Justice in the Faery World

            The old Faery King sighed. He could remember many months ago, having a foolish thought flit across his mind, suggesting that it might be pleasant to have his son and nephew involved in the politics of the kingdom, helping him keep the peace. They were standing in front of him now, determined instead to ruin the peace, with their revolutionary ideas and impossible crusades. What were the worlds coming to?

His nephew was explaining the mystery behind the ten knights’ quest that was interrupted by Jinge, as well as the half-goblin’s confusion of the event. He was very eloquent as he highlighted the positive aspects of having a half-goblin in the service of the king instead of rotting in a cell as a public enemy. Donal mostly just stood there next to him, holding the paper with Jinge’s statement on it and looking distressed and sincere. The boy was ruthlessly using his overly-large blue eyes as a weapon. The Faery King had taught him that trick, and should have known it would backfire one day.

“I get the point.” the king interrupted Ciaran’s speech. “Why are you two determined to undermine my justice system?”

Donal’s lower lip trembled.

“No, no, that’s not what --” Ciaran tried to explain.

“I know what you meant.” the king cut him off. “You think, like you, this half-breed is misunderstood, and deserves a second chance, providing he is innocent. Let me tell you, while that is a nice, noble quest for you to pursue, it is better left alone. There are worse things than rotting in prison.”

“But, Father, he just wants to see his kittens.” Donal pleaded.

“How old are you, again?” his father asked in exasperation. “Bring him his kittens, then! Give him a room in the castle! No one will be afraid of him if we say he likes cats and he’s working for us!” The Faery King sighed again. “Talk to the captain of the guard. He’ll tell you what you want to know. Right now I’ve got more important things to deal with.”

“Then...” Ciaran ventured to ask. “We can continue our investigation?”

“Yes, yes. Now get out of here.”

They felt lucky. Brand passed them on their way out of the throne room. I never did describe Brand -- you’d think as a proper villain he’d have broad shoulders, wicked eyebrows, and a handsome, but evil face. But Brand looked good, and I mean “good” as in the opposite of evil. He was elegant and refined. His eyes were cold, but his face was noble. His hair was silky and black like Ciaran’s originally, but he chose to work in scrying magics, using crystal artifacts a great deal, and the mark of a crystal user is white hair. The change only only suited him more.

When Ciaran told me that normally Brand couldn’t have tracked us while we were on the run, but could then, he meant that he was probably allowed (or forced his way) to use the Endless Glass, a large crystal mirror that was entrusted to the Faery King five centuries ago. Most of the kings since then have never looked into it, the mirror’s magic being the most powerful there is. There was one, King Alderbrande, who had a separate seer that used it for him. Brand thought that if he could not be king himself, he would at least be that seer.

We were protected from most scrying glasses by the shielding spells Jinge had been casting over us, but with the use of the Endless Glass, Brand would be able to watch our every move, and know exactly where we were. Without the keys to the gates, it was unlikely that he could physically come and find us, but there are other ways between the two worlds besides the gates which are not locked by keys...

“What do you mean, he said come talk to me? I don’t know anything!” The captain of the guard was a big man. He had an excellent mind for strategy, and he was a good leader. But when it came to taking on responsibility, he skirted whatever he could. “The king gave the direct order to his knights. I just supplied them with weapons.”

It was Ciaran’s turn to sigh. He did promise to do right by his fellow prisoner, but this was just getting ridiculous. Jinge didn’t mind prison; a few more years wouldn’t hurt him...

“Where are you going?” Donal asked when his cousin suddenly turned around and started walking out of the barracks office.

“You can handle this. I’m tired.” Ciaran said without looking back.

“We’ve only been at this for two days! You can’t be tired!” Donal grabbed his arm and tugged.

“I’ve been stuck in a cell for weeks! All this walking and talking is enough to wear anyone out!”

The captain of the guard had also been having a rough couple of weeks. “Amen to that.” he put in, rubbing his head.

Ciaran appealed to the other adult in the room, sitting down in the chair in front of the captain’s desk. “And if it wasn’t enough, some kid comes along and starts asking questions, and wanting things from you!”

“I know, right?” the captain agreed.

“Why don’t you just go back to your cell?” Donal asked, betrayed.

“Doesn’t it make you want to just sit down and give up?” Ciaran continued, leaning his elbows on the desk.

The captain sat back in his chair and yawned, nodding. Ciaran turned his head and winked at Donal. “Why did the king have to send so many knights, anyway?”

