There was no impact. No pain as I had expected. No sharp bite. In the oppressive silence, I finally found the courage to open one eye. Vog had lowered his weapon, turned to Bard, who raised his hand in his direction. Bent over the primate, the thin figure of Nami Rockin whispered in his ear. As Bard listened, sometimes nodding ostensibly, the tension of the complainants became increasingly palpable. Lig Lemis ended up reacting impatiently, even if, aware of his faux-pas in terms of etiquette, he managed to express his exasperation in a gentle tone:

"Primate Govon, what does it mean? You have pronounced a sentence, let's carry it out and then go home from this unbearable cold."

Bard raised his eyebrows and sketched a thin smile before speaking in a firm yet contrite tone:

"Sir Lemis, I will ask you in the future not to interrupt my wife when she is speaking with me. It so happens that my lady finds the whole affair very vulgar, especially at this time of the year. Therefore, despite this weakness often shown by the heart of the fairer sex, I decided, given the context, to consider her plea for clemency. Of course, it is clear that you have been wronged, so I must suggest a compromise that will be able to satisfy all parties present."

Bard paused briefly, before fixing his penetrating gaze on Randu :

"Sir Randu, at the risk of seeming out of place, allow me to ask you frankly if you have paid this year the modest commercial tax that the city imposes on all its merchants, cabinetmakers included?"

My ears couldn't believe it, and it didn't take much more than that for hope to take root in my mind. Realizing that my fate was obviously at stake on the question that Bard had just formulated, my gaze swung sharply to the left, where, with my heart pounding, I desperately began to spy on the reactions of the two plaintiffs. Randu had blushed up to the ears and, after a few confused stammers, he ended up bowing his head. His reaction triggered the wrath of his father, who began whispering invective at him, the hardest syllables echoing against the smooth walls of the Circle. Bard coughed politely and Randu finally turned to him.

"No, Lord-Primate. Not yet," he said in an inaudible voice. Hope gushed forth like a clear spring, while alongside Randu, Lig Lemis continued to pester in his beard. His son's mistake had just caught them both in the snare and, without him having to formulate it, Bard had just taken away from them all possibility of contesting his verdict. I had never been so relieved in all my life. My hand was saved. I felt myself reintegrating my existence with a single powerful breath that swept away everything, even the anguish of the sentence that Bard was going to impose on me. I could bear the lashes of the whip, the pillory, anything, but no one was going to take my hand anymore.

Bard's voice resounded again in the Circle, smooth, understanding, but implacable:

"A natural mistake, Sir Randu, after all, this is the first year that you are following the path set out by your honourable ancestors, and this kind of unfortunate accident is to be expected. Rest assured that I do not hold this oversight against you. Moreover, if we reason in purely pecuniary terms, it could be said that the prejudice you have suffered affects me as well. Indeed, at the time the child committed his misdeeds, you were in a way my debtor."

My gaze wavered between the canopy and the area where the plaintiffs were standing.

As Bard spoke, Randu's face seemed to regain color, while on the contrary, his father was frowning more and more.

The primate continued, after nodding gravely:

"Yes, on reflection, I consider myself to be in solidarity with the misfortunes that have overwhelmed you. In fact, I also intend to demand reparation from the child for the damage I have suffered, which, from memory, amounts to about thirty denarii. You see, in this matter, sirs, I have lost almost more than you have."

Bard marked a new pause. Randu's eyes opened wide. Imperceptibly, the business seemed to turn less and less to his advantage. Bard's voice became slightly firmer. "Now," he said, "as everyone knows, taxes are not paid in the hands of children, so I cannot accept this as payment for my grievances. I see myself obliged to compensate myself by the time and labor that he will be able to provide me. As you probably know, sir, Nade, the healer of my late father passed away last year at an advanced age. Knowing that I was looking for a replacement for him, Lord Rockin was kind enough to send me his own family surgeon. My wife informs me that this man could benefit from the use of an assistant, and it seems to me that an honest career could put this young vagabond back on the right track. I therefore sentence the accused to serve Brown-Horn for a period of three years without pay as an assistant, after which he may, if he wishes, be offered a permanent position at the castle. Of course, I do not forget the prejudice he has inflicted on the plaintiff, so I condemn him to serve the Lemis family in the manner they judge most suitable, also for a period of three years without pay. Finally, in order to satisfy the request for clemency addressed to me by my wife, I propose that the two injured parties share equally in the condemnation of the accused: the first half of the week for Brown-Horn, the second half in the service of the plaintiffs and, by clemency, every last day, the child will be free of his acts. I now declare this lawsuit closed, and to be finished with this case."

