Aliya | Lightbringer

Aliya stared at the box before the high council. It was in there. She could feel it.

She fantasized an escape in her head. Butchering Archbishop Cordgeon, cutting through the paladins that blocked her way, and then fleeing. Was it beyond her abilities? Aliya wasn’t sure. Paladins were notorious for being able to defend against magic. However, if she just wanted to escape…

No. Such behavior would only hurt her fellow beastkin. Too many nobles argued against the integration of beastkin into imperial society as citizens. This would be giving them the hand they needed. Those children, with their sorrowful eyes, would see their futures vanish. Perhaps it was already too late for them, but thousands of others like them were counting on Aliya’s behavior.

She took a deep breath, ready to give her confession. The room had grown silent as the noble audience and council awaited her response, save for the click clack of boots on marble as a lone figure entered the central chamber from the witness entrance. A paladin moved to halt the new arrival.

“You there, newcomer, you shouldn’t be here. There are no further witnesses on the docket,” the grand cleric said to the interloper, motioning for the paladin to escort the stranger outside.

He was a middle-aged gentleman. Well-groomed with greying hair and a thick grey moustache just wider than his mouth. He wore a weathered travel coat and dirty leather boots that made him look far poorer than any of the other adults in the courtroom.

“I apologize, Excellency. I am Iosef Kabicci and I do have business here. It concerns your trial.” He both sounded and looked tired with his weary slouch and dark bags saddled beneath his eyes.

The Butcher. That was the name that whispered its way through the audience. Aliya knew the name: Iosef the Butcher, a man both feared and reviled by the beastkin. Based on the tone of the audience, the human nobility had a similar opinion.

Iosef waved a thin satchel towards the council. “Orders from the throne.”

Archbishop Cordgeon threw up his hands in exasperation, “The crown has no authority here, please leave!”

The paladin blocked Iosef off, pointing back down the hall he entered from.

“Wrong throne, old fool,” Iosef responded, shooting a cold glance at the elderly man.

The sudden insolence caught everyone off guard, especially since he had been much more polite only a moment ago. Aliya noticed a barely controlled snicker from the audience. Even the grand cleric seemed to crack a quick smirk—one she quickly stifled.

Iosef whispered something to the paladin that made him return to his statue-like vigil, allowing the Butcher entry to the center of the room unopposed. The other paladins’ heads turned towards Iosef and then the grand cleric, but she raised a closed fist, signaling them to stand down. For now.

“Here you go, Excellency.” Iosef had unbuttoned the satchel and pulled out a small metal cylinder that he handed over to her.

She slotted a silver amulet into it, then proceeded to pull out a scroll. Her expression slowly softened, then turned into a look of surprise as she read the scroll in its entirety.

“This… very much concerns this trial,” she announced. She glanced over at the bewildered archbishops. “The correspondence is authentic.”

Aliya and Barnabas stared at each other in hopeful confusion as the grand cleric stood up with the unfurled scroll and prepared to share its contents with the room.

“The missive is dated today,” she announced. “The Philosopher’s Throne recognizes Doctor Iosef Kabicci as Herald of the Nasvian Choir. The Philosopher’s Throne has also recognized Doctor Iosef Kabicci’s nomination of Aliya of Angiers to serve the Nasvian Choir. Doctor Iosef Kabicci is to administer the Test of Bonding in witness of the High Council to determine if Aliya of Angiers has truly bonded with Lightbringer. If Aliya of Angiers passes the Test of Bonding, the red scroll shall be unsealed and declared as the will of the Philosopher’s Throne and the sealed black scroll shall be incinerated, its contents never read. If the Test of Bonding is failed, the black scroll shall be unsealed and declared as the will of the Philosopher’s Throne and the sealed red scroll shall be incinerated, its contents never read.”

Lightbringer? Aliya pinched her chin in thought.

From the Payl Illumina? Lightbringer was a man, though.

Iosef waved two tightly rolled scrolls in his right hand, showcasing them to the entire chamber. One black and one red.

“Lady Aliya,” Barnabas whispered as he moved up to her side. “You’ve used this magic before, as Count Senvoire recounted. Can you do it again?”

Aliya nodded, “I think so. It felt… intuitive?”

