After a long, tense period of silence, during which Thorn regarded Horin's bulging eyes and slack jaw with cool amusement, the Prelate smiled.
"There is no need for these lurid little episodes ever to come to light,” he said, in a soothing voice. “I am no threat to your position, Horin, as I have said. I am content with my current demesnes, and I would be happy to give you a witnessed affidavit attesting to the fact. All I want is for… mutually acceptable justice to be done. Loras and the accused Magemasters have committed acts of conspiracy against a lawful authority, as well as the crime of petty treason. There can be no doubt about that. Justice is not always clear-cut."
Thorn noted Horin's tilted head and suspicious expression, but he knew he just needed to add a little more sweetening to the pot.
"I cannot deny my own fallibility, and I would accept a recorded motion of severe censure from the Conclave, barring me from higher rank in perpetuity,” he said, with a sigh, “as long as I am permitted to retain the rank of Prelate and my seat on the Presidium. That is all I ask for; all I want."
Thorn's heart sang as Horin gave a resigned nod. “Very well. Some of the members of the Conclave, such as Tritt and Rethin, are my devoted allies and susceptible to persuasion. Others know I have hitherto chosen to overlook some of their own transgressions. Also, as you say, Guild Laws have been broken here; this cannot be denied…
"Yes, we can do this, Lord Thorn."
He said ‘we', the Prelate thought. That's a good sign. Horin won't let me down now. With any luck, he'll even begin to believe this was his idea.
"I commend myself to the Conclave's decision, Lord Dominie,” he said, trying to keep his expression grave and sorrowful as he rejoiced inside. “Justice will be done."
"You may rest assured on that, Lord Thorn. I will make sure of it."
****
Horin was an ambitious, powerful mage, and he had played the risky game of Guild politics for many years. He had managed to ascend the greasy rungs of the organisation's ladder of seniority by the ruthless garnering of information and its careful, strategic dissemination. The ambition of most mages was to reach the lofty position of House Prelate, but the Guild held far greater prizes, with the accolade of High Dominie as the ultimate lure. In order to retain this glittering crown, a man could not be content to sit back and bask in glory after decades of struggle and skulduggery. On his journey to the summit, he would have trodden on many fingers: the fingers of other ambitious men who sought to find the smallest chink in his armour.
Men as hungry as he for power and prestige.
I see I made a bad mistake, he thought, taking a sip of wine from the goblet at his side as he sat in his comfortable, tastefully-appointed chamber. I appointed Thorn to the Presidium because I thought him safe and conservative; a useful buffer against some of the more hawkish members.
Yes, I made a mistake there. However, if he thinks I'm in my dotage, he's got another think coming. If he thinks I'm stupid enough to bow to his demands in the hope that he'll just sit back and throw away his evidence against me, he has no idea of how Guild politics really works.
He sat back in his plush chair and smiled; it was a humourless expression that Thorn would not have liked, had he seen it.
Thorn made a far bigger mistake by showing his hand before all the money was on the table, Horin thought. I may have underestimated him at first, but I've played this little game at a much higher level than he has. With Thorn out of the way, nobody will dare testify against me.
If I go along with his little plan, I have a senior man who knows he can blackmail me with abandon. If I get rid of him, I have four Seventh Rank mages, good Guild men who will owe their lives to me. If I am responsible for Loras Afelnor's death, I may lose another Seventh Rank thaumaturge's loyalty; that of Loras’ grandson, Grimm. If he's still alive, that is…
I'm sorry, Thorn, but the potential gains just don't square up with the risks. You lose, old friend.
Horin drained his goblet, savouring the wine's heady aroma as it flooded into his appreciative nostrils.
Ballemian Sunset, ‘48; he thought, eyeing the empty bottle with some regret, not such a bad little vintage after all. I should have trusted the Head Doorkeeper's advice; I'll have to ask him to buy a few more cases.
****
Loras could not sleep, however hard he tried to empty his mind. As soon as one tendril of thought drifted away from him, another slid into his sensorium to replace it.
Something is very odd here. At first, I thought Lord Horin was siding with me, the way he interrupted-what was his name? — Rithel. I thought he was a fair man, who wanted only justice. Then, he adjourned the Conclave for a game of cards, of all things. My guess is that he wanted further instructions before he went further, and I would be more than willing to bet that Thorn is involved.
Loras rolled over, to the dissonant accompaniment of clanking chains, cudgelling his brain in an attempt to retrieve long-buried information that might help him. For many minutes he fought to remember the details of the trial he had undergone so many years before. At the time, he had been so confused and consumed by guilt that he had barely registered the Conclave's pronouncements.
Think, man; think, damn you! he raged inside his head. What are the rules concerning Guild trials?
A vision swam into his head.
****
A row of grim, scowling men faced him, and he looked at the floor, too full of self-accusation and self-hatred to look them in the eyes. Thorn stood at his side and squeezed his shoulder in a friendly, fraternal gesture as the Prosecutor began to speak.
"This Conclave is called to order. Under Rule 28.1.19 of the Rules and Regulations of the Guild of Magic-users, Sorcerers and Thaumaturges, I now pronounce the charges levied against Loras Afelnor, Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank, known by the Guild cognomen ‘The Firelord'."
****
That was one strike against this so-called Conclave: Rithel, acting as Prosecutor, had ignored an important rule of evidence, and he had refused to give details of the charges against Loras.
****
The Prosecutor consulted the scroll before him, as Loras stood in misery, staring at the marble tiles.
"Charge One: in contravention of Law 1.6.8 of the Rules and Regulations of the Guild of Magic-users, Sorcerers and Thaumaturges, the prisoner is accused of high treason against the Guild, in the person of its lawful representative…"
****
That was not helpful, although the fact that the Prosecutor had taken care to enumerate the charges in detail was an interesting memory. There had been something else…
"Under Law…"
What Names-cursed Law had it been? Loras knew that, if he were to try to confront this farce of a Conclave on its own terms, he would need to be able to quote the Law with precise detail.
****
"Under the requirements of Law 1.6.12, we now invite the accused to offer his defence, if any, of the charges against him."
"I offer no defence at this time, Lord Prosecutor."
"Under the requirements of Law 1.6.14, I petition the Conclave for permission to offer mitigation against these charges!” Thorn cried, and Loras’ heart surged with love for his loyal friend…
****
Loras sat upright, his eyes staring and unseeing; his mouth gaping and unspeaking.
This Conclave is illegal! he thought, his heart pounding as the shocking awareness blazed inside his head. If need be, I will demand that Law 1.6 be read in full! I am entitled to hear the charges against me. I am entitled to present a defence. I am entitled to have another speak in my defence. They cannot deny me that!