The sun was bright but the air was crisp yet by the time Caste reached the castle gates, he had worked up a sweat. After Suvau had pushed him in the direction of the main road, Caste had run like a newborn foal, staggering about, stunned at the sudden ejection into the world. Once he regained a drop of sense he put speed into his stride and sprinted after the procession which had already reached the courtyard of the castle, the cage lifted by means of two bars beneath the base and carried inside. Caste waved desperately to the gate keeper but was so out of breath that he couldn’t speak at all. Thankfully the guard recognised him from the day before and when Caste managed to squeak out that he was there regarding the witch that was to be presented, the guard allowed him to enter. At the doors he was met with a steward to whom he relayed a more coherent reason for his arrival. The steward left him to wait. Caste would have paced but he didn’t have the energy. The steward returned and without questioning him further, escorted him up the stairs into the throne room.


    If it had been at another time when Caste was not struggling to see past the bright spots in front of his eyes and swiping sweat from his brown, he might have admired the high ceiling, the draping curtains of gold and plum, the pristine marble floor with the pattern of the lopsided four pointed star of Astaril engraved into its breadth, set with pure gold. But he didn’t for his eyes grazed the throne room quickly, seeing no sign of the soldiers or of the cage holding Aalis.


    King Rocheveron was on his throne, his bodyguards standing on either side, glowering at anyone who met their gaze with a continuous stare. Archdeacon Adamis caught sight of Caste and waved him forwards, his expression a mask of complete serenity.


    “Come forth, young deacon,” he declared, “with your extensive experience in the wilds dealing with all manner of monsters, your views and opinions on this unexpected monster presentation will be very interesting to hear.”


    Caste tucked his hands into his sleeves and nodded, walking the length of the straight line of plum carpet to the marble dais where the throne rested.


    “Deacon Undern,” King Rocheveron greeted as Caste bowed low before him, “Archdeacon Adamis was telling me that Bishop Peele has approved your elevation of rank. Congratulations.”


    “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Caste bowed again.


    “Please, join us.”


    Caste nodded and moved to stand beside Adamis. The taller man leaned over slightly and whispered, “you left us somewhat unexpectedly and without apology yesterday.”


    “Yes…that is what happens when you forget to shut the door.” Caste was so rattled he didn’t look to see what Adamis thought of his remark as the doors to the throne room both opened.


    An Astaril guard appeared with the Fort Mavour procession behind him. “Your Majesty,” he announced, “the cage has been inspected and the restraints of the witch are secure.”


    “Proceed.” King Rocheveron approved.


    The guard stepped aside and allowed the soldiers of Fort Mavour, in their dark blue tunics and snarling crests, to enter. Four of the strongest soldiers carried the cage, the wheels left behind so that they did not mark the white and grey marble expanse with smears of grime from the outside world. In front of the procession was Captain Chael who appeared a little worse for wear, his sideburns a tad untidy and he looked as though he had lost weight. But he carried himself well despite his hardships.


    Alongside Chael was an officer of the Grail and Caste felt his spine curl as Cleric Rodel’s eyes caught sight of him and narrowed.


    “Your Majesty,” the captain bowed as his soldiers set the cage before the throne and the bodyguards of the king put their hands on the hilts of their swords, “I am Captain Chael of Fort Mavour and at Sir Donimede’s behest to bring this witch, Dragoslava, before you.”


    Caste kept his mouth shut, not sure what Rodel did or did not know about Aalis. He gazed at the cage. He had seen monster processions in the past, snarling beasts of demented forms, some rattling the bars, trying to swipe onlookers with their claws before being beaten back into their tiny space. He had even seen witches, flinging curses, pointing stained fingers, rage seething from their yellow eyes.


    That was not the sight before him now.


