Chapter 18: The trial of lies.
THE DAWN BEFORE
Dawn broke over Briarkeep with the kind of brilliant clarity that felt almost cruel. The sky burned gold and crimson, painting the town in shades of fire and blood. A perfect day for a trial. A perfect day for a duel. A perfect day for everything to change.
Hexia had not slept.
He sat on the edge of the narrow bed in his cell, watching the light creep across the stone floor, marking time in inches of illumination. His bound hands rested in his lap. His crimson eyes were distant, hollow, seeing something beyond the physical walls that contained him.
Lhoralaine's midnight visit played on repeat in his mind. Her words. Her tears. Her acceptance of whatever came next.
Whatever happens tomorrow—I'll accept it.
Tomorrow was today.
And he still didn't know if he wanted to survive it.
The sound of footsteps echoed through the corridor—multiple sets, purposeful, approaching. The guard captain appeared at his cell door, flanked by two others. His expression was professionally neutral, but something in his eyes suggested discomfort with what was about to happen.
"It's time. The trial begins in two hours. We need to prepare you."
Hexia stood without resistance. "What does preparing me entail?"
"Cleaning up. Proper clothes. Making you presentable for public judgment." The captain's voice softened slightly. "You'll be in front of the entire town. Lord Cruxxe wants this done properly. With dignity."
"Dignity. Right." Hexia's laugh was hollow. "Because being paraded before a crowd like a trophy is so dignified."
"It's better than the alternative."
"Is it?"
The captain had no answer for that.
They led him from the cell to a washing room where servants waited with clean water, soap, and fresh clothing. The guards removed his bonds—temporarily—and left him to clean himself under watch.
Hexia stood under the cold water, letting it wash away three days of travel grime and exhaustion. His reflection stared back at him from a polished metal mirror—black hair plastered to his skull, crimson eyes empty, face too beautiful for the darkness they contained.
An angel's face. A demon's heart. That's what they say about me.
Maybe they're right.
He dried off and dressed in the clothes provided—simple but well-made. Black pants. White shirt. A dark vest. Clothes befitting someone on trial for their life. Not armor. Not protection. Just cloth.
They bound his wrists again—looser this time, ceremonial rather than functional. Everyone knew he could break free whenever he wanted. The rope was theater. Performance. A symbol of civilization's fragile control over violence.
"Ready?" the captain asked.
"As I'll ever be."
They led him through the estate's corridors toward the plaza. The sounds grew louder as they approached—the roar of a crowd, thousands of voices blending into white noise. Anticipation. Excitement. Bloodlust dressed up as justice.
The captain paused at the final doorway. "For what it's worth... I hope it goes well for you."
"Thank you. But we both know how these things usually end."
"Maybe. But I've seen stranger things."
The doors opened.
The noise hit like a physical wave.
THE PLAZA
Briarkeep's central plaza had been transformed into an arena of judgment. A massive raised platform dominated the center—high enough that everyone could see, solid enough to bear the weight of destiny. Lord Cruxxe's chair sat at the head, carved and imposing, the seat of authority made manifest.
But it was the crowd that stole breath.
Thousands. Packed into every available space. Hanging from windows. Climbing on each other's shoulders. Pressed against the barriers the guards had erected. Rich and poor, young and old, human and otherwise. All gathered to witness.
This wasn't just a trial. This was entertainment. Spectacle. The kind of event that would be talked about for years.
The whispers started the moment Hexia appeared:
"That's him?"
"The swordsman of rolling heads?"
"He's so young!"
"Beautiful like an angel..."
"But those eyes. Look at those eyes."
"Cold as winter. Empty as death."
"I heard he killed fifty bandits without breaking a sweat."
"I heard he can heal without chanting."
"I heard his blade never misses."
"I heard he's already dead inside. That's why he doesn't fear dying, and he even offered his head to prove his intent that of helping the daughter of lord cruxxe."
Hexia walked through the crowd with the guard captain's hand on his shoulder—not restraining, just guiding. His face remained expressionless. His eyes scanned the masses without recognition or emotion.
