OoOoO

The three minutes and forty-six seconds it took Tarun to find where the main household of Clan D'Van was lodging felt three minutes and forty-five seconds too long. Every second Tarun was away brought the leaders of Clan G'Hesh closer to the prison cell where Derrian currently waited; a lamb anticipating slaughter. They could only hope that Captain Jerriod was able to stall the G'Heshs and buy them precious time. At the moment, however, Tarun was confronted by a new problem.

Two very large, very fearsome looking clansmen – their scarves fastened with the black-and-white pinwheel of Clan D'Van – stood guard outside the doorway to their eimir's apartments. Even though, by the laws of The Weeping Keep, no one but The Guardians could carry weapons inside, these two hardly needed weapons to pose a considerable obstacle. They eyed Tarun suspiciously as he rushed toward the door, arms crossed and jaws set.

Tarun barely had the breath to gather himself as befitting a chieftain. "I am here...to speak...with Eimir Kusma D'van...right away!"

"Eimir D'Van is not accepting visitors," stated the left guard with an air of finality.

If they expected Tarun to slink off like a rebuffed errand boy, they were mistaken. "And I am not here visiting! It is literally life or death that I speak to the eimir now!"

"And she is not accepting visitors." The right guard echoed his counterpart, both flexing their sun-darkened arms warningly.

Tarun knew beyond shade of doubt that he stood no chance of fighting his way past such a pair. So, he did the foolhardiest thing he could thing to do, while traces of the element of surprise still lingered at his advantage. He put his head down and charged the door, shoulder first.

The guards lunged for him, sure enough, but were left grasping at empty air. The door burst open before Tarun, sending him half-staggering, half-tumbling into the front parlour of the D'Van apartments. Startled shrieks filled the room, along with a crash as Tarun knocked over a cart and the glass shisha pipes it carried.

By the time Tarun regained his balance, there was already a knife at his throat. Apparently he wasn't the only one who skirted the rules against carrying a weapon inside The Weeping Keep. Three more D'Van clansmen loomed large around Tarun, besides the two door-guards behind him. One hauled Tarun to his feet while the other kept their dagger pressed ominously against his pulse.

"Kannan! Who is it?"

A familiar, airy voice that lilted like windchimes called out from across the parlour. Past the posse of angry clansmen, Tarun spotted Eimir Kusma, seated amongst a handful of other women on the divan. Her enormous eyes were even wider than usual beneath a headdress of dangling golden jewelry. The lingering scent of tobacco and tea in the sunlit room suggested that Tarun had just interrupted an otherwise leisurely morning.

"Apologies, Eimir. We'll see to it that this ignorant goatherd leaves at-"

Tarun interrupted, shouting past his captors despite getting pricked by the dagger. "Eimir Kusma! Please, I need to talk to you! An innocent life is at stake!"

"You come barging in here and think you can-"

Again, the D'Van clansmen were interrupted, but this time by Kusma herself. "Let him speak, Sattar. What is this about an innocent life?"

The knife withdrew less than an inch from his neck, but it was enough for Tarun to tell his tale in a rush. He left out any details concerning his conversation with Rhadu A'Khet, as well as his own involvement in the murder of Kirban G'Hesh. By the time he finished, he was out of breath all over again.

"-and all it will take is the say-so of Kirban's heir to have Derrian put to death, despite them having no proof of his actual guilt. You're an eimir, Lady Kusma. Your word on Derrian's behalf could counter the accusation, or at very least postpone the execution long enough to prove his innocence. Please, you have to come with me to the cells straight away!"

Kusma's face was full of sympathy as she listened to Tarun speak. To Tarun's horror and astonishment, she shook her head.

"I am sorry, Chieftain, but I cannot vouch for your friend."

"What! Why not!?"

Kusma smoothed her brocaded skirts, the gesture betraying just a hint of unease. "Because I unable to swear beyond shade of doubt that Derrian Bel did not, in fact, murder Kirban G'Hesh. All I saw was him standing in the midst of a spilled meal, looking rather startled and flustered. This was in the very hallway where Eimir Kirban's body was later discovered, you understand. For all that I am aware, Bel could have murdered Kirban anytime before or after I encountered him. If you friend is truly innocent, I am sorry for his fate, but it is just not possible for me to vouch for him."

The clansmen surrounding Tarun took Kusma's pronouncement as the apparent signal to remove him from the premises. Powerful hands began to drag him back toward the doorway, and once again the guards closed ranks, blocking Tarun's view. Tarun wasn't quite ready to give up yet though.

