The Spirit Wilds: Magic of the Green Sage (Fall of the Sages Book 1), стр. 46

“Indeed, it appears that way.”

That is not good for me, he thought. He should have been dead, yet here he was. A part of him really wished that he was dead.

His father stared at him, no pity or warmth in his eyes. None of the pride he’d shown just a week before. No, they were back to being cold, full of contempt and disgust for the son that took his wife from him. Lord Bather rose behind him, his face a mess of blood, still staring daggers at Dorrick. He wants me dead, the young knight thought with absolute certainty. The man who he blamed for his daughter’s death—and who’d punched him… Yeah, he wanted him dead. Of course, the lord wasn’t dumb enough to do anything rash with the commander standing in the way.

There was nothing else, though. Dorrick had already told them what happened, told them the truth. He had nothing more to say.

“What happens now?” Dorrick asked.

Vanter Vane took a deep breath and walked away from his son. Without looking at him, he said, “Due to your gross negligence, you have caused the deaths of one knight and four squires in your charge, and then you lied about the events to your commanding officer.”

Dorrick lunged forward, but the knights held firm. “I did not! I told you the truth. A witch and some girl stopped us!”

His father whirled around and slapped him hard across the face. “Only Lady Reshni can use magic. What you describe, this…this girl in green falls in line with the mythical Girl O’ Green, a wildling legend, a fairytale. You saw an illusion.”

“I know what I saw,” he retorted, teeth bared.

“And finally,” his father continued, ignoring his son’s pleas, “you assaulted a lord of the city.”

Of course, so that’s how they’ll play it. Pin everything on me. His father hadn’t been proud of him when he became a knight. He’d just put on a face. Finally, his father could be rid of him.

“With these charges, you are to be stripped of your rank of knight and expelled from the order.”

Dorrick knew what his father would say, but still, the words were like an arrow to the heart, like a mace to the back of the head. He saw stars. He saw his life flash before him, the good and the bad, the triumph and the struggles. The triumphs so brief, the love for Marcella so brief. Now it was all gone.

Usually for charges such as his, which were rare, they would have a trial before the captains…but his father was the commander. The chain of command ended with him. He could expel someone without a single thought. And it seemed that his own son wouldn’t be given the courtesy to defend himself to the other captains. Typical.

So that was it.

His father flicked his wrists, and the knights let Dorrick go. He slumped to his knees. He had no fight in him, for what was he to do?

Lord Bather wasn’t pleased. “That’s it?” he pleaded with the commander. “You won’t imprison him or have him killed? I want justice!”

“This is justice, Elron,” the commander snapped, his nose almost touching the nobleman’s. “I’d be happy to leave you here with my son so you can settle the score yourself, but I will not intervene if he kills you thusly.”

And that would be a fight Dorrick would win, of that he was sure.

Lord Bather glared at the commander, but he knew when to concede. He turned around in a huff and returned to his daughter’s side where he dropped to his knees and started to cry. For a moment, Dorrick felt bad for him. He didn’t know the pain of losing a daughter, though that didn’t absolve the lord of his boorish behavior. Besides, Marcella had never spoken very highly of him.

His father said nothing else to him. Marcella and the squires were collected respectfully and put on a cart. They’d receive a funeral in the city, as all knights did. The knights and city-guardsmen built pyres for the villagers and burned them, the priest saying prayers and blessings for the departed souls. If there were any townsfolk left, then they’d fled and hadn’t come back. Dorrick hoped his mission hadn’t been a complete failure in that sense, though it felt like it.

All the while, Dorrick sat alone in the middle of it all, broken and tired.

Once it was all over, everyone mounted their horses and started to ride west to the city. Dorrick made to join them, but his horse was already gone, along with his saddle and supplies. He ran to the front of the procession to where his father led the way.

“Give me my horse,” he demanded.

His father didn’t spare him a glance. “The horse is owned by the order. And you are no longer of it.” He gave the reins a tug and spurred his horse forward. “Find your own way back. Or don’t.”

And then he cantered forward, and the rest followed.

Dorrick had no words. He was truly alone, with only a sword and the stench of burning corpses to keep him company. He sat in the middle of the road, watching the horses disappear into the mountains. A violent mountain gale whipped around him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t feel it. He was numb.

He was numb.

Numb.

Dead.

Broken inside.

He’d lost everything, everyone he loved, and everything he’d ever cared about and striven for. He might as well have just sat there and let himself freeze to death. That would be the easiest thing to do. But that wasn’t who he was. He would go back to the city. Or try at least. He would try to start a new life, though he had no earthly idea what that life could be.

For now, he was tired, so tired. Cold and hungry and hurt, but mostly tired. He got up and went to the closest house that was still whole. He found a bed and threw himself into it. It was stiff