“Rorka, most mighty, by the grace of Mitzor, Keemarnians one and all, I charge Arrack the Miserable with grievous sins. Whether he alone is responsible or whether responsibility rests with another—unnamed, but now in a state of serquor—remains to be proved. First, I charge Arrack with idolatry and devil worship,—nay more, I charge him with the greatest offence of all against Mitzor—the offence of offering black sacrifices, the sacrifice of living bodies, to Pirox the Killer, a graven image of hideous aspect. I charge him with acting as assistant in that Temple of Sin and Death. I charge him as a heretic and a heathen. He, a born believer in the one and only Creator, is a deserter from his faith. I charge him with aiding the unnamed, now serquor, in his horrible, nefarious practices. All these charges are with regard to his sins against Mitzor. Now I charge him with attempting to lay hands on the precious person of our loved Princess; with offering her wine that was drugged, and being a party to keeping her a captive against her will. Above all, I charge him with trying to aid the unnamed, now serquor, to soil her purity, and thus to cause her to wed one she did not love. These, O Rorka, are the sins in brief, and a more hideous category of evil, I have never before had to repeat. Although I am old, and my call must come soon, this is the saddest day of my life to think I have to utter such things against a true Keemarnian.” He sat down, and then rose up Misrath the High Priest. “O Rorka, the mighty and the just. I cannot deny the charges that Lamii has brought. Long have I talked with Arrack the Miserable, and it is hard to offer even a word in his favour. Yet because of thy justice I beg of you to hear me out, and I will tell the tale of sorrow and shame. Arrack and the unnamed, now serquor, were foster brothers. The mother of the unnamed received her call while her babe was yet a suckling, and these two babes, suckled from the same breast, drew the food of life from the same woman. As toddling mites they flew their kites together, and threw their balls. Then the sire of Arrack, Meol, now serquor, took these suckling babes to the Temple of Pirox the Killer. It is he I blame, not the innocent ones. He, with two others, lived a life of lies. Respected Keemarnians, wise fathers, loving husbands, they lived unsuspected of their evil practices; for they were all devil worshippers and offered up the black sacrifice. But serquor took them all into his bosom. These tender nurslings grew in the ways of sin. He, the unnamed, possessed brains and cunning. He was the leader. He it was who took Arrack the Miserable on to our Isle of Holiness—made him build him a hut, and left him there, a tool to work his will and prepare his heathen rites. Since he was of tender years he has led this life—hating it, yet loving it; fearing it, yet welcoming it. Then the time came when he, the unnamed, whispered words that affrighted even Arrack the Miserable. Whispered