He was performing now. Playing the role of the accused. The monster. The martyr. Whatever they wanted to see, he would provide.
They led him to the platform. Chains waited—attached to a post at the center. Thick iron links that gleamed in the morning sun. The guards secured him to the post, the chains running through the rope at his wrists.
Symbolic. Theatrical. Meaningless.
But effective imagery.
Hexia stood at the center of the platform, chained like a dangerous animal, while thousands of eyes judged him from every direction.
This is fine, he thought with dark humor. Just another day ending in potential execution. Normal stuff.
Lord Cruxxe emerged from his estate, flanked by advisors and officials. He wore his formal robes—deep blue trimmed with silver, symbols of authority embroidered across the fabric. His face was stern, unreadable, the mask of a lord who could not show favoritism.
He ascended the platform, took his seat, and let the crowd's noise wash over him for a moment before raising his hand.
Silence fell like a guillotine.
"People of Briarkeep!" His voice carried across the plaza, amplified by the acoustics and by magic woven into the platform itself. "Visitors from afar! We are gathered here today to witness justice. To hear testimony. To judge the actions of one man accused of murder."
He gestured to Hexia.
"Hexia, son of Jerkin and Marie of Korn Village. You stand accused of the murder of Fred Butlix, adventurer of this town. The evidence is clear—witnesses saw you strike him down in the Rusty Blade tavern three weeks ago. His head was severed from his body by your blade. He died instantly."
The crowd murmured. Some in satisfaction. Some in horror. All in morbid fascination.
"The punishment for murder, as you all know, is death. However—" Lord Cruxxe raised his hand again, forestalling the crowd's reaction. "—in the interest of justice and fairness, we will hear testimony from those who witnessed the event. We will hear from those who knew the deceased. And we will determine whether this killing was murder... or something else."
He looked at Hexia directly.
"How do you plead?"
Hexia met his gaze without flinching. When he spoke, his voice carried clearly despite not being amplified. "I killed Fred Butlix. That is fact. Whether it was murder depends on your definition of the word. He attacked first. He threatened people I care about. He was a manipulator and an abuser who'd spent years destroying someone's life. I gave him chances to leave. He chose violence. So I answered with violence. If that's murder... then I'm guilty."
The crowd erupted. Some cheering. Some booing. The guards struggled to maintain order.
Lord Cruxxe banged his gavel—a massive thing, more club than tool—against a metal plate. The sound rang like a bell, cutting through the chaos.
"ORDER! We will have order!" He waited until the noise subsided. "Very well. The accused admits to the killing but claims justification. We will now hear from witnesses. Who speaks first?"
A moment of hesitation. Then—
"I do, my lord."
Sirenia stepped forward from the crowd.
SIRENIA'S TESTIMONY
She looked magnificent. Her silver hair was bound back in a warrior's braid. Her blue eyes blazed with fierce determination. She wore her adventuring gear—leather and steel, practical and intimidating. She looked like someone who'd ridden to war and come back victorious.
The crowd parted for her as she approached the platform. Whispers followed:
"That's Sirenia!"
"Lord Cruxxe's daughter!"
"The Silver Blade!"
"She's beautiful..."
"Look at how she's looking at him..."
"Oh, this is going to be good."
Sirenia climbed the platform steps with fluid grace. She stopped before Lord Cruxxe, bowed formally—the bow of a daughter to her father in public office—then turned to face the crowd.
"I am Sirenia of the Silver Blades. Daughter of Lord Cruxxe. B-rank adventurer. And witness to the events of three weeks ago."
Her voice rang clear and strong.
"I was present in the Rusty Blade tavern when Fred Butlix died. I watched the entire confrontation. And I testify—here, now, before all of you—that Hexia acted in self-defense. That Fred attacked first. That Fred had his sword drawn and was threatening not just Hexia, but myself and another woman present."
She pointed at Hexia, her finger steady.
"This man saved my life twice. Once on the road from bandits. Once in that tavern from an abuser who'd lost control. He is not a murderer. He is a protector. A guardian. Someone who kills when he must, not because he wants to."
