The Trial
Watching the elf, like he had been for the past while, had become unnerving for Leandir. He didn’t move. Sitting, statuesque, in the corner of his cell, just below the barred window, Locke had his knees pulled to his chest and his arms were wrapped tightly around his legs. His face was turned up toward the window where what little sunlight there was beamed down, hitting him directly so that his eyes were closed against the brightness.
Leandir stood, just as motionless, in the doorway leading to the series of cells watching his prisoner, wondering what had truly happened to lead the elf here.
He had returned to the place of the arrest the night before in an attempt to speak with Dorias. Adras’ son had been busy preparing his father for the pyre that had been built just out front of the old cabin. He had wrapped the old man in an old blanket and Leandir had helped him carry the body outside, and placed it upon its final resting place. Once the fire had been lit, and Dorias seemed to have settled, Leandir made an attempt to discover what had happened before his arrival. He had been unlucky in his investigation.
Dorias had refused to speak. He was grounded, his arms crossed over his chest, his feet shoulder length apart, staring blankly at the fire which had consumed his father’s body. He had stayed like that for a time then, without word, walked back into the house and closed the door behind him.
After a long night spent thinking and trying not to be ill, Leandir had returned the following morning to find Locke in his current position.
“Master Elf?” Leandir stepped closer to the cell now. “We have to meet before the town council shortly, would you care for something to eat before you are summoned?”
No response was given, the elf didn’t so much as turn his head from the sunlight streaming in. Leaning heavily against the bars that made up the cell, Leandir’s eyes traced the beams of light which traveled from the window to the elf’s fair face. Locke seemed to bask in the warmth and light that fell upon him, almost as though he were gaining strength from the lumination.
Reaching for the keys strung to his belt, Leandir once again called to the elf. “Come, let us take a walk outside. You look as though you could use the fresh air.”
This got the elf’s attention and Locke slowly turned his head and opened his eyes to look to the marshal, a questioning look in his eyes. His hands dropped from around his legs and he pressed his hands to the floor in preparation to rise. “We are going out?”
Leandir turned the key in the lock and swung the heavy door open. He raised his left hand up over his head and grasped at the bars above his head. “If you do not want to go out then I will not force you.” He tried to hide a small smile, which came unbidden in response to the smile on the elf’s face. “Well, come on then.”
Locke practically flew to his feet and moved gracefully across the cell. His clothes hung from him like old burlap bags and Leandir cringed at how young the large apparel made him look. Clean bandaging had been bound around his head and Leandir hoped that the elf’s young appearance might help when Locke stood before the judgement council.
Turning to lead the elf out of the cell room and through his office, Leandir stopped abruptly and grabbed Locke lightly by the elbow. “You must promise me that you will not run Master Elf.”
Leandir winced has he watched the elf’s face fall. “I would not know where to run to Marshal. Your fear is unjustified.”
Yet, Leandir’s fear was that the elf wouldn’t run. He knew it was his job to uphold the law but deep down, he hoped that Locke would find a way out of his predicament. Had Leandir not been sustained by the members of the community to uphold justice he probably would have urged Locke to run.
Stepping out onto the porch of his office, Leandir mimicked the elf’s motion of lifting his head to the sun and inhaling deeply of the fresh air. He let the air flow freely into his lungs and held it there momentarily. When he reopened his eyes, he found the elf looking at him, a curious look in his deep blue eyes.
“I never really take time to enjoy the freshness of the air. I suppose I take it for granted.” Leandir confessed.
Locke smiled in understanding. “Often it is not until we lose something that we begin to understand its importance.”
Leandir crouched down and came to rest in a sitting position upon the steps of his office. Locke followed suit and the pair found themselves sitting in comfortable silence as each enjoyed the late morning freshness in their own way. Several times during their time together, perched upon the porch, Leandir noticed that the elf raised a hand and gently touched his bandaged head. He didn’t speak to Locke of this, nor did Locke make mention of any discomfort he might be experiencing. It was quiet in town this morning and neither seemed to want to break the temporary peace.
A short time after their respite began, a large, commonly dressed man came around the corner of the Marshal’s office. Standing barely taller than the pair were, while sitting, the man walked determinedly up to Leandir. He spared only a glance at the elf before addressing the Marshal. “We are ready for the prisoner Marshal.” He didn’t await a response, rather, he turned and left almost as quickly as he had arrived.
