“He believes what he says to be true, my Lord,” Jhuddona said, much as she had with Hrun Noldrun. But while the priestess had offered nothing further with the would-be heir to Noldrunhold, this time she continued. “Certitude is not, however, a guarantee of accuracy.”
“Meaning?” It was Kiruk, and he clearly wasn’t happy that the priestess was overstepping her bounds.
“Meaning that just because he believes his words to be true, it doesn’t necessarily follow that they are true. Those suffering under the affliction of insanity often believe themselves or their surroundings to be other than what they actually are. And a very skilled and disciplined deceiver can train himself to believe his deceptions, for as long as necessary, to fool those who seek the truth.”
Sabira had to suppress a snort at that last suggestion. While Aggar was a canny businessman and strategist with a head for both numbers and tactics, the idea that he was some sort of master of the mental arts was simply ludicrous. Kiruk apparently agreed, for he made no effort to address that veiled accusation. The implication that his son might be crazy, however, was an insult that the Tordannon chief simply could not abide.
“So you’re suggesting that my—that the accused is … insane?” Though weapons were not, as a matter of pride, forbidden in the audience chamber, by tradition, none of the Council members wore them. And seeing Kiruk’s face darken and the way his hand curled reflexively around an axe-haft that wasn’t there, Sabira thought that was probably a very good thing, at least for Jhuddona.
“I am merely offering an alternative explanation for what Aureon’s eye has revealed.”
“You mean an explanation you like better,” Kiruk snapped, his anger getting the better of him. But before the elder Tordannon could say or do anything that might jeopardize his son’s case, Rockfist jumped to his feet.
“Your pardon, my Lord,” he said, addressing Torlan, “But the priestess needs to decide what role she’s playing here—servant of the Sovereign or prosecuting barrister. If it’s to be the latter, then the trial should be moved from this venue and opened to the public. If it’s the former, then she should confine her remarks to fact and leave the theorizing to professionals.”
“And you are one of those professionals, I assume?” Torlan asked evenly.
“Perrin Rockfist and Sabira Lyet d’Deneith, counsel for the defense, my Lord.”
At the mention of Sabira’s name as one of Aggar’s defenders, there was some muttering among the Council members, not all of it welcoming.
“Ah, yes. The Iron Council is pleased that the Shard Axe has chosen to grace the halls of Ferrous House once again,” Torlan said, ignoring the murmurs. “And though it is highly irregular, in light of your past service to the Holds, Sabira, I will allow you to speak on Aggar’s behalf. Defending him is one of the things you do best, it seems.”
Sabira summoned up a brittle smile and nodded her head in what she hoped was a gracious manner, but she didn’t care for Torlan’s condescending tone. It didn’t speak well for his objectivity in this case. Not that she’d expected him to champion Aggar’s innocence—not with his wife’s cousin one of the victims—but she was concerned that his unsubtle bias might affect the votes of other Council members who had no vested interest in the trial’s outcome. If there were any—with thirteen victims, the odds that there was one tied to each clan were much higher than she’d like.
Torlan continued, addressing first Rockfist and then the priestess. “And while I’m not sure a change of venue would benefit your client, I must agree that Jhuddona’s elaborations are out of line. Jhuddona, please limit your future remarks to whether or not the defendant’s statements are true. The Council will do the work of ascertaining if his truth is the same one that the rest of us subscribe to.”
The priestess bowed her head in acquiescence, but not before casting a murderous glare that encompassed both Aggar and Rockfist.
Wonderful. Now Sabira would have to keep an eye on her, too. She hoped that was the extent of the possible threats in the room, because she’d just run out of eyes with which to watch them all.
“Did you have a grudge against any of the murder victims, or a reason for wanting to see them dead?”
Aggar paused, considering. When he finally spoke, it was clear he was choosing his words carefully.
“I had disputes with several of the victims; I believe that’s a matter of record. There were even some whose deaths, under normal circumstance, I would not have mourned. But, no, I didn’t hate any of them enough to kill them.”
Sabira thought she detected the slightest emphasis on the word “I” the last time Aggar used it—almost as if he were subtly suggesting that, while he himself didn’t despise any of the victims enough to have murdered them, he knew of someone who did.
Someone in this very room, perhaps.
“He speaks truly, my Lord.”
“Does he?” Torlan asked, raising a bushy brow in mock astonishment. “Then perhaps you can clarify for me, Aggar, the nature of your last conversation with one of the victims, Mikos Deepshaft?”
The veiled woman moved again, but she was not alone this time. Everyone in the room shifted uncomfortably as the arbiter dived straight into what was arguably the most heinous of the murders. Sabira frowned. She’d hoped the Council would work their way up to the priest’s death a bit more slowly, but it seemed the killer wasn’t the only one getting impatient.
“We argued.”
Aggar hadn’t mentioned that.
“About what?”
“My nephew’s wedding.” Where Aggar had been willing to expound on his answers previously, now he was being positively terse.
“Your nephew, Orin Mountainheart?”
“That’s correct.”
“And he was marrying Gunnett Stoneblood?”
“Yes.”
“And you disapproved of the match, isn’t that right?”
Aggar didn’t answer immediately. If he admitted that he’d been against the marriage, his disapproval would constitute a grave insult to the Toldoraths, the Tordannons’ oldest allies, and would have repercussions far beyond this room and this trial.
“I had hoped Orin might marry into a family with roots a little closer to home. He is my favorite nephew, after all. I like having him around.” Aggar’s attempt to inject some levity into the proceedings was met with cold silence, and the grin that had been playing halfheartedly about the corners of his lips fled in disgrace.
“Ah, yes. Your favorite. He’s also your heir, is he not? Whom you formally designated in the Ceremony of Steel and Stone?”
All traces of humor vanished from Aggar’s face.
“He is,” the red-haired dwarf replied tightly.
Once a dwarf had formally designated an heir—one step short of full adoption into a clan—he could never revoke the bequest, regardless of whether or not he later had a child of his own. And regardless of what the heir so designated chose to do with that bequest—like allowing it to fall into the hands of another clan by marrying outside of his own.
It was a choice few dwarves made, unless they were trying to keep their legacy out of the hands of an existing heir with a stronger claim. Since Aggar had no children, and was still young enough for that not to be a concern to anyone except Kiruk, his designation of an heir was exceedingly strange and was bound to invite unwanted questions.
As if reading Sabira’s mind, Anneka Soldorak piped up.