Chapter 12

The Lord of Justice

The third morning of waiting dawned gray and overcast, casting a somber pall over the walls of Hammerford. Hosteen stood on the battlements, watching the horizon with patient intensity. When the banners of House Mallister finally appeared in the distance, the flash of silver eagle on blue stirring against the wind, Hosteen felt a weight lift from his chest. Now, the plan he had carefully set into motion could come to fruition.

He wasted no time, descending the stone stairs and making his way toward the cellar. On his way, he encountered two guards stationed near the main hall. Their eyes narrowed in suspicion as he approached, but with a flick of his wand and a whispered incantation, their expressions softened into a haze of confusion.

"You were saying?" one guard asked the other, as though their conversation had never been interrupted. Hosteen slipped past them without a second glance.

Once inside the dark, damp cellar, he knelt beside the final rune he had inscribed three days earlier. Running his hand over the faintly etched lines, he murmured the activation phrase, pushing a surge of his magic into the stone.

A faint ripple coursed through the air, almost imperceptible but unmistakable to someone attuned to the arcane. Hosteen stood, satisfied that the invisible net now enveloped the castle. Any lies spoken within its bounds would falter on the tongue, compelling only truth to be heard. The ward would last 48 hours, plenty of time for Lord Mallister's arrival and the forthcoming mediation.

With the ward active, Hosteen waited just long enough to confirm its hum had faded into the background of the castle's latent energy before returning to the courtyard.

The thunder of hooves announced the arrival of the Mallister retinue before they appeared at the castle gates. From his vantage point on the walls, Hosteen could see Adden and Tomlin riding among them, their faces a mixture of relief and determination. The sight of the villagers bolstered Hosteen's resolve, but he couldn't help but wonder why Lord Pemford wasn't present at the castle's entrance.

Descending to the gatehouse, Hosteen was there to greet the Mallister party when the gates swung open. At the head of the column rode a young man with a stern yet weary countenance. Lord Jason Mallister, barely older than twenty, carried himself with the weight of a man twice his age.

Hosteen bowed respectfully. "My lord Mallister, I welcome you to Hammerford."

Jason's sharp eyes appraised Hosteen for a moment before he dismounted. "And you are?"

Before Hosteen could reply, Adden stepped forward. "My lord, this is Hosteen Mudd, rightful Lord of Oldstones and the man who proposed seeking justice from House Mallister."

Jason raised an eyebrow, his interest clearly piqued. "A Mudd, you say? I thought your line was... well, I suppose not entirely gone after all."

Hosteen inclined his head. "That is a tale for another time, my lord. For now, I believe you have more pressing matters to address."

Jason's expression tightened, a flicker of annoyance passing over his features. Hosteen caught a surface thought in the man's mind: frustration over being dragged from his duties at Seagard to deal with a minor lord's transgressions. But beneath that irritation lay a kernel of pride. Lord Jason Mallister saw himself as a just ruler, someone who would not shirk his responsibilities, no matter how tedious.

"You're correct," Jason said curtly. "Where is Lord Pemford?"

"He has not yet presented himself, my lord," Hosteen replied, carefully modulating his tone to convey concern rather than accusation. "But I am certain he will not ignore your presence for long."

The Mallister retinue, a mix of knights and advisors, followed Jason as they entered the castle. Hosteen guided them to the great hall, ensuring the path took them through spaces where the ward's influence would be strongest. He watched closely as Jason examined the castle's modest interior, his gaze lingering on signs of disrepair that spoke to Lord Pemford's neglect.

Once inside, Jason took his place at the high table, flanked by two knights. Adden and Tomlin stood near the rear of the hall, their eyes darting nervously as they awaited Pemford's arrival.

"Send for him," Jason ordered, his voice firm. "If Lord Pemford does not come to greet his liege lord, I will take it as a sign of guilt."

Hosteen nodded and dispatched a servant, though he knew Pemford would soon find himself at a severe disadvantage. The truthward was already weaving its influence through the castle walls. Any lie Pemford attempted to speak would betray him.

When the heavy doors swung open, Lord Pemford entered with his usual air of pomp and arrogance, his broad frame swaying slightly as though he'd had a drink—or three—before making his way here. His expression was one of irritation and mild confusion until his eyes landed on the seated figure of Jason Mallister.

"My lord Mallister," Pemford said, his tone just shy of mocking. "I had not expected you to come here yourself. What brings you to Hammerford?"

