Lords of Freedom 2 - Chapter 8
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Introduction
Lords of Freedom is an exciting trilogy that includes adventure, realistic action, surprising insights, and a touch of romance.
The serialization of Lords of Freedom book one is complete, with all 33 chapters published in the Gene Van Shaar Substack. Here is the link to all the chapters: Lords 1
The serialization of Lords of Freedom 2 (book 2 of the trilogy) is in progress. Lords of Freedom 2 includes many intriguing parallels with Joan of Arc, George Washington, Francis Marion (The Swamp Fox), Henry Knox, and the American Revolutionary War.
Lords of Freedom 2 - Chapter 8 - Faux Trial
With her hands bound tightly in her lap, Jayn sat in regal silence as officials filtered into the courtroom. She was seated at a table facing a raised dais where Prince Nigel would conduct the proceedings. Along with a fine podium and plush chair, there was a perch set on the dais…for Calla, she supposed.
Mercedes stood nearby as promised, watching with a measure of disdain. The angel’s presence gave Jayn courage as she wondered what sort of help was coming and if it would arrive in time. She didn’t doubt though, merely pondered.
The five officials called themselves Council Righteous and appeared pompous and condescending in both carriage and manner. Prince Nigel and his chief advisor, Morley were also members, but they’d make their entrance once the stage was set.
Turning in her chair, Jayn saw numerous spectators filing into the chamber, common citizens and wealthy merchants alike. Some faces were sympathetic, others hostile and the rest either curious or cruel.
As she turned back, motion caught her eye: Caden near the doors, standing as sentry. He offered a discreet wave and she couldn’t rein in a smile, feeling a curious stirring in her heart.
When General Vicor and his lieutenants took her from the dungeon cell, they’d locked her in a dingy bathhouse where a humble change of clothes awaited. She’d bathed quickly, grateful for warm water and soap, then donned the clean garments and brushed out her hair.
Now, listening to the Council Righteous members talk as they mingled, she realized they’d let her clean up as a show of how well she’d been treated. According to them, she’d been relaxing in a castle chamber, not the dungeon, and had eaten four square meals since she’d arrived. The meal she’d refused the first night and the one she’d shared with Calla were all she’d been offered, in reality.
At last, Chief Advisor Morley entered the chamber, stepped onto the dais, and called for order. The five circling Council Righteous members took their seats to the left side of the dais, as the spectators’ chatter faded to silence.
“We are gathered here this afternoon to determine whether the maid Jayn is guilty of witchcraft,” Morley began. “All rise in tribute to your prince.”
The crowd stood on cue. Seconds ticked by, and then General Vicor yanked Jayn to her feet. She met his hateful stare with a languid one before shaking her arm free of his grip.
Moments later, Calla swooped into the chamber, silent in her flight, to land on the perch. In her wake, Prince Nigel strode into view and mounted the dais in three quick strides. Morley inclined his head before descending to take the single chair on the right side of the platform. The crowd took their seats as well, but Jayn remained standing.
Prince Nigel began: “You, Jayn of Farland claim not only to see angels but to converse with them. Do you desire to retract such lies?”
“I do not; I cannot deny the truth.”
“Angels do not talk to mortal men. They reside in heaven and cannot leave that realm. Do you claim to have visited heaven?” Nigel said, feigning surprise.
Chuckling laughter wafted through the crowd. Jayn swept the room with her gaze, saddened by their mocking. Slowly, she sank back into her chair.
Nigel turned to the council members to his left. “Father Olaf; am I correct on this point—can angels leave heaven and visit us here on the mortal plane?”
Olaf, not only a Council Righteous member, but head priest of the church stood from his chair. He was a rotund man with a double chin, thick graying hair, and a bristling beard. He wore a royal purple robe that swirled at his ankles when he turned to face the prince.
“No, they cannot. An angel in this fallen world would wither and disband in moments. They require the pure essence of heaven to live, but they do look on from afar.”
Olaf turned his gaze to Jayn. “Lies like the ones you speak pain them. I fear most have turned their backs.”
