HankTheMoose
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4.21 Accused
🕑 Added 2025-06-29 21:56:25 +0000 UTCThe trip back up to the Peaks was long, but somehow Bernt still felt like he arrived too quickly. His experience at the Conclave so far, as well as his interactions with Jesra had shown him that he wasn’t cut out for complex political maneuvering. He didn’t like having to guess at the motives of people whose job it was to hide them, or to worry about whether and how someone might be trying to manipulate him. At least the merchants and trade representatives were relatively straightforward, but even they grated after a while. They wanted things he couldn’t offer, and they never took no for an answer.
He greatly preferred working with the military and the Mages’ Guild. At least he knew what they wanted and understood them well enough to work with them. This whole thing up here at the Peaks… it was too much. It was too difficult to keep track of what all the competing interests wanted, or what they even were. As he walked past the Hall of Witnesses toward Ruzinia’s peak, an elderly priest of Noruk offered him a friendly wave. Seconds later, a legitimator dressed in what he thought was an Illurian style passed by, staring daggers at him as though he held a personal grudge. As far as he could remember, he’d never exchanged a word with either of them. He suppressed a sigh and made his way up the steps.
Up at the temple, Bernt shared what he’d learned with Torvald and passed along Jesra’s warning, though he doubted it would change anything. Paladins weren’t known for either their diplomacy or their caution, and he’d never seen any indication that his friend would be an exception. Despite his friend’s reassurances that everything would turn out fine, he felt disquieted by the time he went to bed.
***
The Conclave began the next day much as it had every other. The representatives filed into the building as legitimators formed into knots, bringing new information, ideas and offers to their peers and generally continuing the same conversations and negotiations that they engaged in every day. Some, mostly the Beseris, tried to build support for a strong, united defense against the Duergar and demonic threats in general. Others advocated a more cautious approach for their own countries while still others tried to find ways to profit from whatever the Conclave decided. A large proportion of the foreigners, though, just seemed to enjoy the rare opportunity to build international connections.
Legitimators were selected mostly from the same cities as the representatives they worked with – many of which had little or no contact with foreign countries. They didn’t care what was going on here, and it didn’t feel real or urgent to them – especially the Illurian islanders. As far as they were concerned, this was just a networking opportunity.
Bernt joined in half-heartedly, trying to find out what either Madzhur or the Temple of Noruk might be planning after Torvald’s display, but it quickly became clear that something had changed.
The Illurian merchant he spoke to first – a man he’d met a few days earlier who worked with a representative of the Temple of Balarian – didn’t engage. He just frowned at him and turned away to speak with someone else.
That was weird.
Yesterday, people had still seemed mostly friendly, even if they didn’t really have much to tell him. Now… Bernt looked at the faces around him. Some stared at him suspiciously, while others looked away quickly, as if afraid to meet his eyes. What was going on? What was different today than it had been yesterday?
The answer came just a few seconds later, when a robed priest came hurrying out of the Hall of Witnesses, looking around for a moment before his eyes locked on Bernt.
“Legitimator Bernard? Could you come with me, please? You have been called as a witness to the deaths of the high priests Hannis, Surin and Angjou.”
Bernt narrowed his eyes. That was strange. Why ask him? Torvald had been there, too, and should have been considered far more trustworthy than him. They hadn’t called anyone else to speak in front of the assembly as far as he knew, except when Torvald had brought in Ranna.
But the cultist had been inducted as an acolyte first. None of the legitimators had been allowed inside the actual Conclave so far. So… why him?
Bernt followed the priest, who had left immediately as though expecting him to comply instantly. It made Bernt wonder what would happen if he just… didn’t go. Would they drag him inside? For a second, he considered it. But several of the legitimators present were watching him with unblinking intensity, as if they’d been waiting for this, while others looked oblivious. He didn’t want to stay here, either.
The massive chamber was larger than he’d originally expected, despite Torvald’s description. It was big enough to seat at least twice as many representatives as were here, probably hailing back to a time when the Temples were a much more powerful force on the continent. Still, there were hundreds of people here, and every eye turned to look at him as the priest led him down a set of stairs to the floor where a tall, serious-looking man in the robes of a high-priest of Noruk stood. His expression was probably supposed to be neutral, but deep frown lines gave him a severe, unfriendly appearance. He eyed Bernt critically as he approached and finally stopped. The priest who’d fetched him bowed to his superior and scuttled off to sit in the front row.
“Legitimator Bernard of Halfbridge,” the tall priest announced, gesturing broadly. He had a sonorous voice that seemed to effortlessly reach to the far corners of the room. “You witnessed the deaths of some of the gods’ highest servants recently, including that of my brother in service, Hannis of Halfbridge. Please, share with us what you saw – the manner of their deaths, what you saw of the perpetrators, and the relevant circumstances that led you to be there.”
The question was exactly what he would have expected, but he still felt like something was off here. Why hadn’t anyone warned him that this was happening today? Bernt cleared his throat, eyes darting around the crowd as he looked for his friends. It took him a moment to find them, sitting a few rows back in a cluster and looking just as tense as he felt. It was clear they thought it was strange, too.
But… there was nothing for it but to tell the truth. He’d already told this story several times since coming here, so there would be little point in clamming up now – whatever this was actually about. He cleared his throat nervously and looked toward the top of the hall, where fewer people were sitting. It didn’t help much.
