Overpowered Pawn - 1 - The Inquisition

5 years later...

The First Inquisition was held at the grand hall of the Spectre Cathedral,  a place where powerful mages routinely had their livelihoods stripped away.

It was a towering building that dominated the sky, with a multi-layered cross-sectional structure and balconies overlooking the central inquisition hall. Typically, those balconies were filled with monks and mages-in-training rushing to their readings and prayers, but today they were all in a different building, going through tests that would determine if they continued with their program. 

Arthur was supposed to be somewhere else too. He was supposed to be at his Choosing Ceremony.

It was the most important event of his life, where he would be chosen by a Noble House of Magi and given magical powers. 

Instead, he sat between the pointed arches, surrounded by the watchful eyes and frankly judgmental gazes of the royal saints painted on the long stained-glass window. 

The room held a foreboding atmosphere, the acoustics designed to amplify the cries of the guilty. 

The Spectre Cathedral was completely overkill for today's inquisition, but that was the intent; to terrify a boy with a lot to hide. 

Arthur was good at controlling fear. He felt like he had a lifetime of experience in doing so, so even as his heart attempted to race, his mind telling him that this might be the end of the road for him, he stilled those responses. He laced his hands together in his lap and calmly met the eyes of the distinguished men who sat above him on a balcony, in golden seats, wearing long stainless white robes and grim expressions.

The Episcopi Quatro. Junior Inquisitorial Bishops from the Four Great Houses of Magi.

“Introduce yourself,” the Bishop of Thanor said. 

A terrible hush fell over the crowd of onlookers sitting behind Arthur on pews between clustered intricately carved columns. Some of them were important men and scholars but most were peasants who had been randomly selected by the jury for today. The number of spectators had been limited due to the delicate nature of the case, but there were still more people watching than Arthur was comfortable with.

He leaned forward speaking into a horn-shaped device that amplified his voice around the room.

He cleared his throat, and it echoed.

“My name is Arthur Vale,” he said. “And I swear I did not kill Headmaster Janus.”

That prompted a rumble of sound from the jury behind him, most of it laughter, some indignation, and annoyance at his audacity.

“We did not ask if you killed him." The Bishop of Weston spoke with a wry look. His was the friendliest expression on the panel of judges, his tone gentle out of pity. It was clear that he personally didn't agree with this inquisition, but he was there because had to be. “We simply asked for your name.”

“Yes, but the only reason you want to know that is because you’re investigating the headmaster's death, right? So, I thought I might as well get that out of the way. I didn’t kill him and my choosing Ceremony ends in less than thirty minutes.” If he missed it, he would have to wait another year for the next one. 

That was time he did not have. The draft would begin in less than a year. If he didn’t get chosen now, he would be picked for the draft, and forced to fight. 

He’d be forced to die for another man’s war again. 

Someone in the jury cleared their throat at Arthur's words, and he thought that might be to cover up their laughter. Arthur nearly smiled. He was glad someone else found this farce as ridiculous as he did. 

There was no way anyone seriously thought that Arthur Vale, an unawakened son of a farmer and a disgraced soldier, could kill the greatest Archmage in a century. It was a bad joke to even suggest such a thing. Arthur never even thought he would be a suspect until he was intercepted by soldiers on his way to the Choosing Ceremony, and taken to the Spectre Cathedral.

They wouldn't tell him why they'd taken him at first, remaining silent. It wasn't until he was forced into the seat with Truth Bands manacled around his wrists that he knew he was about to be interrogated. 

This whole thing was just a waste of time, time he should have been spending at the Choosing Ceremony that had begun fifteen minutes ago. 

If this didn't wrap up quickly, he was going to be Unchosen, without magic and without means to protect his family during the incoming war.

“You understand why you’re here, Mr. Vale?” Bishop Thanor asked.

“Yes." Arthur had figured out that much. "I was summoned because I was the last one to see the headmaster alive."

"You don't find that noteworthy?"

He shrugged, his responses unnaturally casual for the occasion. “Not particularly. Headmaster Janus and I did a lot of work together. I occasionally tutored herbology students at the War and Peace Academy and assisted the Headmaster with his private experiments. It's not abnormal for me to be with him in his final moments."