"And what is your relationship to the accused?" Lord Cruxxe asked, his voice carefully neutral.
Sirenia met her father's eyes. Then Hexia's. When she spoke, her voice softened but lost none of its strength.
"I love him."
The crowd exploded. Gasps. Shouts. Excited whispers spreading like wildfire.
Lord Cruxxe's expression remained neutral, but something flickered in his eyes—pride, perhaps, or concern. "I see. And does this love bias your testimony?"
"No, my lord. I would testify the same even if I hated him. Because the truth is the truth, regardless of my feelings. Fred was the aggressor. Hexia was the defender. Those are facts, not opinions colored by love."
"Very well. Your testimony is noted." He looked to the crowd. "Who speaks next?"
Another figure stepped forward.
Lhoralaine.
LHORALAINE'S TESTIMONY
She looked different from three weeks ago. Thinner. Harder. Her blonde hair was pulled back severely. Her black eyes held shadows that hadn't been there before. She wore simple clothes—not adventuring gear, not finery, just plain cotton and leather.
She looked like someone who'd been to hell and barely crawled back.
The crowd's whispers changed tone:
"That's Lhoralaine!"
"Fred's lover!"
"Former lover, I heard."
"She was there too?"
"This is getting complicated..."
"Love triangle!"
"Better than theater!"
Lhoralaine climbed the platform slowly, her movements careful, controlled. She bowed to Lord Cruxxe—deeper than Sirenia had, the bow of a commoner to nobility—then turned to face the masses.
"I am Lhoralaine. B-rank adventurer. Former party member of Fred Butlix." Her voice shook slightly but held. "And I was present when he died."
She took a breath, steeling herself.
"Fred was my lover for five years. I thought I knew him. I thought he loved me. I was wrong." Her hands clenched into fists. "He manipulated me from the start. Positioned himself between me and my childhood friends. Made me doubt myself. Made me need him. All as part of some petty revenge scheme against Hexia."
The crowd murmured. This was news. Scandal.
"For years, he gaslit me. Lied to me. Cheated on me. Made me think I was crazy when I questioned him. And through it all, I believed him. Because I wanted to believe that someone loved me. That I'd made the right choice all those years ago."
Her voice grew stronger.
"But I was wrong. And Hexia tried to warn me. Years ago. Before Fred and I left for adventuring. He saw what Fred was. He tried to tell me. But I didn't listen. I chose Fred anyway. And that choice nearly destroyed me."
She looked at Hexia directly. Tears streamed down her face but her voice didn't waver.
"Three weeks ago, Fred attacked Sirenia in that tavern. He was violent, angry, out of control. He had his sword drawn. He was going to hurt her—maybe kill her. And then Hexia arrived."
"Hexia gave Fred chances. Multiple chances. Told him to leave. To walk away. To choose life over violence. Fred refused. Fred attacked. And Hexia defended."
She turned back to the crowd.
"I watched Fred's head roll across that floor. And I felt... relief. Freedom. The lifting of a weight I'd carried for five years. Because Hexia did what I couldn't—he ended the man who was destroying me."
Her voice dropped, becoming intimate despite the thousands listening.
"Is that murder? Killing someone who's actively threatening innocent people? Someone who's been abusing and manipulating others for years? Or is that justice?"
She looked at Lord Cruxxe.
"I testify that Hexia acted in defense of others. That Fred was the aggressor. That everything Hexia did was necessary and justified. And if that makes him a murderer..." She smiled sadly. "Then I'm grateful for murderers like him."
The crowd erupted again—louder this time, more divided. Arguments broke out. Shouting matches. The guards moved to contain the chaos.
Lord Cruxxe banged his gavel repeatedly. "ORDER! ORDER IN THIS PLAZA!"
Slowly, grudgingly, the noise subsided.
"Very well. Two witnesses. Both testifying in defense of the accused. Both claiming justification." He looked stern. "But we must also hear from those who claim otherwise. Who speaks against the accused?"
