SCRAAAPE. SCRAAAPE. A curved white line appeared across the stony floor. A finger traced along its length, before rising up to rest on lips under a disorderly moustache. “It was supposed to be like this” Rum mumbled, “wasn’t it?”
He stared at his creation. It wasn’t exactly a pretty, elegant, nor even accurately drawn, but much, much better than his two other tries. He glanced over at them. His first drawing had been abandoned even before he’d gotten halfway into it. Some of the lines there looked like squiggles. Others ended abruptly by undershooting on connecting points, or overshooting far beyond, cutting across the image he was trying to make and making a mockery of it. His second attempt had been less clumsy, but, that’s far too many lines. Also, how did I ever think of adding triangles? There was never any triangles.
The wizard sighed heavily. “I could’ve needed Amez here.”
CLOMP! CLOMP! CLOMP! CLOMP! The sounds of many boots down the hallway. Rum’s head shot up from his work. A great many were marching up the column of prisons. Hastily, Rum drew the mattress over his drawings and tucked the stone deep into his sweaty fist, clenching it hard. He slowly began stepping over to the bars, only for a large body of guards to enter into his view like a mass of shadows behind the bright light. They filled out the space across the bars outside, halting one by one until they all were there, taking up the entire space. Gnomes the lot of them. Spearfolk, crossbowyers, mages. At least thirty in total, the wizard reckoned. And each one of their heads looking inside the cell, at him.
“Today starts your trial, Rum Warmhud” announced the grave voice of an elegantly moustached, unarmed mecha gnome. “Agent of the dungeon lords. Or so say the accuser. Which is The Iron City itself – The Council of The Mecha Gnome Nation accuses you, as does Shoss The Reformed, whose enterprise stands as one of your vic-tim-sss.” The gnome let the sentence linger at the end. “Allegedly.” He paused a bit longer, before changing tone, sounding more informative. “Your trial is to be held today, in a courtroom of our truth and our discipline, presided by veteran judges. They will determine your fate with the wisdom of their experienced service.”
A gnome next to the official unlocked and opened the cell door. Wordless, somber-looking, Rum stepped outside. The gnomes around him backed up to form a semi-circle, into which he stepped. Then they reformed around him, all of them into a vaguely square formation with him near the front and center. Ahead of Rum the official stepped up and positioned himself as the head of the formation. And, with the official taking just two steps forward, the whole group was sent marching.
This time Rum was taken in a different direction. Not towards the interrogation room, but back to the surface. This became evident as they entered into the horizontal corridor which connected all the cells, and instead of going left, they went right, on towards that door which lead to the killing field. Soon, as they arrived, that great double-door was opened for the official by another gnome, and they walked in. Rum was met by many eyes there. Gnomes, dwarves, hiding behind murder holes or lounging with suspicious stares along the walls, Rum was marched passed them all, up the stairs and all the way to the door of the surface. There the official commanded the door to be opened, producing a sign with a magic ring. It took a bit of time, but soon it was opened, and Rum saw daylight for the first time in many days. If not more? It feels like it’s been closer to two weeks by now. Time had gone by slow and fast at the same time in the cell. He hadn’t kept track of it. Not that he had any easy ways of doing so. He didn’t know if his sleeping had roughly followed the passing of nights, but even if they had, the uneventfulness of Andertun’s depths made all the days blur into each other. Only the stone has given me something to do. Something to keep me fixed, a sense for the progression of time. Of differentied events succeeding each other. As they marched out into the surface light, Rum’s grasp on his stone tightened. It was a much warmer and friendlier light than the magical spotlight of Andertun, Rum noted. Neutral, indifferent, purposeless, just a phenomenon than was there, yet so comfortable, even as Rum would have given a lot to experience true night again.
