How does one sleep on a night like this, a night when he knows that with the morn, he must fight for his life? 

    Though I have bid others tell me of their thoughts the night before their first Sword Tribunal, none of them would ever speak of it. Perhaps they have taken an oath not to, but perhaps they simply do not wish to think back on the time. 

    You never see such a man without many scars--ones he does not brag about. How could he?  In gaining them, he condemned others to their fate, a doom from which none have returned. I do not wish to become one of them, but it is our law, irrevocably laid down by Dhir, and I dare not act against his holy will. 

    No, I will not rest tonight, but hold vigil and write, hoping that if I do fall tomorrow, others may at last have a record of another's thoughts on the night before the struggle for his life begins. 

-From the Record of Zerun, acolyte of Dhir 

Alduous Eden stared up at the immaculate white stones of the Tribunal Tower, wondering if he should turn and run the other way with all his might. He had faced many such Tribunals—once a year for twenty years—but somehow, this one felt different. Something told him that if he stepped into the Tower, he might not emerge at all.

     Chuckling nervously to himself, he shook his head at the thought. He was being macabre. Certainly, the Tribunal had to condemn some every year, but he had no reason to believe it might be his turn. He was still relatively young, and in his prime, able and willing to give many more years of service to the Sanctuary.  They would have to see that, surely.

     He forced himself to stay with his gaze fixed on the tower, but when he heard footsteps approaching from behind, he turned, not wanting to obstruct anyone who was trying to get around him on the path. Instead of a random pedestrian, however, his brother Silas stood there, clutching a parcel under one arm. He wore the long, gray robes that marked him as a lesser mage, and his light brown hair stood out in wisps all over his head, as per usual. He had often wanted to ask his brother if he arranged it like this on purpose for some reason, and if so, how?

     Silas cleared his throat and he scampered the last few steps to Alduous and help out the cloth-wrapped parcel in one hand. “Thank Shran I caught up with you before you went in there. I ran all the way here. Haven’t done a thing with my hair all day.”

     Alduous chuckled slightly as he accepted the package. “With you, brother, I wouldn’t be surprised if you claimed not to have done anything with your hair all your life. What brings you to me with such haste? I thought you hated running.”

     Bobbing his head rapidly, Silas answered. “I do, I do. And that may never change.” He patted his more than ample stomach. “But I had to catch you before you go in there. The glass if full of dark omens today, and I don’t want you to go in unprepared. What sort of brother would I be then?”

     Alduous eyed the package, weighing it in his hands. It did not feel as heavy as he figured a package of this size should. “What is this, brother? I do not need something to humiliate myself in front of the Tribunal. If anything, this is not the time for tricks.”

     Holding his belly, Silas laughed and shook his head. “Oh, no, nothing like that I assure you. Though I would rather like to introduce Judge Sargen to some of my latest concoction. It turns every hair on your body green…even your eyebrows and eyelashes. Sometimes happy accidents bring the greatest discoveries.”

     His face quickly became solemn again. “I pray that you do not have to use that at all. Only undo the wrappings if things go wrong. Very wrong. I won’t have you going in unprepared.”

     “But I am prepared,” insisted Alduous. “I have rehearsed my defense countless times. Do you really think they would judge me unworthy?” Though the words came out confidently, Alduous knew his brother would not agree with him.

     True to Alduous’ prediction, Silas wagged his head back and forth slowly. “It’s not enough, brother. With Judge Sargen taking the first seat, you’re in terrible danger. You know how he feels about you. You might be holding the Shield around the Sanctuary up all by yourself and he’d still criticize the boots you’re wearing. Mark my words—you’ll never get a fair trial from him.”

     Alduous keep his brother’s parcel lightly under his arm. “Maybe not,” he said. “But Sargen is not the only judge, even if he does have the first seat. The others have nothing against me as far as I know.”

     Silas’ face struggled for a few moments, twisting as if he wanted to speak, but then thought better of it. He started to speak twice, and cut himself off, before he finally managed something coherent on the third try. “Just keep that close you, all right? I don’t want to lose you, and neither does Windley. This is from both of us.”

     The thought of Windley made Alduous’s heart ache. If something were to go wrong today, she’d be hit the hardest. It had seemed strange to him at first that she had not shown up to see him off before the Tribunal, but then as he thought about how little she liked goodbyes, it wasn’t so surprising. “I’ll keep it close, and I’ll see you tonight.”

     He reached out and put a hand on Silas’ shoulder. “Save me some of that green potion,” he said, patting his brother’s shoulder before drawing his hand away. “Judge Sargen’s not the only one who deserves it.”

