The Fire In His Hands

disposition of most cases seemed to depend on which adversary could muster the most relatives to lie for him.

Megelin dreaded having to give his own testimony. His conscience had been ragging him mercilessly. He feared he would not be able to lie.

He was spared the final crisis of conscience. Yousif had passed the word. He was not called. He sat restlessly, and seethed. Such a travesty! The outcome was never in doubt. The decision had been made before the judges heard the charges....

What were the charges? Radetic suddenly realized that they had not been formally declared.

They were trying El Murid. Charges did not matter.

El Murid rose. “A petition, my lord judges.”

The chief judge, one of Aboud’s brothers, looked bored. “What is it this time?”

“Permission to call additional witnesses.”

The judge sighed and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his left hand. “This could go on all day.” He was speaking to himself, but half the audience heard him plainly. “Who?”

“My wife.”

“A woman?”

A murmur of amazement ran through the gallery.

“She is the daughter of a chieftain. She is of the el Habib, who are of the same blood as the Quesan.”

“Nevertheless, a woman. And one disowned by her family. Do you mock this Court? Do you compound your crimes by trying to make a farce of the administration of justice? Your request is denied.”

Radetic’s disgust neared the explosive point. And yet... to his amazement, he saw that even the El Murid factionalists in the audience were appalled by their prophet’s suggestion.

Megelin shook his head sadly. There was no hope for these savages.

Fuad pushed a stiffened finger into his ribs. “Keep still, teacher.”

The chief judge rose less than two hours after the trial’s commencement. Without consulting his fellows privately, he announced, “Micah al Rhami. Nassef, once ibn Mustaf el Habib. It is the judgment of this Court that you are guilty. Therefore, this Court of Nine orders that you be banned forever from all Royal lands and protection, all holy places and protection, and from the Grace of God — unless a future Court of Nine shall find cause for commutation or pardon.”

Radetic smiled sardonically. The sentence amounted to political and religious excommunication — with an out. All El Murid had to do was recant.

Had there been any genuine crime the sentence would have been scorned for its mildness. This was a land where they lopped off hands, feet, testicles, ears, and, more often than anything, heads. But the sentence fulfilled the Royal goal. Executed immediately, it would keep El Murid from preaching during Disharhun, to the vast gatherings this year’s High Holy Week had drawn.

Radetic chuckled softly. Someone was scared to death of the boy.

Fuad gouged him again.

“My lords! Why hast thou done this to me?” El Murid asked softly, his head bowed.

He does it well, Radetic thought. The pathos in him. He’ll win converts with that line.

Suddenly, proudly, El Murid stared the chief magistrate in the eye. “Thy servant hears and obeys, O Law. For does not the Lord say, ‘Obey the law, for I am the Law’? At Disharhun’s end El Murid shall disappear into the wilderness.”

Sighs came from the crowd. It looked like the old order had won its victory.

Nassef shot El Murid a look of pure venom.

And why, Radetic asked himself, hadn’t Nassef said a word in their defense? What game was he playing? For that matter, what game was El Murid playing now? He did not seem at all distressed as he laid himself open for further humiliation.

“The Court of Nine orders that the sentence be executed immediately.”

That surprised no one. How else to keep El Murid from speaking?

“One hour from now the King’s sheriffs will receive orders to seize any of the proscribed, or their families, found within any of the restricted domains.”

“That,” Megelin murmured, “is too much.” Fuad jabbed him again.

Seldom was it that a pivoting point of history could be identified at the precise instant of turning. Radetic recognized one here. A band of frightened men had compounded an action of self-defense with one of spite.

They were trying to rob El Murid of a father’s precious opportunity and inalienable right to have his child baptized before the Most Holy Mrazkim Shrines, during Disharhun. El Murid had already announced that he would dedicate his daughter to God on Mashad, the last and most important of the High Holy Days.

Radetic need be no necromancer to predict the long-term results. The meekest of the desert-born would have felt compelled to respond.

In later days El Murid’s followers would say that this was the moment when the grim truth of reality finally burst through the curtain of ideals blinding the youth to the hypocrisies of his world.

Radetic suspected that that revelation had come a lot earlier. The youth seemed secretly satisfied with the pronouncement.