"You met Derrian! You spoke with him! Look me in the eye and tell me that you believe he could be an assassin. And if you won't do even that much, then at least look yourself in the mirror and swear that you believe Derrian Bel capable of murder! He's going to die!"

Five-on-one was hardly a fair fight, and Tarun was halfway across the threshold and out in the hallway before he could even try to resist. Just as all seemed lost, and the door was about to slam shut in his face, Kusma's voice called again out from within.

"Wait!"

Ignoring the incredulous looks surrounding her, Kusma rose from the divan. Passing between her towering bodyguards, the eimir of Clan D'Van seemed even smaller and more childlike by comparison. The clansmen parted before her like meerkats before a lioness, allowing Kusma to step out into the hall. They did, however, remain hovering closely behind, primed to swoop in and defend their eimir at a moment's notice.

"I cannot swear that Derrian did not kill Kirban G'Hesh...but neither can I look you in the eye and tell you I believe in his guilt. You realize what you are asking of me though, Chieftain?"

Tarun was running out of options, and Derrian was running out of time. Out of sheer desperation, he bent to one knee and seized Kusma's hand. Her bodyguards nearly leapt forward, but just barely managed to contain themselves. Even so, their outrage was physically palpable in the air.

"I have never begged for anything in my life, Lady Kusma, but I am begging you now; please, save Derrian's life. He's a fool and an idiot, but he's also the last person in the world who could ever deserve a fate like this."

So expressive was Kusma's face, Tarun could see the exact moment her decision was made. Squaring her slender little shoulders, she drew her hand back from Tarun's grasp.

"Well then, we have little time to waste. You said Clan G'Hesh was on their way to the holding cells?"

Tarun could have just about choked with relief. "Yes! We'll have to run; they may already be there!"

A chorus of protesting went up from the D'Van clansmen, echoed from the parlour by the D'Van clanswomen. Kusma was already gathering up her skirts, a surprisingly roguish dimple at the corner of her mouth.

"Brothers, if you wish to protect me, then you will just have to keep up with me. Lead the way, Chieftain!"

OoOoO

They arrived to the sound of furious arguing coming from the hallway to the cell. Jerriod's voice boomed overtop of the cacophony for a brief instant.

"-if you dare to try it, I swear by Amenthis that-"

Whatever the captain was threatening, it was quickly drowned out by a tidal wave of shouting men.

Kusma barely so much as paused to straighten her regalia – disheveled from their sprint across The Weeping Keep – before beckoning her puffing bodyguards onward.

"We seem to have made it here without a moment to lose. Come!"

With an Eimir of the Seven Clans and the Chieftain of the Mountainfolk leading the way, no one stopped them as they barged their way down into the holding cells. Most of the Guardians were already occupied inside regardless. A scene of absolute chaos greeted Tarun and Kusma.

Jerriod was planted in the doorway to Derrian's cell, blocking the way, with Derrian hunkered behind him for cover. Two Guardians were trying to extricate Jerriod from his blockade while a group of clansmen – all wearing the scorpion insignia of Clan G'Hesh – stood yelling overtop of one another at both Jerriod and Derrian.

"Get out of the way, westerner! This is a matter of clan law; you have no authority here!"

"My father's murderer will pay with his life, even if I must end it myself!"

"Stop sniveling and face the consequences of your actions like a man!"

"But I didn't do it!" cried Derrian, clutching the back of Jerriod's cloak with manacled hands. "I didn't kill Kirban G'Hesh!"

"You have been named as the killer! Come out and die on your feet, or I swear by the sands of time that I'll come in there and strike you down on your knees!"

One of the G'Heshs, a man roughly Jerriod's age with a gold-threaded beard and austere black clothing, stood at the head of the group, his temples nearly purple with rage. He nodded to one of the Guardians, and the masked enforcer drew their sword from its sheath. Jerriod's stand-off was seemingly about to come to a forceful, final end.

"Lord Kazimir!" Kusma's dulcet, musical voice carried surprising well over the din, echoing off the stone walls and calling all attention to the doorway where they stood. "I am here to vouch for the prisoner's innocence."

"Tarun!" Derrian called out over Jerriod's shoulder, hope and relief written plainly across his face.

"About time, Thrymmson," growled Jerriod.

Kazimir G'Hesh stalked down the hall with all the deadly purpose of a stalking hyena. He barely got within ten paces of Kusma before her brothers closed ranks, creating a forbidding perimeter around their eimir (and Tarun). Unable to approach any further, Kazimir had to settle for addressing Kusma at a distance.

