Of Blood and Honor (9 page)

“Is there anyone here who can give credence to Lord Commander Dathrohan’s testimony?” Tirion’s whole body clenched as he saw Barthilas spring up from his seat.

“I can, milord,” the young Paladin stated excitedly. “I was there, under Lord Dathrohan’s command, when the incident took place. I bore witness to Tirion’s treachery firsthand.” The scorn in his voice was evident when he spoke his superior’s name. Tirion could hear Arden groaning behind him.

Uther dismissed Dathrohan and motioned for Barthilas to come forward. Dathrohan gripped Barthilas in a searing gaze as they passed each other. Apparently, the youth’s efforts to win his way into the Lord Commander’s good graces were not working as well as Barthilas had planned. With surprising calm, Barthilas took his place near Tirion’s chair. His face was proud and intent.

“State your claim,
junior
Paladin Barthilas,” Uther said icily. He was obviously disgruntled by the younger Paladin’s lack of respect for his superior. Guilty or not, Tirion was still to be addressed by his title.

Undeterred, Barthilas continued. “Just as Lord Commander Dathrohan said, milord, I saw
Lord
Fordring fight to save the orc from capture. He said that he had made a pact with the creature and would be damned if we incarcerated it,” Barthilas said matter-of-factly. “You see, I knew he was up to something. I had a feeling that this
vile traitor
was untrustworthy even before we set out to capture the orc!”

“Silence!” Uther shouted, his voice reverberating through the chamber like thunder. He ensnared the now trembling Barthilas with his overpowering gaze. “You will learn to control your tongue,
junior
Paladin. I have known this man for years. We saved each other’s lives more than once, and stood victorious before the enemy more times than I can clearly remember. Whatever he may have done, he certainly deserves more than to be harangued by an unseasoned boy like yourself.” Barthilas turned white as a sheet and looked as if he might faint. “Your testimony has been heard and will be reviewed by the court. You are dismissed,” Uther finished. Reddening in embarrassment, Barthilas hurried back to his seat. Tirion watched as the jurors once again began to converse with one another.

The four lords finished their deliberations and motioned that they were ready to proceed. Uther turned to stare down at Tirion. His gaze seemed to look straight into Tirion’s heart, searching for some explanation for his friend’s unprecedented behavior.

“Lord Paladin Fordring, do you have anything to say in your defense?” Uther asked Tirion levelly.

Tirion stood up and solemnly addressed the court. “My lords, I know that the notion must sound preposterous, but the orc saved my life. In return, I gave him my word as a Paladin that I would protect his as well. The orc’s name is Eitrigg, and he is as honorable an opponent as I have ever faced.” Jeers and shocked gasps erupted from the assembled onlookers. Tirion continued unabated. “You must understand me when I tell you—in order to follow my orders, I would have had to betray my honor as a Paladin. That I could not do. That said, I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit.”

Uther strode over to the four jurors and knelt beside them. He argued with them briefly, pointing his finger as if to stress a point. After a few moments, it appeared as if the jurors had relented and Uther walked back to the lectern, victorious.

“Lord Paladin Fordring,” he began, “this court is well aware of your long years of service in defense of Lordaeron and its allied kingdoms. Every man here is aware of your courage and valor. However, consorting with the sworn enemies of humanity, regardless of their supposed honor, is a grievous crime. In granting the orc amnesty, you took a terrible risk and gambled the safety of Hearthglen on a personal whim. In light of your service, this court is prepared to offer you a full pardon if you will disavow your oath to the creature and reaffirm your commitment to the Alliance.”

Tirion cleared his throat. It would be so easy to simply give in and go home to his wife and son. He turned to see Arden wringing his hands in anticipation.

“Please, milord. Commit to them and be done with it,” Arden whispered anxiously. Tirion saw Dathrohan take a step forward, as if urging him to forget about the orc and clear his good name.

“Let’s put this nonsense behind us, Tirion,” Dathrohan exclaimed under his breath.

“Lord Paladin Fordring? What is your answer?” Uther asked suspiciously, seeing Tirion’s hesitation.

Tirion braced himself and faced the court members boldly. “What is to be done with the orc, milord?” The great Paladin looked surprised by the question, but saw fit to answer anyway.