     They parted ways and Alduous renewed his pace toward the Tower, stepping with confident strides. He reached the bridge in front of the Tower, which crossed over a moat of pristinely clear water, so that it showed the polished white stones beneath. The bridge had been constructed of the same pearly stones as the tower, fit perfectly together in rows. On the other side of the bridge stood the gleaming metal door of the Tower, which reflected the light of the Sanctuary’s Shield that glowed down on them from above. On either side of the door stood a guard in white, polished armor, the pieces fitting together with the same precision as the Tower’s stones.

     As he approached, they each raised their spears, long metals shafts with a sharp, white stone on the end. “State your name to be admitted to the Tribunal,” said one of the guards in a voice devoid of emotion.

     Alduous bowed his head and raised a hand, palm displayed, in peace. “I am Alduous Eden, follower of Shran. I have come to stand before the Tribunal.”

    The guards lowered their spears and stepped away, the doors drawing back as they did. He stepped through the door and waited for the doors to swing shut again.

On the other side of the door, he felt a deep chill, the kind encountered the presence of powerful magic. Others had tried to speculate with him just what sort of a magical tapestry the judges had woven around the place to protect themselves, but he knew it was futile. It took great skills to be able to discern the magic of others, and he had never had the patience of his brother to learn the magical ways. Of course, he called on the power of Shran for mundane things as everyone did, but had never been able to clear his mind enough to store enough of the holy power before to form more complicated spells.

Before him stood a staircase that wound up the entire height of the tower. He knew every step well. One of the spells upon this place surely had to do with memory, for soon as he stepped foot on the stairs, the events of the past year unfolded to him vividly in his minds eye in a way not even his excellent memory could normally attain. It acted as a boon for the underprepared, reminding them of their actions so that they complete their case. The magic, however, did not discriminate between good and bad memories, leaving them all to be relived in great detail.

At the bottom of the stairs stood a guard like the one outside the doors. Alduous approached the stairs and put his foot on the first step, at which point the guard fell in behind him, the point of his spear leveled at Alduous’ back.

Alduous knew the guards would let him take his time, but would never allow him to take even a single step backwards. Most would not dare to something so foolish this close to tribunal anyway, though there had been a few that Windley had attended, the poison in the tips of the guards spears causing agony for weeks.

Alduous started up the steps at a brisk pace, not lingering so that the memories would come slowly. He remembered the last year well enough.

He saw the many hours he spent in the archives, poring over the oldest of documents that explained much about the age that come before there's, when the world have not been divided between the faithful and heathen.

In fact, he saw so much of himself buried in scrolls books that it became a bit tedious. In between, however, he saw his time with Windley, walking the perimeter of the Sanctuary and marveling at the great beauty of the great magical dome that protected the Sanctuary from the outside world and showered the light of Shran upon them. They had so many wonderful conversations that way, and sometimes he felt that she was really the only one he could talk to.

Windley. His brother’s words came back to him. She will take it hardest if you do not return.

Alduous shook away the thought. He would return, moon forsaken Judge Sargen or no.

Alduous continued, seeing more than a few of his brother’s pranks, and his attempts to clean them up. He saw feast and festivals, sleeping and waking and all the moments made of year, the sum total of his existence. He had heard tale of dying men whose lives played out before their eyes much like this. Could what was happening now? The memories seemed more vivid than ever, charged with more emotion.

As he reached the final curve of the stairway, he replayed an incident had happens not too long ago. The scene came with such clarity that it nearly stole his breath. He could see Windley, her long red hair in multiple streams tied with dark blue ribbons around the bright red strands.

She had looked especially radiant with the light the Shield casting intricate patterns across her skin. She had stopped to throw her arms around me, pulling the close. I had returned the embrace, but had then looked to the side and saw a figure approaching them and pulled back and spun toward it. When he looked again, there was no one and Windley thought it was something she had done.

No! He cried out of his mind. I don't want to see any more of that.

But whatever magic worked here did not listen to his cries. She had not seen or spoken to him for days and if he asked himself it was at that moment that has forebodings had started. After the incident, he had thrown himself so completely into his defense that he had barely seen her of his own accord. What would she think of him now? What would she think if he never came back?

For the first time in his life, Alduous truly considered taking his chance against the guard, ducking under the spear and running back down the stairs. Perhaps he would even be forced to relive events again on the way down in reverse, but it didn't matter. He had to see her again, had to apologize for being so callous, for thinking only of himself. What if he never got the chance again?