"Eimir D'Van. You vouch for this westerner...this murderer!?"

Subtle movement from the end of the hallway behind the G'Heshs caught Tarun's eye. Present and yet largely unnoticed amidst the taller clansfolk, the handmaiden Lady Aidynne stood silently observing the unfolding drama. Tarun would have paid Ellorae's spy more mind, but he like everyone else was quickly swept up in the standoff between the two eimirs.

"I do. You see, I witnessed Derrian Bel in his absence from the feasting hall at the supposed time of Kirban G'Hesh's death. I am here to swear that it is not possible Bel could have killed your father."

"Not possible?? You just said that you yourself saw this man away from the feasting fall at the time of my father's murder! Guardians, I have consented to the justice of this execution, now carry out the sentence!"

The Guardians, however, did not seem inclined to resume prising Jerriod and Derrian out of the cell. One of the Guardians spoke, faceless but not voiceless behind their visor of golden chainmail.

"The prisoner's guilt has been placed into doubt, Lord Kazimir. We can no longer proceed with the execution."

Kazimir exploded. "There is no doubt! That something so flimsy as the say-so of a girl with no-"

Two of the D'Van clansmen were lunging for Kazimir before he even finished whatever assessment he had been about to make of Kusma. That brought the rest of the Guardians descending like swooping hawks, ready to break apart the burgeoning fight with the brutal authority of their metal gauntlets. For their part, the rest of Clan G'Hesh stood fidgeting uncertainly, clearly afraid of risking the wrath of the Guardians. This gave Jerriod and Derrian the opportunity they needed to make a break for it. With Jerriod still shielding Derrian behind him, the two of them dashed out of the cell and down the hall toward Tarun.

"Come on, we're going straight to the princess." Jerriod seized both Tarun and Derrian by the shoulders, clearly in no mood for arguments. "She can surely sort this disaster out."

"She can, but we'll let the laws of The Weeping Keep handle this particular incident, Captain."

The holding cells of The Weeping Keep were just about the last place Tarun would have ever expected to see Princess Ellorae. She and Rhadu stood in the doorway to the outer guardroom though, surveying the mayhem within from beneath raised eyebrows.

It didn't take long for others to realize the arrival of the ruling couple. One eye already swelling marvelously, Kazimir rounded on Derrian with an accusatory finger.

"Lord and Lady of The Weeping Keep..." Tarun detected a note of venom in Kazimir's voice as he addressed Ellorae in particular. So, this must have been the son whom old Kirban had tried unsuccessfully to betroth to the princess. "This is an outrage! Lord Rhadu, an eimir of Clan G'Hesh has been murdered within these walls during your tenure of The Weeping Keep! You must order the Guardians to uphold their duty and put the killer to death!"

Derrian flinched, nervously wringing at his chains as he stood awaiting his fate. If Rhadu and Ellorae sided with the G'Heshs, not even Tarun, Jerriod, and Kusma put together could save him.

Rhadu strode down the gloomy hallway to lay a hand on Kazimir's arm. "I knew your father all my life, Lord Kazimir. Although our clans have had their share of quarrels, I was genuinely sorry to hear of his death. If you think I have the authority to command the Guardians though, you have forgotten the laws of The Weeping Keep."

"Jackal dung!" Kazimir snarled, throwing off Rhadu's hand. "An A'Khet would sooner celebrate than grieve the death of a G'Hesh. But don't worry, Eimir, because I do not want your grief. I want justice!"

"And justice there will be," replied Rhadu. "Eimir D'Van, you vouch for the innocence of Derrian Bel?"

"I do," said Kusma staunchly.

"As do I." Tarun by now had a realistic view of the true weight of his word, compared to the Eimirs of the Seven Clans. That didn't mean that, as Chieftain of the Mountainfolk, he wouldn't at least try to be counted.

Rhadu nodded briefly in Tarun's direction before once again ignoring him and Jerriod. "And yet, there has been an accusation made, naming this man as the murderer of Kirban G'Hesh. In light of such conflict, there can only be one proper solution."

Both Kazimir and Kusma groaned aloud. So did Tarun.

"What? What's wrong?" Derrian looked to Tarun for an explanation. Rhadu was the one who answered though.

"There shall be a full Court convened, to judge the murder of Eimir Kirban G'Hesh."

