Colonel Williams strode into the chamber and took the carved, high-backed seat in the middle of the table, sparing Riot only a frosty glance of disapproval. Captain Mercer entered next sporting two black eyes and a purplish-yellow bruise across his broken nose. He took his seat next to the colonel, glaring at Riot with undisguised hatred.

  At the end of the table sat Ritta Kerne wearing a faint smile as if the whole thing were a joke that only she understood.

  Several dozen other officers wearing the uniforms of a dozen regiments entered and took seats in the gallery, each of them glaring down at Riot and muttering to each other. Likely more fools who had heard about the upstart sergeant who had questioned their precious honor and come to watch his demise.

  Williams banged the gavel down irritably, letting the chatter die down before he spoke. “Let’s get on with this,” he said, his tone grim. “What are the charges against Sergeant Riot?”

  “Theft of a hedron from the Arcanum of Volos,” Kerne said promptly.

  “Being a jumped-up guttersnipe,” Captain Mercer added to a ripple of snobbish laughter from the gallery.

  Williams slapped his hand on the table, and Mercer jumped slightly. “Damn it, Jack! The reputation of this regiment had been damaged enough by Sergeant Riot. I will not have my officers debase it any further.”

  “My apologies, Colonel,” Mercer said, with an inclination of his head.

  “The charges for this court-martial have been brought by Ritta Kerne of the wikkan. Penalty sought?” Williams asked, casting a dark glance at the witch.

  “To be hung from the neck until dead,” Kerne answered swiftly.

  “Nathanial Riot, you are to be stripped of your rank and hung from the neck until dead. This court-martial is adjourned.”

  Williams took up the small gavel once more and smashed it on the table, dropping it with a disgusted look on his face. Mercer slapped the table and gave a triumphant bark of satisfaction.

  Riot knew what he had to do, but the words stuck in his throat. It was madness they were already going to kill him, and how he was going to aske them to add a side order of torture.

  The room was a babble of conversation, but Kerne just watched him—a cat watching a mouse. A witches bargain. But that was all he had now.

  “I want to be made leybound,” Riot said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “What did he say?” Mercer demanded.

  “I think he requested to become leybound,” Kerne said, her eyebrows furrowed as if this was the first she was hearing about it.

  “Is this true, Riot?” Williams asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mercer scoffed while Williams' expression hardened. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but there’s no way out of paying for your crimes. Leybound cost money and a great deal of resources. At your age you would never survive. Request denied.”

  A confused buzz of conversation rose in the chamber and Riot knew he should have left on the fishing boat. Kerne would never have gotten away with hanging Ruddle and half a company of men. What was he thinking?

  The chamber fell silent momentarily as the door slammed open and a tall Erudoran swept in. His long grey hair was clasped behind his neck and his pockmarked cheeks pulled his mouth into a permanent frown as if he was in constant disapproval of everything he saw. The grey uniform was bare, save for a silver pin in the shape of a snarling wolf.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  An explosion of noise arose from the gallery, and Williams slammed the gavel down repeatedly, shouting for order to be restored.

  Riot looked to Kerne and the witch gave him a wink that caused a tide of dread to sweep over him. Kerne knew his real family name and she had betrayed him to the Erudorans. They would ship him off to their island kingdom and make him pay for crimes that happened before he was even born. He tugged in vain at the chains.

  “Lord Roveran,” Williams proclaimed, getting to his feet and greeting the newcomer with a stiff bow.

  Riot stopped struggling, his hope shattered. There would be no escape. This was Roveran Listor, the man they called the Wolf of the King, the Orc killer. He was the first lord of Erudor that had united an empire in a campaign of blood.

  Roveran returned Williams bow with one of his own and cast a slow glance around at the now silent gallery. If a pin had dropped in that moment, the sound would have blown the doors off their hinges.

  “A most unexpected surprise,” Williams said.

  “Most surprises are unexpected, Colonel Williams, are they not?” Roveran replied in the clipped accent of the Erudoran nobility.

  “My Lord.” Kerne stood and gave a businesslike nod.

  “Is it done?” Roveran asked, directing his question at Kerne.

  “The court martial is concluded, and Sergeant Riot has made his request, though there is some objection related to the cost,” she replied.

  Roveran’s gray beard was neatly trimmed to a point, and like most Erudorans, his eyes were light gray. But it was his hands that drew Riot's attention. They were covered in scars, every inch of them with silvery runes that had been cut into his skin in minute detail.

  Roveran was Leybound? It didn’t make sense. Leybound were criminals, murderers, thieves, and convicts who chose an uncertain death with the Arcanists rather than certain death on the gallows. They weren’t noblemen.

  “Where is your uniform?” Roveran asked Riot.

  “Lord Roveran, we have concluded this court-martial, perhaps I can help you if you have a specific request,” Williams said.

  “Where is your uniform?” Roveran asked again, completely ignoring the colonel.

  “Taken, sir,” Riot said.

  Mercer stood, contempt twisting his features. “Of course he has no uniform. He’s been charged with a grievous crime and stripped of his rank. His actual crimes are far worse than formally recorded. I assure you, he assaulted me!”

  “Do you wish to undertake the procedure to be bound to the leylines?” Roveran asked Riot.

  Roveran was Leybound, but he spoke with the air of a general and commanded the obedience of a colonel of a regiment. He was nothing like Price, bitter and betrayed, or the other poor wretches in the prison, suspected and despised by officers and rank and file alike. He was powerful and respected. Riot caught Kerne watching him intently, and the wikkan gave a barely perceivable nod of her head.

  “I really don’t see,” Williams began.

  “Yes,” Riot replied, his mouth dry. “I want to be made leybound.”

  “I will sponsor Sergeant Riot, supplying the elixirs required and an arcanist of my own choosing. I understand that under the current regulations, he will be transferred to the newly formed leybound company and retain his rank?”

  Williams cast a dark look at Kerne and sat back down on his chair, his expression glacial. “The newly formed leybound company?”

  “Formed this morning actually. A folly, but one that I hope will bear fruit,” Roveran replied.

  “Leybound criminals in the Arcanum regiments? It’s madness!” Mercer cried, turning on Colonel Williams, his hands balled into fists. “Edgar, surely you can’t support this? We can’t let some foreigner come in here and dictate to us. This is our regiment, damn it, we bloody paid for it.”

  “I must agree with Captain Mercer, My Lord, this is highly irregular. This is a matter for the Duke of Fallows regiment,” Williams explained.

  “In the spring, Edgar, all regimental matters will fall under my purview, do you disagree?”

  Williams' mouth twisted into a sneer. “Only if you can get your army here.”

  “This is preposterous! He should be flogged, every inch of bloody skin flogged off of his bloody back!” Mercer declared.

  For a moment, Mercer looked as though he might leap over the table and make good on his threat, but at a signal from Kerne, the two wikkan girls stepped forward to flank Riot.

  “You’ll never find an arcanist to do it. I know people in the conservatory,” Mercer yelled as he limped out of the chamber.

  “Kerne, have Sergeant Riot escorted to the embassy,” Roveran said.

  “Yes, Lord Roveran,” Kerne replied.

  Roverans gray eyes briefly fixed on Riot, two light pools in which swam neither mercy nor empathy, before the Erudoran lord strode out and the gallery erupted in animated conversation.

  Williams slumped in his chair, fixing Riot with a stony glare. “You fool. In a few hours, you’ll wish you’d chosen the noose.”