Spellshock by W. V. Fitz-Simon

Author:W. V. Fitz-Simon [Fitz-Simon, W. V.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

29

A dozen pairs of eyes bore into her as Sergeant Perkins led her across the chamber to a small dais behind a circular rail. Once he had her in position, he stepped back to the carved wooden walls behind her. The chamber stretched up to the heavens, the upper walls lined with stained glass windows depicting scenes of men and women kneeling before exalted figures that glistened with color in the morning light. Gosha counted thirty leather-upholstered chairs arranged around a raised circle to either side of her. Across the circle, lounging in an ornate throne-a king before his court-sat Lord Griffiths, a gavel and block resting on one arm of his throne. He traced the circular head of the gavel with his fingertips, his aura a thin column of light jutting up toward the roof, as he surveyed the other saints. Only a dozen or so of the remaining seats were filled. La Davina and her faction sat to Gosha’s left, George and his new cronies to her right. The unaligned saints sat spread out across the remaining chairs.

Outside, the combined presence of so many saintly auras had pressed against Gosha’s temples, the ambient Influence whipped into blustery staccato currents. Within the chamber, the saints’ auras were still grand and ostentatious in her second sight, but now it seemed as if they existed under glass, torpid and withdrawn. The air of the chamber was thick with Influence that clung to her like treacle, tingling against her skin with a dull electric smoldering.

Perkins and his two subordinates were stationed behind her, and two more guards flanked the chamber doors. A half-dozen others were spread out, standing at attention around the chamber walls, disappearing in their stillness against the dark wood. All were unarmed, even Perkins having somehow lost his sidearm on the way in.

La Davina rose as soon as Gosha reached the dais, her red-sequined dress an arresting splash of color against the drab browns and grays of the hall, matched only by the bright magenta robes of Bishop Worsley. Gosha had no idea what the pantomime ahead of her would entail, but she had to keep it going long enough for Eleanor to kill the dampening field so the others could get her out.

“My Lord,” said La Davina, addressing Griffiths.

“The chamber recognizes Delilah Davina of Strength,” said the judge, an edge of irritation turning his consonants brittle.

“This is ridiculous.” Though the dampening field restricted her aura, it glowed with a shimmering rainbow. Its comet, small and tight, spun around her in an urgent sweep. “We haven’t had a witch trial in the realm for centuries.”

“Do you have a motion, Ms. Davina?” He spoke her name with ironic weight.

“I do. My Lord, I move that the Convocation strike all rules, regulations, and conventions from the codes of governance regarding the treatment of witches.”

“My Lord,” said the saint of Liberation, rising from his seat next to La Davina. La Davina’s skirt shifted in a phantom breeze.

Griffiths rolled his eyes.

“The chamber recognizes Colin Dancy of Liberation.

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