The thought dredged up dread from the deepest and darkest corners of his nightmares. But as he looked back, he could see the guard so close behind him, his gleaming metal girth taking up almost all of the stairwell. That way led certain doom, while with the Tribunal at least he might have a chance. Perhaps his fears were unfounded.

Clenching his teeth and bawling his fists against the pain forming in his heart and stomach, he ascended the last the stairs and watched as two more guards opened the massive doors to the Hall of Tribunal. Alduous walked with what he hoped look like confident steps through the main door and in to the circular chamber.

    He closed his eyes momentarily, knowing that the initial shock of the light would blind him. Opening them little by little, he saw that little had changed since his last annual visit, with the exception of the order of the twelve men and women sitting in high-backed chairs in a semi-circle. On the arm of each chair sat a clear orb, resting in a shallow depression.

     They all wore white robes with a colored sash draped over one shoulder, with the exception of the man who sat in the middle, Judge Sargen, whose sash was also of the purest white.

     In the center of the semicircle, a column of pure light rose from the floor to the ceiling, pulsing gently, and scattering light and shadow across the stone floor. In the midst of the light stood a man with hands upraised, his body motionless. Alduous had seen the Preserver, who kept the shield around the Sanctuary, many times before, but it always filled him with a sense of reverent wonder to see a person who had devoted himself to Shran so completely.

     As Alduous stepped around the pillar of light, Judge Sargen rose, his blues eyes forming an icy stare toward Alduous. He did not know whether the magic of the Tower had something to do with it, but the judge’s face looked younger and more flawless than ever, enhancing his natural handsomeness, and presence.

     “Alduous,” speaking his name with relish while placing his hands together. “How good of you to come. Let us begin.” 

Chapter 2:

At the end of the day, I am still here to fight and to write what I can. I did not sleep much the night before. I left my home early, collecting my things, the only things that I need in the Tribunal Pit. Many men strap on thick plates of armor over their entire bodies, but that is not my style nor more craft. I am one of the few remaining followers of the ancient craft of Lutveren.
 

It was passed down through my family line, from those who lived before the Scourge, before mankind was concentrated in one place. For those unfamiliar with the practice, it entails calling on the holy power of Dhar to swiftly move objects through the air, strategically attacking your opponent. I bring into battle not my sword, nor my ax, or even a bow but instead a bag of various projectiles that can be used to slice, bludgeon, or impale my foe. My craft brings the added advantage that's not many now living know how to defend against it. Of course, as a practitioner of my art, I know also how to defend against it, but if I am to come up against another opponent of my art, I will indeed be surprised.

I cleared my mind as I walked, giving myself as completely over to Dhar as I could, letting his power flow into me to fill the void. As they say, when one is hollow, only then he will be filled. My early start allowed me to reach the pit before the appointed time so that I had plenty of time to stand on its rim and gaze into the abyss below.

-From the Record of Zerun, acolyte of Dhir

“I am ready,” Alduous said. “Where would you like me to begin?”

            Judge Sargen waved a dismissive hand. “We have seen the record of your life, and it raises many questions. Perhaps you would care to answer them.

            Alduous bit his lip, stifling a reaction. This was not like the other times. They had always allowed him to present his own defense first. He looked from Sargen to the other judges, none of whom dared contradict the judge in the first seat.

            “Pose your questions,” Alduous said, giving the slightest of bows. “I am prepared.”

            “Very well,” Judge Sargen said. “I see that you spent much time in perusal of old texts. Days upon days, in fact. What could possibly justify taking so much time on this, when there are so many other vital tasks to be done?”

            Alduous cleared his throat and addressed Judge Sargen directly. “Revered judges,” he began. “I treasure the work of seeking to restore the world more than any citizen of the Sanctuary. But how long have we toiled without success? Some may say that it is simply because we have not yet exercised enough patience to please Shran, that we have not contributed enough energy to the Preserver, or that our sufferings have not been great enough to warrant our deliverance. It is not for me to say which, if any of these, is true. I fear that we look too much to the future and not enough to the past.”

            A murmur passed between the judges, and another, an elderly woman, who nevertheless possessed a smooth face. “And what is it you hope to find in the past? Have not our fathers and their fathers before them poured over the records? What is it you hope to uncover that they have not?”

            Feeling the tension grow in his stomach, Alduous continued, trying not to let his nervousness show in his posture or voice. “A new set of eyes may see the old things in a new light. We have only the accounts of what the old records say, passed down from our fathers. We know that the world endured a Scourge from Shran, and that our forefathers fled to this Sanctuary at his command. But I have not yet a man or woman who can tell my why. If we do not know the sins for which the world was punished, how can we possibly attempt to absolve ourselves from them? How can we please Shran, when we know so little of his mind and will?”

