Page 90 of Morfran, Dark Lord Reformed

Someone please tell her to stop calling me that.

One individual who came up surprised him.

“My bosom brother seduced and stole the woman who was prophesied to become my true love.” Rapunzo stood before the crowd, as stiff and wooden as a board.

“Isn’t that Good King Richard’s missing boy?” Someone squinted from the crowd.

“But that woman turned out to be Queen Ravana, so in a way he saved me from being married to a monster.” Rapunzo was wringing a stuffed animal in his hands, and Morfran feared that him diving behind the post from stage fright was imminent. Yet he managed to finish. “He also mailed me a beard-trimming kit using pigeons, and told me if I wanted to live I needed to jump out of my four-story-tall tower.” An awkward pause. “That is all.”

A long silence came up after that. Morfran had kept his head down through all of it, and he didn’t raise it now. He dreaded if that was the last of the testimonies, and he dreaded it if it wasn’t.

Then, Brim stood up. There was a long, steady quiet as the big bearish man looked across the crowd, collecting his thoughts. “I know I’ve been appointed leader, and that usually situations like these are where I would moderate.” He paused. “But it would be a disservice to everything we’ve fought for if I did not stand up now.”

He looked down at Morfran. Morfran refused to look at him.

“I knew, when my children caught this man in the forest and we forced him into the rebellion, that we’d be working with a man with a shady past,” he began. “I knew that there was a chance that he might’ve harmed or even killed people I knew.” He spoke the next part softly. “But I made a specific choice never to ask him about that. What he once was, what he was trying to flee from—it didn’t matter so much as where we were going, and what we would do. Yet what I did ask of him was that he use his skills and knowledge for good, for the advancement of the rebellion, to put an end to the evil in this kingdom. He didn’t always want to, I knew. There were plenty of times I was informed he’d tried to run. And there were times I questioned if he’d lead us into an ambush.”

Morfran winced.

He shrugged, and Morfran saw his great shadow turning, his arms spread out wide. “Look around us. Where we stand now. Alive. And free.” It sounded like there was a light smile on his face. “I think his current actions speak out in defense of his life. He was put to use, if at first he didn’t want that. But he came around and he committed all in his power to help us take back our homes. Those who’ve spoken up believe that there is good in him now. I know there is good in him. I ask that you think on that. Are we not a kingdom that believes in growth? Growth of economy? Growth of the land? Growth in its people?”

Even with his head bent low, shame eating him alive, Morfran could feel a shift in the crowd. It was a receding of flames, Brim’s words like sand upon the heat. He wanted to hug the man and he wanted to flee from his sight, and his heart ached knowing that he himself had been an indirect cause of the death of this man’s wife, and yet Brim still chose to stand up and speak out in support of him.

He didn’t know what the crowd would choose. In that moment, though, he was filled with love for every single individual who’d stood up and even those who hadn’t.

“My name is Bronwen.”

He stiffened. Raised his head. She was there, standing with her back towards him, facing the crowd.

“Many of you know me or have heard of me,” she was saying. “But for those who haven’t, I’m also known as the Red Rogue.”

For the first time in several minutes the crowd fluttered with whispers.

“One year ago I was sent to assassinate Queen Ravana, and during that time I failed. As I was fleeing with guards at my heels, I ran into this man.” She gestured at him. He could feel her quick glance over him, hot like sizzling oil. “Do you know what he did?”

The crowd had gone utterly still.

“He said, ‘Next time? Don’t miss.’ And then he let me go, after showing me a secret passage through the castle.” She paused, and then she turned and stared him sharply in the eye, not looking away once. “I’ve never told anyone that. I didn’t want to believe he was capable of goodness. But this man spared my life, and actually encouraged me to return and try again, before he’d made the choice to turn his back on his life as Dark Lord of Ruthven. He had an ounce of goodness in him, even before we forced him to change.”

She turned back to the crowd. “There’s something else you need to know.” She hesitated before announcing, “I died yesterday.”

Morfran was still looking up, and it was because of that that he saw Hugh’s frown and Brim’s chagrined expression.

“I got pierced in the heart with magic and bled to death.” She went on. “He was there, too. And that was after I learned exactly who he was. He knew I wanted to kill him. Despite that, he not only brought me back, but brought me back in perfect form.”

At this, some in the crowd began to shift.

“Brought back? As in back from the dead?”

“You’re saying he used necromantic arts?”

“She is,” Grandfather Tortoise spoke, hobbling forward with his cane. “Morfran’s father was a necromancer, after all, and hands down the best one I’ve ever seen.”

All eyes flickered to the old man, to Bronwen, to Morfran, and back.

“I thought he killed all the necromancers in the Two-Year War!” someone complained.

“He killed all those who practiced it imperfectly,” Grandfather Tortoise answered. “It’s only considered a wicked art because some of those who’d practiced it had done it for selfish reasons—true resurrected people don’t decompose, and they certainly maintain all their thoughts and knowledge as well. Morfran killed those who’d despoiled the career and held back from ever using the practice his father taught him until now. Didn’t you?”