    Aalis was on her knees in the cage which was too low to sit properly in and not long enough to lie down unless she curled up in a ball. Her clothing was torn and stained. Caste had never known her not to look after her appearance and even following months of travelling with Judd, she had never appeared as bedraggled as she did now. Her hands were bound in front of her, chained to the floor of the cage and her dreadlocks hung around her face. Through the gaps between of the silvery white strands, he felt her lavender gaze on him. Her eyes closed and her head lowered further.


    Did she think he had something to do with this?


    Caste realised she had no reason to think otherwise for he stood with King Rocheveron and Archdeacon Adamis in judgement over her.


    “And where was this deformation found?” Adamis asked superiorly.


    Caste clamped his teeth together.


    “In the northern most village of eastern Astaril.” Chael announced.


    Rocheveron frowned. “That is hardly Sir Donimede’s realm to govern, though monster extermination is the responsibility of any knight no matter where it may be. How did he come to know of it?”


    “Cleric Rodel is the one who informed Sir Donimede of the presence of the witch,” Captain Chael gestured to the handsome young officer of the Grail, “along with some…disturbing revelations.”


    “Cleric Rodel…apprenticed to Deacon Alast.” Adamis said softly in Rocheveron’s ear.


    “Step forward and speak.”


    Rodel bowed and did so. “Your Majesty, I not only bring this witch before you, with the invaluable assistance of Captain Chael and his men,” Chael did not seem appeased with Rodel’s condescending inclusion of his help, “but about her association with one whom all of Astaril appears to be prematurely celebrating.” Caste wondered if Rodel knew just how bitter he sounded.


    “Please, continue.” King Rocheveron waved to him.


    “Judd LaMogre, the one and only ‘successful’,” Caste hoped he didn’t look as foolish as Rodel when he used his fingers to emphasise words, “knighthood questor colluded with this abomination. The witch, Dragoslava, assisted him in his quest, luring monsters, manipulating men and women to their cause. And their fraternisation was not just as colleagues but a physical relationship.” Caste’s face reddened and he suspected Aalis was blushing also. “LaMogre became so enamoured by this witch that he allowed her to manipulate him into helping her enter Fort Mavour, disguised as a nomad bride.”


    “We have LaMogre’s former cleric, now deacon here.” King Rocheveron turned to Caste. “Did this indeed happen?”


    Caste swallowed. “Judd LaMogre did smuggle her into Mavour, disguised as a nomad,” Rodel’s chin lifted with triumph, “however, Aalis has only ever acted as a healer and companion.”


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    “You see how familiarly he speaks of her?” Rodel accused.


    “As an officer of the Grail,” Adamis turned to Caste, “you were trained to recognise the signs of a woman contaminated by tainted waters. See now, her fingernails!”


    “Display them, witch.” The King ordered.


    “Ah…” Rodel stammered as Aalis uncurled her fingers and stretched them out, her nails clear and clean. Caste’s spine trembled.


    “Rodel?”


    “Allow me to explain,” Rodel insisted, “when we discovered Dragoslava in the forest, we watched, hidden, as she used her contamination to kill a giant oak.”


    “This I can confirm as truth.” Chael nodded. “I have seen many monsters in Mavour but never have I seen someone curse a tree, as tall as this room and caused it to tear itself asunder and rot from the inside out.” He gestured to the other soldiers, two of whom looked familiar as young officers that had idolised Judd in Mavour. “All those here bore witness.”


    “Sire,” Adamis leaned towards the King, “a cleric’s word ought to be enough but to have the witness of an entire regiment…”


    “It is damning,” Rocheveron nodded, “even without the evidence of the blackened nails.” He sighed. “To be associated with Judd LaMogre…”


    “Who used her abilities to manipulate circumstances with the final battle with the minotaur, communing directly with the beast itself!”


    Caste gaped at Rodel. “You…”


    “Yes,” Rodel cut him off sharply, “I was behind you, risking my life to pull you to safety when I saw the way Dragoslava stopped the world and spoke to the monster.”


    “She kept it from rampaging and killing all those who gathered to watch the final battle!” Caste exclaimed. “Her actions saved so many!”