Jason's icy stare cut through Pemford's bravado. "Lord Pemford, it is customary to receive one's liege lord properly, especially when he arrives at your gates with such urgent business. Yet here you are, late and unprepared. Care to explain why?"

Pemford hesitated, his brow furrowing. "I didn't think it necessary to make a fuss," he said dismissively. "After all, this is about a small village, is it not? Hardly a matter requiring your personal attention."

The words barely left his mouth before his demeanor shifted. His eyes widened slightly, his expression faltering as though realizing he had said too much. He stumbled over his next words, struggling to recover. "I—I meant, of course, that I assumed it was... a minor concern."

Jason leaned forward, his voice low but laced with steel. "Minor? I've heard concerning reports about Gravesham. Tell me, Lord Pemford, what exactly transpired there?"

Pemford's discomfort was evident as he straightened his tunic, buying himself a moment to think. "The villagers, they... they had come into possession of new tools," he began, his voice carefully measured. "Tools that helped them improve their fields and harvests. Naturally, I thought it only fair that they contribute more taxes, given their increased prosperity. I needed the funds for more soldiers, you see."

Jason's eyes narrowed, and his scribe paused mid-scratch, the quill hovering above the parchment. "And were you aware," Jason asked, his voice now colder, "that the taxes you demanded were beyond their means? That no matter their prosperity, they could not possibly meet your demands?"

Pemford hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "It was clear as day, my lord," he admitted. "But... but they must have reserves, must they not? They're peasants, after all. It's not as though they..."

His voice trailed off as Jason's gaze bore into him, unyielding. The silence stretched, heavy and damning.

Jason's tone sharpened, each word deliberate. "You knew they could not pay, yet you ravaged the village, looted their homes, and killed those who resisted. Why, Pemford? Why such lengths for what you knew they did not have?"

Pemford shifted uncomfortably, his fingers twitching as he struggled against the compulsion of the truthward. "It was my right," he said defensively. "They defied me, so I took what was owed. And if they wouldn't give it willingly, then they wouldn't need the tools they claimed were so valuable. I had them destroyed."

The hall was silent except for the scribe's quill, which scratched furiously to record every damning word. Jason's expression darkened further. "And the girl, Mya?" he asked. "Why take her?"

Pemford's lips curled into an unpleasant smirk, though the effect was diminished by the sweat beading on his forehead. "A hostage," he said simply, "and a good-looking one at that. A nobleman has his needs, after all. She should have felt lucky to be in my household."

Hosteen clenched his fists, fury rising in his chest, but he forced himself to stay silent, letting Jason's authority dominate the room.

Jason's jaw tightened, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "And her fate?"

Pemford's bravado faltered, but the ward left him no escape. "She was... difficult," he admitted. "Always crying, always pleading. I grew tired of her noise, so I had her killed. The bitch should have been grateful for the position she was in."

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the hall, the Mallister knights shifting uneasily in their seats. Hosteen felt a cold clarity descend upon him, his anger hardening into a quiet determination.

Jason rose slowly from his chair, his presence towering over the room despite his youth. "Lord Pemford," he said, his voice a chilling blend of calm and fury, "your actions are not only a betrayal of your duty but an affront to the gods and men alike. You have abused your power, harmed those under your protection, and sullied the honor of your station."

Pemford opened his mouth to protest, but no words came. The ward's compulsion held him firmly in its grip, ensuring that no lie could escape his lips.

The tension in the hall was palpable as Lord Jason Mallister, seated at the high table, fixed his steely gaze on the disgraced Lord Pemford. The damning confessions Pemford had already made were enough to strip him of all his titles and lands. Yet, there was more to uncover. Hosteen Mudd stepped forward, his presence commanding yet respectful, and inclined his head toward Lord Mallister.

"My lord," Hosteen began, his voice steady and clear, "with your leave, I would like to pose a question to Lord Pemford."

Jason regarded him with a measured expression before giving a slight nod. "Very well, Lord Mudd. Ask your question."

Hosteen turned to Pemford, who was visibly sweating under the weight of the truthward's compulsion. "You claimed that you needed the additional taxes to hire more soldiers," Hosteen said, his tone deceptively calm. "But tell us, Lord Pemford—what was the true purpose of raising such an army?"

Pemford's lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening as he fought against the ward's magic. He strained in silence for a moment, but the invisible net of runes was unyielding. The room waited, breathless, as the compulsion finally forced Pemford's admission.