A moment of silence.
Then several people stepped forward.
THE FALSE WITNESSES
Five of them. Three men, two women. Common folk by their clothes—merchants, laborers, tavern workers. Their faces were nervous, sweating despite the morning cool.
The first man stepped up. His voice trembled. "I-I was in the Rusty Blade that day, my lord. I saw everything. That man—" He pointed at Hexia with a shaking finger. "—he attacked Fred without warning! It was murder! Cold-blooded murder!"
The crowd murmured uncertainly.
The second man nodded vigorously. "That's right! I saw it too! Fred was just sitting there, talking with Lhoralaine, when Hexia burst in and attacked! No provocation! No warning! Just violence!"
The first woman spoke up. "Fred was defending himself! He only drew his sword because he was being attacked! It was self-defense on Fred's part, not the murderer's!"
The second woman added, "And I heard Hexia threaten Fred! Said something about 'heads will roll'! It was premeditated! He came there to kill!"
The fifth man—older, with a scar across his face—spoke with more confidence than the others. "I've known Fred for years. Good man. Kind. Would never hurt anyone. This murderer—this monster—killed him out of jealousy! Because Fred had the woman Hexia wanted!"
The testimonies built on each other, weaving a narrative of unprovoked violence, of jealousy, of cold-blooded murder without justification.
The crowd was wavering now. Confused. Two witnesses for defense. Five witnesses for prosecution. The math seemed simple.
Sirenia's face had gone pale with fury. "They're lying! I was there! That's not what happened!"
"And you love the accused," one of the false witnesses shot back. "Of course you'd lie for him!"
"I'm not lying! You are!"
"Can you prove it?" The scarred man smiled nastily. "Can you prove we're lying and you're telling the truth? Or is it just your word against ours?"
Lhoralaine looked between the false witnesses and Hexia, her expression anguished. She knew they were lying—she'd been there, she'd seen everything. But how could she prove it?
Lord Cruxxe's face was grim. "Conflicting testimonies. Two witnesses for defense, five against. This complicates matters."
He looked at the crowd, then at Hexia.
"Given the weight of testimony against you—"
"They're lying."
Everyone turned. An old woman pushed through the crowd, her weathered face set in determination. She was small, bent with age, but her voice carried surprising strength.
"Those five people are lying through their teeth, my lord. And I can prove it."
THE TRUTH REVEALED
Lord Cruxxe's eyebrows rose. "And who are you?"
"I'm Margaret, my lord. Baker. Mother of six. Grandmother of twelve. And parent of one very stupid son who's standing up there lying his ass off."
She pointed at the scarred man.
The crowd gasped. The scarred man's face went white.
"Mother, I don't know what you're—"
"Shut your mouth, Tobias, before I shut it for you." Margaret's glare could have melted steel. "I didn't raise you to be a liar and a cheat. But here you are, lying to our lord, lying to this town, all because some dead bastard's friends paid you to."
She turned to Lord Cruxxe.
"My lord, these five people were paid to lie. Fred Butlix had associates—other manipulators and schemers who benefited from his activities. When he died, they panicked. So they bribed these five to claim they witnessed something they never saw. To paint the man who killed Fred as a murderer instead of someone defending innocent people."
"That's a serious accusation," Lord Cruxxe said carefully.
"And I have proof." Margaret pulled out a pouch from her apron. "Found this hidden in my son's room last week. More money than he's ever had in his life. When I asked where it came from, he broke down and told me everything. How Fred's friends approached him. How they offered gold to testify against Hexia. How he wasn't even at the tavern that day but was supposed to claim he was."
She threw the pouch at her son's feet. Coins spilled out—gold, glinting in the sun.
"There's your proof. Blood money. Thirty pieces of gold to betray the truth."
The crowd erupted into chaos. Shouting. Accusations. The five false witnesses tried to flee but guards surrounded them, grabbed them, held them in place.
"Is this true?" Lord Cruxxe's voice cut through the noise like a blade. "Tobias? Were you paid to lie?"
