Hey everybody! I was really happy with the response I got for the last chapter, so please keep reviewing and letting me know what you think! Your favorite parts, your least favorite parts, whatever! Soon we'll be getting more into Malandra's interaction with some of the other characters, it's been a little slow going so far! And if any of you want to take a guess at who the knight is who gets singled out a little bit in this chapter, I'd love to see your thoughts!
Chapter 7 : Trials Make us Stronger?
It wasn't long before Malandra heard footsteps coming towards her. Malandra contemplated standing to project herself as a confident young woman, but decided she'd rather not try to be something so far out of her reach at the moment. Additionally, standing would only put her shaking knees front and center. Hopefully the herd of elephants coming towards her would be going past her for some other prisoner kept in this dark, cold, and lonely dungeon.
It was a group of men who finally appeared and stopped in front of her cell. Four of them looked to be simple guards while the other two wore the uniforms of the Knights of Camelot. Both of them looked somber as they opened the door, though the one with the brown scruff looked outright sad. That was certainly not a look Malandra had been expecting.
Now she moved to stand on her feet, having to grab onto the wall when she realized her legs had fallen asleep. The knights stepped forward and kept her standing as they unlocked her shackles. Already the strips of metal had rubbed her skin an angry red. Having freed her the knights took up place beside her, with two guards both ahead of her and behind her.
"Six men for one girl?"
"Six men for one witch," one of the guards behind her ground out.
"No talking," warned one of the guards in front, and the knight who had looked saddened earlier pressed on her arm as if to warn her from making further comment.
The rest of the walk was silent, the only noised coming from the sounds of the armor the knights wore and the swish of Malandra's skirts. It wasn't long until they reached a large set of doors guarded by two men.
"That the witch?" One of them asked.
"The accused witch," the knight who Malandra was growing more grateful to every second, corrected. "There is no reason to assumer her guilt yet."
"You clearly haven't been here long," the man teased, his face twisted in an unpleasant smile. "They're always guilty."
The doors opened and Malandra's breath caught in her throat. It wasn't merely the king she'd be judged in front of. There was a whole roomful of Lords and Ladies—and plenty of servants too. They lined the walls all the way to the throne where King Uther sat. Her breath began to come in little pants and she could feel her heart racing. If her entire village had ever gotten together in one place, they would just barely have equaled the number of people in this room.
The King stood.
"We hereby accuse you of using magic in an attempt on my life. The sentence for your crime will be death."
"Father, we haven't held her trial yet."
The speaker's voice was respectful, but with an undercurrent of frustration. Blonde, with strong features, he radiated power and authority. The crown on his head marking him as Prince Arthur was almost unnecessary. His eyes when they met Malandra's were sharp, but not unkind.
"What is your name?"
"Malandra, daughter of Hyacinth."
No one reacted to the name except an old man standing near the king, who whispered urgently into the ear of a servant with a red kerchief.
"And so you have magic Malandra?"
The Prince's question snapped Malandra out of her observation. How was she supposed to answer that? Should she flat out deny it? Should she come up with an elaborate story telling of her absolute innocence or . . .
"Yes, I have magic."
The assembled crowd let out a collective gasp and began to chatter as Malandra's guards pushed her to her knees. She could hear the ring of swords being drawn from scabbards and the hair on the back of her neck rose up.
"I knew it!"
Prince Arthur quickly overran his father.
"Truly, you have magic?"
Somewhere within herself she found the strength to answer his question calmly.
"I never intended to use it here. I was only to drop off some herbs and leave. But then your father," here she realized she was being too bold and her calm was lost to slight panic. "He almost ran over a child by running his horses to madness in town. She couldn't have been ten years old! If you had the power to save a child, wouldn't you?! I couldn't let her die!"
Complete and utter silence followed her outburst. Everyone was staring at the king, whose face was turning several shades of red.
"Seeing as she's confessed," the king said, giving his son a glare, "her execution will be carried out as previously stated. Take her back to the dungeons, don't let her excape."
No one spoke in anything louder than a hushed whisper as she was escorted out of the room. Malandra did her best to avoid their eyes, knowing the fear she would see would be her undoing. Just as she reached the doors she glanced back at the throne room one more time, hoping her words had made a difference to someone. Her feet tangled as she caught the eye of the old man. He didn't look frightened or angry, like she had expected. Instead he looked merely concerned.
She lost eye contact with him as she was wrenched back to her feet by one of the guards and prodded forward. Malandra soon found herself pushed into her cell, and she allowed the momentum to carry her into the corner. The knights followed her in and she kept her eyes on the dirty gray wall in front of her as they bound her arms and legs in chains. As the sounds of the door clanging shut and the lock clicking echoed through the passageway Malandra felt her knees give out.
She was being executed, that was that. There would be no last minute rescue, no escape. She had no friends to defend her, no one to care that she would be gone. The village in which she had grown up would miss her of course, but they had prepared themselves for this. They had warned her that going to Camelot would bring about her death.
Which was why she didn't dare turn around or glance out the small barred window the cell was provided with. As part of their warnings, the villagers had been explicit in describing each step in the execution of a magic user. That window, her only connection to the outside world, would be filled with a view of the square in which they were building the pyre they would burn her on. To look out would be to look upon her death.
The longer Malandra looked at the stone wall the greater the desire to look out the window became. Having forbidden magic since she was barely old enough to say her name, however, had taught her something of control. There were plenty of things she wanted, but that she would never have. So instead of pressing her face against the bars of the window, she turned instead to the slowly shrinking patch of light on the floor.
Judging by the light it was early evening when the shadow of a person's head appeared.
"Lady, lady, are you in there?"
Sorry guys, I really didn't want to leave it there, but I didn't want to wait too long before I put out the next chapter! I wanted to do this yesterday, and have a lot more in it, but I just didn't have time. Apparently professors don't take the need to write fanfiction into account when they assign a huge workload.