Shadowguard

What star had she been born under to deserve this?

The town rioted as the guards hauled her through the doors. People screamed, cursing and slinging threats and insults. Someone forced their way through the crowd and lobbed a boot at her head. The heel caught her in the temple and the guard behind her laughed.

Banor called after Windmore, the slew of dwarvish and common-tongue curses nearly drowned beneath the racket. She understood only half of it — several choice names and something about her sword. Between the pauses in Banor's rant, she heard Andryll. It was unusual for him to raise his voice, but it rang out in the night, every word dripping with venom.

Their complaints mattered little to Captain Windmore, who shoved her along, a gleeful smile plastered on his lips.

Everything from shoes to bottles rained down upon them, and Everna could no longer tell who was the target. A bottle struck Windmore in the back of the head. A stone caught her in the shoulder. The guard to her left took the blunt force of a slipper hurled by the elderly lady who lived across the street from the tavern.

The Guard struggled to hold them at bay as Windmore's group escorted her further into the town. From the tavern, they took her down the main avenue before turning onto a smaller side street which led to the barracks. It was older than most buildings in town, composed of worn, mossy stone and roofed with bark shingles.

Long and narrow, the barracks dominated the street behind the Guard post, stretching west for nearly a block. Where the post housed the officers, the barracks catered to the general members who lived there during their three-month rotations. Beneath it, accessible through a steep staircase at the back of the main entry hall, was the town's jail.

Windmore shoved her down the stairs, cackling as she stumbled and struck her knee on the edge of a step.

The cell block seemed darker than she remembered. Dim torches, placed at irregular intervals, hung from brackets bolted into the rough-hewn walls. Half-rusted doors lined either side of the hall, which stretched for nearly three hundred feet before disappearing into the gloom. The individual cells were little more than holes carved carelessly into the rock.

Halfway down the hall, the guards came to a stop. Windmore plucked a ring of keys from his belt, selected one, and shoved it into the door's lock. With a soft click, followed by the groan of unoiled hinges, the cell door swung open. The guard behind her shoved her, hard, and she tumbled into the cell. The door slammed shut behind her.

"Now stay put," Windmore said. He was preening with deranged delight. "Try not to freeze before your trial. I'd hate to be deprived of the pleasure of seeing your hanging."

Laughing, he shook the door and disappeared down the hall.

Everna leaned back against the back wall and sighed. Jagged rock dug into her back. The shackles bit into her wrist, the metal freezing despite the contact with her skin. Her knee twinged, the skin scraped raw and weeping.

Before long, the temperature plummeted, and the air turned frigid. Winter was still a month and a half away, and Pendel, as far south as it was, rarely saw such cold. Yet, the longer she sat there, the colder it grew. Shivers wracked her body as she curled into herself, desperate for warmth.

She hadn't a clue how much time passed since Windmore left. There were no windows, save the one set in the barred door. Her only source of illumination came from the dim torchlight spilling through the cracks. She could barely see her feet in front of her.

Beyond the footsteps of the patrolling guards and the occasional jingle of chains further down the hall, the prison was quiet. Unnervingly so.

Pendel rarely had criminals to cater to. Beyond the brigands who raided the farmlands south of town, most people spent a night, perhaps two, in a cell for more minor offenses. And there she was, bound and freezing for a crime she didn't commit.

At some point, a dull ache spread through her arms and settled deep into her shoulders. Placing her feet flat against the floor, Everna braced her back against the wall then lifted her rear and scooted her bound hands forward. As soon as the chains were beneath the bend of her knees, she drew her legs to her chest. Her arms now in front of her, she settled back against the wall, ignoring how her hair caught and snagged on the stone, and blew out a breath.

There was no telling how long she'd be there. It could take a full day before word reached the capital. From there, it would be several more days, if not weeks, before the Courts saw the case. Then, she'd have to wait two days after for the escort to arrive.

Once she reached Inversa, there would only be more waiting. They were notoriously slow; their penchant for thoroughness delayed many a trial for months. The Inquisitors had to conduct their investigation; it could could take weeks or perhaps months, before her initial hearing. Then, the Low Court had to find the time for the proper trial.

It could be half a year or more before she saw the stand.