Jayn planted her bound hands on the table. “Pardon, but you are wrong. Angels indeed walk the earth, watching over and protecting good and moral people from evil.”
“You claim to know better than Father Olaf, head priest of the church? That is blasphemy,” Nigel snarled, motioning the priest to retake his seat.
“I claim only the truth. I know what I see and hear. Take heed though: there are devils as well among us, goading men toward iniquity and vice.”
Murmurs started up.
“Devils indeed,” Nigel said thoughtfully. “They are the beings you see and speak with; in fact, I suspect you summoned them here from the depths of hell.”
The murmuring crowd sounded like a hive of bees, and a few gasps sounded.
“That is nonsense. I cannot hear the devils speak, but I see the mischief they churn up. I do hear angels and their messages of joy and peace. I have seen them and see them still; were I to deny that, I fear my very soul would be in peril.”
“Your soul is already in peril, and the charge of blasphemy is now added to your crimes,” Nigel said, motioning to Morley.
The chief advisor stood, holding a book of scripture. At Nigel’s nod, he strode to Jayn’s table, opened the book, and set it before her.
“Read this passage, if you will,” he said, pointing.
Jayn leaned forward in her chair, puzzled but then began. After the first verse she raised her gaze to Morley, then to Olaf, the other council members, and finally Prince Nigel. She knew this passage by heart and continued, reciting from memory, not missing a word and continuing past the point until Morley slammed the book shut.
“This is but one test,” Morley said, addressing the crowd. “She knows the words but cannot look upon the holy book.”
Again the crowd grew noisy and restless.
Morley turned to the prince. “Jayn of Farland is indeed a witch, according to the holy scripture test.”
“But…” she exclaimed.
“In fairness, there will be a second test as well,” Prince Nigel interrupted. “All present shall move to the courtyard where the drowning test will transpire. Should she fail, we will proceed in carrying out her sentence.”
In fairness? If I pass that test, I’ll be dead—drowned, Jayn thought. If I fail they’ll burn me at the stake. Mercedes laid a hand on her shoulder with a reassuring smile. Jayn relaxed in her seat, casting her gaze to the far window, wondering if they’d unbind her hands.
Calla took flight, gliding around the room without a sound and then landing on the table before Jayn. The room erupted in gasps and chatter, and Prince Nigel exchanged a look with General Vicor, both supposing Calla was about to launch an attack.
“Calla,” Jayn whispered with a smile.
Mercedes moved in close and stroked the falcon, speaking into her mind and giving her the power to communicate. The falcon bobbed her head and chirruped, rubbing the side of her beak along Mercedes’ finger.
The chamber fell utterly silent; then Prince Nigel shot to his feet in outrage.
“You have cursed and defiled the royal falcon,” Prince Nigel roared, knuckles white as he clenched both sides of the podium. “Calla will die as well; she is defiled.”
The falcon rotated her head to hiss at the prince; he blanched and took a staggering step back. General Vicor stepped up, reaching for Calla, only to have his hand promptly mangled by her pecking, tearing beak. Then she launched from the table and circled the room, screeching in her flight.
Screams filled the room, as the crowd ducked and dodged, many on their feet and clamoring for the doors while others hunched low in their seats, covering their heads. At last, Calla soared from the chamber, down the long hallway, and out of the castle through an open window.
*****
Caden gasped and backed into the hallway when Calla soared toward the doors and then watched her vanish through the open window. People were streaming out of the courtroom in droves, while Prince Nigel and General Vicor shouted for order.
“Calm down everyone,” Caden said with authority. “The falcon is gone—she flew out the window. Proceed to the courtyard in an orderly manner: no shoving or running.”
The folk complied, loath to disobey orders from a uniformed guard. The courtroom came to order as well, at last, and peeking inside, Caden saw that Jayn sat in stoic silence, hands on the table, back ramrod straight, eyes fixed on the window.
As though sensing his gaze she turned in the chair and met his eye. She didn’t look frightened at all, despite what was coming. She gave him a solemn nod. Then one of General Vicor’s lieutenants snatched her arm and hauled her to her feet. The other lieutenant was bandaging the general’s injured hand.
