Trial

Three days passed relatively uneventfully. Mayliam was able to visit for about fifteen minutes a day to continue her learning. That length of time did not give me a chance to catch up to what was going on in the outside world.

The time between was a great chance to practice using my abilities. The main ability I practiced was the shadowy visions as I alternated between sitting cross-legged on the ground and standing at the edge of my cell. Using the visions, I watched the visits of guards and Mayliam in my future and past, as well as seeing myself, sitting in the shadows. The limit seemed to be 24 hours. While I knew intrinsicly that she tried to show up at the same time and that I was being fed meals on an irregular basis, the visions of future and past confirmed it.

On the third day, I looked to future of my cell. It was as empty as the hours between meals and visits. I stood up and moved around to get a better look around and I saw no shadowy version of myself, even fluctuating over several hours. I sat back down with a smirk. I would not be here after the trial.

With the shadows, I predicted the arrival of the guards exactly, casting a translation spell before before I saw their torchlight. I stood up ready for them as their torchlight illuminated the hall.

One opened my door with a key while the other held manacles.

"It is time." I said, holding my wrists out for the handcuffs.

"That it is." the senior guard agreed, the one who held the door.

The junior guard cuffed me, and the two lead me onward. The shadow visions were considerably easier to maintain after doing next to nothing else, so I kept my vision on the moment a handful of seconds ahead of us.

I watched me be escorted. Did three days of imprisonment really leave me that haggard? Calling my hair messy before left me without description of it now. Straw was mixed with hair strands, resulting in an extra-unkempt look. The bandages I wore were worn and battered, not to mention my clothing.

They led me up the stairs I had gone down when coming here, as well as up a second flight. I was ushered into a room with an open wall and balcony on the far side. A handful of occupied chairs sat facing the balcony, their backs to me as I entered. I recognized the innkeeper on the far right by her yellow-gold hair. The others had white, purple, and black, going right to left. The purple was styled differently than Elengail usually did hers, and was a darker shade. I was led past them, and onto the balcony. Standing there waiting for me was a man in wizard robes and a large tome. He was bald, an uncommon feature from what I could tell.

I was deposited on a raised platform on the balcony, which overlooked the main street. Dozens of faces looked back up at me. Only a few were familiar.

The bald man began. "We will now start the trial of the traveler known as Argolex."

The crowd's murmuring ceased as the bald man's shouted words reached them.

"The traveler Argolex has been accused of assault, of being Chaos Scarred, and of hiding the Scars."

The crowd burst into commotion. Comments like "Another of those monsters here?" and "Away with him!" were shouted.

My eyes caught on Faivere, Elengail, Kendalyn, and Mayliam. The latter three looked around, shocked and confused. Faivere caught my eyes, then looked away, ashamed.

I understood. She did what she thought was best. And that meant telling these people my secret.

"Before I confirm or deny these accusations," I said, "will you judge a man for existing? Who has asked for their lot in life?"

The crowd quieted under my double voice.

"Traveler," the bald man addressed me, "you speak boldly for one accused of lying to governing figures."

"I speak boldly as a victim of a number of tragedies, after one such my Scars were forced upon me. Despite my tragedies, I attempt to be a hero worthy of legend, despite my own shortcomings."

"So, you admit to being Scarred?"

I sighed in response, and pulled at the bandage on my left arm that had become loose over the days that I had gone without maintaining it. It unraveled to show the black etchings from fingertip to sleeve.

Some gasped. Others screamed. Still more shouted angry vengeful demands. The white haired man, middle aged, behind me stared wordlessly at my now-revealed arm, greed dancing in his eyes as he leaned forward.

"I have only used these Scars in protection. My charge of assault is no different."

"The charge of assault," the bald man sniffed, "is the least of your charges. With that many scars, it is obvious that you are a runaway. Which lord, and of which rank have you run from?"

"I have run from no lord."

The bald man turned to the crowd, which was slowly redefining itself as a mob, "It appears that this Scarred must be put under a truth spell. I will perform the ritual."

"I will resist no truth spell." I replied.

The bald mage looked towards the white-haired man for approval. He gave a nod, and the mage began a spell, but it was no truth spell.

"Celestia, beloved Goddess of Air, heed this righteous command, and require my target speak the words I wish to hear."

By the time his words sunk in, I felt the air around me shift. The air before my face vibrated eagerly, ready to misconstrue whatever I said.