“I’ve always wondered," A new voice spoke, as elegant and cruel as his gaze was sharp. “Why would the headmaster pick you of all people to be his assistant? You're only fifteen years old and it’s our understanding that you don’t belong to any Noble House of Magi, nor do you belong to the church or the lesser houses.”

“That is true,” Arthur said but did not elaborate.

“There was more to that question, Mr. Vale.”

“Oh right. Why did the headmaster pick me? Well, I’m top of my class.”

“You currently attend the Paulsey Abbey Preparatory Academy, correct?”

“Yes.”
“That’s only the second-rate academy. Why did the Headmaster not pick a student from a higher-ranked institution?”

“I’m not sure. I would suggest you ask him but given the circumstances…” Arthur let the words trail off while meeting Bishop Borgan's eyes with a measured gaze. 

The eagle-eyed man did not seem amused. 

“Are you related to Morgan Vale?” Bishop Borgan asked a question he should already know the answer to. 

“Yes.”

“As in Morgan Vale, the Great Traitor.” He took open glee in reminding the jury of who Arthur's father was. Most of them probably hadn't known or had forgotten, and upon being reminded, they released a new murmur of shock and disdain. 

Arthur's jaw clenched, but didn't give anyone the satisfaction of looking ashamed or mad. 

“One and the same, yes.” 

“How about Elias Vale, the swindler?” 

“He’s my Uncle.”

“Do you know where he is?” This was from Bishop Raven, measured and cool. 

“No." Arthur eyed the bands on his wrists, the ones that were supposed to glow when he lied. They remained steady. Thank God.

Bishop Borgan's gaze bored into him some more and he said, “Explain what you saw on the day Headmaster Janus was murdered."

Arthur released a breath, glad they finally got to the point. "Of course. That afternoon the Headmaster and I were working on a new Grintich potion together. As you know, those take a significant amount of time and effort to perfect. The Headmaster was chatting while we worked, talking about an old friend that would be visiting him soon, and what he should make for their welcome dinner. Thirty minutes into our session, I was called out briefly to attend to some matters. By the time I returned, the Headmaster was dead on the floor with the life force drained out of him. Our potions were ruined.”

Arthur immediately regretted the last sentence after it left his mouth. It made him sound callous. But humor had been his defense mechanism for tragedy all his life. It was hard to stop the urges now. 

“You did not hear any other person in the room?” Borgan asked. 

“No. The door was closed.”

“And you did not hear signs of struggle?”

“It is a very thick door, your grace.”

That didn’t even get a smile out of the Borgan inquisitor. He sat with his eyes gleaming and his nose twitching like a rat that smelt something bad. Arthur kept his expression pleasant and guileless, the kind of expression he imagined someone who didn’t kill a powerful mage would have. 

This was not a joking matter certainly, but Arthur’s personality was the type to make jokes at the most inopportune times. The more dire the situation, the more likely he would say something stupid.

Not to mention, the potion he’d taken to dull his fear didn’t help either. It made it such that while he could logically acknowledge the seriousness of the occasion, he couldn’t feel the anxiety and dread he was supposed to be feeling. 

He took the potion so that the truth bands wouldn’t work on him, but perhaps his lack of panic was making them even more suspicious. They likely expected him to be shaking in fear, wholly intimidated by this whole process. The fact that he wasn't might be throwing them for a loop.

They knew something was not quite right with him, even though they likely couldn’t put their finger on exactly what.

So far everything Arthur said was true. Well, mostly true apart from that little fib about his Uncle and the statement about him not being from the noble house. Technically, his father had been a Baron, a lesser noble from a periphery Weston land. But those lands had been repossessed by the crown after his old man had committed the minor crime of aiding the assassination of the previous king.

And then he’d disappeared. 

Apart from that, there was nothing particularly notable about Arthur Vale. He was simply a clever herbology student who would likely make a good [healer] someday.

At the very least, that was what he wanted them to believe. 

It would be difficult to deceive these men though.  

Each of the Bishops before him had been chosen by their individual House as an elite seeker of truth. They were powerful mages, and more than that, they were clever, armed with di superi magic.

Bishop Thanor, from the house of the Valiant, sat farthest to his left, followed by Bishop Raven, from the House of the Wise. Then there was Bishop Weston from the House of the Fair and finally Bishop Borgan from the House of the Powerful.

Each Bishop's podium bore a trim from the color of their house–Blue, Gold, White, and Red respectively.

