Brothers of Star and Sword
Ademar raised his head, and met the hooded gaze of the Grand Master. Once glance and he knew the moment had come when he would learn the time and manner of his death. Grand Master Gaspard de Tarmont showed no emotion. He was not a young man; his dark hair was mottled with grey, and heavy lines pulled at his eyes and mouth. He was seated in a high backed chair, before a table that held several half curled scrolls; the wax of broken seals blood red against the wood. A vast cloth of midnight blue silk hung on the wall above the Grand Master. It was emblazoned with silver stars set around a golden sword rippled softly. The device on Tarmont’s velvet surcoat mirrored it.
“Ademar de Berrison, once sworn knight and brother of the Star and Sword. You are brought before me to hear the King’s justice.” Tarmont’s voice was harsh with distaste as he spoke the formal words, but his face betrayed nothing. He studied the paper in his hands and let the silence lengthen as if unwilling to speak. “The King, in his wisdom and mercy, has granted you the right of trial by combat.”
For a moment Ademar could not believe he had heard right. Then there was a hiss of anger from Geoffrey standing close by. He stepped forward now. “Why?” His angry cry was echoed by other voices through the hall. “This traitor deserves no such honor. He murdered three sworn brothers.”
“To protect the boy,” Ademar cried. His gaze was locked to the Grand Master’s but the words were for Edwin, somewhere at his back.
“Liar.” Geoffrey spat. “You killed three sworn brothers and let an accomplice flee.”
“No.” Ademar shook his head. “The boy was no killer but they would’ve killed him. I wanted only to…” A dozen voices drowned his words.
“Be silent, traitor.” Geoffrey’s was the loudest. He strode across the room. “His tongue is poison. I will not listen to it.” He raised a booted foot. Before Ademar could react, a kick to the shoulder sent him sprawling. He heard the hiss of steel as Geoffrey drew his sword. The blade swung down in a vicious arc. Defenseless, Ademar flung up his arms using the chains to foul the blade. Sparks flew and Geoffrey cursed as he dragged the steel free. Before he could strike again Edwin was between them, blade drawn. Ademar rose to a crouch gripping the chain between his hands.
“Enough,” the Grand Master banged a fist against the table. He sounded annoyed or perhaps disappointed, Ademar could not tell. “The King has spoken, we will obey.” He stood, shoving the carved chair back. “Put up your blades.” He waited until both swords were sheathed, then he looked to Geoffrey. “The King’s justice will be championed by the brotherhood. Already a score of brothers have come to me begging for the honor. If you are so keen to avenge the fallen by killing him, add your name to the list.”
“Gladly,” Geoffrey said. “Who will choose our champion?”
“I will.” The Grand Master returned to his desk and lifted another paper. “By the King’s writ. The trial will take place two days from now at the Ascension Day Tournament. I must take the name of the brother chosen to the King by midnight tomorrow.” He glanced down at Ademar. “You have received the King’s justice.” He gestured to the waiting brothers. “I’m done with him. Take him back to the cells.”
As the cell door slammed and darkness closed around him, Ademar sank to his knees. Reaction left him dazed and shivering. The right to trial by combat, a chance to prove his innocence, was an undreamed of boon. But it was a tainted gift. The King had given it a twist, a gibe meant for the brotherhood to make a mockery of their oath. The King’s choice of champion meant that Ademar must kill one of his brothers if he was to prove his innocence. Once he would have sworn that nothing would make him raise a sword against one of his brothers, but now…
The true memory of that winter afternoon was blurred; he had relived it too often in his nightmares. He remembered it was growing dark when the boy came to the guardroom crying for their help. Later he wondered why the boy had not called for the King’s guard; the distance to their hall was no greater.