Derrian was still confused. "What does that mean?" he whispered to Tarun as grim murmurs filled the hallway.

"A full Court." Tarun held his head in his hands, not even caring that Princess Ellorae was watching. "The Court of the Seven Clans, where only the worst crimes are judged by all of the eimirs, witnessed by the whole of Derbesh and The Weeping Keep."

"Oh," Derrian whispered faintly. "Which means..."

"You're about to go on trial before all of the seven clans."

OoOoO

By midafternoon, the hall where only days ago Rhadu and Ellorae's wedding feast had been celebrated was transformed into a hall of judgement. Seven tables ringed the center of the hall, surrounding a short wooden dias where the accused – in this case Derrian - would stand. The seats of the seven eimirs-turned-judges were thusly placed according to tradition; there would be no angle by which the accused was not fully visible to at least one judge. By clan lore, the belief was that this prevented a person on trial from lying, as a lie would inevitably present itself in some facet of their being – whether that be their face, their hands, or even the set of their spine - and be seen.

"Yet again, no table for the mountainfolk," noted Erland sourly as he, Tarun, Borse, and Garrit entered the hall with the representatives of the clans.

"So much for 'of equal status as any eimir'," Tarun muttered under his breath. He was just about to lead the others to find a space standing amongst the crowd of onlookers when a familiar face approached.

"Lord Tarun the Heartless." Lady Aidynne's curtsey was a brief, cursory formality.

"Lady Aidynne," replied Tarun coolly.

"My mistress sends me to inform you that Eimir Vashoul has extended a seat at the table of Clan N'Shar to you. The laws of The Court of the Seven Clans dictate that there can be no table for the mountainfolk, lest the voting of eight judges render a verdict impossible. As the lands of Clan N'Shar border against The Teeth, however, Eimir Vashoul has invited you to seat yourself amongst them."

Borse harrumphed. "Well, at least someone has some sense. Go on, Tarun. As chieftain, you should be present at a judges' table."

Tarun, however, had read enough from his father Thrymm's books on clan politics to catch the trap before it sprung. "Seat myself amongst Clan N'Shar...and so become a lesser vassal of the clan and its eimir." He almost laughed aloud at Vashoul's audacity. "You can tell Eimir N'Shar that the mountainfolk prefer to stand."

Although Borse and the others said nothing as Lady Aidynne walked away, Tarun could feel their silent approval. As much as he would have wanted to have a vote in Derrian's case, the presence of only seven tables in the hall had already made it very clear that that was not going to happen. Tarun could only stake out a place against one of the hall's engraved sandstone columns and watch, hoping that Kusma D'Van would be able to sway others into believing Derrian's innocence. Or, at the very least, doubting his guilt.

The hall soon grew full with everyday clansfolk; citizens of Derbesh and members of other clans here for the wedding. Meanwhile, the heads of each of the seven clans made their way to the ring of tables and seated themselves. Besides the eimir, two other ranking clansfolk occupied each table, flanking their leader. Tarun watched intently as Princess Ellorae took up the chair on Rhadu's right at the table of Clan A'Khet. The captain of her personal guards, Lieutenant Neel, stationed himself directly behind Ellorae's chair. On Rhadu's left sat an older clansman whom Tarun did not recognize. When Ellorae caught Tarun's eye, she flashed him a subtle half-smile and a wink that simultaneously made Tarun's heart and stomach clench.

'She framed Derrian,' he reminded himself.

'Perhaps she did it to cover for you.' Another part of his mind whispered selfishly, hopefully. 'Perhaps she knows you're the killer, and was only trying to protect you.'

Tarun was enormously tempted to agree with the second thought. But there remained, inescapably, the knowledge of what would happen to Derrian if Ellorae's cover-up worked. Without another candidate to pin Kirban G'Hesh's murder on, Lord Kazimir was unlikely to accept any outcome other than Derrian's death.

Once all seven tables were filled, a Guardian entered the circle between them. They stamped the butt of their spear on the floor, producing an echoing ring that brought attentive silence in its wake.

"Bring forth the accused."

The doors at the far end of the hall swung open with eerie quiet, despite stretching twenty feet tall from floor to ceiling. A quartet of Guardians swept into the hall, Derrian looking very meek and nervous in their midst. The chains at least had been removed from his wrists, but even so he kept his head and shoulders bowed, as if carrying a great weight. Jerriod tried to approach Derrian through the crowd, but was immediately rebuffed by the Guardians. Tarun could see the thunder in Jerriod's face, but surrounded by clansfolk on all sides there was little even the Captain of the Queen's First Company could do.

