J. R. Wagner
Exiled
— 1 -
September 1898, South America
Two men walked along a flagstone path. The drawn face of the taller one was partly concealed by his midnightblack, shoulder-length hair. The deep-blue robes he wore did little to conceal his lean build. With every word he spoke, striations in his jaw muscles contracted and relaxed. Despite being in his midteens, his concerned expression and the weariness in his eyes gave him the look of a much older man. To his left strode a man who looked as if he lacked the strength to stand let alone keep the pace at which he currently moved. He was bent over a rickety-looking wooden cane that threatened to break every time the man’s weight shifted, bowing the shaft slightly. His white hair was marbled with streaks of black-the last vestiges of his more youthful days. He wore purple robes beneath which wide shoulders and a well-fed midsection pulled at the clasps. His face was calm.
The path appeared endless. Dark moss grew in the joints between stones, softening the men’s steps. It was lined with tall rectangular columns that reached just above the tallest man’s head. To the right of the path, a crimson sun cast long shadows from each column and spilled blood-red light through each opening.
They continued walking and conversing as the sun fell behind the horizon. Just as the last ray of light fell behind the trees, tureens mounted on the columns ignited into orange flames. The pair stopped as they reached a massive staircase. Torches flickered in the breeze, flanking the steps that appeared to stretch to infinity. The boy turned to his elder.
“So it is to be in the upper chambers?”
“No need for concern, James. Mind games are standard practice among the politically well connected when attempting to make a point. They want you to be afraid. They want you to be intimidated,” said the older man.
He paused a moment, took a deep breath, and turned to look up at his companion. “Are you afraid, James?”
“No.”
“Remember, it is they who are afraid. You intimidate them. That is why we are here. The rest is just political smoke and mirrors on both sides to grasp what little power they can. They are desperate. Speak cautiously. Desperation will push reasonable men to say and do unreasonable things.”
Without interrupting his train of thought the elder man began his ascent. James followed quietly.
“Understand the question and reply. Never speak from emotion. Speak only from fact. Truth will reveal you for who you are. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master Ammoncourt.”
“James, I cannot overemphasize the importance of remaining calm and emotionless. You have a tendency to react without analysis. But do not lament. Many men who’ve seen more turns than even Akil haven’t mastered this technique. Everyone’s in such a bloody hurry to say what they want to say that they don’t take the time to consider if they should actually say it. The years of putting some thought into a conversation have long passed,” said Ammoncourt.
He looked over at James as they climbed the stairs. James’s brow was furrowed, forcing a vein in his forehead to pulse beneath his skin. His hands were clenched into fists. Ammoncourt stopped suddenly. James, consumed by his current thoughts, continued up the stairs.
“James,” Ammoncourt said calmly.
James stopped and looked back at Ammoncourt, his hands immediately relaxed.
“I do not intend to take another step until you’ve eliminated this turmoil from your mind. You must control your anger. While you may find it amusing that you’ve developed a reputation for your fits of rage, I assure you it is only a weakness. One that will be exploited by your enemies as often as possible. Now, calm yourself.”
James closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, exhaling the tension from his body. Ammoncourt raised a concerned eyebrow as James looked down at him with a reassuring expression.
“No matter how absurd or unjust the questions become- and you can assure yourself they will digress into absurdity- you must remain calm.”
James took another breath. He imagined his emotions expelling from his lungs with his last breath as Ammoncourt had taught him. His mind felt sharp and clear.
“The boy masters what took the rest of us thrice the time yet he cannot control his own emotions,” Ammoncourt muttered to himself.
James gave a single nod as a breath escaped his lungs. The pair continued up the stairs in silence. After climbing hundreds of steps, the men finally reached the apex.
Two sentries cloaked in white stood on either side of an archway. Both wore helms of silver that masked their identities. Neither moved as James and Ammoncourt passed into the darkened archway. James had to duck slightly to clear the curve of the arch. The pair walked through a darkened tunnel toward the light beyond.
Near the end of the tunnel, Ammoncourt muttered tersely, “Listen, analyze, respond. And remember the primer incantation!”
James took several more calming breaths then followed Ammoncourt into the upper chambers. The room was massive. The floor was one large piece of polished emerald granite. It stretched in an oval to an identical archway at the opposite end of the chambers. In the center of the chamber stood a stone lectern. On it sat a large old book.
James kept his gaze forward as they walked toward the lectern, but he couldn’t help noticing that the perimeter was lined with more guards in white cloaks. The men stopped within arm’s length of the lectern. James concentrated on the archway at the opposite end of the room. He repeated the primer incantation as they waited, fighting the emotions that pressed upon his mind to free themselves. Hustasunetik.
After a moment of standing in silence a sound resonated in the chamber. Despite Ammoncourt’s instruction not to react, James turned his head toward the origin of the sound. He thought he heard a consternating grunt from Ammoncourt. He had violated his master’s instructions before the hearing had even begun.
The sound echoed through the chamber again. The second time, James did not react. He knew what it was. The guards surrounding the chamber were each armed with long-handled steel axes. The blades were tall and slender, unlike standard fighting axes. They were rumored to slice through oak as easily as a man’s throat. The never-dulling blades were one of many weapons carried by the guards.
Again the handles fell to the floor. James could feel the impact in his chest. The tempo increased. Boom, boom, boom. Flames erupted around the archway. The pounding stopped abruptly. Three men walked briskly beneath the flames toward the lectern. The first, smaller than the others, wore white robes like those of the guards. Crimson embroidery distinguished him from the other two men, who wore blood-red robes, their faces shadowed by hoods.
As the man in white reached the lectern, the guards surrounding the chamber gave one final concussion that echoed for minutes. Boom. The man in white raised his right hand as if quieting an applauding crowd.
“We hear the testimony of James Lochlan Stuart IV in defense against charges brought forth by the council. Are all present whom we require?”
Glowing orbs illuminated, revealing a previously blackened area of seating surrounding the chamber above the guards. They dimmed as the man in white nodded his head.
Again James calmed himself. Exhaling slowly. Focusing on fact. Knowing the council had nothing to convict him.
“Let us begin,” said the man in white. He peered over his spectacles at James, searching for signs of weakness, attempting to intimidate James with his cold gray eyes. James remained stone-faced. The man turned his gaze to Ammoncourt, who smiled back. His smile feigned friendliness, but his eyes sent another message. The