    “It matters not! Any act of fraternisation with the deformed, the corrupted and the abomination of Maul is reprehensible.”


    “Your Majesty,” Adamis sighed dramatically as if he was deeply grieved while his fingers wrung together in pleasure, “LaMogre must be made to respond to these allegations at once but irrespective of his answers, this witch must be executed at once.”


    “No!” Caste blurted as the doors to the throne room opened and Judd’s voice cried out over the top of his.


    “No!”


    “Oh thank Terra…” Caste nearly sagged.


    “Stand down!” The guard at the door tried to stop him. “You have not been announced!”


    “Let him come forward.” King Rocheveron said sternly. “LaMogre has much to answer for.”


    Judd glared at the guard who was still grasping his arm…until Suvau came up behind him and grabbed his wrist and lifted his hand so that Judd could hurry forward, Verne and Giordi hard on his heels.


    “Your Majesty,” Judd bowed, his eyes flitting towards Aalis in the cage who remained downcast despite the sound of his voice causing her to gasp softly, “please, I can explain.”


    “I would do so hastily,” Rocheveron warned, “for your imminent knighthood is all but forsaken.”


    Judd paused to breathe. “King Rocheveron,” he began slowly, “I met this young woman, Aalis, in the forest of my first kill. She was hiding there because she feared this very outcome, that because of her unwanted abilities, she would be condemned. Aalis was the first to believe in me and her healing abilities saved my life, the lives of my companions and the lives of so many Terras, treating fevers, setting bones…she has never harmed anyone.”


    “You see how completely within her thrall he is?” Rodel pointed. “She even had him attempt to seduce the eldest daughter of Sir Donimede! He forced himself upon her with passion unrestrained yet she knew it was not she whom he was really bussing.”


    “Oh Maul…” Judd covered his face. “Aalis had nothing to do with that! I made a mistake! She is innocent and is no threat to anyone!”


    “The healthy oak she tore apart, twisted and decayed, says otherwise.”


    Judd glared at Rodel then saw Chael’s expression. “He speaks the truth, LaMogre…”


    Judd closed his eyes. “So what if she has power? You and I wield swords. The Order of the Grail condemns with a well worded letter. Knights whip Mauls into a bloodied mess to entice monsters into an arena!”


    “We are men,” Adamis said so smoothly that his arrogance would have been hypnotic if it wasn’t so repulsive, “and as such, are deemed superior to rule.”


    “Deemed by men, you mean.” Judd argued.


    “See how she has addled his mind?” Rodel exclaimed.


    “I am not addled!”


    “You must be, LaMogre,” Chael said, his tone grieved but firm, “why else would you be in the company of a Maul who supposedly helped others of his ilk escape?” Judd knew everyone was looking at Suvau now and while the big man was perfectly capable of defending himself, Judd put his arm out as the soldiers of Mavour frowned at him, including Arsch and Kipre. “If he lives, it is reasonable to assume the others do too…”


    “Mauls stolen from Mavour.” Rodel almost crowed. “Fraternising with witches, manipulating monsters to your own ends and stealing from the very knight who hosted you so generously in his fort? Your list of offences grows every time you open your mouth! You condemn yourself!”


    “Then condemn me!” Judd snarled at him, stepping forward then turned to Rocheveron. “Your Majesty, condemn me. I will not fight any accusation. Only spare Aalis, I beg of you.”


    “You have no right to spare this witch for she,” Rodel grasped the strap at the top of the cage and yanked it up, pulling Aalis’ head up, her dreadlocks falling back to expose a bad bruise on her forehead, the eye below squinting and darkened and her lip was broken and encrusted with blood, “is condemned by the Order of the Grail itself! You have no authority!” He let go of the strap as Judd advanced on him, grabbed by Suvau and the others, his hands balled into fists, his rage blazing out of control. “You must not strike an officer of the Grail!”


    “I wish to see this woman!”


