The Trial
I find it hard to describe exactly how I felt being accused of the massacre of Ember. I was confused, mainly. It was so obviously a ploy by Luskan, that I wasn't sure what they hoped to achieve. They didn't even bother finding a mage to impersonate me – as a sorceress it would seem strange that I went around cutting peoples heads off! Part of me thought that they just enjoyed an excuse for slaughter, and I hated them for it.
No doubt many who read this will have also read the account of the battle of words between myself and Torio Claven. I will not repeat here what was said, suffice it to say that it was all irrelevant; in the end it came down to violence, just as it always does. Indeed, the only point I ever saw in the trial was that it brought Sand to me. He brought something to my life that Bishop never could – humour. His dry wit never failed to bring a smile to my face, and sometimes, just sometimes, I thought I saw a warm smile in return.
I cannot begin to communicate the bone aching weariness I now feel at the thought of battle. I am tired; tired of fighting, tired of killing. It was not so then. Then I welcomed the chance to meet out justice for Ember. I embraced the thought of dealing death to such a vile individual – right after I embraced Bishop on the altar of Tyr.
Perhaps it was Bishop's influence that made me slay Lorne, but to me that seems a hollow excuse. I chose not to offer mercy, and that is one of my greatest regrets. Evil begets evil, it is said, and there is some measure of truth to those words. In killing Lorne, I became a little more like him.