“I had to sharpen so many swords!” the captain complained, strangely willing to talk now. “They had to leave right away, in the middle of the night, and the page boys were already asleep!”

“They were the enchanted swords too, weren’t they?” Ciaran prompted sympathetically.

“Aye, and those are the worst! I have to use the special stone to sharpen them, and mutter spells the whole time! Page boy duty!”

“Why so much bother over one monster?”

The captain glanced from side to side. “The half-goblin? No, that was just a rumor.” He whispered confidentially: “It was something no one has seen for centuries.”

Donal sat down and Ciaran scooted his chair closer.

“It was a black dragon.”

Donal busted up with laughter. Black dragons had been extinct for nearly a thousand years. They were known to be small (goat-size), nearly invisible at night, and extremely fast. Because of their small bodies, breathing fire was a small threat: just a puff of yellow flame. There was no way to hunt them at night, but during the day they were quite vulnerable unless they hid in their caves. They were bothersome creatures. Faeries back then, along with humans, organized a hunt for them. They devised strategies and special nets to trap them, which were very successful. So successful, in fact, that black dragons became known as the most easily huntable dragon in the two worlds. Soon young men couldn’t even impress their girlfriends by going out and killing one.

Donal wasn’t particularly rude to laugh. The thought of sending ten knights out to kill a single black dragon (which was probably not even real), was an absurd thought.

“It’s true!” the captain insisted. “There was a sighting of a black dragon not far from the village Tamm. They sent the messenger here running.”

“Why would my father send ten knights for a single black dragon?” Donal asked him.

“They were trying to catch it and bring it back. The king told them to keep it a secret before anyone else could kill it. But since none of them came back, it was all covered up.”

“Do you think it killed them?”

“Of course not. That half-goblin killed them all. The thing got in the way of their hunt and killed them. No one knows if they saw the dragon at all.”

“But he wouldn’t eat their flesh!” Donal objected. “He’s half faery, he wouldn’t do that!”

“Don’t you forget his other half!” the captain reminded him. “He may not be hungry now, but no one’s letting him out of there.”

“You know what this means.” Ciaran said to Donal as they walked back through the courtyard and up some more stairs. “It means we’ll have to catch that dragon and prove that it killed those knights in order for Jinge to be let go.”

Donal hung his head. Ten knights... extinct dragons... “No.” he said suddenly. “We don’t.”

“How else can we --”

“We’ll only do what should have been done in the first place.” Donal ran up the stairs and marched toward the throne room. Ciaran followed him, but not as fast (he was just in prison, after all).

The King of the Faeries was not overjoyed to see his son again, and especially not when he threw the door of the throne room open with a bang. While he was only dealing with paperwork such, having an eleven-year-old boy interrupt him so loudly was --

“Dad!” the little boy said commandingly. “Stop playing this game. Have someone look into a scrying glass to prove that Jinge is innocent! It’s a standard procedure for any case ‘where the evidence of guilt is questionable’.”

The Faery King dipped his quill into the inkstand (by now you’d think that the faeries would have upgraded to modern pens, which are so handy and neat, and will almost never spill ink everywhere. They are proud creatures, sadly, and like to cling to their fancy handwriting. Incidentally, I’ve been told that learning to write with a quill makes writing with an icing bag much easier), and continued writing.

Donal and his father fought. The Faery King granted his request in the end, however. The boy had done his homework. By watching and re-watching what happened in the scrying glass, it was determined in the end that Jinge was innocent. Still scary, but innocent. What had killed them was still unknown, but a black dragon being so deadly was a frightening prospect. Jinge swore his allegiance to the Faery Prince Donal for the rest of his life, and was able to go and see his cat Sol and her kittens. They trained together, the half-monster and the boy, although no one felt at ease with the half-monster.

Donal felt, for once, that he had done something right. His father wasn’t pleased with him, but there was grudging respect in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Donal studied harder and felt happy.

Until --

The door of the throne room swung open with a bang. Donal felt frozen where he stood. Brand’s sword was slowly sliding out of the king’s chest, blood dripping from its blade and soaking the king’s shirt. Donal was at his side before he knew it, calling to him, until something struck him, and his head slammed against the floor.

He tried to breathe in, but no breath came. He heard Brand’s voice above his head, and felt his fingers close tightly around his throat. A white-hot fury pulsed through his blood.

           Donal opened his eyes.