"I needed soldiers... loyal to me," Pemford ground out, his voice trembling with resentment. "Men who would follow my orders without question. So that when the time came, I could overthrow Lord Mallister and claim Seagard for myself."

A stunned silence fell over the hall, broken only by the scrape of the scribe's quill as he frantically recorded Pemford's words. Jason Mallister rose slowly from his seat, his face a mask of cold fury.

"How dare you," Jason said, his voice low but shaking with restrained anger. "How dare you conspire against your liege lord, against the house sworn to protect this land? Even if you succeeded, you fool, how did you think such a betrayal would end? Did you think Lord Tully would tolerate it? Did you think the Targaryens would turn a blind eye?"

Pemford, now pale and trembling, managed a weak shrug. "The Targaryens wouldn't care," he said with a bitter sneer. "They're too far away, and as long as I sent my taxes, they'd leave me be. And Tully? Tully is weak—an ambitious lord. If I offered him more gold or ceded some minor lands, he would confirm me as the ruler of Seagard without question."

The brazenness of Pemford's words sent a wave of anger through the hall. Jason's knights muttered curses, their hands instinctively moving to their sword hilts. Hosteen, standing to the side, allowed himself the smallest smirk.

Jason raised a hand, and the hall fell silent once more. His fury was contained now, his expression hard and implacable as stone. "You are not only a traitor but a fool, Pemford," he said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Your arrogance has cost you your lands, your title, and now your life. You will be executed at dawn, and your death will serve as a warning to any who think to betray House Mallister."

Pemford, his face drained of color, looked as though he might protest, but Jason did not allow him the chance. Turning to his retinue, he added, "House Mallister has failed the people of Hammerford and probably Hook Bay. This treachery and the suffering it has caused are proof of that failure. As such, these lands will be granted to a new lord—one who understands the meaning of honor and duty."

With that, Jason's sharp eyes turned to Hosteen. "Lord Mudd," he said, his voice ringing with authority, "House Mudd stood beside House Mallister in the days of old. The strength of your line is legendary, and the honor of your house is beyond question. Will you swear to stand with House Mallister once more, as your ancestors did, and protect these lands and their people?"

Hosteen stepped forward without hesitation, sinking to one knee before Jason Mallister. Bowing his head, he spoke with solemn conviction. "I, Hosteen Mudd, rightful lord of Oldstones, swear my loyalty to House Mallister. I will protect the lands of Hook Bay, Hammerford, and all who live within them, with honor and strength, as my forebears did before me."

Jason nodded, his expression softening slightly. "Rise, Lord Mudd," he said. "By my authority as Lord of Seagard, I name you Lord of Hammerford and its lands, now including the territory of Hook Bay. May your rule bring justice and prosperity to these lands."

The dawn was cold and gray as the castle courtyard filled with onlookers. Word of Pemford's treachery and the coming execution had spread quickly, and the villagers from the surrounding lands had gathered to witness justice being done.

Hosteen stood at the forefront, clad in dark armor that bore the sigil of House Mudd—a crowned green hand on a field of black. Jason Mallister stood beside him, a silent pillar of authority, while the knights of Seagard flanked them both.

Pemford was dragged forward, his hands bound, his face pale and drawn. He was forced to kneel before the chopping block, his arrogance utterly stripped away.

Jason spoke first, his voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. "Lord Pemford has betrayed his people, his house, and his liege lord. For his crimes of treachery, murder, and greed, he will face the justice of the gods. His execution shall be carried out by the new Lord of Hammerford, as a symbol of the restoration of honor to these lands."

The crowd murmured in approval, and Hosteen stepped forward, gripping the hilt of a greatsword. The blade was ancient, its steel dark and worn, and it had been brought to the castle by a Mallister knight at Lord Jason's request. It was a blade often used for executions, fitting for the sentence about to be carried out.

Hosteen looked down at Pemford, his expression grim. "You brought this upon yourself," he said quietly.

With that, he raised the sword high, the edge catching the pale light of the dawn. A single, clean stroke brought the blade down, and Lord Pemford's head rolled from his shoulders, his body slumping lifelessly to the ground.

The crowd was silent for a moment, then a cheer rose up—a cry of justice and hope for the future. Hosteen stepped back, his gaze sweeping over the assembled people. He knew the path ahead would not be easy, but he was ready to rebuild and protect the lands that were now his.

And with the justice of the old gods served, a new chapter began for Hammerford and Hook Bay.