“But he was too wise to sanction such a breach of custom without encouragement. Holding Dom Permit’s gaze, he asked softly, ‘Men of the judica, what say you to this?’
“Dom Franc and Ser Lew responded instantly, ‘Permit him!’ It could be seen in their faces that they did not mean to deal gently with their offspring when the judica was done.
“Other men promptly added their voices. Every proof of Dom Peralt’s innocence secured their own safety further. In moments, the will of the judges was plain.
“The High Templeman nodded gravely, but betrayed no satisfaction. ‘Very well,’ he said to Dom Peralt. ‘The deed is yours. Her death will indeed go far to cleanse your soul.”
‘It would have been seemly if Dom Peralt had spoken a word of thanks or obeisance to the High Templeman. But perhaps the solemn duty he had undertaken confused his sense of fitness. Or perhaps he was serious now as he had not been before the slaver Growt, and so did not see the wit in thanking Crossus Hught. He glanced once around the upper tiers of the chamber, then left his seat to approach the witch Thamala.
“She had not moved from her knees. When he set his hand to her shoulder, she stiffened as if expecting to be struck again. But she did not resist him. She had reconciled herself to death. As he lifted her, she assisted him as well as she could.
“In the heat of the kiln and the molten iron, with all the eyes of the judica upon them, they climbed the ramp toward the rim of the cauldron.
“Starved and beaten as she was, she had no strength for the ascent. The reflected glow of the metal showed fiercely upon her swellings and bruises. Dom Peralt was compelled to support her, one arm around her back, one hand on her shoulder. For that reason, he did not resemble a man who intended to hurl her into agony when they gained the head of the ramp.
“At the rim of the cauldron, they halted. She leaned, half stumbling, toward the terrible heat, as though he had already thrust her to fall. But he caught her back. A smile made savage by the direct radiance of the iron twisted his mouth. He gazed into her face—but she would not raise her eyes. He was her slayer, and she had chosen this death to pay her debts.
“Roughly, he turned her away from him. His hands clamped her sore shoulders. If she had tried to struggle— even if she had been healthy—she could not have escaped his young strength. Her head hanging weakly, she did not struggle.
“‘Thamala,’ he said in a voice which we all heard, ‘you are doomed. This I do for justice.”‘
Ser Visal lifted his flagon to his lips—and lowered it without drinking. “My puppies,” he said slowly, “you will not be more surprised than your fathers were by what transpired.” Several of the candles had failed, and the dimmer light seemed to give his face a grim intensity, almost a keenness, as though he were not as fat and soft as he appeared. “As you may imagine, the attention of every man in the chamber was fixed upon Dom Peralt and the witch. None who witnessed the event were able to account for what they saw.
“From somewhere about the tiers, a goatskin full of water was hurled into the cauldron. Striking the molten iron, it burst with such an eruption of steam and noise that the onlookers ducked their heads. High Templeman Crossus Hught and Templeman Knarll recoiled against each other. The cauldron and the head of the ramp were obscured from view.
“When the vapor cleared—before any Templeman could call out—Nm Peralt and Thamala became visible again. She lay on her side on the ramp, her manacles held against the stone. In one hand, he gripped a hammer which he had worn hidden under his belt—in the other, a hardened chisel that he had borrowed from Growt. As the judica watched in astonishment and horror, he struck the iron from Thamala’s left wrist.
“Templeman Knarll gaped to shout, but Crossus Hught was quicker. ‘Guards!’ he thundered. ‘Treachery! Beware of witchcraft! Guards!’ A thrust of his thin arm impelled Templeman Knarll toward the ramp.
“Nevertheless, Dom Peralt might have succeeded in his attempt. Only a moment was required. But he was inexperienced with Growt’s tools. His first blow was luckier than he deserved-his second, unluckier. As he swung the hammer, the chisel slipped from the manacle. Striking the stone, it twisted from his grasp, skidded away, and fell to the floor beside the kiln.
“At that moment, the inner doors crashed open. A company of guards charged into the chamber, waving their swords—ready to butcher a whole host of helpless witches and weaponless young fools. Templemen dove into the tiers to clear the path of the guards.
“Dom Peralt did not hesitate. At the his bravado—did not fail him. Pulling Thamala with him, he jumped after the fallen chisel.
