Rum'den and Manis both looked frightened by it as they realized they had lost control of their crowd. Orik looked at Theodore with a violent gleam in his eye. However, none of them spoke now.

Theodore, as the defendant, was allowed the final word as to how they would carry out the sentence. The wizard hadn't said anything he wasn't allowed to, and what he did now, an appeal to an audience, was the most common way for any to commute a dwarven tribunal's sentence.

Orik, besides, had promised him this moment.

"What if I said there was a way to give Murtagh and his dragon Thorne a death sentence, a humiliation that would last forever."

That thought was attractive to the Dwarves, so much so that the courtroom shook with howls and wretched laughter. The dwarves became wolves hunting underneath a full moon's madness. So taken were they that one of the dwarves at the very front couldn't help himself but ask Theodore aloud how they would do such a thing.

"Chain him to the dwarves until his death."

—-

When Eragon finally arrived at the peak of the Beor mountains, he was surprised to find a party of dwarves waiting to greet him. They guided him to Orik with all the pomp and ceremony of a noble, and as he reached his adopted brother, he found him grinning.

The rider could tell his dwarf friend had missed him, as despite the short time they had been apart, Orik already had a few more wrinkles.

It did not take Mutch asking to get the story out of him, and what he found left Eragon giddy with relief. Murtagh, son of Morzan, would not be executed. Instead, Theodore had convinced the dwarves to commute his sentence to eternal servitude to the dwarves.

The ceremony was happening now. Murtagh was swearing his oaths in front of all the dwarves. However, Eragon hadn't the slightest idea how the red rider managed to escape his oaths to the black king.

Theodore, as noble as ever, stood over The rider as he knelt. They stood underneath the repaired Isidar Mithrim, the crowning gem of dwarven architecture.

"I, Murtagh son or Morzan, so swear to forsake the black king's cause and all that comes with it?"

Murtagh, who was dressed in fine clothes for the occasion, including a black cloak with the symbol of all dwarves and the star sapphire's outline printed in white, spoke of his agreement in the ancient language.

"I, Murtagh, son of Morzan, shall follow the dwarves in battle against all foreign enemies."

Murtagh again agreed. Eragon noted that it wasn't just against the king he swore to fight. His lip twisted at the thought of more complicated politics.

"I, Murtagh, son of Morzan, shall serve dwarves and only for the benefit of dwarves for all time unto my death, and I shall willingly lay myself at the mercy of the king of the dwarves. I shall follow Orders given by the monarch or any they appoint for all time."

Murtagh, who had desired only freedom all his life, felt his lips tremble as he spoke this oath. Eragon, who had known Murtagh well, knew the pain this oath would cause, but the red rider spoke the words and so was bound forever.

The chains that had bound him since his capture made a dozen metallic collisions as they fell to the ground. The guards stepped away, and Murtagh was left free to look at thousands of unfriendly dwarven faces. He met Eragon's eyes, and he gave him a wry smile from across the crowd.