    They all stopped and turned to Rocheveron who stared at Aalis trembling in the cage.


    “Your Majesty?” Adamis asked, sure he had heard incorrectly.


    “Open the cage and let me look at her.”


    Arsch and Kipre looked at each other, confused. Chael hesitated but unhooked the key from his belt.


    “Your Majesty…I must protest.” Rodel argued. “The witch is dangerous!”


    “According to you, she is capable of tearing asunder a great oak,” Caste pointed out and Rodel’s blue/grey eyes glowered at him, “in comparison the cage would be a small feat to destroy. She could have escaped at any time.”


    Chael swallowed, unsure and uncertain.


    “Let me look on her and see…” Rocheveron commanded.


    “Yes, Your Majesty…” Chael bowed and slid the key into the lock. Making a point, Rodel stepped back from the cage, distancing himself from the witch, the men who defended her and the soldiers who were no longer following his orders. Caste noticed Adamis also took a subtle step back while the bodyguards of the King readied themselves for an unleashed monster attack.


    After Chael unlocked the cage, Aalis’ hands remained bound, her head still lowered, her throat encased in a collar strapped to the top of the cage. Chael went to unbuckle the bonds but at Aalis’ flinch he recoiled.


    “For Terra’s sake…” Judd strode to the open cage and slid the bonds loose. “Aalis…I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise…forgive me for leaving you alone.” He undid the collar and carefully helped her crawl out of the cage and stand shakily, everything aching because she had been hunched over for so long. She stank of sweat and fear, blood and urine. Judd tried to look into her face, brushing back her dreadlocks but the way she had been treated had beaten any strength out of her, her shoulders and head bowed in defeat. He looked at Rodel and Chael. “This woman is a threat to you? I thought you would know better.”


    He helped Aalis shuffle forwards a step, her body leaning heavily on his. “Aalis, this is King Rocheveron. King Rocheveron,” Judd turned to the King, “this is…”


    “Genovieve?”


    Judd blinked, King Rocheveron’s whispered words, a broken entreaty he was not expecting. He opened his mouth but could not think of anything to reply, so stunned was he by the King as he came down the steps of the dais, his hand reaching out to Aalis. She whimpered, clutching her hands to her breast.


    The bodyguards slammed into place, their weapons drawn, forming a sharpened steel barrier between their monarch and the witch. Judd drew his sword, putting himself between the bodyguards and Aalis but they didn’t have the opportunity to forge sparks. King Rocheveron thrust them aside and knelt on the marble floor in front of the collapsed Aalis, his hands reaching out to her face.


    “Genovieve,” his hands bearing age spots, faded and creased, brushed the dreadlocks aside to stroke her chin tremulously and lift her countenance to meet his own, her eyes closed, tears trickling out of them, “is it really you?”


    Aalis bit her bottom lip and sniffed, opening her eyes and gazing at him fearfully.


    King Rocheveron gasped. “Oh…those eyes…only Viene my beloved wife and my daughter possessed them…Genovieve!” He got to his feet, helping Aalis rise, shaking hard. “My girl…I thought you were dead!”


    “I am so sorry, father…” She wept, her words lost in her sobs. Rocheveron threw his arms around her body, embracing her tightly in swathes of velvet and anointed with tears.


    “Come…Come my beautiful daughter. Come…”


    Without another thought to the others in the throne room, Rocheveron escorted Aalis into the castle, his bodyguards following him dutifully and Adamis with a look of fundamental astonishment on his face. In fact, they all had the same expression.


    All except Giordi who came up beside Cleric Rodel, so stunned he didn’t see the minstrel approach, and put his arm on his shoulder and leaned casually.


    “We may have fraternised with witches, manipulated monsters in the Arena and stolen Mauls out of bloody, torturous slavery from beneath your very nose…but I would not trade places with you for all the gold in Terra.” He slapped Rodel’s shoulder with his hand and walked away. “Good fortune with that!”