“Please succeed, Lady Aliya. Every black scroll handed down by Mount Nasvian has called for someone’s execution…”

No pressure.

Archbishop Cordgeon’s eyes had been darting between the small pack of nobles he conspired with and Iosef Kabicci as he squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. One of the nobles gestured at him with an angry shrug, causing him to gingerly raise his hand.

“Herald…” croaked the archbishop, “the test you speak of… It has not been performed in several lifetimes according to our archives. We will need some time to review—”

“No, there will be no delay. Also, it has only been about five years since the last test. Mount Nasvian just isn’t in the habit of informing the high council of every mundane ceremony it performs.” Iosef crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at the archbishop as he impatiently tapped his foot. “We need only show that Aliya of Angiers can draw forth the blade’s magic whereas another will… not succeed.”

“And if another can pull forth the blade’s magic?” inquired the archbishop on the far end of the council from Cordgeon.

Iosef shrugged, “Well, Excellency, that is sufficient for Aliya to fail the test. Of course, we need at least one volunteer. I am happy to volunteer myself, of course.”

Cordgeon shook his head as he clasped his hands together. “And I suppose we must simply take your word that your effort was sincere?”

The rest of the council leaned forward as they turned their head towards the archbishop, the grand cleric tightly shaking her head—a signal to not antagonize the Herald.

Iosef massaged the dark circles under his eyes. “You are welcome to pick someone of your choosing. Perhaps, if you are wary of bias, you should be the one to attempt it yourself?”

Despite Iosef’s calm delivery, Aliya felt something undeniably menacing about the suggestion. Iosef’s cold eyes reminded her of the torturer—and executioner—that served under Ilhan Senvoire. This torturer always gave his victims a choice: an eye or your teeth?

Almost the entirety of the room fixed their eyes on Archbishop Cordgeon who had bent his face downwards, massaging his forehead with one hand as he avoided returning anyone’s gaze. Aliya wondered if he felt the same menace as she did.

“Oh, for blood’s sake! I’ll do it!” yelled one of the nobles from the audience. He was a young man in resplendent blue finery who sported a head full of fiery red hair.

Ah, one of the curmudgeon’s conspirators. Maybe only a half-decade older than me?

Aliya studied the man’s face carefully. His thick, angry eyebrows were of a slightly darker hue than his hair and he had the shadow of stubble across his jawline and dimpled chin.

“Young master, such a demonstration requires—” began Cordgeon.

“I was the top of my class at Starmgard’s Citadel. I will be fine, thank you!” snarled the young man, rolling up his sleeves as he approached the center of the chamber.

Aliya noticed one of the young beastkin children—the inari boy—trembling with fear as the noble passed him. Iosef appeared to notice as well.

“Very well, young master,” responded the grand cleric, “your disrespect to an archbishop aside, you should know that a sacred weapon is far beyond your typical runic weapon.”

“Excellency, I’m from a long line of pureblood mages and I conducted my thesis research in animatic bonding!” The young man clenched his fist and bared his forearm to the council and Aliya. “Even if this mongrel, by some miracle, established an advanced bond with this weapon, this will override that bond.” A series of bright blue patterns, vein-like in structure, began to glow in a pulsating rhythm on the man’s forearm.

Iosef pulled the lid off of the box in front of the grand cleric’s lectern. There was a hushed gasp throughout the crowd as everyone beheld the elegantly simple, yet beautiful, longsword. It had no scabbard and simply lay on its side, held horizontal by its display stand. Its hilt, a lustrous gold swaddled in white cross-stitched silk shimmered under the skylights. Its blade and cross-guard were a brilliant silver that seemed to radiate a faint light of its own. It bore no jewels nor elaborate engravings, its form simple enough to fulfill but one purpose.

The doctor cracked his knuckles as he stepped back from the blade, nodding at the young man. “All yours, Starmgard boy.”

“Careful, old man. Once I crack this tool, what does that make me? Your superior?”

“Apprentice, possibly.”

The mage laughed. “A master mage as an apprentice to a doctor? How amusing... Is this how they do things on Mount Nasvian?”

“Apparently.”

The fiery noble grasped the hilt with his right hand and raised it high in the air. The blue glow of vein-like patterns extended until it encircled his arm in full, reaching up through his hand and fingers as he grasped the hilt. Aliya developed a sinking feeling in her stomach as the man’s face slowly formed a triumphant scowl.