The people were still filing past, toward the stairs to exit the castle, whispering amongst themselves, but maintaining order. Calla had flown the other way, and looking to the window, Caden straightened with surprise. The falcon was perched on the window ledge, watching him…waiting for him to notice her?
Warily he approached, stopping at arm’s length from the wall. Calla bobbed her head then flew off, across the courtyard toward the stables. She banked, sailing back through the window to land again on the ledge.
Thoughtful, Caden recalled Calla’s caw upon Jayn’s arrival in Vlad. Jayn claimed the falcon had flown into her dungeon cell, and just now Calla had defied both the prince and the general, landing on the courtroom table before her.
He considered Jayn’s words, calling down to him in the sewer. She had claimed help was coming and that he was to watch for a sign—a sign he’d know when he saw it. Then he was to trust his heart.
Said heart began to pound. “All right, Calla; I’ll meet you at the stables.”
Calla was perched in a nearby tree when Caden arrived and began saddling Ash. She ruffled her feathers, beady eyes fixed on the castle courtyard, seemingly aware of what was transpiring.
Jayn stood atop a high platform where public hangings were conducted. In this case, for the drowning test, a ten-foot-high barrel had been placed underneath and filled with water. When the hinged square of wood beneath her feet was released, Jayn would plummet down into the barrel and either drown or keep herself afloat.
Caden had no idea if she knew how to swim and wondered if they’d unbind her hands. Drowning might be a better way to die; if she didn’t drown she’d be transported to the pyre where she’d be burned at the stake.
Prince Nigel stepped onto his balcony and signaled to the executioner who bellowed at the crowd to quiet them. Jayn stood tall, not moving a muscle, gazing at the horizon. When the breeze gusted, her hair streamed out behind her, and Caden caught his breath. She looked like an angel-warrior, biding her time.
“We will now conduct the drowning test. Do you have any last words, Jayn of Farland?” the prince shouted.
Jayn made no move and remained silent.
“Unbind her hands,” the prince called down.
The executioner did so none too gently and Jayn let her arms drop. She stood tall, not rubbing her wrists or wiggling her fingers, to evidence that nothing they’d done so far had affected her.
Prince Nigel paced the balcony, angered while the executioner shook his head.
“Still fighting, the best she can,” Caden said under his breath.
“Pull!” the prince bellowed, returning to the railing.
The executioner heaved on the platform lever and the square beneath Jayn’s feet released on its hinges.
In silence, Jayn splashed into the barrel. She surfaced within seconds, sputtering. Slicking her hair back from her face, she began treading water, gulping in breaths of air.
The crowd erupted, shouting: “Witch!” “Devil-child!” “Burn her!”
“Get her out of the barrel and re-bind her hands,” Prince Nigel shouted. “She is indeed guilty as charged and will be burned at the stake this night!”
At once thirty men stepped up—Vlad’s Royal Guard. They would transport Jayn to the pyre and oversee her execution.
With that, Prince Nigel withdrew from sight. The executioner descended the platform stairs and rotated a lower lever to open a hatch and drain the barrel. Once it was empty, Jayn would be standing on the barrel’s soggy bottom and able to climb the inside-mounted ladder back onto the platform.
“Climb out,” the executioner ordered, once the last of the water sloshed out.
Moments later Jayn’s head rose into view, and she heaved herself onto the platform. Drenched and shivering, she looked down, first at the executioner and then over the crowd.
“Climb down the stairs,” the executioner called.
She complied and the executioner re-bound her hands. Then he turned her over to the Royal Guard.
Calla flapped her wings in the tree above, bobbing her head.
“It is time to depart.”
Caden stiffened and whirled but no one was there. He’d heard the insistent, feminine voice clearly though…in his head…He looked up at Calla.
“We must hurry. Mount up and follow my lead.”
“We can’t leave Jayn like this,” Caden said, feeling a bit foolish, talking to a bird.
“We must; that is her only hope. Ride like the wind.”
With that, the falcon launched skyward in silent flight. Caden mounted Ash and kicked the piebald into a gallop, heading directly into the trees, to avoid detection by any gathered in the courtyard.
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