The escort brought Rum all across The Shadow, the streets of craftsfolk in their fungibricked shops, over the border into The Iron City. There Rum was brought into wide streets filled with caped gnomes, all of them busying themselves towards duty and breaktime, and many of them glancing at his procession. It was a long walk here across the city, in which Rum could do little but sigh at the faces who met him, and carefully fondle his little stone for comfort. Finally, they arrived at one of the great Iron Towers, whereupon the gnomes took Rum straight inside and to the reception center. Ahead of Rum, he noticed a row of iron cages. Elevators. To the left was a couple of receptionists, to the right a lunch bar filled with working gnomes on break. Contrary to his expectations, his escort didn’t bring Rum into the iron cages. Instead as they walked towards them, the official made a swift left turn and they headed towards the corner of the tower. As they rounded a wall there, Rum saw a set of stairs. Stairs made for gnomes though, so as they began to climb, the human wizard had to take two steps at a slower pace, while the gnomes went one step at a time.
“Why aren’t we taking the elevators?” Rum found himself wonder aloud.
The official glanced behind briefly, before looking back forward again. “We won’t all fit, and we don’t take the risk of you overpowering a few guards. Your level has not yet been determined with certainty, and you’ve already shown yourself to be a danger. No. You will walk the stairs with us so that if you try anything, we can maneuver against you and take you down.”
Rum remained silent after that. They passed several floors before they arrived at their destination, which after a few more corridors of flat walking led them to a fine pair of double-doors, with a row of seats outside. The official pointed to a chair, and Rum sat down obediently. The guards stood to rest around their prisoner, in the semblance of a semi-circle in front of the doors. Finding his own chair to sit in, the official too sat down. They all stared at the door, with the officail periodically pulling out a pocket watch and checking it. Several minutes later, and the doors opened, leading Rum into a large circular room resembling an amphitheater, with a row of gnomes sitting at the center behind a desk, raised above a single chair in front.
Rum was marched right to the center. As he walked, he looked at the row of gnomes whom he guessed to be his judges. Old, all of them. White and grey hair, but shortcut, with similarly colored moustaches for the men, as was the mecha gnome custom. Their uniforms were all white too, and consisted as far as Rum could tell of loose-sleeved dress shirts with large silvery buttons, and of course a cape, which in this case was also white, but broader, more ornate than was common in the streets. Most striking of all, at least for Rum’s purposes, was how they all had serious, grumpy-looking faces. They looked mean. Three old men, two old women, and they all collectively scowled, looking as if offended by his very existence. Not just at his presence, which they were now gifted with. No. He was sure they’d been scowling even at the door before he’d entered. Those kind of deep-set scowls were aimed at his very name, his soul, the simple idea of him. His body was the mere pinpoint, the coordinates by which the scowls could be aimed like a crossbow. He was sure he didn’t even need to be there. Those scowls would’ve found him in his cell, alone. They’d be scowling just thinking of him. Rum was that kind of person to these people. An irreconcilable element in the order of the mecha gnome’s world. And he hadn’t even opened his mouth yet.
They arrived at the chair and the official pointed for Rum to sit. The courtroom was soon filled up with all sorts of people in the audience, but guards surrounded Rum, and when he tried to turn to catch a glimpse of who would be observing his trial, and whether one of them was his little brother, a gnome promptly put the tip of a blade at his cheek, gesturing for him to stare down into the floor ahead. He didn’t try to look back thereafter, though he did glance up at the judges from time to time. They occasionally gave him an eye along with their scowling faces, but mostly they focused on their stacks of papers and notebooks.
When the room finally went silent and everyone was there, someone behind the judges cast a spell, and the room darkened, with the audience dimmed into a concealing shadow, while the judges and Rum shared a spotlight.
“We are all gathered here today” loudly announced the old male gnome at center of the row, “to bring together evidence against the adventurer Rum Warmhud, who has been accused of being an agent of the dungeon lords, come to The Iron City to conduct espionage and wreck havoc, in order to further the interests of his masters in the south. In summary” the gnome unrolled a small scroll in the air, “the crimes of which he is accused amount to: one, enthrallment of dozens of mecha gnomes of The Iron City, two, undoing critical enchantments on the properties of Shoss The Reformed, three, inciting rebellion inside of Gnomiture which legally counts as part of The Iron City, four, widespread destruction of Gnomiture’s capital infrastructure as a consequence of incited rebellion, five, the deaths and permanent injury of seventeen mecha gnomes as a consequence of incited rebellion, and finally six, the fracturing of the national identity in dozens of mecha gnomes of The Iron City.”
