black velvet hood.
“You are Wenthus, son of Garathan?” said the advocate.
“I am, your lordship.” His voice was not muffled, despite the cloth.
“You are a forester and hunter, are you not?”
“I am, your lordship. My family has ranged the South Sward for five hundred years-”
“In what capacity do you know the prisoner?”
The woodland elf shifted on his feet. “I don’t know him, your lordship.” The accused suppressed an urge to laugh.
“Did he not hire you to supply him with a certain number of animals, which you would trap in the wildwood?”
“No, your lordship. I was hired by another. A high lord.”
“What lord?” the advocate prompted.
“The one we in the green lands call
“What did this Camaxilas require you to do?”
“He sent me to catch animals, as you said, your lordship. He wanted small predators like foxes, martens, and ferrets. I thought he wanted them for their fur, but he would only pay for them if they were alive,” Wenthus said.
“How many animals did you supply this Camaxilas with?”
The hunter counted on his fingers. “Thirty-six live animals, your lordship. Fourteen dead ones he wouldn’t buy.”
Three more foresters were called. All had their faces concealed. Each told a similar tale. A great lord called Camaxilas hired them to trap wild animals, small carnivores all. The creatures had to be alive and in good health, or the Silvanesti lord would not pay for them. In total he purchased just greater than one hundred live animals from the rustic elves. The prisoner listened to their testimony indifferently. When the advocate was done with them, the woodland hunters were dismissed.
“Is the one known in the woodlands as Camaxilas present in the Night Chamber?” the advocate boomed.
Footsteps rang on the polished floor. Striding into the outer aura of the prisoner’s wall of light came a male elf in the prime of life. By the standards of his race, he was tall, with dark blond hair cut short, in a warrior style. Most Silvanesti males affected long hair, drawn back in a braid.
His posture was military too, though he was dressed in a simple kilt and white tabard. Even in the unnatural dimness of the chamber, his eyes were arresting, large and very blue, like beads of lapis lazuli. The prisoner gave the new witness a quick sidelong glance then averted his eyes altogether.
“My lord,” said the advocate with clear deference, “will you state your name for the chronicle?”
“I am Balif Thraxenath, Chosen Chief of House Protector, First Warrior of the Great Speaker. I am the son of Arnasmir Thraxenath, of the Greenrunners clan. The people know me as Balif, loyal subject of the Great Speaker.” He bowed in the direction of the highest lamp, knowing Silvanos sat behind it.
The unseen advocate apologized for summoning Lord Balif to the Night Chamber but added, “Are you called by the name Camaxilas?”
“Yes, my lord. In the southern and western woods, I am sometimes called that. It’s more a title than a name.”
A moment passed. The advocate said, “Did you commission several foresters to catch animals?” Balif admitted he had. “Why? For what purpose?”
“My counselor requested it.”
“And who is your counselor, my lord?”
Balif extended his left arm, pointing straight at the prisoner. “That is him.”
“Speak his name for the chronicle.”
“Uristathan Cavolox, called Vedvedsica.”
That was a name as well known as Balif’s, if not so respected. Vedvedsica-the name in rural patois meant wise, wise fellow-was a magician of great erudition. He was known for his vast knowledge of the magical art and for his refusal to join any established temple or guild. Whispered rumors clung closely to his gaunt frame. Not only was he a master of the art of high magic, but it was said that he soiled his hands by dabbling in low arts such as alchemy and divination. No real crimes had ever been laid at his feet, but a vague air of ruthlessness and personal corruption rendered his company unworthy and his name suspect to most Silvanesti.
Hearing his name spoken at last, the accused raised his head. His hood dropped away, revealing a nearly bald pate. The light shone down harshly, rendering Vedvedsica’s lean face in high relief.
“Thank you, my lord. You may go.”
Balif turned but the captive cried out, “Am I not allowed to question those who speak against me?”
The cone of confinement contracted again, crushing Vedvedsica’s arms against his chest. He had so little room, he could hardly draw breath.
Seeing his predicament, Balif said, “My lords, if it pleases you, relent. Let the prisoner speak.”
“We have no desire to hear his blasphemies!”
Balif walked in a circle around the gasping wizard. “He will guard his tongue. Won’t you?” Vedvedsica could only blink in agreement. “Relent, my lords. Let him pose his questions.”
The beam of light expanded, releasing the wizard. He reeled around, greedily sucking in fresh air. When at last his discomfort subsided, he said, “Thank you, my lord.”
“It is nothing,” said Balif.
“The prisoner will address the Chamber only!”
Vedvedsica bowed mockingly. “My lords. I would like to ask Lord Balif how long we have known each other.” The advocate agreed; the elf lord could answer.
“A century and a half, I think.”
Through the clumsy process of voicing his questions through the Night Chamber advocate, the wizard went on to ask what services he had performed for Balif over so many years.
“Healer, soothsayer, counselor, and adviser,” Balif replied. Vedvedsica had been his retainer a long time. Everyone knew that.
“In all that time, in all those capacities, did I ever fail you, my lord?”
“Never.”
“How is it I find myself on trial now for my life?”
“I delivered you into the hands of the highest authority in Silvanesti,” said Balif tersely.
“And we are grateful for your diligence,” the advocate put in.
“So grateful,” snarled the wizard.
At the time of the conjunction of the three moons three years past, Vedvedsica had come to his master with a modest but unusual request. He was trying out a new magical operation. He needed some live animals. Not the usual sacrificial beasts such as goats, sheep, or doves. Vedvedsica wanted wild animals. Carnivores and scavengers only, no rabbits, squirrels, or boars. After a hundred and fifty years of service, Balif did not question his counselor’s intention. He contacted some woodland hunters he knew and arranged for them to trap the animals the wizard wanted.
“That’s the last I heard about the affair until six months ago,” Balif concluded. That’s when he discovered the outcome of Vedvedsica’s experiments.
“Stop. Say no more,” warned the advocate. “The Speaker’s ears must not be soiled by hearing about these abominations.”
Balif agreed. “I sent word to House Protector. Vedvedsica and some others were taken by the royal guard. Because of his long association with a high lord, the wizard was treated carefully, but his assistants were put to the question.”
“Tortured, you mean,” said Vedvedsica bitterly.
They revealed a secret complex of houses, far away in the western forest, where the results of the wizard’s work were kept. A company of griffon riders swept down on the hidden site. There was resistance. Those who fought were put to the sword. Those who surrendered were in the worst dungeon in Silvanost, Thalasdown,
