The Raiselig Dossier: Whence Came Judgment Part 2
The courtyard of Doom Keep was little more than a pile of mud. There were no paths walked by mortal feet anymore, save the aimless drifting of the soulless bodies clad in rusting armor. They stared, unblinking, into the dark skies that rained with black ichor.
Raiselig and Shosushai walked side by side down the slick stone steps, each holding onto the other so they did not fall. The corpses watched them pass.
As they walked in silence, Raiselig’s mind spun, considering their next course of action. They had expected a simple audit, no extra complications save a recalcitrant and aggressive client — there were rarely any other kinds when it came to audits.
Now the Dark Lord had council. Now he had advice. Now he had an ally who knew the law perhaps as well as Raiselig.
In the middle of the courtyard, untouched by lifeless hands, sat a yellowwood cabinet almost as tall as a man. Shosushai gave a curt nod when she saw it. “Quite beautifully carved. I’m afraid I do not see the value in such ostentatious displays of fortune.”
“The Scriveners are a people apart,” Raiselig answered with no animosity in their voice. “The Law deserves respect and awe. To hand-carve a filing cabinet that is both ornate and gilded, is to show dedication to the law and all that reside under its domain.”
“Perhaps,” Shosushai gave a small sniff. “Or, perhaps it is a sign of exclusivity. A symbol of how the poor and destitute have little recourse, while the rich and powerful may attain the service of Scriveners for any purpose they wish.”
Raiselig unlocked their cabinet and pulled a thick bound folder from its depths. A satchel of pens, pencils, ink-bottles, and paper followed after, and they shut the door with a soft click. “The cost, which is so unattainable according to you, is no more than an offering of water and grain. The effort is no more than a request. You know our job is to minister, not to maintain.”
“And that is why you are here, to minister?”
Raiselig turned to Shosushai. “You would not be starting our audit without your client, would you?”
Shosushai didn’t answer, but continued towards the rotting stables, with Raiselig following after. There, in the corner, sat an old gnarled cart, covered with chests, boxes, and bags. Had Raiselig not known any better, he would have thought it the merchant-cart of a poor peddler.
Shosushai took longer than Raiselig, opening and closing various crates and chests, pulling pieces of paper and scrolls out and shoving them into a large sack.
Raiselig watched with admiration. “You must have copies of the majority of case law for over twenty generations.”
“Twenty-seven,” Shosushai said. “Ever since the Grenvvilalt Compromise.”
“Impressive,” Raiselig said after a moment.
“I find myself on the road a lot,” Shosushai closed a chest with a clatter. “I don’t have a bevy of libraries to refresh my memory or restock my binders. I must carry my library with me.”
“May I help you carry anything?”
Shosushai tossed a book the size of a wolf-hound to Raiselig’s waiting arms. When her sack was full, she hoisted it over her shoulder and strode out of the stables, dragging Raiselig after her.
At the door, Shosushai stopped and turned to face her peer. For a moment, they stared at each other.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
Raiselig frowned. “I was just about to ask you the exact same question.”
“I have followed your work with great admiration,” Shosushai said. “You have done a great many things that have had an incredible impact on the world. You are one of the great names of our profession. You are spoken of with awe and respect.”
“You flatter me.”
“If anything, I am being restrained. I have read every decision, every verdict, every dissent you have ever penned.”
Raiselig cocked their head to the side. “Now I am forced to wonder why you are telling me this.”
Shosushai leaned her head against the door, a charming sign of familiarity. “Do you know how many times my client has been attacked in the past year, either by unified armies of humanity, or heroes bedecked in shimmering armor and magical swords? And each time, their tales are told, spread throughout the land by those who survive. With every failure, more and more people know what doesn’t work. Illshir grows larger, and the people learn from their mistakes.”
She glanced up at the tallest tower of Doom Keep. There, a blinding split of lightning crossed the sky. “My client, on the other hand, learns nothing. He knows nothing of the amassing armies, the spiteful and vengeful heroes training now to overthrow his rule. Before long, my client will be overthrown, as all tyrants are, by someone whose name he doesn’t know.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Raiselig frowned. “Are you asking for leniency?”