Rum felt every eye of the room converge upon him after the listing was finished. Rum realized that the list of his crimes made his character seem like the most dangerous of monsters. A real foe to order, capable of almost anything. But before Rum could properly digest the list of his crimes, the woman on the central judge’s right spoke next. “The trial of Rum will now begin.” She held up a small card of paper in front of her. “We bring fourth the first known case of magical espionage: Jivolti The Mage, servant at The Mecha-Gnomes’ Revenge. Please come forth to the podium.” The judge gestured to an area of darkness in the spectator seats.
A bit of light trickled onto a spot there, and Rum dared to look over at it. A podium was revealed at the front row, and as the other woman stepped onto it, Rum recognized the gnome immediately. It was someone he’d seen just a few weeks ago, when she’d refused to believe that he was anything but level two. Up until I cast Positive Mind on her. Rum felt an ominous regret creep up his back. Over the carelessness with which he’d handled that situation, how easily he’d departed after he cast the spell. This might be though to explain myself out of. If she found my warning negligent. I did warn her, didn’t I? Or am I just remembering that wrong? Rum had the distinct feeling that he’d said something, but either it had clearly not been enough, or she... could she be here for some other purpose?
Rum’s thoughts, twisted by despair and paranoia over the utter lack of control he had over the unfolding situation, were abruptly ended when the female judge spoke again. “You have prepared your testimony?”
“Yes, Judge Twixluck” responded Jivolti, sounding loud and clear, and looking determined there she stood, with her hands flatly resting on the podium, and her chested raised on a straightened back. In the light, her blue mages attire echoed and amplified her title with the authority of a magic specialist.
“Then let us hear it, and may The Iron City know the truth of this human.” The female judge ended her sentence by folding her hands, and with the other judges, stared over at Jivolti, quiet in their expectations.
Jivolti took in a breath as eyes fell upon her, and everyone, Rum most of all, wondered what she would say. The wizard had only met her once, briefly. She’d looked bored then, disinterested. It was troubling to see the same woman so serious, and because of him. Because of his crimes.
“I was on my regular shift at The Mecha-Gnomes’ Revenge Headquarters. I serve there as Level Inspector. My role is to give the adventurers an accurate assessment of their levels, so that we may judge our members’ abilities and confirm their duties.” She paused, swallowing. “It was a regular shift, like any other day, when the mage, Rum Warmhud, sitting in the accused’s chair” she weakly gestured with her head at him, not meeting his eyes, “was brought to my office for a standard assessment as a new guild member. I started performing my assessments like usual, but, I quickly discovered that something was wrong.” Jivolti’s voice and expression became distant, reflecting uncertainty, as if reliving an uncertainty she’d felt at the time. “Rum was... difficult. Not like anything I’ve seen before. He had, by the standard judgements of Akalios’ Calculus, the powers of a child. He had an impossibly low level. Impossible for any adventurer. I judged him to be a mere level two.” Chatter erupted in the audience, and Jivolti paused, letting her words sink in among everyone present.
Rum wondered where this was going. So far, he was entirely okay with the contents of the story. It was true, and nobody could fault him for being difficult to assess. Can they?
“When I eventually told Rum my assessment, he tried to make sure that I would believe it.”
Wait – WHAT!? Rum’s head rose up in alarm.
“He wanted to ensure that I did not find out his real level.”
This part of the story he was not okay with. “That’s not true!” he exclaimed, and Jivolti’s attention shot his way, not having expected this outburst. Rum was about to speak again to correct the account, when he heard someone mutter behind him and FWOOO! – the very air was sucked out from his readied lips. Instead of voice, nothing. Half a second passed and he discovered he didn’t just have problems speaking, he had no breath, absolutely none. He panicked. Bending forward he heaved for air, his mind abruptly turning dissy with every second.