            “Stop!” thundered Judge Sargen. “We will hear no more of your blasphemy! You will not misuse the name of Shran in our presence.”

            Alduous bowed again, but continued. “I do not speak against Shran, nor his will. I only wish to understand his mind and will. I believe that only then, can we accomplish our great task.”

            “And, in all this time, did you discover the mind and will of Shran?” asked another male judge to the left of Judge Sargen. “Perhaps you would like to enlighten us with your newfound wisdom.”

            Alduous paused, weighing his next words before responding. He could feel the eyes of all the judges boring into him. Never had he felt such a confrontational tone from the judges. “Certainly,” he began. “The oldest writings speak of the time of the Scourge, and how mankind was called to flee one of two Sanctuaries. If this is one, where is the other, and why do we never speak of it? Perhaps it is they who hold the power over external magic. Perhaps, they are the missing piece of why we have not been able to free ourselves from this prison.”

            Before Alduous could continue, Judge Sargen clamped his hands over his ears. “You speak against the teachings of Shran! Cease speaking your lies!”

            The breath caught in Alduous’ throat. There was no reason these ideas should make the judge so angry, but as he looked around, he saw Judge Sargen’s outrage mirrored on the faces of the other judges. He held up his hands and spoke up. “I am simply reporting what I found in the ancient records. I do not speak a single word against Shran, may he reign forever. There is no harm in learning what our ancestors wrote.”

            “And how much time did you spend in the fields, Alduous?” asked the old woman. “Or in building up the fortifications? How long did you spend gathering and offering magic to the Preserver? Perhaps I glossed over a portion of your life, but I did not see significant time in any of these activities.”

            “I…I…that is to say—“

            “It is because you did not spend significant time on these things,” Judge Sargen said. “Another year has passed, and you have nothing more to show for it than a collection of blasphemous theories. I would say that you wasted your time…wasted your life.”

            A spark of anger ignited in his chest. This had less to do with his activities of the past year and much more to do with petty jealousy. To think he had something that a judge would envy. Then again, thinking in terms of possession wasn’t right either. Windley didn’t belong to anyone.

            “With all honor due your position, Judge Sargen, I believe your feelings have clouded your judgment. I have indeed spent many hours in study, but also many taking care of others, seeing to their needs, which I prove if I were allowed to give my prepared defense. If it were not for your affections for Windley, you would not be condemning me now. Her heart has nothing to do—“

            Judge Sargen’s face reddened, his cheeks filling until they his face looked liable to burst. “You will not speak another word! Judges, what we have here is someone who is dangerous to our society. If we allow his lies to spread, they will corrupt others, and draw their hearts far from Shran. How long would it be before he struck us with a second Scourge after that?”

            While some of the judges remained silent, most of them took up Sargen’s cries of blasphemy. Hardly able to believe what he was hearing, Alduous cursed his momentary loss of control. He should have never mentioned Windley. Apparently, the judge’s feeling ran deeper than he knew.

            For the first time since he entered the chamber, he thought seriously about using his brother’s package. Would his brother dare send him in with useless prank at a time like this? He had seemed sincere enough outside the tower, but that was the thing with Silas—you never could be too sure. He held the package tighter, waiting to see if the judges would jump to the final stage of casting their lots. It would take a full two-thirds of the judges to rule against him in order to convict, and it still seemed likely that at least that many would stand against Judge Sargen’s ravings.

            “Let us cast our lots and bring and end to his schemes!” Judge Sargen cried, hefting the clear orb that rested on the arm of his seat. Within seconds, the surface of the orb clouded, taking on a dark, swirling appearance. He had cast his obvious vote against Alduous.

            Casting his eyes from one judge to another, Alduous saw them cast their votes, coloring their spheres black, one after the other, without a single one voting in his favor. He clamped his eyes shut and help them hard before opening them again. Could this really be happening? Why would they simply believe Judge Sargen, and let him force a mockery of a Tribunal?

            Judge Sargen rose form his head, bearing his orb aloft in one hand. “The Tribunal has spoken, Alduous Eden. You are to be cast into the pit, the abyss from which no man returns. Take hear that in your death, you will be assisting another, who may live in your stead, one who will better serve the Sanctuary, and Shran most holy.”

            The words fanned the spark of anger into a full flame, and before he could second guess himself, Aldous gripped Silas’ package with both hands and tore it open.