“It will be executed, like any other enemy of humanity. Regardless of your personal experience with the creature, it is a savage, murdering beast that cannot be allowed to live.”

Tirion bowed his head and thought for a moment. He pictured Taelan’s innocent face in his mind’s eye. He wanted to go home, so badly . . . .

He raised his head and saw Dathrohan give him a pleased smile; the Lord Commander seemed convinced that Tirion would make the right decision. Tirion saw his course plainly. He would make the only decision honor would permit.

“I will remain committed to the Alliance until my dying day. Of that, have no doubt,” Tirion said confidently. “But I cannot disavow the oath I took. To do so would be to betray everything I am and everything we, as honorable men, hold dear.”

This time the entire gathering erupted in fury and shock. None could believe Tirion’s brazen decision. Even the noble jurors gaped openmouthed at Tirion. The tired Paladin thought he heard Arden weeping behind him, and his heart sank even lower. Dathrohan sat down heavily in his chair, shaking his head in dismay. Barthilas seemed to be on the verge of jumping out of his seat in excitement. Many of the gathered warriors began to shout obscenities at Tirion and call him a traitor. Some spat at him as he stood motionless before the stage.

Rubbing his eyes wearily, Uther motioned for the court to fall silent once more. He was beside himself with anguish over what he must do, but Tirion had stated his position clearly.

“So be it,” Uther said ominously. “Tirion Fordring, from this day forth you are no longer welcome among the Knights of the Silver Hand. You are no longer fit to bask in the grace of the Light. I hereby excommunicate you from our ranks.”

The audience gasped at Uther’s words. Excommunication was a rare, harsh punishment that stripped a Paladin of his Light-given powers. Though it had only been used a few times, every Paladin lived in mortal fear of it. Tirion could not fathom what was about to happen. Before he could utter another word, Uther made a sweeping motion with his hand. Immediately, Tirion felt a dark shadow pass over him, choking out the holy power of the Light. Panic threatened to overwhelm him as the grace and strengthening energies of the Light fled his body. The blessed energies, which had been such an integral part of him for so long, ebbed away just as if they had never been. Though the light of the Hall never wavered, Tirion felt as if he had been wrapped in darkness and cast down into oblivion. Unable to withstand the raging despair and hopelessness that washed over him in waves, Tirion lowered his head in abject despair.

Uther continued. “All trappings of our order will be stripped from you,” he said as two Paladins came forward and viciously ripped the silver plates from Tirion’s wracked body, “as well as your personal titles and holdings.”

Tirion struggled against despair. Never in his life had he felt so naked and powerless. Images of Taelan and Karandra sifted through his tortured mind. He had to get a grip on himself. He had to think of his dignity. On wobbly legs, he stood and faced the court once more.

“You shall be exiled from these kingdoms and live the rest of your days amongst the wild things of the world. May the Light have mercy on your soul,” Uther finished.

Tirion felt dazed, His head spun and anxiety threatened to overtake him. He was barely conscious of Uther’s next words to the assembly:

“Though it goes against my better judgment, it is the will of this court that Paladin Barthilas take over as regent governor of Hearthglen, effective immediately. Barthilas is to remain here to oversee the morning’s hanging and then return home to his duties. The exile, Tirion Fordring, is to be escorted back to Mardenholde keep. There he will collect his family and be escorted to the borders of the Alliance lands. These proceedings are over,” Uther said, smashing his armored fist against the lectern. He gazed at Tirion in frustration, clearly disgusted with the trial’s outcome.

“My lord, I have one last question,” Tirion barely managed to say. Uther paused to listen—a final gesture of respect and friendship for his former comrade. “My wife and son . . . are they to be exiled as well? Will my sin damn their lives as it has mine?” Tirion asked shakily.

Uther bowed his head in sorrow. The man before him was a good man. This was no way for a hero to be treated.

“No, Tirion. They may remain in Lordaeron if they so desire. This was your crime, not theirs. They should not be punished for your pride,” Uther said. He then turned his back on Tirion and departed. Lost in a haze of despair and grief, Tirion was barely aware of the guards hauling him out of the Great Hall.