“Silence!” said a low gruff voice behind him.
Rum heaved, and heaved. It took him ten, no twenty seconds, before he began to feel normal again, and was able to rise back up in his seat. He glanced up at Jivolti, shocked, afraid even, and still loudly breathing. He did not try to interrupt again, and as his chest calmed, Jivolti resumed her testimony.
“He promised he would reveal his power, his actual power since I could not believe that he was just level two. And he wanted to do so through a spell. Little did I know, that the spell which he used would cloud my judgement, and after he’d cast it, he made me write him down as level two on the form. In the aftermath I reported the incident, thinking little of it, until I was made aware of the rumours surrounding the events at Gnomiture. At that time I reminded my superiors of the incident at my office, and I now believe that Rum Warmhud, the accused in that chair” she pointed down at him defiantly, “is an agent of the dungeon lords, perhaps even a startup dungeon lord himself, who enthralled me in order to obscure his true powers from The Iron City. That was his mistake. He obviously overplayed his hand. Nobody would believe he was level two in the long run. On this point he may have shown incompetence as a spy, but given the abundant evidence I’m given to understand has been collected, I believe it makes sense that he is a spy. An agent sent here to sabotage the city, and the great nation of the mecha gnomes.”
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
She fell silent. Boos began sounding from the audience, and Rum had a distinct feeling that they were not aimed at Jivolti.
“Take him to Andertun already!” someone shouted.
“Yeah!” shouted a pair of others.
However the central judge merely raised his hands, and all the attending audience fell silent. The discipline of the mecha gnomes showed clearly in that moment. A few seconds passed, with judges eyeing the audience. Then a different judge, the one left-of-center, spoke down at Rum.
“You may now speak to tell us your account of what happened.”
Rum’s heart spun into action, racing as his brain scrambled to coordinate thoughts into words, and words into spoken sentences. He was wholly unprepared for this turn of events, but he had to speak, or lose his chance.
“The office – the events – the spell. THAT’S NOT HOW IT WORKS! Mostly...” he tried but failed to sound coherent. How could he communicate the nuances of Positive Mind to a crowd who did not know enough about magic to be given a proper explanation? Let alone his magic. “The spell doesn’t enthrall people, it just makes them...” Rum tried to find the right words, “... happy, content. It makes you think of positive things, to not worry yourself with problems, to distance yourself from them.” He realized that was not a good explanation. It sounded wholly like the spell could be used to manipulate someone. “I mean, it doesn’t make you lie. It’s true that I made her write down that I was level two, but ONLY because I didn’t think anyone could prove that I was not. And, and, and – the form needed a number.” Rum gesticulated wildly, indicated a form in the air. “What was she to write when Akalios’ Calculus showed level two? That was the only number we had, and so I told her she should write that down. The spell, the spell was a way for me to prove the opposite, that I wasn’t really level two. I mean, if I was level two, how could I do any of the things that I do? It’s preposterous! Nobody would believe that. I cast the spell, because I knew she wouldn’t believe that a level two would be able to accomplish anything like it – and that’s it. The spell played no role in manipulating her. And even if I were a spy who wanted to conceal my level, Jivolti has even admitted that level two would be a ridiculous level to go for. Nobody in a guild can be level two.”
Rum ran out of words to say, although his mouth stayed open, ready to add more if his brain had any to add.
“Is that all?” the judge asked.
Rum tried to think of more, but couldn’t. However, unwilling to relinquish his time, he stretched out the moment with his gaping mouth animated, half-closing, before opening again. His thinking expression continuing on until the judge’s patience elapsed. “Nothing to add, then.” She looked down at her papers, sifted through a couple, and looked at Rum again. “You will now stay silent once more.”