Each Bishop was also a powerful Magi in their own right, powerful enough to hear the voices of the gods of old.

Yet, even combined, their power had been no match for the Headmaster of the War and Peace Academy-Archmage Janus. Janus had been the most powerful man in the Empire, powerful enough to singlehandedly face legions from the North and scorch them on their shores. He was powerful enough to subsume this entire cathedral by himself. He was powerful enough to save the Kingdom of Maridon over and over from its many enemies.

Surprisingly despite his power, he’d been a relatively humble and pleasant man to be around.

It was a true tragedy that he was dead.

A pang hit Arthur’s chest but he refused to acknowledge the itchy feeling that could have been the beginnings of grief. He told himself he hadn't known Janus long enough for that and he'd lost many people before, people dearer to him than Janus had been. He had no right to be upset. 

But he was anyway. 

Damn it, Janus had been a good man.

He’d lived his life serving others and had deserved a proper death in his old age, slipping off into an eternal sleep in his own bed. Not having the life drained out of him. 

It was a terrible way to die, and Janus, of all people, did not deserve that. 

Arthur thought he should be numb to heartache by now, considering how often he'd experienced it, but somehow each loss was like a fresh layer of acid poured onto his wounds.

Even so, this was not the time to deal with that.

"I would just like to point out,” Arthur said. “That I was not the only last person to see the headmaster alive. Alexander Tudor saw him alive too around the same time I did.” 

That triggered an interested buzz in the crowd behind him. The Bishops shared a look and Bishop Thanor gave him an arched brow. “You're talking about Alexander Tudor, the Chosen One and future King of Maridon?”

“Yes, that one.” The Kingdom of Maridon was relatively small and there was only one known Alexander Tudor in the whole of it. He was indeed the Chosen One, the fated hero destined to fend off invaders and turn Maridon into one of the most powerful empires the world had ever seen.

Everywhere he walked there were whispers of how special he was, the only one to face the Great Dark One and survive. The fact that he was an infant when it happened and made no contribution to his survival, was not a mark against him at all but one in his favor. 

“Why was the Chosen One looking for Janus?” Bishop Borgan inquired, looking even more pleased because it was Lord Thanor's nephew getting called out.

“He got a terrible grade and he wanted it changed," Arthur responded.

“The Headmaster does not grade papers.”

“No, but I do.” At their confused expressions, he said, “Like I said, I was a teaching assistant in herbology theory. As such I was in charge of grading the papers.”

They stared at him for a few seconds, almost aghast at his audacity. “You gave the Chosen One a bad grade?”

“He wrote a terrible analysis report,” Arthur explained. “Filled with logic holes and errors galore. I couldn't in good faith pass him after that, but he disagreed. It was he who called me away from Headmaster Janus so he could contest the grade, quite loudly I might add, and demand that I change it. I refused. He asked me if I knew who he was and I assured him I did. I told him I did not have time to deal with his nonsense that day. Then I returned to continue with our experiments and that’s when I found the Headmaster dead. Alexander was right behind me at the time.”

“Lies." Someone yelled from the crowd of jurors and stood glaring at Arthur. Arthur recognized him as one of the sycophants that followed Alexander around. He might also have been another of Janus’ assistants although he couldn't be sure. Janus had about thirty-five assistants in total and Arthur did not know most of them.

“These are lies! That doesn’t even sound like Alexander. He would never say those things.” 

“Silence, please,” Bishop Weston called. 

“I can't lie,” Arthur argued.

"Liar!"

“I believe I called for silence, sirs.” Weston’s voice was even more stern. 

“The chains on my wrist certify that my words are true.” 

That was Arthur’s first pure lie of the evening. 

While the manacles on his wrist were certainly skilled, their magic was drawn from the least powerful magic source there was, the di erretres, also known as the magic of the earthly plane. Also, by his calculations, the material used was 69% Mercurian, and 31% Appollonia, with a core of Minerva. Unsophisticated as they come.

It didn’t approach the chaos potential that was needed to compel Arthur to tell the truth under threat of pain or death.

The manacles made for the Final Inquisition would do that, as it was drawn from a di superi source, which was the magic of true enlightenment. But that kind of magic was expensive and would only be used on those who’d made it through the first few inquisitions and became the final suspects of the murder.

Arthur did not plan to make it that far. 