A  Sort  of  Homecoming

I
t was twilight as the tired envoy made its way back to Mardenholde keep. It had begun to rain during the afternoon, and the weary horses trudged their way down the muddy road. Arden, leading the somber column of knights and footmen, looked back at Tirion worriedly. Tirion was slumped over in his saddle, heedless of what transpired around him. His broad shoulders drooped weakly and his head was bowed in grief. The ceaseless rain ran in rivulets down his haggard face. Arden’s heart broke, seeing his former lord and master in such a state. He was forced to look away. Looking toward the keep, the captain saw that Tirion’s advisors had gathered at the main gate to greet their returning lord.

Tirion’s stomach was tied in knots. He was blocked from the Light. In the thirty years that he had served as a Paladin, he never dreamed that the blessed power would be stripped from him. He felt absolutely hollow inside. Wallowing in despair and misery, he was unable to even lift his eyes toward the sight of his former home.

Arden rode slowly up to the gate and dismounted. The advisors, at seeing Tirion’s near-comatose state, asked the captain what was wrong.

Arden grimaced. “There have been some changes,” he said to them curtly. The advisors looked at each other in confusion.

“What do you mean, Captain? Where have you both been these past few days? What is wrong with our lord?” one of them asked heatedly.

Arden bowed his head in shame and sorrow. “Our lord Tirion has been found guilty of treason against the Alliance,” he said with a heavy heart. “The High Court has ordered that he be exiled from our lands.” The advisors gasped in shock.

“Surely you must be mistaken. That’s impossible!” one of the advisors said shakily. He looked into Arden’s eyes and saw that it clearly was not.

“It can’t be,” the advisor said blankly. Arden nodded grimly and helped Tirion dismount from his horse.

“Well, who is our lord now, Arden? Who will rule over Hearthglen?” another advisor asked. Arden shook his head and scoffed as he answered, “Barthilas will be your new lord, for the time being.”
It did sound like a bad joke,
he thought to himself. He put his arm around Tirion and started to lead him inside. “I want the guards to stay alert tonight. Tirion is to remain here under house arrest. At first light, I will take a party of footmen and escort him to the border. Until then, neither of us is to be disturbed. Is that clear?” the captain asked in a gravelly voice.

The shocked advisors merely nodded their assent. Arden dragged Tirion in out of the rain and ushered him toward his private chambers, hoping that he wouldn’t have to face Karandra before morning. Not for the first time, he wondered if there was anything that he could have done to prevent this all from happening.

*    *    *

Arden leaned Tirion the against wall outside his private chambers and opened the door.

“Thanks for your help, Arden. This has been. . . very difficult. I just wanted you to know that you’ve been a good friend to me. I’m sorry all this has happened,” the former Paladin said.

Arden nodded and turned away slowly. “If there’s anything you need, let me know,” the captain said as he left.

Tirion watched him leave and found just enough strength to close the door behind him and collapse in a chair. Overcome with emotion, he buried his face in his hands. His limbs would not stop shaking, and the gnawing emptiness in his gut threatened to devour what was left of his soul. He couldn’t face his wife and tell her what he’d done. Ironically, after all the years he’d refused to lie to her, he found now that he couldn’t bear to tell her the truth.

The adjoining door to Taelan’s room opened and Karandra stepped out quietly, shutting it behind her. She looked surprised to see Tirion sitting there in the dark.

“Tirion, what has happened?” she asked urgently. She lit a decorative lantern, and its soft light bathed the room. Shadows danced across the walls as she knelt down beside her husband.

“Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

“I accompanied Lord Dathrohan back to Stratholme,” he muttered, his head still bowed.

“You know, Tirion, you’ve been sneaking off quite a bit lately. If I didn’t know you any better, I’d assume that you were seeking comfort from another woman,” she said teasingly. Tirion raised his head and looked at her. Seeing the deadened look in his eyes, she knew that he was not amused in the least.

“Tirion, darling, what’s wrong? Has something happened to you?” she asked worriedly. He looked over toward Taelan’s room.

“Is the boy asleep?” he asked quietly. Karandra frowned and answered that he was.

“I don’t quite know how to tell you this, my love,” he began somberly, “but I have been branded a traitor and stripped of my titles.”