Shosushai grinned like a mischievous imp. “Not at all. Just wondering how many of my verdicts you’ve read.”
“A few,” Raiselig admitted. Though they had never officially worked together, the art of Scrivening was so prolific that it was rare a Scrivener did not know of another through their case law alone. Her contracts had been carefully written, with practiced and reliable language. Her care with precedent had been commendable, and her attention to detail was notable. Raiselig had not known she was human, nor that she was less than a half-century old.
“I imagine this will be a notable moment in your career,” Raiselig prodded gently.
“It is my honor to serve the law,” Shosushai bristled. “I do not take up cases or contracts to feather my cap or flatter my ego.”
“Nor does any true Scrivener,” Raiselig nodded. “We work only to fulfill my duties to the word and frame.
Shosushai laughed. “The word and frame? My goodness, you are old fashioned, aren’t you.”
“As is the law.”
“Yes, as is the law.” Shosushai smirked. “Forgive my impertinence, but after reading all of your work, I find myself wondering. Can you name for me any other Scriveners you believe could perform this audit to your satisfaction?”
Raiselig didn’t answer at first. “If you continue to speak in such a familiar manner to your opposition, there may be grounds for your own audit in the future. I say this merely as a caution.”
Shosushai opened her mouth as if to reply, and then simply nodded before turning and opening the keep door.
By the time they had returned to the Dark Lord’s throne room, the storm had arrived in force. A torrential rain now poured from the sky, turning the mud outside into a swamp, churned up by the clomping feet of Drozior’s army.
Deep in the cold stone keep, the old cook struggled to keep her old bones warm by the dying furnace. The horse-master paced the winding labyrinth, jumping at the shadows that reached out towards him. The young boy sat and stared into the darkness, shivering like an old man.
Drozior stood, his armored fists clasped behind his back, as he stared out over his befouled land, lost in thoughts of conquest and slaughter. Lightning tore the sky, and behind him, the Scrivener’s sat down.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, his curiosity finally overpowering his dark petulance, Drozior turned to observe the Scriveners’ conflict.
They were staring at each other, neither moving a muscle. He had seen such intense stares from those who knew they were about to die beneath the weight of Blood-letter, or the scything cut of Corpse-maker.
Tales were told of the battles between Scriveners. A knight and his foe might battle with sword and shield for hours on end, trading blows and severing shields until one at last collapses from exhaustion. Wizards and warlocks traded eldritch and arcane chants, twisting the air and earth about themselves until one could not withstand the will of the other. Duels across the ages had been written about and glorified in countless means and manners.
But when a Scrivener met a Scrivener to battle on the field of law, there was no parallel. The world itself trembled at what might occur. It was dangerous — indeed reckless — to set one Scrivener against another without good cause.
The Dark Lord had cause. He would bow to no being, no law, no will that was not his own.
All the same, though he had called forth hell-spawn without fear, stared down beings from dark planes beyond mortal ken, seen atrocities unthinkable, and committed worse, Drozior could not help but feel — for the first time in years — fear.
Suddenly, almost in unison, the two Scriveners reached out and plucked their pens from the table between them.
Raiselig spoke first. “I require a complete accounting for every action pertaining to but not in concert with the maintaining and enacting of all duties performed by your client, to wit, one Drozior the Dark Lord.”
“Here,” Shosushai lifted a large binder and handed it across the table. “These are the last twenty years of documentation relating to Drozior’s actionable behavior involving the procurement of, ruling over, and exerting right of control unto the lands duly bestowed under his jurisdiction.”
Raiselig looked up. “That is not what I asked for. I require all documentation, including those pertaining to duties or actions performed that do not relate to lands purported to be property under his rightful ownership.”
“I protest,” Shosushai spoke without passion. “Twenty years ago, my client was subjected to a separate audit, during which the years prior were examined and notarized as required by auditory mandate. To re-litigate the judicial relevance of these events could be grounds for a dismissal due to violation of the double jeopardy statue.”