“But when he had regained the tool, he made no effort to use it. Rather, he gave it to Thamala and thrust her to the floor. He had no time to break her remaining fetter. The guards were too near.
“To counter that threat, he did what no sane man would have done, regardless of his courage. He put his shoulder to the side of the cauldron and pushed.”
Ser Visal wiped the sweat from his face, scrubbed his bands on the front of his robe. His eyes stared in amazement at remembered visions. “It was plain to all in the chamber,” he said softly. “Every man of the judica witnessed it. And no wonder that we fear to speak of it now! We saw the pressure of his great frame against the iron. We saw his clothing take fire from the heat. We smelled his flesh as it burned. We heard the howl wrung from him in hideous pain..
“And we saw the brick which held the cauldron upright crumble.
“After that”—Ser Visal threw up his hands—”chaos. The cauldron tilted and fell, pouring molten iron at the guards. In instant panic, they did their utmost to avoid that liquid agony. Some sprang to safety among the seats. Others were hurt only by the spattering droplets. But a few were too slow. They lost feet and limbs before they were pulled free.
“Amid the shouts and screams and confusion, only a few of us saw that Dom Peralt retained consciousness, despite his tremendous hurt. Thamala held the chisel against her manacle as he raised the hammer and brought it down with his last strength.
“She had been tortured and starved for days, reduced to such frailty that she could hardly stand. But she did not fail him. As the iron fell from her waist, she called up her power—and both she and Dom Peralt seemed to vanish as though they had ceased to exist.
“A moment later, all the wood of the outer doors burst from the hinges and bolts.
“At once, the High Templeman roared, ‘They flee!’ Brandishing his miter like a club, he sent every guard and Templeman within reach chasing outward in a rush. And we followed, half thinking that we might yet recapture the witch and her rescuer, half desiring only to escape the pain and ruin of the judica.
“But Dom Peralt and Thamala were gone.
Abruptly, Ser Visal tossed down the dregs of the bitter wine and thumped his flagon to the table. “The rest you know,” he said brusquely. In a surge of flesh and robes, he gained his feet. “The witch and her consort were not found. A great search was made, and many men and good-women were offended by it. A writ of excommunication was read against Nm Peralt. But no sign of him or the witch was found.
“The breaking of the outer door was a ruse, of course. Neither he nor Thamala had the strength for flight. They remained in the judica, and she kept them from being seen, until the chamber was left empty. Then they made their way to whatever means of escape he had prepared for them.
“That is enough. Vespers will be rung soon. You must go.” Balancing his bulk on his stout legs, Ser Visal started toward the door.
Consternation stopped our mouths. He was not done— surely he was not done? There was so much we wished to know. Yet he was on his way to the door without a backward glance.
The son of Dom Tahl, however, was accustomed to leadership among us, and he spoke when the rest of us could not. “Ser Visal, how do you know all this?” Was there a hint of warning in his voice—a threat? Perhaps he meant to tell his father what he had heard. “How do you know what ruses Dom Peralt and the
witch used?”
Ser Visal turned. In the failing light, the gaze he cast toward Domson Thal appeared furtive, frightened. “It needs no great wit,” he replied with an effort of blandness. “I have heard that the injured guards are recovering remarkably well. Without exception, they suffer less than expected—and heal more rapidly. And some admit that they felt a beneficent influence while they waited for succor.” He shrugged his mounded shoulders. “Witches are known to be healers.”
Domson Tahl frowned and nodded. But at once he asked, “And how do you know what Dom Peralt and the witch said to each other in his cell?”
Bulging in his fat cheeks, Ser Visal’s eyes shifted among us warily. Still slick with sweat, his skin had a pasty color. Twice he opened his thick lips and closed them again, gaping like a fish. Some of us nudged Domson Tahl warningly. Others clenched their fists. We wanted no harm to come to Ser Visal for the things he had revealed to us. But at last he swallowed his fear and accepted the full risk of his tale.
“Do you louts have minds of stone?” he retorted acidly. “Who do you suppose threw the goatskin of water into the cauldron?”
Turning on his heel, he left the Hound and Whip.
We followed him out into the dusty street and the evening. Some of us staggered a little from the wine we had consumed, but drink had no effect on Ser Visal. He was as steady on his feet as a sack of grain as he walked away.
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Stephen R. Donaldson, Daughter of Regals and Other Tales
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