He pointed the blade’s tip towards Aliya. “Like all magical tools, all it takes is pedigree and expert knowledge to—”

There was a bright flash followed by a wet, concussive pop. The ringing of steel echoed throughout the chamber as the blade clattered onto the marble floor. A woman screamed as blood splashed over the fiery mage’s face, forcing an eye shut as his other looked down at the stump where his hand used to be. Blood gushed from the wound as it spread a puddle around the dropped blade.

Aliya spied part of a finger lodged in Archbishop Cordgeon’s beard, leaving a trail of blood down one of its tips. He had yet to notice as his fully-widened eyes were fixed on the center-stage spectacle. There were more gasps and disgusted screams from the audience as Aliya began to notice scattered chunks of flesh throughout the chamber. Another noble, close to the center, let out a retching cough.

The arrogant mage let out a guttural scream as he pulled his mangled stump to his chest and dropped to his knees. “F-f-fuck! S-someone…”

Ah, there’s the pain.

Iosef stepped forward and knelt beside the young man. He wound a long strip of fabric around the mage’s wrist and pulled it tight.

“You,” he said, pointing at one of the paladins, “escort this young man to one of your treatment chambers. Make sure he doesn’t bleed out… I will be attending to him personally once I am done here.”

“Paladin, do as he said,” commanded the grand cleric.

The paladin led the hobbling mage down the witness hallway as Iosef stood back up, wiping his bloodstained hands on his coat.

He turned to Aliya. “Call it,” he commanded.

“What?”

“Raise your hand and call it. Not with your voice.”

Lightbringer, was it? Her companion during the war. Her guiding sunlight. She recalled the gold and silk handle in her hand, the coolness of its grip, and the heft of its blade.

To me, Lightbringer!

The blood-soaked blade rattled on the marble floor for a moment before it shot off across the room, spinning until its handle slapped into Aliya’s palm. She closed her fingers tightly around the grip and pointed the blade heavenwards as it shot out a stream of light through the skylight and into the clouds. The blood had vanished from the sword as the light died down, the blade returning to its faint glow.

Iosef watched unflinching as the rest of the room watched in awe. “Are there any other contenders?”

Only silence answered.

As Aliya returned Lightbringer to its display, Archbishop Cordgeon discovered the stowaway in his beard, causing him to suddenly lurch forward and let out a stream of vomit onto the floor in front of his lectern. He hastily tore the finger out of his beard along with a sizeable clump of hair.

“Aliya, that was…” Barnabas whispered to her as she returned to her bench. He didn’t finish his sentence, instead patting Aliya’s shoulder and giving her an approving nod.

Several robed clerics rushed into the chamber to clean up the blood, chunks of flesh, and even the archbishop’s vomit.

Iosef scanned the crowd wearily. “Well, if there are no others, I declare that Aliya has passed the test.” He approached the grand cleric and handed her the red scroll. “If you would do the honors, Excellency, I have a patient to attend to.” He paused for a moment, eyeing the three beastkin children that had testified against Aliya. “Those three children, please have them escorted to an interrogation room. I will speak with them later.”

As he began his exit, Iosef stopped by Aliya and Barnabas’s bench. “We have several matters to discuss. I will seek you out soon. Until then, remain in Sancrés.”

The room had finally been scoured clean as the grand cleric announced the contents of the red scroll. “The Philosopher’s Throne recognizes Aliya of Angiers as an acolyte of the Nasvian Choir and the chosen wielder of Lightbringer. Thus, she is beyond any charges of heresy by any authority lesser than the Philosopher’s Throne itself. As an acolyte, she will be mentored under the guidance of Herald Iosef Kabicci until the Philosopher’s Throne deems her sufficiently experienced to engage in Nasvian Choir business unassisted. Further, as agreed upon with Emperor Lucien Fourier the Second of the Sancrésant Imperial Throne, Aliya of Angiers shall inherit the Duchy of Serafal as its new duchess and will represent the interests of the Philosopher’s Throne in the Imperial Court. Last, as is the custom with all wielders of Lightbringer, Aliya of Angiers is bestowed a name of lineage and will hereforth be known as Aliya Lucifer.”