The Guardians escorted Derrian to the dias in the center of the hall, where they left him to face the seven clans alone. They did not withdraw far though; armoured sentinels stood guard at regular intervals throughout the hall, as implacable as any judge in the demand for order.

Rhadu stood. "As occupant Lord of The Weeping Keep, I bring this Court of the Seven Clans to order."

He spoke slowly, loudly, in a ringing voice which filled the hall all the way to the very furthest corners. Arrayed in a jacket of gold-embroidered magenta, buttons winking like tiny suns at the hollow of his throat, Rhadu looked the part of a princess's husband. Tarun folded his arms across the front of his plain tunic and scowled.

Continuing, Rhadu addressed Derrian directly. "Derrian Bel, you stand before this hall, accused of the murder of Eimir Kirban of Clan G'Hesh. The evidence against you is thus; at the nearest known time of Lord Kirban's death, you were noted absent from the feasting hall. Lord Kirban was found dead later that evening, slain by a single stab wound to the neck. What say you to this accusation?"

"I didn't kill Kirban G'Hesh!" Derrian announced, albeit with fairly less authority than Rhadu had just spoken. "I swear by the blood of Amenthis, it was not me!"

Such a pronouncement produced a few titters from the crowd, with many glancing openly at Princess Ellorae. Despite being the literal 'blood of Amenthis' present in the hall, her only reaction was to lean back comfortably in her chair, a slender hand wrapped around each of the armrests.

"Does anyone speak in support of the accusation against Derrian Bel?"

It took less than a second for Lord Kazimir to leap to his feet behind the table of Clan G'Hesh. "I support the accusation! This man had not only the opportunity to kill my father...he had the motive!"

"And what motive would that be, Lord Kazimir?" asked Ellorae sweetly.

Tarun bit his lip in amusement. In his haste and anger, Kazimir had already landed himself in a bit of a delicate position. If the speculation that Lord Kirban would have supported Mahir's claim to the throne over Ellorae's were true, then indeed it would make sense for a soldier now sworn to the princess to assassinate him. How Kazimir would say as much without outing himself and his clan as opponents of the new Lady of the Weeping Keep, Tarun very much wanted to see.

Unfortunately, Rhadu was having no such sidetracking. "You will have your opportunity to present further evidence in due time, Lord Kazimir. But first, does anyone speak in opposition to the accusation against Derrian Bel?"

"I do." Kusma D'Van rose with a tinkling of golden jewelry to claim the floor. "I speak for Bel's innocence."

"If there are any others who would speak, either for or against the accusations, step forward and be counted now," said Rhadu to the hall at large.

Tarun figured this was probably as much opportunity as he was ever going to get for the remainder of the Court. "I speak against the accusations," he said firmly, drawing all eyes to where he and the other mountainfolk stood.

"As do I," called out Jerriod.

From the looks of things, he had managed to wade through the crowd all the way to where Lieutenant Neel was standing. After a few moments of silence though, no one else came forward to speak for Derrian.

"Very well. As the room has stated majority opposition to the charges, the evidence for Derrian Bel's innocence shall be heard first. Eimir D'Van?"

Kusma nodded. "I shall tell of what I saw on the evening of Kirban G'Hesh's death. I had excused myself from the hall in order to speak to the kitchen staff. On the way there, I encountered Bel in a service hallway. He appeared flustered, standing in the midst of a spilled plate of food. He claimed to have accidentally knocked a dish from the staging table, and was concerned because the meal in question belonged to Princess Ellorae.

On account of my own dining restrictions, I offered to help Bel out of his predicament by switching my own plate for the fallen one. We made the trade, and then I continued on to the kitchens, leaving Bel to clean up the mess. This all occurred at the guessed time of Eimir G'Hesh's death. Thus, on grounds of having witnessed Derrian Bel's whereabouts and deeds at the time of the murder, I vouch for his innocence."

As Kusma spoke, Derrian stood squirming, looking more and more embarrassed with every word. With his fate on the line, Tarun was in disbelief that Derrian would have the concern to spare for something so unimportant (and likely commonplace in his case) as being made to sound foolish. By the time Kusma finished though, Derrian's cheeks were a glowing shade of pink.

"Thank you, Lady Kusma," said Rhadu. "Now, the clans shall hear any evidence for Derrian Bel's guilt. Lord Kazimir?"