The scarred man—Tobias—looked at his mother, at the crowd, at the gold at his feet. His shoulders sagged in defeat.
"Yes," he whispered. "Yes, we were paid. We weren't even at the tavern. We just... we needed the money. Fred's associates said it was just testimony. That nobody would get hurt. That the murderer deserved to die anyway."
"Who paid you? Names. Now."
Tobias hesitated. One of the other false witnesses—the younger man—cracked first.
"Gerald Thorne! He runs the gambling den on Market Street! He was one of Fred's partners! He's the one who organized this! He said if we didn't testify, he'd—"
He stopped, realizing he'd said too much.
Lord Cruxxe's face had gone from stern to furious. "Guards! Find Gerald Thorne and any of Fred Butlix's known associates! Bring them here! Now!"
The guards scattered into the crowd. Chaos erupted as people either tried to help identify Fred's associates or tried to shield them. Fights broke out. Screaming. Confusion.
Through it all, Hexia stood chained at the center of the platform, watching with empty eyes.
So this is justice, he thought. Theater and bribery and corruption. People lying for gold. People telling the truth for love. And me, standing here, waiting for strangers to decide if I deserve to die.
Maybe I do deserve it. Not for killing Fred. But for everything else. For the emptiness. For the coldness. For failing to be human for so long.
Maybe—
"Hexia."
Sirenia had crossed the platform. She stood before him, close enough to touch if he weren't chained. Her blue eyes searched his face.
"Don't," she said quietly. "Don't do that thing you do. Where you retreat into your head and convince yourself you deserve to suffer. You don't. You defended people. You did the right thing. And you're going to be okay."
"You don't know that."
"I do. Because I won't let anything else happen. Because I'll fight for you. Because you're worth fighting for."
"I'm not—"
"Yes. You are. And you're going to let me prove it."
Before Hexia could respond, the guards returned. They dragged several men in chains—including a well-dressed merchant who could only be Gerald Thorne. His face was purple with rage and fear.
"This is outrageous! I demand—"
"You demand nothing!" Lord Cruxxe's voice thundered. "You stand accused of bribery, corruption, conspiracy, and obstruction of justice! Guards! Search them! Find evidence!"
They did. And they found plenty.
Letters detailing the bribery. Lists of names—all of Fred's associates, his accomplices in various schemes. Records of manipulations, cons, thefts. Years of corruption documented in meticulous detail.
Because Fred had kept records. Evidence against everyone he worked with. Insurance, probably. Blackmail material.
And now it would damn them all.
THE TURNING TIDE
Lord Cruxxe stood, his face carved from stone and fury. "People of Briarkeep! What we have witnessed here today is not just a trial. It is the exposure of corruption! Of evil that has festered in our town for years!"
He pointed at Gerald Thorne and the others.
"These men worked with Fred Butlix. They benefited from his manipulations. His schemes. His destruction of innocent lives. And when he was killed—killed while attacking innocent people—they tried to paint his killer as a murderer! They bribed witnesses! They corrupted justice itself!"
The crowd was angry now. Righteous fury building.
"And the man they accused?" Lord Cruxxe gestured to Hexia. "The man they called murderer? He is the protector of Korn Village. The swordsman of rolling heads. A man who has saved countless lives. Who kills only when necessary. Who gave his victim multiple chances to leave before defending innocent people!"
He looked at Sirenia and Lhoralaine.
"We have heard testimony from two witnesses of unimpeachable character. One is my own daughter. The other is a victim of Fred Butlix's manipulations. Both testify that Hexia acted in defense of others. That Fred was the aggressor. That justice—real justice—was served that day."
He turned to Hexia directly.
"Given the evidence. Given the testimony. Given the exposure of corruption and lies. I hereby declare—"
"WAIT!"
A new voice thundered. Powerful. Wrong.
The sky darkened.
TO BE CONTINUED...
The trial reaches its climax. The truth is revealed. Justice seems certain.
But destiny has other plans.
But what happens when the heavens themselves are about to intervene?