Leandir let out a large sigh and pushed himself into a standing position. “It appears that the time has come Master Elf.” He didn’t want to turn to face the elf. He didn’t want to see the look in his eyes. “Please follow me.”
Upon entering the town the night before, Locke hadn’t taken the time to notice the layout. He had been too overwhelmed by grief over the loss of his friend to note that the buildings which made up the small settlement all appeared to be in good order. Each was set approximately twenty to thirty yards apart from each other and each seemed to take on its own look, as though representing the individual personalities of those who resided or managed them.
Having only one inn and one saloon, the town was, by no means, large. But, it was large enough to warrant the employment of a marshal and a town council.
Now, as he made his away across the dirt streets, Locke took in every bit of it. He wanted to try to get a feel for the people who resided here, the problem was, so much of the town was uniquely designed that it was different to put a finger on any one personality or authority.
As they came closer to the town square the number of people on the street seemed to grow. Locke couldn’t help but notice that each turned to scrutinize him as he passed, nor could he ignore the hand that was now clasped firmly around his upper arm, steering him through the crowd. People seemed to part and step aside to let them through and Locke wondered if all hearings drew such an audience.
A large, single story building loomed up in front of them now and the pair slowly but steadily made their way toward the large, double doors that lead inside. A series of chairs filled the room in which a long table was set in front. Seated at the table were four individuals, one woman and three men. None of the council members looked up as Locke and Leandir made their way between the chairs and to the front of the room. Each seemed to be engrossed in their own conversations.
Up front, seated on the side, was a face that Locke hoped, in vain, to never see again. Rathir was slouched in his seat, looking as though he had spent the last night drinking until all hours of the morning. His clothing was disheveled and his eyes were shot red. To his right sat Thad looking equally as tousled. Their heads lifted from their chests upon the appearance of the elf and Locke stiffened and glared in response to their mocking sneers.
“Alright. Alright. Everyone take your seats. We need to begin.” It was the woman who spoke. She brushed her silver hair from her aging face as she rose and smoothed out her earthy dress. She was not petite by any measure but her appearance had a motherly quality to it. When the crowd didn’t quiet at her bidding the woman slammed her hand against the table and shouted, quickly vanquishing the first impression that Locke had acquired. “I SAID TAKE YOUR SEATS!”
Locke startled at the shout, as did many others in the room. Chatter ceased and the occupants of the room practically fell into their seats. Once all had come to order the woman lowered her large bulk back into her chair and turned herself to the middle-aged man sitting to her right.
Dark complected and large in stature, the man shuffled some pages in front of him. “Is the elf known as Locke in attendance?”
“He is Councilman Torrill” Locke looked to Leandir as he answered for the elf and tried to hide his confusion at what was happening.
“Is the accuser, Rathir, in attendance?”
Rathir rose, unsteadily, from his seat and waved to the councilman. “Right here sir.”
Councilman Torrill glanced to the other council members appearing tired. He then looked directly at Locke and held the elf’s gaze for a moment before turning back to Rathir. “What is it you accuse this elf of Rathir.”
Rathir, who had remained standing from his early address, took a few steps forward, coming to stand almost directly between the council members’ table and Locke, blocking the elf’s vision of the council members and vice versa.
“Several weeks ago I was traveling just South of town on my way in from a hunting trip with several of my men.” Rathir paused here and dropped his head to his chest as though he were having difficulty with reliving the incident. He took in a deep breath and rubbed his hand over his face then continued. “It was then that I had the misfortune of meeting this elf.” - pointing his crooked finger at Locke.
Locke shifted uncomfortably in his seat and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention. His hands were folded and placed gently in his lap and he made every effort to maintain eye contact with Rathir.
“My men and I were stopped by the elf who appeared to be in some type of distress. We enquired as to any assistance that he might need and it was then that we realized that his trouble was all a ruse.” Rathir stopped again and turned to look at Locke. He attempted to hold the elf’s stare but quickly looked away and threw his hand to his eyes as though in pain
He didn’t speak for a long moment and when he did finally speak his voice quaked. “He pulled his bow and leveled an arrow at me and my men and threatened to kill us all if we did not hand over our horses.”
Townspeople gasped and murmured at the news, the room came alive behind Locke and Leandir and the Marshal rose from his seat and turned to the crowd that had come for the show. At the stern look that was thrown into the crowded room, the people hushed and the story continued.
“When I refused to give the elf my horse, he shot and killed Gillian.”