Because the magic bands were made from a di erretres source, he had a relatively simple counter for them. The chains could only control earthly knowledge and as such, it could only read his body functions to ascertain whether he was telling the truth. So, after they'd given him a glass of water at the beginning of the interrogation, he'd slipped in a self-made pill that would dull his reactions, so his body wasn’t giving off the usual cues a liar would.  It also flattened all his emotions generally. That rendered the chains practically useless.

One might think that, since he didn’t kill anyone, he shouldn’t worry about telling the truth. 

He had more secrets he’d rather not risk though, so he needed to end this as soon as possible before the potion's effect wore off.

“Alexander Tudor would be able to certify that he was there with me at the time of the murder,” Arthur said. “In fact, I’m sort of surprised I didn’t see him in this room. If I'm being investigated, shouldn't he be too?" He looked Bishop Thanor right in the eye, calling him out on his bias. The Bishop’s face tightened and he pressed his lips together. 

The direction of the wave changed. The jury began to discuss Alexander’s absence. Now they knew that Alexander and Arthur had both been present at the time of Janus' death, but only Arthur was being implicated and interrogated. That was clearly bias. Arthur calling it out meant that Thanor couldn't very well keep asking questions without somehow implicating his nephew in this mess or at least calling him for questioning. 

No one wanted to call the chosen one for criminal questioning, so Thanor would be forced to end this farce once and for all.

Or at least that was Arthur's plan.

It was semi-interrupted by the sound of the large doors pushed open behind him.

An audible gasp went over the crowd. Their devotionary awe stained the atmosphere. A choked sound from Thanor could be heard. 

Arthur knew who it was before he even saw him.

“Alexander.” 

Alexander Tudor was striking to look at, with black hair, sharp green eyes and a tall frame that would probably fill out with age. More than that, he held the charisma of a future King and leader of armies. 

His eyes showed his nerves but he swallowed it and faced the men in front of him. 

“Alexander,” Bishop Thanor said. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“No. This is exactly where I need to be. I heard what Arthur was saying and I'm here to confirm he's telling the truth."

Everyone remained silent. Arthur liked to think they were stunned by Alexander’s audacity but they probably weren’t. This was a very Alexander-like thing to do–big grand gestures were his forte. 

Anyone else would have been yelled at, flogged, or imprisoned for interrupting inquisition proceedings. But not the oh-so-precious chosen one. 

Alexander glanced at Arthur and Arthur stared right back.

Alexander's expression was rife with dislike and suspicion, and Arthur’s probably reflected the same. 

Alexander turned back to the jury. “Arthur Vale is telling the truth. I did call him out to discuss my grade. I was with him when Headmaster Janus died. So if he’s being questioned, I should be too.”

Bishop Thanor held a tight expression. So did every other bishop except Bishop Borgan who looked smug. Borgan was the only one of the Bishops who was not firmly on the Chosen One's team. That was because Borgan had his own ideas on who should be the future King of Maridon. 

Thanor, though, looked especially annoyed because the House Thanor must have probably gone through a lot of trouble to conceal Alexander’s involvement in this, probably covered up evidence and paid off witnesses so that rumors of the future King of Maradon potentially killing the Headmaster wouldn’t spread across the Kingdom.

Alexander had just bumbled all over all that effort just to defend Arthur. How noble. 

The worst part was that Alexander had done it, not for any well-thought-out or even self-serving, underhanded reason. He came here because he thought it was the right thing to do and he didn’t really think much farther ahead than that.

Arthur should be grateful, but he was only annoyed. 

The more he watched the other boy, the more his annoyance increased. It was probably uncharitable of him to dislike Alexander for things he hadn’t done yet, mistakes he hadn’t made, and circumstances beyond his control. 

Arthur definitely disliked Alexander’s black-and-white thinking, the way he never seemed to be able to look further than his nose. He detested how Alexander was always protected from the consequences of his actions and how he gave noble speeches that led men like Arthur to die humiliating and painful deaths that Alexander himself would never suffer.

Arthur didn’t hate Alexander, neither did he like him, but his emotions toward the boy were too complicated to be called neutral.

Alexander wasn’t a bad person. In fact, he was often kind and all the bad things he’d done were for presumably noble reasons. 

The Chosen One’s flaw was simply that he tended to think in simple straightforward paths, one step at a time, leaving little room for deep contemplation. Precisely why his analysis reports were such shit. 