“I am legitimator to Torvald, a paladin of Ruzinia from Halfbridge,” he said haltingly, “We were traveling toward Goldwater, north of the Sunset Range when they hit us. It was fast.” Trying to keep things succinct without appearing too nervous to these people, Bernt explained how the cultists had lured the priests forward and how their leader, presumably a warlock, had spilled her lifeblood in some kind of ritual that had resulted in a torrent of hellfire so hot that it instantly killed everyone near it, including the high priests, Archdruid Leirin, and one of their scouts, Ksuwa. He couldn’t quite suppress a shiver at the memory of the aftermath, with the shrunken corpse of Leirin still peering up from under the wreckage of the cart.
“And where were you standing when this ritual trap was triggered?” The priest followed up as Bernt finished.
“I was… a few steps back. I saw everything clearly right up until the blast. It knocked me off my feet.”
“I see… and how did you survive that, if you were standing so close?”
Bernt reached up to his neck, which was bare. “I had a protective amulet, and I was resistant to fire, even then. I was still burned, though. I got lucky. The amulet’s gone now – destroyed.”
The priest smiled down at him insincerely. “Yes. Really quite fortuitous for you, wasn’t it?”
Bernt frowned. What could that have to do with anything?
“I wouldn’t say that, no,” he disagreed, annoyance helping him to push past some of his nerves. “I was dragged off by one of the cultists during the fight that followed and only barely managed to escape. I ended up trekking through the Phoenix Reaches to escape the demons, and I still ended up running into cultists.”
“Of course you did,” the man sneered. “You were presumed dead, and hadn’t been seen for weeks until you suddenly reappeared in the mountains to the east.”
The man’s tone seemed to imply something nefarious about that, but Bernt couldn’t see why. It wasn’t as though the Temples would care that he’d violated the Illurian border. He doubted the Illurian Trade Princes themselves would care if he sent them a letter confessing to it.
“Yes…?”
“You were found in almost exactly the same place as the charming young cultist woman we heard from two days ago. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
Bernt sighed. It was obvious where this was going now. They wanted to paint him as an associate to Ranna – a cultist. Somehow, he’d led the entire expedition into the ambush, and he’d survived because he was prepared for it, of course. It would be something like that. But why come after him at all? He wasn’t even a temple representative. He was nobody to these people.
“No, I don’t think it’s strange,” he replied finally, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. “We specifically backtracked the way I came to recover some of my things that I left behind. If she’d been anywhere else, we wouldn’t have found her.”
The priest smirked. “And wasn’t that just extraordinarily lucky for her, then?”
Bernt rolled his eyes. Ranna’s arm had been burned off, and Jori’s imp minion hadn’t exactly been dragging her his way for her good health. She’d been lucky that Song had found her instead of him, that was true, but besides that she’d probably just had the worst week of her life.
He didn’t say anything out loud, because refuting the man would involve revealing a lot of things about himself that he didn’t care to share with these people. Besides, it wasn’t as though he’d been asked a real question. He didn’t have to answer.
“It was a clever scheme,” the high priest went on, voice turning smug. “I wonder, though. How did you get the Temple of Ruzinia to believe it? They had to have been aware of your… past. The paladin is young, to be sure, but even he couldn’t be so naive.”
Bernt scowled, jaw clenching. What the hells was he talking about now? He was tired of dancing around the issue for this asshole. He had enough of insinuations and suggestions and rhetorical questions. Why didn’t any of these people just say what they wanted to say?
“You’re trying to accuse me of working with the cultist,” he said bluntly. “You think I killed the high priests from my own city, or that I lured them into the trap.” Bernt looked around at the accusing and occasionally predatory stares coming from the assembly. There were a lot of them, and he could feel his irritated defiance slip into something closer to fear. It wasn’t everyone, of course, but it was enough to make sweat begin to run down his back. What would happen if all of them decided he’d done something wrong?
“Why would I even do it?” he asked, throwing up his hands. “My country is under attack! I had to fight to defend it against the Duergar and their demons! You think I’d help them kill my friends?”
His words were met with silence, broken only by slow, deliberate steps as the priest theatrically paced around the floor. It made Bernt want to set him on fire, but that would be wrong. And it wouldn’t end well for him.
“It has come to our attention that several associates of yours, including some surprisingly influential figures in Halfbridge, publicly traffick with demons, even outside the degenerate Solicitors organization.” He enunciated his words carefully to make sure everyone heard. A low murmur erupted in the audience, rising in volume as he continued. “They’ve filed paperwork both in Halfbridge and even in Teres on behalf of one Dzhorianath and her entire hierarchy of demonic servitors, seeking to guarantee her unrestricted access to the material realm, and even to incorporate her into the country’s defense against the Duergar. Our sources tell us that this creature belongs to you, has been seen with you, and has furthermore been repeatedly witnessed consuming the souls of the dead in the aftermath of battle against the Duergar.”
The murmur had risen to a dull roar, and several priests – all priests of Noruk from what Bernt could see – were shouting accusations at him and pointing. Well. At least now he knew how Madzhur and the temple of Noruk meant to retaliate. What better way to distract from a major scandal than with an even bigger scandal, especially one that came with a clear and memorable villain?
The tall priest turned to him with a triumphant smile, eyes shining.
“Bernard of Halfbridge, I name you a rogue warlock, a cultist and a subversive element working to corrupt the government of Besermark as well as these very proceedings at the Sacral Peaks. Do you deny it?”
Bernt ground his teeth. He could feel color rise in his cheeks, but he carefully kept his spirit under control. The last thing he needed was to give the high priest an excuse to say he was being attacked.
“Yes,” he grated out. “I deny it.”