My thoughts became confused as Bard spoke and, if I had not grasped everything, I understood that in spite of the mercy that had been granted to me I had also just been stripped of my former life.

However, faced with the ulcerating emptiness caused by the absence of Brindy, Ucar and the widow Ronna during the ordeal of the last few weeks, I decided that the alternative offered to me was just as good, and perhaps even better.

The apprehension of the unknown was in no way comparable to the terror of losing a limb and the diminished prospects for the future that disability would have left me. On the other side of the hall, Randu Lemis, pale with anger and confusion, raised his voice in protest before being silenced by his father, whose crimson complexion and tight jaw betrayed his emotions. They left the Circle with a quick step and the reverberations of their voices echoed through the corridor long after they had passed.

While Legate Vog and his assistant were carrying their macabre tools, Bard stood up and pointed at me with his chin, but his words were not intended for me:

"First-blade, make sure the boy gets some extra care to make him look a little more presentable. Also provide him with suitable clothing and sleeping quarters."

The soldier saluted. Lady Nami left her pulpit and briefly glanced at me, in which I thought I could discern a hint of mischief. At last I could see her face and immediately understood why she had conquered not only the heart of Bard, but also that of Brown-Horn. Of unusual but undeniable beauty, she did not have the features of a native Brownian: under her hazelnut-colored fringe - very straight, not curly - gleamed two large dark almond-shaped eyes, a hooked but thin nose, high cheekbones and an almost invisible mouth. As the couple turned around to leave the canopy, I heard myself whispering an indistinct "thank you". It seemed to me that they paused, before disappearing from my field of vision. As their footsteps echoed over the slabs, Sesh, without a word, grabbed my arm and dragged me out.

Fresh air flooded my lungs, but I didn't mind the bite of the winter breeze. I had the impression that the frozen gardens had metamorphosed into a welcoming paradise since my visit an hour earlier. The sun was shining, pale and clear, and I breathed in the delicious smell of freedom. Sesh led me after him, not to the dungeon, but away from it, where a snow-covered low wall stood next to a statue of a warrior gnawed by moss and a twisted shrub that I did not recognize. Without warning, Sesh clumsily grabbed me under the shoulders and placed me on the low wall. I was floating on such a small cloud of happiness that, even if he had thrown me over the castle walls at that moment, I don't think I would have complained any more.

Sesh stood in front of me with a falsely angry expression:

"Wipe that stupid smile off your face, kid, you look like a simpleton. Here, catch!"

An apple landed on my knees, and at the same time I discovered a furious hunger. While I was carrying the sweet treasure to my mouth, Sesh crunched into a second wrinkled fruit that he pulled out from under his cloak. "Enjoy it," he said to me between two bites, "it's the last of the year." I bit again, letting the ripe taste flood my withered taste buds, which for two weeks had known only the bland flavor of broth. That's when it hit me. The apples. The apples that Sesh had on him had been in his pockets from the beginning. I swallowed askew, then in an accusatory and horrified tone:

"It was all fake. It was all fake. You were acting. You made me believe that I was going to get my hand cut off!"

Sesh almost choked on his own apple, swallowed it askew, and began to glance around stealthily. I kept looking at him, certain now of what I was saying. The unbearable wait, the trial, the first condemnation, the executioner's sword, all this had been orchestrated, from the beginning, and the only real thing had been my absolute terror. I suddenly felt shame, a visceral shame. I had wet myself in front of the primate of Brown-Horn, his wife and, worst of all, in front of Randu Lemis. I wanted to run away, but Sesh's clear gaze froze me on the spot, accompanied by the hoarse whispering of his voice:

"Keep your voice down, Fyss."

The tears suddenly stung my eyes while the still burning memory of the log resurfaced in me with such intensity that it almost made me fall off the wall. All of a sudden, the emptiness filled me. I felt betrayed, abandoned, exhausted and very alone. Split in two.