“Just because you were with him doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved in Janus’ murder, Alex,” Thanor continued, regaining the crowd's attention. “The boy could have planned it before you arrived. I hear he’s very good with potions and perhaps poisons. He could have poisoned Janus and then given you a bad grade knowing you would come looking for him, calling him out of the lab at the right moment and giving him a perfect alibi.”

Oh for the love of God, Arthur very nearly cracked his facade and rolled his eyes. Did that even make sense to anyone? 

“I don’t think Arthur would do that,” Alexander said. “He’s not a bad person.”

Darn, he’s being nice. Now Arthur felt bad for being annoyed at Alexander’s presence.

“He’s also not strong enough to kill the Headmaster.”
Alright, then. I take it back. 

“Perhaps we can continue this another time,” Bishop Weston said. “We can’t let these boys miss their Choosing Ceremony after all.”

Boys? It was only Arthur at risk here. Alexander didn’t need a choosing ceremony, as he was already chosen by the gods a few months after he was born. 

“Yes, we should adjourn,” Bishop Raven said. “After we check their status. Just to ensure they didn’t kill Janus with blood magic to steal some of his power.”

Raven meant that last part as a joke surely. The idea was so far-fetched a couple of people chuckled although uncomfortably.

“You first." Bishop Raven told Arthur and called up his status screen with a simple Cognosco spell.

Blue mist floated in front of Arthur, swirling to form words.

STRENGTH: 7

DEXTERITY: 6

INTELLIGENCE:10

CHARISMA: 4

WISDOM: 10

CONSTITUTION: Normal

FATE POINTS: 0

PATH: UNTESTED

SPECIALIZATION: NONE

SKILLS: NONE

“Those appear normal, albeit he seems stronger and smarter than he looks."

"Thanks?" Arthur responded.

Raven turned to Alexander. "Your turn, dear boy."

Alexander nodded, and his current status was also called forward.

STRENGTH: 60

DEXTERITY: 30

INTELLIGENCE:9 

CHARISMA: 50

WISDOM: 9

CONSTITUTION: Normal

FATE POINTS: 10

PATH: KING

SPECIALIZATION: UNDETERMINED

SKILLS: [5/8] [FIRE AFFINITY CONDUCTION ] [FIREBALLS-Level 3] [PERFECT BALANCE] [CHARM UNDIFFERENTIATED-Level 3] [MUSCLE MEMORY]

"Alright. I suppose we're done here," Thanor said. "Inquisition adjourned."

A gavel banged and the Manacles around Arthur's wrists snapped open. Without hesitating he rose to his feet and rushed out, wondering the quickest way to make it across the city in ten minutes.

Right as he clambered down the marbled outdoor steps, he heard a voice call out behind him, "Aren't you going to thank me?"

He paused and looked back. Alexander was standing at the top of the steps, ignoring the crowd emerging from the room, staring at him.  

In an instant, Arthur flashed back (or rather forward) to everything he would suffer in the future because of Alexander. An arrow buried in his back in a bloody field of war. Getting captured and mocked by enemy soldiers, buckets of urine poured on his face. The humiliating act of being dragged across a city, tied to a horse, the stones ripping at his armor, his clothes, and then the skin of his naked body. 

Finally, starved and having his fingers and his spirit methodically broken, all because of his loyalty to his King who probably forgot all about him.  

Arthur thought he didn’t hate Alexander, but in that moment, a heated hatred rose inside him so sharp and potent he could almost taste it. 

It was all his fault. 

The numerous deaths, counted in thousands. The days of endless torture that preceded it. 

The blame for all the pain and suffering Maradon would eventually face lay at the feet of Alexander Tudor.

Arthur said nothing and simply walked away. 

***

From the Journal of Morgan Vale, Baron of Porthandy, Great Knight Supreme, The King’s Hand.

I won’t lie. I thought I was dreaming at first. 

The absence of SUV’s and double decker buses told me I wasn’t in London anymore. The presence of horses made me suspect that I was in a dream, probably from some fantasy story that I read before I fell asleep. 

But I haven’t read any of those since I was a child and everything looked so realistic from the grass, to the blood that stained it. Not to mention everything smelled positively...medieval.

Yet I sat, staring at the sky for hours, waiting to wake up.

It was only after the first dragon appeared that I realized I had landed in a world entirely unlike my own.