Kazimir's bruised eye was turning a queasy shade of green; a colour which did nothing to soften the disdain which he turned on Kusma. "The evidence of innocence which we have just heard is foolish at best, a ruse at worst. How anyone could imagine that such a brief encounter explains and excuses Bel's absence from the feasting hall is beyond reason. He could have easily murdered my father anytime either before or after the passing of Eimir D'Van. If anything, the tale of spilt plates and 'appearing flustered' only serves to further implicate Bel. How can you say, Lady Kusma, he did not kill my father immediately before you arrived, then hid the body and spilled the plate to distract attention away from his presence and any other grisly traces in the service hall?"

To Tarun's unease, several heads nodded around the judges' tables. Oshaher S'Dir leaned over to whisper in Eimir Hadasna's ear. The wiry little woman frowned solemnly at Derrian, as did those seated at the R'Tor table. As he scanned the faces of the eimirs, Tarun realized that he was being watched. This time however, it was not by Vashoul N'Shar. An old woman dressed all in black, her headpiece covered in heavy beads despite the austerity of her garb, was staring at Tarun intently. She and the other two seated at her table wore the insignias of Clan U'Krell; a fantastical fish creature curling back upon itself over a blue background. She did not look away, not even when Tarun narrowed his eyes at her.

Kusma had a rebuttal to offer. "One would think, Lord Kazimir, that a murder by stabbing would leave more traces than could be easily hidden by a single plate of scattered rice. Besides, I saw no traces of struggle on Bel himself."

Tarun's thoughts went to his own bloodstained suede tunic, carefully hidden away in the mountainfolk's rooms until he could find an opportunity to either clean or dispose of it. Kazimir's ire was provoked, however.

"Perhaps you saw no traces of my father's murder because you chose to turn a blind eye, Eimir D'Van. Our clan and yours are hardly friends beyond the bounds of The Weeping Keep. The death of my father could only be a good thing in the eyes of a D'Van. Perhaps even...enough to warrant helping to hide the evidence? Or even wielding the knife yourself!?"

Kusma's two attendants were on their feet and around the table in a heartbeat. Kazimir's accusation didn't just outrage them; every D'Van in the hall was baying for blood. Only the sharp ring of steel stopped everyone short. All of the Guardians drew their swords from their sheaths at once, blades gleaming hungrily over the crowd.

"This Court will return to order at once!" shouted Rhadu.

Sullenly, the two D'Vans returned to their seats flanking Kusma. The venom in their stares toward the G'Hesh table promised future bloodshed though. Even Kusma's wordless attempt to pacify her guards did nothing to soothe their scarcely-contained rage.

At last, it was Derrian's turn to speak on his own behalf again. "Derrian Bel, how do you answer Lord Kazimir's charge? How can you prove that you did not murder Eimir Kirban, either before or after the arrival of Kusma D'Van?"

Whatever Tarun had been expecting – or hoping – that Derrian might say, it was not the earnest babble which came bursting out of him.

"Lord Kazimir's accusations toward Lady Kusma are nothing but slander, and he knows it! She didn't kill the old man...she wasn't involved in any way at-"

"And yet, if you are innocent, why do you speak like one who knows exactly who was involved?" interrupted Enyat R'Tor sharply.

"I...I don't! But I know Lady Kusma would never have done anything like this!"

It was too late; the speculative murmurs amongst the seven clans had abruptly turned dark and suspicious. Kazimir apparently didn't even feel the need to jump back into the ring. He simply stood behind the table of Clan G'Hesh, arms folded and smug satisfaction on his bruised face.

"Stars above," whispered Borse in a low voice next to Tarun. "The boy's all but signed his own death warrant."

Garrit laid a comforting hand on Tarun's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Tarun...I think the two of you might have almost been friends."

Sure enough, it was to Tarun that Derrian turned once he realized what he had done. The look in his eyes was of horror, shock, and an unspoken plea. Tarun cursed both Derrian and himself; even if he lived a hundred years, that would be a memory which haunted him to the grave. There really was only one thing left to do.

Several people watched Tarun as he stepped forward amidst the crowd; Derrian, Princess Ellorae, Captain Jerriod, Aidynne Vescole, Vashoul N'Shar, and the old woman at the head of Clan U'Krell's table. By the time Borse and Garrit realized what Tarun was doing, it was too late to call him back.

Clearing his throat, Tarun addressed the hall with no less force and authority than Rhadu A'Khet had done earlier.

"I'm the one you want. I killed Kirban G'Hesh."     

OoOoO