The room stayed silent with Rum, as Judge Twixluck on the other side of the judges looked over at Jivolti and gestured at her. “You are dismissed. Thank you for your service, both to The Revenge, and towards the truth.” She and the rest waited while Jivolti walked off her podium, and darkness fell back on the spot. Judge Twixluck lifted another paper card to her face, reading from it. The witnesses that came next spoke of the rebellion at Gnomiture, of the way the furniture had assaulted them and tried to seize control. How they’d discovered that the furniture had figured out the way to replicate themselves, to make more of their kin to gradually amass an army. They described the death and destruction, full with horrible details. Rum hadn’t been there, so he had no rights to speak on the matter, although the judge on the far left, an old man, directly asked him if he’d been present at the rebellion and wanted to provide his account. He simply refuted being there. Then witnesses were brought forth who identified Rum as having been to Gnomiture just prior to the rebellion, and he was identified as having been in the room talking to the great bed, Mr. King. When asked by the leftmost judge what he, in his words, had been doing with the bed, Rum came clean.
“It is true that I undid an enchantment on Mr. King. But I only did so because these creatures are people, like you and me, they have the essential components of personhood. A soul, a mind, a will. Except Gnomiture have arrested these aspects of a free person in their sentient furniture. They are compelled to act as salesfolk, to sell lookalikes of themselves, to be tried and tested as a mere commodity. This is no way to live, no way to exist. It pained me”, Rum touched the spot of his heart for emphasis, “deeply, it pained me deeply to see someone exist like that. Trapped in a mind not of their own free will, but enslaved by magic. I had to free them. And I make no apologies for freeing a slave!”
As Rum’s speech died down, everyone went silent. A couple of judges played thinkingly with their moustaches, and one of the female judges put a hand to her chin in thought. Eventually, Judge Twixluck changed the subject by dismissing the witness and bringing the trial forward.
“Next up is a key witness for the events that transpired at Gnomiture, after the rebellion. Revospark, fire mage of The Iron Mage Core, responded to the scene after early evidence that someone had entered Gnomiture by way of magic trickery. His testimony will concentrate on the affects of accused’s unknown form of magic, however, we will also hear briefly from several other gnomes who can attest to similar experiences. Revospark” she gestured to a spot in the audience’s first row, “please come forth to the podium and tell us the truth about the accused.”
Another spot of light, another podium. Rum was reminded of the small pudgy gnome as he stepped up to the podium. He had new clothes on him though. Rum’s magic had transformed away his last clothes, and in their place, the fire mage had replaced his blue robe with an orangy-red one, and instead of his square feathery hat a more common upwardly pointed orangey-red one. In Rum’s mind, it was like the faint picture of a little gnomish Jorteg. That thought was quickly cast aside though, as he fixed on the gnome’s readying lips, wondering what he was about to say.
“Assembled fellow mecha gnomes” he tried to look around at the audience and the judges. However, for some reason, the man looked nervous, and halfway into his look he abandoned meeting their eyes, in favor of looking at his own podium. “I came to Gnomiture, prepared to fight a battle. Prepared to kill a foe if need be. But, my fellow mecha gnomes, the evil which I would encounter, surpassed all of my expectations. The accused, Rum Warmhud, his magic is deeply, deeply, depraaaved. When I tried to destroy him, he used his magic on me. His terrible magic. It was more than I could manage, more than even a level 69 could handle. HE MADE ME dress up in a BEAR COSTUME!” Revospark nigh screamed his statement, his lips quivering and his body shaking. His eyes, they looked about to cry then and there.
The audience gasped, and in the emotional pause that followed, Rum felt the familiar eyes upon him. He could even see some eyes, from the judges who gave Rum firm looks.
