As the barrier had been built between herself and the dark mage for the magic duel, so a similar barrier sprang up now; one pole beginning from where she stood, the other from where Tarma was poised. This wall was of a colorless, milky white; it glowed only faintly.
'Let the Pillars of Wisdom stand between this world and the next -- '
Mist swirled up out of the ground, just in front of Char and his captors. Kethry could see his eyes bulging in fear, for the mist held a light of its own that augmented the moonlight. The mist formed itself into a column, which then split slowly into two. The two columns moved slowly apart, then solidified into glowing pillars.
'Let the Gate of Judgment open -- '
More mist, this time of a strange, bluish cast, billowed in the space between the two Pillars. Kethry felt the energy coursing through her; it was a very strange, almost unnerving feeling. She could see why even an Adept rarely performed this spell more than once in a lifetime -- it wasn't just the amount of power needed, it was that the mage became only the vessel for the power. It, in a very real sense, was controlling her. She spoke aloud the final Word of Opening, then called with thought alone to the mist-shape within the Pillars, and fed it all the last of the Hawks' united anger in a great burst of unleashed power.
The mist swirled, billowed -- grew dark, then bright, then dark again. It glowed from within, the color a strange silver-blue, Then the mist condensed around the glow, forming a suggestion of a long road, a road under sunlight -- and out of the center of the glowing cloud rode Idra.
Char gave a strangled cry, and fell to his knees before the rider. But for the moment she was not looking at him.
She was colorless as moonlight, and as solidly real as any of Tarma's leskya'e-Kal'enedrcd, When Kethry had decided to open the Gate, she had faced this moment of seeing Idra's face with a tinge of fear, wondering what she would see there. She feared no longer. The long, lingering gazes Idra bestowed upon each other 'children' were warm, and full of peace. This was no spirit suffering torment --
But the face she turned upon her brother was full of something colder than hate, and more implacable than anger.
'Hello, Char,' she said, her voice echoing as from across a vast canyon. 'You have a very great deal to answer for.'
* * *
Tarma led two dozen bone-weary Hawks back into Petras that morning; they made no attempt to conceal themselves, and word that they were coming -- and word of what they carried -- preceded them. The streets of Petras cleared before their horses ever set hoof upon them, and they rode through a town that might well have been emptied
by some mysterious plague. But eyes were watching them behind closed curtains and sealed shutters; eyes that they could feel on the backs of their necks. There was fear echoing along with the sounds of hoofbeats along those streets. Fear of what the Hawks had done; fear of what else they might do --
By the time they rode in through the gates of the Palace, a nervous crowd had assembled in the court, and Stefansen was waiting on the stairs.
The Hawks pulled up in a semicircle before the new King, still silent but for the sound of their horses' hooves. As the last of the horses moved into place, the last whisper coming from the crowd died, leaving only frightened, ponderous silence, a silence that could almost be weighed and measured.
There was a bloodstained bundle lashed on the back of Raschar's horse, a bundle that Tindel and Tarma removed, carried to the new King's feet, and dropped there without ceremony.
The folds of what had been Char's cloak fell open, revealing what the cloak contained. Stefan. though he had visibly steeled himself, turned pale. There was just about enough left of Raschar to be recognizable.
'This man was sworn Oathbreaker and Outcast,' Tarma said harshly, tonelessly. 'And he was so sworn by the full rites, by a priest, a mage, and an upright man of his own people, all of whom he had wronged, all of whom had suffered irreparable loss at his hands. We claim Mercenary's Justice on him, by the rights of that swearing; we executed that Justice upon him. Who would deny us that right?'
There was only appalled silence from the crowd.
'I confirm it,' Stefansen said into the silence, his voice firm, and filling the courtyard. 'For not only have I heard from a trusted witness the words of his own mouth, confessing that he dishonored, tortured and slew his own sister, the Lady Idra, Captain of the Sunhawks and Princess of the blood, but I have had the same tale from the servants of his household that we questioned last night. Hear then the tale of Raschar the Oathbreaker.'
Tarma stood wearily through the recitation, not really hearing it, although the murmurs and gasps from the crowd behind her told her that Stefan was giving the whole story in all its grimmest details. The mood of the people was shifting to their side, moment by moment.