"Why?" was the only thing I could think of. Sesh flushed, and this time, I was sure, his moustache was shaking. Yet in a flat voice he asked me the same question. "What do you think?" I shook my head, unable at the time to think of anything other than a cruel joke, which I had unknowingly been the object of. The soldier slowly took off his iron helmet and put it down beside me. He looked tired, too. His voice was low:

"Because, as I told you yesterday, I have to be careful what I say to you, and because you can't understand everything. To put it simply, Brown-Horn is at war. Oh, not a war with soldiers and armies, but a war all the same. Bard's grip on this town is falling apart, and our Tom Minnow case gave a kick in the anthill. We are playing a very dangerous game right now, and the old upper class families are playing against us. The king is dead, the Treaty of Pulo is over, anyone with enough money can buy the approval of the Round Table, overthrow a lord, or be appointed a primate. In the South, this will probably never happen, not with all these ancient lineages and their well-established lords. And even if it did, it wouldn't make much difference to the good people of Wadd or Southy if another family took power. For us it's different. The local aristocracy and the merchants are the same, there are the clans, the hatred and the memory of the hordes, and, halfway through, a primate who because of his mixed blood can't remain forever on both sides of the fence. Imagine the fate that would await you and your friends from the Basin, if tomorrow the primate were someone like Lig Lemis, or his son. Do you understand what I'm saying here?"

I nodded with enthusiasm, my tears giving way to a most attentive seriousness. Seeing that he had captured my interest, Sesh continued:

"Our fight takes place in the shadows, with the only weapons being skillful words and mind games. Well, most of the time. When you were caught by the guard during that stupid robbery, I immediately went to see the primate. We concocted a plan to turn the situation to our advantage and it was Nami Rockin herself who imagined the role she would play in the case. This one, Fyss, I wouldn't want to make an enemy of her. A razor-sharp mind, underneath her little lady appearance. Bard has always been an excellent judge of character, but he surpassed himself in choosing this woman. She took everything in her hand. Her presence may tip the odds in our favor. Anyway. I..."

As if looking for words, Sesh hesitated, watching me carefully with the corner of his eye, before slowly picking up again:

"It was therefore agreed that at the end of the trial you would be placed with the Lemis family, where you would serve us, for lack of a better word, as a spy. Make no mistake, little one, it won't be easy, because they will treat you as badly as they can. And this time, if you make the slightest mistake, we won't be able to get you out of trouble, neither I nor anyone else. So Bard has decided to give you a chance to shine and a future, if we win. If, for once, you are able to use your head properly. I don't know the Rockin's healer personally, but when you meet him, I think you will notice the irony of the situation."

I raised an eyebrow and grumbled. "I don't think so, because I don't know what that means, irony." Sesh repressed a smile. I continued cautiously, looking at my feet swinging over the snowdrift:

"If I understand correctly, you didn't tell me anything about my hand the same way you didn't tell me about Robin. You didn't trust me enough. You didn't think I could do a good job of pretending to be afraid. So that way, since I pissed my pants, the Lemis wouldn't believe it was bullshit. Is that it?"

Sesh observed me seriously. "Fyss," he said, "I hope what I'm about to say doesn't get to your head. For a child your age, where you come from, you're remarkably perceptive. What you said very badly is absolutely right." Sesh calmly ran his gauntlet over the helmet and tapped it with a distracted finger. I thought his gaze was about to leave, and then his eyes fixed on me. Sesh brought the helmet back on his head a little abruptly, and a strange mark remained in the snow of the low wall. "You know, a few years ago I was acting like a hothead, just like you did in the woodworking shop," he confided to me. The condensation was starting to freeze on his moustache. "I made a terrible mistake that can never be fixed. So I hope this will give you something to think about, too. I know it's been really hard, and I've blamed myself at times, but I also think it was important for you to understand. A beautiful mind is useless if you don't use it."

I agreed, too flattered by the compliments to take to heart the harsh lesson I had been taught. Sesh patted me gently on the head and brought me down from my perch. My urine-soaked pants were sticking to my thighs and were getting seriously cold. I hesitated, my shoes swallowed by the snowdrift, while scratching my ear. "It's not just the four of us, right first-blade? You, me, the primate and his wife?" Sesh smiled again. "No, my boy, there are others, fortunately." "Oh". We set off for the dungeon, and I dragged behind as my thoughts collided. "And you can't tell me who it is, because then I might goof up?" " That's right, Fyss." We walked around a new statue to one of the main alleys. "I didn't know your name was Bert, first-blade. Maybe I could call you that now?"

"Definitely not, Fyss." If my memory is correct, my jabbering went on for quite a while and did not stop, even when we left the frozen gardens of Castle-Horn.