“Fellow mecha gnomes” Revospark quivered. “I’m not sure I can still count myself among you. Warmhud’s magic has left a deep scar on my gnomehood. I have un-gnomely, strange desires and urges. Some days, I feel, like dancing! Like a blasted wood elf, and dress up, like an animal! The wizard, he MADE ME GAAAY!” And finally Revospark broke out into tears. “My wife is ashamed of me. When I speak of these new desires” he sniffed wetly, “she calls me a freak. She says: you are cursed, you’ve lost your mecha gnomehood. And I think she’s right” he snivelled again. The judges looked at him, ten eyes sympathetic. “I am a freak. A freak to The Iron City. I can no longer serve in The Iron Mage Core. It wouldn’t be right, I can’t act as a mecha gnome anymore, not even as a husband.” A servant of the court came up to the podium with a handkerchief. Revospark blew his nose in it, then remained silent.
After a moment, the left-of-center judge moved their stare down at Rum, more scowling than before. “You may now comment.”
Rum waited a second for his mouth to come into synchronicity with racing thoughts, then he spoke, loudly. "I didn’t give you those desires! The spell doesn't work that way! It can only work on what is already there. It just gave you the courage to look into yourself, and acknowledge the existence of your desires. You've always been that way, Revospark. Deep inside” Rum slapped his own chest twice. “All I'm guilty of, is freeing you from your self-oppression. This return to cowardice that I’m seeing now, in front of me, is only going to hurt you in the long run. You need to be kind and accepting of yourself. Brave, for yourself. Nothing else is required of you. I cast the spell, true. But within that spell I did little more than to show you a form of life you have been denied. By yourself. By your society.” He gestured widely at the room with one hand. “For a few hours, you were no longer afraid of what society might think. Of what your wife might think. For a few hours, you had the courage to be yourself. I didn’t force you to become a bear. No" Rum shook his head, “you cried out for it, upon seeing me dressed as one. You wanted it in that moment, dearly, and for the simple reason that you dared to feel, to imagine, to create yourself, to be vulnerable to the world, and open-hearted. To want to be a bear is nothing to be ashamed of, Revospark. Your wife is wrong to deny you. Society is wrong to deny you. And for yourself, you must deny them. You must find those who will accept you. Perhaps that means a new home. Maybe in The City Forest.” Shocked noises erupted across the audience, but Rum wasn’t finished. He turned to the judges. “I cast the spell, Gay Blast. But I make no apologies for it. Seeing as I was in mortal danger, it was a straight-forward way to avoid violence, and in the end, the spell is as much a gift as a solution to violence. Perhaps not the gift most would want, but under the circumstances, I could not take such preferences into account.”
The judges stared down at Rum, displeased by his logic, but polite enough to not cut him off. Judge Twixluck shortly dismissed Revospark, and the judges said a few words to each other that Rum couldn’t hear.
Next the other gnomes attested to similar experiences of how Rum had affected them. Two gnome men attested to having fallen in-love with each other, to how much they wanted to slap each other’s butts, and to how they’d lost any desire to procreate with women. That last comment was met with shock across the audience, but when two gnome women attested to the same and an unwillingness to couple with men, that shock rose up into an uproar, as audience members blamed Rum for having damaged the reproductive institutions of the mecha gnome nation. It took a while before Rum was given the opportunity to respond.
“Why should a gnome have to live for the mecha gnome nation?” he asked rhetorically, briefly pausing to let his question sink in among the room. “I don’t live for the sake of a human nation, even though we’re not as unitary as you are, still I wouldn’t even if I could. Each and every person has their own life to live, and we are inherently free to choose the communities we live with. The mecha gnome nation is not a chosen community, it is an inherited one mostly, by birth, and the only way to be free is to reject it, least its grip so totally ruins you like it has Revospark. Nobody deserves to be forced, or pressured, to make a family of two spouses and their children, like your complaints have suggested for these gnomes. The existence of a political nation, stands in contradiction to freedom and a life lived to its fullest potential – and that is what we all deserve. And! If our chosen community is in a particular need for children, as in to allow for a new generation, who can lift our spirits with their laughter and wonder, giving us meaning and hope for the future – then its members should be asked respectively, never obligated nor coerced, not even a little, and in all the tasks that follow, in pregnancy, birth, rearing, education – wherever possible – the community must give its aid and relieve the burdens and responsibility for those children. If there is a collective need, then there is a collective responsiblity. It can never be reduced to single individual, and it can never be demanded from those individuals. For at the end of the day, a true community, a chosen community, is a community of free individuals. And for that reason, if The Iron City believes itself to be a true community, it must relinquish its demands over the individuals and let them be. Let them be free to live their own lives, and to allow them the full expression of their mutual love for each other” Rum glanced at the pairs of men and women near the podium.