“They establish precedent,” Raiselig pushed back, “and as such may require official reference and citation as a result of this audit.”
“Prohibitive. All documentation will amount to detailing the events of over seventy years. To bring forth this documentation will require time, effort, and money, while the delay may in turn prejudice the audit against my client. I might also object to the fact that the satisfactory audit compelted twenty years ago in some way does not establish precedent.”
It was madness! The dark and twisted words of heretics and dark priests were bad enough, spoken as they were in abyssal tongues, but Scriveners used no foreign language. Their words were plain, and yet their meaning…
Drozior forced his quivering legs to remain standing, to weather the onslaught of horrific verbiage. There was no meaning to any of it, yet they spoke as though they understood each other completely. If only they had the courtesy to speak in some unknowable dialect. And all the while they spoke, their pens were flying across blank pieces of paper, turning pale bone-yellow pages into records of black scrawled ink.
The braziers burned low.
When the morning came, the two Scriveners had not stopped their discussion once. Shosushai had paused only long enough to grab a bite of bread or a swallow of water, before returning to the audit with gusto. Raiselig was like an Obsidian knife; cold, ruthless, and efficient. They used words like a scalpel, always saying no more nor less than they intended.
Drozior, who was stronger than any man, crueler than any beast, and undefeated in battle, had trouble staying awake. But awake he stayed, sitting and watching the two Scrivener’s trade nonsense words as armies traded casualties.
At long last, when the blood-red dawn had faded to a dark gray, a silence fell over the table.
Drozier looked up, watching the Scriveners as they scribbled on their papers, handing seals back and forth across the table. A moment of silence longer, and they looked at each other.
It was done. It was done! He could see in Raiselig’s eyes, their placid and stoic eyes, a burning seed of disappointment. Shosushai too held a glint of satisfaction in her visage. It was done! “Well?” the Dark Lord asked.
“Your audit is complete,” Raiselig said.
The Dark Lord Drozier leaned forward, metal armor clanking as his red eyes glowed in the depths of his dark helmet. “Then you are vanquished, Scrivener. Once more I am triumphant against my foolish foe. Begone, or I might forget the consequences and adorn my meat-hall with your skull and spine.”
Shosushai gave a small cough.
Slowly, the Dark Lord sat back on his throne.
“I have here the results of the audit,” Raiselig produced a thin scroll. “If you care to read them.”
“I do not care,” Drozier grumbled. “I am power incarnate. I do not recognize your power over me, Scrivener. I rule Illshir with a fist of blood and iron. There are none who oppose me, and none who would dare speak against me.”
“Be that as it may, you have responsibilities.”
“Responsibilities? I am Drozier! Show me a man or woman with the will to resist my commands! A thousand nightmares heed my every whim. The fearless dead cower at my wrath. My gaze is death, my word is torment. I am the Dark Lord of Illshir, and I —”
“You’re not, actually,” Raiselig interrupted.
The gauntleted fist dropped. “…What?”
Shosushai cleared her throat. “I’m afraid that your audit did not go as smoothly as we hoped.”
“Far better than you feared, I’m sure,” Raiselig grumbled. “In accordance with the laws and regulations proscribed in the Compact of Feinditry, and after due study of your actions during the past four years as Dark Lord of Illshir, you are found in debt of no less than four hundred dead, no less than seven thousand weight of local currency, Twenty weeks of sorrow and mourning —”
“Have done, Scrivener!” Drozier spat. “Speak plain or I shall tear your lips from your face!”
“As you wish.” Raiselig nodded. “You are found in violation of the terms and conditions surrounding your title and status as Dark Lord. You are, in fact, only eligible for the title of Evil Tyrant.”
“You dare,” Drozier began to rise, but was stopped by a sharp cough from Shosushai.
“But,” she interjected, “not by much at all. You are eligible for a grace period to bring your numbers up to scratch.”
“Nothing you weren’t going to do anyway, I’m sure,” Raiselig muttered. “Dark pacts, evil magics, sacrifices, conquering, that sort of thing.” They scanned the scroll to the bottom, where a list had been written out in careful hand. “Within the span of a year, you, Evil Tyrant Drozier, will have to conquer and pillage at least seven towns, destroy three armies, and perform no less than six blood-rituals sufficient to acquire either four grimoires worth of magical power or distinct actionable favors from at least three separate demonic spirits.”