Pushing that thought aside, as it only made the knot in her stomach worse, she did the only thing she could do; figure out her defense. The Inquisitors were worse than Windmore. If she weren't careful — if she didn't have her head sorted before they questioned her — she may only condemn herself further.

Mayor Ashburn died in what she suspected was a premeditated assassination that went awry. Robbery couldn't be the motive; even the poorest of the townsfolk had more than enough to live on, and nothing about the mayor's attire suggested wealth. He arrived as a hunter, swathed in drab leathers rather than his usual finery. If it was coin they were after, it'd make far more sense to corner her in the cellar when she left with the lockbox.

Someone planted her sword at the scene to incriminate her. That was an undeniable truth. How it found its way into Captain Windmore's hands would be the crux of the issue, one with far too many potential answers. The alleged presence of magic complicated the matter. There were, if she recalled correctly, few limitations. Someone could have easily gotten into her room, snatched her sword, planted it at the scene of the crime, and she'd be none the wiser.

It may not even be her sword. There were spells that could disguise objects through illusions or transmutation. For all anyone knew, Windmore could've been holding a spoon made to look like her personal weapon.

And because of that, she faced charges for a murder she didn't commit.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. The capital's involvement was not a good sign. The local authorities handled most cases and only appealed to the capital in matters of exceptional proportions; serial murder, organized trafficking, and treason. The death of a small-town mayor, a relatively minor political figure of little importance, didn't fall within that spectrum. They were disposable, as far as the Courts were concerned; they were elected into power by the local population, and their sphere of influence only extended as far as the borders of their district.

Mayor Ashburn was an oddity, however. Mayors held their office for five-year periods and few served more than one or two terms. As far as she knew, there was never a mayor who served six consecutive terms as Mayor Ashburn had. Pendel adored him.

It was a crime of significance as far as the town was concerned, but not something she'd have expected the Courts to waste their time with.

Perhaps it had less to do with his status and more to do with his reputation. Mayor Ashburn wasn't just an official. He was one of the Five Heroes, known throughout the kingdom for his accomplishments prior to becoming Pendel's mayor. Many within the Guard considered him an honorary Knight. He, like her father, had the late King Keeland's favor.

Gods, she didn't have a chance.

There were too many holes and not enough information to fill them. She had nothing but scattered fragments of a larger picture that were too obscure to offer any insight beyond the obvious. The Mayor was dead. Her sword was, allegedly, found at the scene. There were no other suspects.

As far as academics went, she loved cases like this. She welcomed the challenge of an exceptionally complicated puzzle no one else could solve. The surge of pride that followed when she connected the final piece and the mystery unraveled before her eyes left her giddy for days. But this was not an academic case; it was her reality.

Convincing the Courts of her innocence would be the greatest challenge she faced, but the stakes weren't the same. She wasn't a casual observer trying to solve a case for a passing grade, but the victim of a framing that may end with her own demise. The penalty for murder, in any capacity, was death.

You don't have to find the culprit, she reminded herself. You only have to prove it wasn't you.

That would be easier said than done. Windmore may not have a motive, but he had the most damning piece of evidence. She'd have to convince the Inquisitor to consider the possibility — no, the certainty — that someone framed her. If she could do that, the Courts may release her. It was the only hope she had.

Her thoughts continued to wander, branching off into the realm of conjecture before looping back. She fabricated scenarios, argued within the confines of her mind, and cursed her luck. Time trickled past, each second an eternity. The air grew colder still; her lips chapped and her knuckles aching. Her mother would say it was her own fault for cracking them like she did.

She must have fallen asleep, as the sudden clang of a door closing further down the hall jolted her awake some time later. Everna sat up straighter, her neck aching, and blinked the bleariness from her eyes. Pins and needles shot through her rear, and when she shifted her left leg into a more comfortable position, the feeling intensified.

She released a heavy sigh, the sound echoing off the walls of her cell, then she noticed something amiss. The jail was quiet — too quiet. She could no longer hear the patrols nor the other occupants. The shadows seemed darker, the torchlight bleeding through the cracks in the cell door dimmer.

Then the darkness in the far corner shifted, and she barely swallowed a startled yelp as a cloaked figure appeared inside her cell.