The Eye of Maga was built on the south bank of the waters it was named for. While small towns and clusters of civilization surrounded the entire Eye, much of it was just a wooden palisade wall patrolled by the royal guard. There were two main portions that were considered the city—the Inland Docks and the Seaward Docks. At the Inland Docks, where the river basin reached the eye, Zanna and her escort of riverboats split. The river gate was opened and Zanna’s skiff alone was guided across the pristine waters of the Eye toward the Palace. The other boats were disembarked in the labour district near the docks, where the sixteen imprisoned bandits—and the forty-five members of their families—would be escorted by Zanna’s guards to a suitable prison.
“Your father,” Lord Reeth said, “Would stop his escort here, and bathe, right before them all. Wash off the wounds and discomfort from battle. If his subordinates had been harmed, they would be invited to join him.”
Zanna smiled. “Don’t get your hopes up,” she said. If any of her men were still endangered by serious wounds they’d have been cared for, but she had no intent of disrobing before them. Upon returning to the Palace, she would ask Pralla Maga-sha to prepare her usual ceremonial raft to wash away the sweat of her arduous journey.
Reeth chuckled. One of his subordinates let his hand trail across the water as they navigated the maze of orange reeds across the shallow lake. The magical waters were treated with religious dedication. To sail them was an honor for a soldier.
“We should have killed the bandits,” Lady Marna said, sitting behind the Queen.
It had been an ongoing debate—one that Zanna had not engaged in. Her word was law, and she would not have them execute anyone without a proper trial.
The royal pier extended twenty feet into the Eye, and held a supply house and a few other small craft. Zanna’s large riverboat was soon roped in, and brass horns echoed off the walls as the heralds proclaimed her arrival. A handful of lords were in attendance, those who desired her favour enough to rush out from their comforts to greet her on such short notice.
Rel fell into pace beside her highness, following her along the pier and up the stone steps toward the Palace Keep. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” Zanna said. She unbuckled the boiled leather cuirass she wore as soon as they were permitted through the rear door and into the first corridor of the Palace. “Have Pralla and the Priests prepare my raft for an evening swim.”
“Of course,” Rel said. Her steward took the armour piece without question, only to pass it to her squire a moment later. He was wearing a long and creaseless beige robe. “My Queen, word has already spread throughout the Palace. I could not prevent it, as well as I tried.”
“Word?” Zanna asked, looking at him over her shoulder as she walked. Her linen tunic was stained with sweat, even though she’d been only a passenger on her ship.
“That you spared the bandits. And that Tylan was slain,” Rel said, with a grimace.
Zanna sighed. They were climbing the stairs to her private quarters now, where she could change and refresh herself with a drink.
“Many have gathered in the Great Hall for your return.”
“Now?” Zanna asked. “I’ve only just returned.”
Rel shrugged. He held the door open for her into her anteroom. A handful of her boots, sandals and weapons were shelved here. She sat down on the old wooden bench and before unbuckling her metal studded boots. She paused, and ran a hand through her sweaty hair. Her purple was starting to wash out. She’d need to reapply the paint. Her advisor sighed. “Shall I tell them to disperse and return another time?”
Zanna leaned back against the wall, her boots still half removed. “Give me half of an hour to change and prepare, and I will speak to the Court.” She nodded to respect his bow and then watched him leave. Once the door was closed, she finally removed her boots and walked into her private room to change. It was good to be home, even if she couldn’t lay down yet.
Half an hour passed, and she had to again listen to the heralds’ proclamation. This time, Zanna the Just entered her hall amidst the mumblings of her lords and the whispers of the common people. Her royal spear had been cleaned—wouldn’t want to appall any of her citizens with the sight of blood, she thought sarcastically—and rested in its normal nook in the arm of her throne when she sat down.
Rel stepped forward and looked around the room as the court fell silent. He announced, “A group is prepared to present their concerns, your highness. Step forward, those involved.”
The first few lords and ladies did not surprise Zanna. Most of her decisions were met with advocates of alternate perspectives, which only seemed fair. Still garbed in her battle gear as thought to prove some point, Lady Marna stood among them. Kieb of the Crimson Highway stepped forward. Of course, Zanna thought, the Crimson Highway joins any party that opposes unified power. The Highway was a group of bandits and anarchists more powerful than most cities or states in the land, but they only a small sway over the functioning of such groups. And lastly, Ambassador Whiteleaf stepped forward.
“Where is Queb Tylan?” the Ambassador asked. “A Prince of my homeland.”
“Whiteleaf, good to see you.” Zanna’s voice reverberated off the ceiling to all the listeners in her great hall. “Queb Tylan fought honourably, but lost his life in a skirmish with the enemy.”
“A worthy death of a warrior,” Whiteleaf replied. “I’m certain all those responsible were brought to justice.” His words dripped with sarcasm.
“They have been brought here, and they will face justice in a trial,” Zanna told him.
The Crimson Highway spoke next. Kieb smiled as he retorted the royal decision. “They killed citizens of your land. Anyone who kills a Highwayman faces execution.”
“We are not the Highway,” Zanna said.
“A fact that is blindingly clear,” Kieb said.
“Careful, sir,” Rel said, coming to the defence of his Queen. “You address your better.”
Whiteleaf cleared his throat loudly and raised his hands to silence their debate. “When will you hold this trial? To execute this rabble?”
Zanna sighed. “Their fate will be decided in the trial, not now.” Zanna was not her father, a warlord. She was not her mother, who had left the difficult decisions to her subordinates. She was Queen of Maga and she need not remind the ruffled nobility of her court.
“When?” Lady Marna demanded again.
“In three months’ time,” Zanna replied. She sat back in her throne as the court responded like a clap of thunder at the onset of a storm.
“Three months?” Kieb exclaimed.
“Who will feed them, for three months?” Lord Eilar asked. “My peasants?”
Lady Marna stepped forward. “What will we tell the labourers? The common people who lost friends and families to these criminals? That their sweat and toil is to provide for the culprits?”
“Enough!” Zanna proclaimed. She smashed the butt of her spear off the floor, and the room boomed. As the sound faded, an eerie silence overtook the lords and ladies of Maga. The Queen stood in front of her throne, facing them. “This is the law. No one will die by my hand without a fair trial, lest they face me with swords in their hands.”
“I will have no part of this.” Whiteleaf’s voice drifted past the lords and ladies who had spoken out in anger. The ambassador of Tal’lashar stepped past the others, with his face drooping in sadness. “Your decisions cost my homeland preciously and your hesitance to punish those responsible insults the memory of the prince that was lost.”
Zanna ground her teeth in frustration. Her hand gripped her spear with white knuckles. Rel spoke words more calmly than she would have. “What are you saying, ambassador?”
Whiteleaf black moustache and olive skin turned away from the throne as the man made his way down the Great Hall. Before he fully turned his back, he called to Zanna, “Queen Zanna-sha, I leave now for my home.”
Zanna waited until the servants closed the throne room doors behind him. The gathering in front of the throne waited to see how she would reply. She shook her head and said, “Disperse. The trial will be held three months hence. Expenses for the imprisonment will be handled by the crown, and you will all be duly compensated for your troubles.”
“It is not enough,” Lord Eilar delivered.
“Out,” Zanna said, quietly. “This audience session is over.”
Lady Marna ushered the lords back toward the seating area, and Zanna sullenly went in search of respite. Pralla, the old priestess, had been absent from the session, an event that could not have been accidental. The raft would be prepared for Zanna’s healing swim, but the old woman’s attitude left Zanna feeling questioned even then.