“And,” Shosushai smiled, “if I remember correctly, the nearby kingdom of Esthirbraug has caught your eye. I noted the battle plans in your war-room. There are seven towns in between the borders of Illshir and the Esthirbraug capital, where the Three Armies of Shimmering Light make camp. Your upcoming campaign against King Esthir will be more than sufficient to take care of your back-taxes.”
“Will it?” the dark voice of Drozier echoed in the gloom.
“Yes,” Raiselig admitted with a frown. “Shosushai is quite…adroit at negotiation.”
Drozior stood silent for a moment, and then leaned forward, resting their thick hands on the table. “So be it, Scrivener. You win this round, but mark my words, the wrath of the Dark Tyrant Drozior will not be slaked painlessly.”
“Evil Tyrant.” Raiselig corrected.
“Begone from my sight, vile worms!” Drozior roared, gripping the handle of Blood-letter so tightly the metal fingers of his gauntlet squealed in agony. “If you have not quit my kingdom by nightfall, a thousand agonies will descend upon you!”
“Very well,” Raiselig replaced the scroll in their pocket.
“If I could suggest,” Shosushai stepped forward, a tone of cautious uncertainty in her voice, “There are several aspects of your coming campaign that could be quite valuable as write-offs. With a moment of your time, I could —”
A candle-holder fashioned from a bleached skull shattered against the wall as Drozier rose from his throne. “Leave now! Or I shall crush your heart between my teeth!”
“That’s not necessary,” Shosushai frowned. “I must say, I thought you’d be pleased. You will soon regain your title of Dark Lord, and need do no more than what you were going to do anyway.” She paused. “You were going to lead a violent campaign of blood and fire to the doors of King Eisthir, yes?”
“Yes,” Drozior sank into his throne of bone. With a clank and a clatter, his helmeted head sank into his hand. “But…for tax purposes…it’s not the same.”
“A farmer once told me,” Raiselig said as Doom Keep vanished into the distance, “that people were either horses or mules. Horses you could pull where you wanted to go, or kick their flanks, and they’d move along just fine. Mules, you needed to push them away from where you wanted them to go, just a little less than they pushed back.”
“I don’t understand,” Shosushai said as she tugged hard on her cart, causing the old wood to rattle as they walked down the winding road.
“Responsibilities,” Raiselig muttered. “Duties and expectations, how you have to be, to be allowed to be what you are…” they sighed. “I don’t understand either.”
Their pace was neither slow nor fast, but steady as a river. It was the walk of the Scrivener, able to carry them across the land at the apex of efficiency.
“It truly was an honor,” Shosushai said at last.
“I am delighted to have finally met you,” Raiselig answered.
“I am also surprised,” she said, looking sidelong at her companion. “For all the tales of your professionalism, I had never suspected that you would be so merciful.”
“Merciful?” Raiselig frowned.
“You didn’t have to allow the grace period. There was reason enough to demand immediate recompense, which my client wouldn’t have been able to provide.” Shosushai chuckled. “It was a far cry from the Levviwort decision, I think. Or the Provincial Judgment of 581. You could have turned him into a sad old man in a castle, wearing his armor day in and day out, all in a pathetic attempt to appear dark and dangerous.”
Raiselig walked for a few moments before responding: “The thought had crossed my mind.”
“Then why,” she asked, “did you not do so? Why allow him the chance?”
“Have you considered traveling further east?” Raiselig asked. “Your skill with the pen is quite admirable, and I was pleasantly impressed with your work on the Arrenso case. I think you will find a great deal of valuable and worthwhile work beyond the Ice Sea.”
“I have considered it,” Shosushai admitted. “I’m afraid my cart is old enough it might not make the journey. Then where would I be?”
“Somewhere else,” Raiselig smiled. “And just imagine what you could do there.”
Shosushai nodded, and fell silent as they walked down the road.