"Kel,"
I knew that voice: it was a voice as familiar as my own—a voice I would die for. "Kel," he said it again, a little more desperately, and my heart skipped a beat.
"Dom," I replied sitting up and wiping my eyes groggily.
Domitan of Masbolle gasped as the torch he held aloft threw my battered face into full relief. I knew I must have looked bad, so I grimaced bravely and said reassuringly, "It's not as bad as it looks, Dom, really."
He wasn't fooled for a second, however his eyes seemed to be searching my face for something else, something more than mere physical pain. His eyes raked up and down my body—I felt myself blush, and hated myself for allowing my emotions to show so plainly on my face, so thought smooth, like stones. My Yammani training took over and a façade of indifference masked my inner emotions.
Still Dom stared, examining my face with a look close to disbelief. Finally he stammered, "But…Kel…why…and…what…why…" he spluttered, leaving me more stunned than him.
What was this about? Didn't he understand that I couldn't kill the man—not while I still had an honor to defend? Suddenly I felt defiant and drew myself up to my full height. I meant to shout at him, make him understand my predicament, but he saw the pleading in my eyes and nodded imperceptibly.
"I understand," he said softly, "You're required by law to kill, but that doesn't make it right." I nodded my appreciation of his understanding, but I refused to feel relief. I was still locked in the local garrison, still risked looking my shield, still liable to loose my place in court, but none of that mattered too much to me. They could take what they wanted from me—kill me for all I care—but the one thing these people can't take from me is my honor. That is mine, and mine alone.
"We'll figure a way out of this Kel. We always do." He forced as much confidence as he could into those few words, but it was enough. Dom, at least, believed me.
I spent another cold night on the hard stone floor with the other rat inhabitants. It had been two nights since the duel—two impossibly long nights full of doubt, uncertainty, and fear.
Yet, despite the cold, I slept well. For the first time since my act of defiance, I felt calm and composed, assured that I was in the right. Seeing Dom awoke in me a feeling of pride. It was people like Dom and Raoul of Goldenlake and Malorie's Peak who I aspired to be. People who lived by the Code—ate drank and slept by the Code—and died defending the beliefs they so cherished. The beliefs that practically screamed at me that I had done no wrong.
Coming to this conclusion, I slept well: blanketed by the comfort of my conviction that to kill the man would have been dishonorable—downright murder. Feeling serene for the first time in days, I closed my eyes and slept.
I stood before the court, glancing at Lalasa, the Lioness, Raoul, and Dom each in turn. My face stony, I faced the front of the room and watched with bated breath as a young knight, whose name I knew not, recounted my "disgraceful" actions, complete with resplendent detail. I waited tersely for the audiences' reaction. They gave no thought to the family that would have been mourning the death of a father, and woman mourning the death of a husband. Their only concern was in my rebellious actions.
Finally, mercifully, the wait was over. Time seemed to slow down as I stepped foreword to hear the verdict. I heard incomprehensively, as a voice rang out clearly through the courtroom din.
I wasn't to be killed—my previous actions of killing the Nothing Man, commanding New Hope, and the various other commendable things I had done had earned me a clemency. No, I wasn't to be killed, though after they stated my punishment I rather thought I would have preferred death.
I was to be stripped of all my titles, cast out of the knighthood in shame, relinquish my claim to all inheritance, and leave Tortall—never to return.
My body was numb. There was a ringing in my ears. It didn't make sense: all that chastisement for one, little, tiny act of defiance. But I knew I was being unfair to the law. If they had let me go with only a reprimand, they were as good as saying that I was right. This wasn't about just my actions anymore—it was about making a statement.
But leave Tortall forever…I refused to believe it. I started shaking uncontrollably, convulsing in spasms of denial…
…When I awoke, it was in a cold sweat—still on the compact floor of the local garrison. It was just a dream, I repeated, just a horrible dream.
But if that was the truth—why didn't I feel any better?