The dungeon smelled of ancient urine and wet soot. It was a four-by-four box of damp granite.
Kael's world was a small, suffocating darkness. His head throbbed. Every beat of his heart sent a spike of lightning through his temple. That was where the spear-butt had landed. His left eye was swollen shut.
He looked at his hands. The shackles were heavy iron. They bit into his wrists. The blood on his sleeve had dried, it was no longer red but a crusty, black scab. It felt like a second skin. A skin of guilt.
"Get up."
The cell door didn't groan. It shrieked.
Two guards stood there. They weren't House Veridan guards. They wore the charcoal-grey tabards of the City Watch. The Neutral peacekeepers. They looked at Kael with an almost physical disgust.
"I didn't do it," Kael said. His voice was a dry rattle.
The guard on the right didn't answer. He just reached in and grabbed Kael by the collar of his tunic. He hauled him out. Kael's legs were like lead. He stumbled. His shackles clattered against the stone floor.
The walk to the Hall of Records felt like a mile. They didn't take the servant's passageway this time. They took the main thoroughfare.
The Hall was a cavernous space. High vaulted ceilings. Arches made of white marble that looked like the ribs of a giant. It was designed to make a man feel small. It worked.
The room was packed.
Kael saw the faces. Minor nobles in their fading silks. Merchant lords with fat rings. Even the Lowlanders were there, crowded into the back. They were all there for the same thing.
Justice was the lie. Catharsis was the truth.
Lord Veridan sat on a raised balcony to the left. He looked like a statue carved from shadow. He didn't look at Kael. He looked at a point on the far wall. Beside him, the hooded man stood still. His presence was a cold draft in the room.
In the center of the hall, behind a massive obsidian desk, sat Magistrate Vane.
Vane was a small man with a greasy face and eyes that moved too fast. He wore the purple robes of his office. They were too big for him. He looked like a child playing dress-up in his father's clothes.
"Kael Varyn," Vane said. He didn't look at a file. He didn't look at Kael. He looked at the crowd. "Stand."
The guards yanked Kael upright.
"You are accused of the highest treason," Vane's voice was high enough. It carried through the hall. "The murder of Julian Veridan. The heir to a Great House. A pillar of our society."
"He was my friend," Kael croaked.
Laughter.
It started in the front and rippled back. A harsh, jagged sound.
"Friend?" Vane sneered. He leaned forward. "A Null-rat does not have friends. It has masters. And you bit the hand that fed you."
"The balcony broke," Kael said. He tried to project his voice. He tried to reach the people in the back. "The mana-veins were tapped. It was a trap!"
"We have the evidence," Vane snapped. He waved a hand.
A footman stepped forward. He held a tray. On it lay two items.
The first was the scrap of vellum. Kael's name was written in bold, fresh ink.
The second was a cluster of jagged, violet crystals. They pulsed with a sickly, unstable light.
"Void-Shards," Vane said. The crowd gasped. "Shatter-Zone artifacts used to destabilize mana-structures. Found hidden beneath your pallet in the servant's quarters."
"I've never seen those before," Kael said. The hopelessness started to sink in. It was a cold, heavy weight in his gut.
"And the blood," Vane pointed at Kael's sleeve. "The blood of a noble on the skin of a Null. You were found over the body. You were seen by Master Harl."
Harl stepped out from the shadows. The old footman didn't look at Kael. He looked at his own boots.
"I saw him," Harl whispered. "I saw him running from the scene. He had the crystals in his hand."
The lie was so smooth. So perfect.
Kael looked at Harl. "Why?"
Harl didn't answer. He couldn't. Kael saw the man's hands trembling. He saw the faint, glowing mark on Harl's neck, a fresh brand of House Veridan loyalty. They hadn't just bought him. They had owned him.
"The evidence is overwhelming," Vane declared. He didn't even pretend to deliberate. He didn't consult the other officials.
He picked up a heavy iron gavel.
"Kael Varyn. By the authority of the Sun-Kings and the grace of the Hegemony. You are stripped of your name. You are stripped of your citizenship. You are declared Anathema."
The word hit the room like a physical blow.
"For the crime of noble-slaying," Vane continued, his voice rising in a rehearsed crescendo. "You are sentenced to the Abyss Pits. Permanent exile. To serve as fodder for the Shatter-Zone until the abyss claims your soul."
Crack.
The gavel hit the obsidian.
The crowd erupted.
"Scum!"
"Null-rat!"
"Burn the void-leech!"
The guards grabbed Kael's arms. They didn't lead him out. They dragged him.
They pushed him through the main doors of the Hall. The sun was bright, it was blinding, and Kael squinted.
A gauntlet of people lined the steps. Thousands of them.
The Lowlanders were the loudest. They threw stones. They threw filth. They hurled slurs that Kael had heard his entire life, but now they felt sharper.
"You make us look bad, you piece of trash!" a woman screamed. She threw a handful of wet mud. It hit Kael in the chest.
"Think you're better than us?" a man shouted. "Think you can kill a god?"
Kael didn't fight back. He didn't look at them.
He looked at the sky.
The floating citadels were still there. They were indifferent. They didn't care about the trial. They didn't care about the blood. They were the sun, and Kael was just the dirt.
He was pushed toward a heavy, iron-barred wagon. It was pulled by six massive, grey beasts with clouded eyes and sagging skin. "Pit-Crawlers."
The guards threw him inside.
He hit the floor of the wagon. It was covered in straw and the stench of previous prisoners.
The iron door slammed shut.
Clang.
Kael crawled to the bars. He gripped them with his broken fingers.
The wagon began to move.
He looked back through the dust. He saw the Hall of Records. He saw the marble ribs.
He saw Lord Veridan standing at the top of the steps. The Lord was watching the wagon disappear. He looked satisfied. He looked like a man who had successfully disposed of a broken tool.
Kael slumped against the side of the wagon.
The hopelessness was shattering. He was a Null. He was heading to a place where the air was poison and the monsters were real. He had no weapon. He had no power. He had no hope.
He reached into his waistband. The scrap of vellum was still there.
He pulled it out and looked at his name.
He didn't tear it. He didn't throw it away.
He crumpled it in his fist.
The wagon hit a rut in the road. Kael was tossed against the bars.
His shoulder hit the iron. The wound where Julian had gripped him, the blood-soaked patch, began to itch.
It wasn't a normal itch. It was a deep, biting tingle. Like insects crawling under his skin.
He closed his eyes.
The sound of the crowd faded. The sound of the wagon's wheels became a rhythmic thud.
Thud-thud. Thud-thud.
It wasn't the wagon.
It was a heartbeat.
Down in the dark. Down in the hollow center of his chest.
Something was waking up.
And it was very, very angry.