Again the townspeople began to chatter amongst themselves and again Leandir rose from his seat and turned to face the audience. This time they didn’t quiet down though and glares and quiet threats seemed to come flying toward the elf. It was Torrill who rapped his fist against the table and demanded that the room remain quiet. “I will clear this room out if you can not remain civil.” He shouted out over the din. “What happened next Rathir.”
Rathir looked from the crowd to Locke to Torrill before resuming. “It was then, when we were so in shock from the strike that the elf stole my horse and rode away. We pursued him for several yards but felt we needed to return to tend to Gillian. We were too late.”
The three men and one woman turned and put their heads together and began to whisper animatedly to each other. Had the assembled group behind him remained quiet, Locke was sure that he could have heard what was being said. He was, however, overtaken by the various sounds and noises that seemed to be coming at him from all directions.
Ceasing in their informal conference, the council members turned back to Rathir. “Can anyone vouch for your story Rathir?” Torrill questioned.
Thad rose from where he was seated and walked briskly across the room to join Rathir. “I can sir. Everything that Rathir has said is true.” Thad turned to look at Locke, a sickening scowl on his face. “Every bit of it.”
Torrill seemed to consider this information for a moment then readdressed Rathir. “Thank you. You may both be seated now.” He then turned his attention to the elf again, seeming to get caught in the elf’s intent gaze once again. Shaking himself free, Torrill turned and whispered something to the man on his right then jotted a few notes down on the pages in front of him.
“Master Elf,” it was the woman who spoke this time. “What have you to say about the accusation against you?”
Locke turned in his seat to look at Leandir but the Marshal stared straight ahead as though lost in his own thoughts. He then turned back to the woman whose eyes had remained glued to him. “I do not remember.”
“You do not remember the question?”
Locke shifted again and raised his hand, once again, to his bandaged head. It still pained him on occasion and when stressed or nervous the dizziness seemed to assail him again. Leandir finally removed his stare from the council members’ table and looked to the elf.
“Ma’am.” Leandir rose from his seat and stepped toward the table. “The elf sustained a serious head injury and seems to be having difficulty remembering anything that occurred before approximately two weeks ago.”
“That is convenient is it not.” Rathir’s mocking voice lifted from the side of the room again.
“Quiet!” The woman ordered. She then turned back to the elf. “Do you mean to tell me that you do not remember attacking Rathir and his men and stealing their horse.”
Leandir did not let the elf answer. “He does not even remember his own name ma’am.”
A loud burst of laughter came from Rathir and Thad and the two nearly fell from their seats at this discovery. Locke squirmed in his chair more and looked at Leandir with a pleading eye. Almost begging the man to quit speaking. He didn’t like his weaknesses being exposed. He felt embarrassed and ashamed. His hand flew to his bandaged head once more and it was several long moments before the council regained control of the situation.
“But, I will say this,” Leandir continued, “Rathir spoke not of any murder when I brought Locke in yesterday. It seems to be a new addition to his story.”
Rathir jumped from his seat and raced the few steps to Leandir's side, “I can produce a body if there is any doubt.”
“And yet you felt it unimportant to mention this yesterday?” Leandir’s disgust was strongly apparent.
“Silence.” Torrill began to speak but Locke couldn’t force himself to drop his hand away from his head. Its presence there seemed to comfort and ease the pain. “It seems that we have an unusual situation here.” Torrill began. “Seeing as how there is no one to vouch for the elf and his non-involvement in this murder and robbery then we, as a council, have no choice but to declare him guilty of this crime.”
Locke pressed his palm to his brow and clenched his eyes in a vain effort to shut out the noise around him.
“The penalty for such a crime is death by hanging. This will be carried out tomorrow at midday.” Torrill rose and the rest of the council members followed suit. With no further words they exited the building leaving Locke and Leandir to force their way back through the crowd and out into the brightly lit town street.
Locke’s head remained down and he fought to block out the words that were spoken around him. Words of scorn and accusation. It was the laughter of Rathir that finally broke through the wall that he had built up around him. His chest tightened and he felt himself stiffen at the scoffing and scorn. Leandir’s hand tightened on his arm and he was dragged through the streets and back to the jail cell.
It was when the cell door clanged shut that Locke’s composure failed him and he sank once again to the floor. His legs seemed to automatically curl up to his chest and his arms instinctively wrapped around his legs again. He didn’t look to the sun spilling through the window this time, however. Instead he rested his chin on his bent knees and sat in silence. Alone. The angry slamming of the cell door echoing around him.