“That’s enough” said the central judge, and Rum carefully refrained from trying to add more. “We are not here to entertain your ideas for our people. We are here to judge your crimes, and as we have now seen, to those crimes you have admitted.”
Rum sat down in his seat, sighing. The judges turned to discuss with each other after that, openly before everyone, but with low voices. One of them picked up a pocket watch, relaying the time to the others. Shortly after, their discussion ended and the central judge turned to Rum, hands folded in front of him.
“These are all the witnesses we have for today. They are only a subset of available witnesses, but we judges have decided that for time’s sake we should focus only on the most representative testimonies. There are also other critical witnesses who have refused to testify in public, but which the court have seen signed statements from. We will convene again tomorrow to publicly interrogate the accused himself.” The gnome looked down into Rum’s eyes. “He has previously resisted interrogations, and therefore, tomorrow will be his last chance to explain himself to us, and offer arguments for why he isn’t an agent.” The gnome tilted his head to the side. “You deny being an agent?”
“Yes!” Rum loudly replied. “I wou–“
“Silence!” the gnome interrupted. In the ensuing pause, he slowly nodded his sour face. “We have established, and by the accused’s own admission, that he has been present at the scenes of crime, and performed acts of magic whose nature, and circumstances, are criminal in The Iron City. What remains for this court to ascertain, is therefore whether he has done so as an act of espionage, or whether it is out of malicious antagonism in his hatred of mecha gnomes, or whether there is a significant chance that he could’ve had other intentions. Tomorrow the court will seek to reach a conclusion on this matter, and if time allows, we will decide the severity of his punishment. The court is done for today.”
The lights returned to the room, but a sharp blade to his cheek stopped Rum again from turning and looking at the audience. First, the audience and the judges left. Not before most of them were gone did the gnome’s blade move off of Rum’s skin. And not before a moment after that, when the last boots left the building, did Rum’s entourage tell him to rise, and they began to escort him again.
Contrary to Rum’s expectations though, the gnomes did not bringhim back to Andertun. Instead, the official from before brought them down the stairs, further and further, below the ground, under the building into poorly lit tunnels, and towards the end of one. There they were met by a few other gnomes, who lifted a hollow iron lid off the floor. As they backed off from it, Rum leaned over, looking down. It was a stone-bricked pit. As he leaned back from the depths, gnomes came over with a ladder. They slid it down into the hole. It met the floor below in a light bounce, and a couple of gnomes pointed spears at Rum, gesturing with the weapons for him to climb. Descending into the hole, Rum saw the darkness below, and glacing up as he moved, the faintness of the tunnel’s light. On the bottom, Rum let go of the ladder, and it was almost immediately pulled up. A couple of gnomes glanced at him down there, before they put back the lid. The light dimmed even more, as mere slits sent weak reflections into his oubliette. After some talking by inaudible voices, an unknown gnome, one of his new guards perhaps, stood over the lid, looking down at him.
“You will never escape this hole, Rum Warmhud, so don’t even try. It’s more reinforced than your prison cell in Andertun. Tomorrow you’re going back to the court. I suggest you rest and prepare for that.”
The gnome stepped away. Rum went over to the walls, sitting down and leaning against them. Here there was nothing to sleep on. Not even a mattress. He sat there, and for a moment thought ildly, as his hand finally unclenched. He brought it up to his kneecap, and let it rest there. He opened his palm, carefully, and his thumb stroked the stone in his palm. Nobody noticed you, at least. On Rum’s lips, the faintest of smiles formed.
