Wilson awoke to darkness and pain. He lifted his head and felt as if there were nails shooting through his eyes. The pain was everywhere. It hurt to lift each hand. As he sat up, he looked around. Ah, right, he thought, I'm in jail for fighting with the Baron's son. He stood and stretched slowly. It hurt.

As he stood there, wallowing in his pain, a distant door opened and a man holding a candle walked towards him. The meagre light hurt his eyes. He shut them against the pain. When the man's footsteps were close, Wilson called out, "Friend?"

The man chuckled. "Neither a friend nor an enemy."

"You've come to release me then?" Wilson asked.

The man chuckled again. It sounded like small rocks crushing against each other as they were stepped on by an oversized troll. "No, I'm here to escort you to your trial."

"You know I am part of the Special Roc Unit, don't you?"

"I'm certain you are," the man said. "I'm also certain that I do not care."

Wilson sighed. "What am I to be tried for?"

"The usual, crimes against the Baron, crimes against his representatives and violence during such crimes," the man leaned close to the bars. "Make this simple and I will not be required to hurt you further. Stick your arms out of the bars so I can cuff them."

Wilson stuck his arms through the bars.

"Not like that, put them both through the same gap," the jailer said.

Wilson complied.

"Any chance I will be found not guilty?" he asked as the jailer put small round metal cuffs around his wrists. The cuffs were connected with a thick chain of three links.

"No," said the jailer.

The jailer unlocked the cell and led Wilson through a series of corridors. Upon reaching a dark, cypress door, they stopped. "We'll wait here until summoned."

Wilson stood waiting. For several minutes.

Then a short rap sounded from the other side of the door.

"There's our cue, then," said the jailer. He opened the door and pushed Wilson ahead of him.

As Wilson walked into the room, he looked around. It was a circular room with a dais in the middle. On the dais sat three ornate chairs. The middle chair was a bit more ornate and larger than the other two. In that chair sat the Baron. Wilson nodded. In the other two chairs sat the Baron's son Basden and another man that Wilson didn't know.

"I see you keep poor company," said Wilson to the Baron.

The Baron smiled, his mouth a thin, angry line. He gestured with his right hand to the jailer. A sharp slash to his right.

Almost immediately, Wilson went to the ground writhing in pain as his left side flared with a fierce agony. The jailer stood above him, holding a small leather sock filled with small bits of metal. A cosh built for street brawling. The jailer smiled at him, "You know this tool?" he asked Wilson.

Wilson nodded through his tears.

"Don't make me use it again," said the jailer. "Now get up and face the Baron."

Wilson stood up and faced the Baron. He saw little choice in the matter. He had once seen a particularly angry sergeant make a permanent mess of a private with a leather cosh. Wilson wanted to walk from this encounter. He knew that any more sass would earn him injuries that could easily cross the line from painful to permanent.

The Baron smiled more openly at this display. "You have been charged with violating the peace, attacking one of my officers, as well as destroying personal property. What do you say to these charges?" he asked Wilson.

Wilson nodded. "I am not guilty."

"Liar," shouted Basden. "You attacked me and my guards as we were eating. What kind of coward attacks a seated man?"

Wilson said nothing.

"Answer for yourself," said the Baron.

"Sir, there is nothing I can say that will convince this court of my innocence. It is a sham, and I will say nothing more."

The Baron smiled. "We the court find the defendant Wilson to be guilty as charged. As the defendant has military obligations, we are pleased to be lenient. His punishment will be four sevens in prison. After that, he shall be freed to return to military duty."

Wilson gasped. By the time he was freed, the farm would be taken and his sister would be impoverished. His angry attack on Basden had won him nothing except a guarantee that his sister was in a worse situation than before.

His jailer returned him to his cell and locked the door with no further comment.

The Black Oak Sword

Chapter 1: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Chapter 2: Part 1 , Part 2
Chapter 3: Part 1 , Part 2,Part 3
Chapter 4:Part 1,Part 2
Chapter 5: Part 1
Chapter 6: Part 1, Part 2
Chapter 7: Part 1, Part 2
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14:Part 1
Chapter 14:Part 2
Chapter 15:Part 1
Chapter 15:Part 2
Chapter 16:Part 1
Chapter 16:Part 2
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19:Part 1
Chapter 19:Part 2
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22:Part 1
Chapter 22:Part 2

© 2017, Stone Golem Publishing, All rights reserved--no part of this may be used without express written consent.

**All pictures used are labeled for reuse. They come from Pixabay

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