The main courtyard of Sanctuary filled with people as guards led Turyd from his confinement to the raised platform in the center. The ancient Guardian stumbled a few steps, his pace slow. He stared blindly, his jaw slack, still in the thrall of the terrible memories Terrence had imparted to him. There was only grim, quiet muttering from those gathered as they came to bear witness to the punishment of one of the oldest among them.
The sea of people parted quickly as the na'Zhekali emerged from the tunnels, regarding them with a sense of awe or trepidation. Izkynder sat in a pack on Taylin's back, sleeping, the white mark on his left cheek shimmering in the light from the overcast sky. Eyes flickered towards the Desanti and quickly looked away. The two desert folk’s obvious dismay at losing Turyd mollified those who questioned if Desanti had any sense of respect for the past.
Turyd was pushed to his knees. Tyrsan could only look with disappointed resignation at the former archivist who stared sightlessly. "Some time ago, the journals of a Desanti Guardian had been recovered. They were placed in the empty Desanti vault with the hope that perhaps one day we would see the lost archives restored, and the wounds of the Great War that Fortress still bears would finally begin healing."
He waved towards Storm and Skyfire. "Two Githalin Swordanzen, the best of Desantiva's own, came to us. They, too, sought to begin healing the rifts that had grown between the four lands. But we failed. Every one of us bearing the Timeless One's blessing failed Her, the Sundered Lands, and ourselves. We Guardians of Time have neglected our duties to help the world heal because we neglected the most fundamental principle beyond lip service. We are the union of the lands. When we give ourselves to the Timeless One, we swear to protect the balance of all the lands. Not all of them except this one or that one. All of them!
"The archives of Fortress reach into the past, so we of the present can know who came before us. What struggles had come before, the victories and the failures, throughout time. They allow us to see the past because we have not the power to move freely through the rivers of time. To knowingly damage the archives is one of the gravest of sins." He looked at Turyd. "To knowingly destroy the past, to murder the souls of our brothers and sisters past, is perhaps the greatest of all sins.
"But to do so in an attempt to cast doubt on those who have offered their hands to us in friendship, who seek healing. To perpetuate the dormant war that lies beneath ignorance and falsehoods. That is unforgiveable." Tyrsan drew the heavy sword at his side grimly. "Turyd has been examined repeatedly, and the conclusion is irrefutable. While there may have been outside influence to fan his prejudice against the Desanti, he did not act out of insanity nor was he controlled or forced into the disgraceful actions he took. He freely chose to betray the Timeless One."
Closing his eyes, Tyrsan paused a moment to grieve before speaking again. "The laws are absolute in this matter. Turyd may be one of the eldest among us, but no one is outside our laws. His sentence is not the revocation of our mistress's blessing, but forfeiting his life in dishonor." He raised the sword over his head.
Mureln's eyes widened as he stared into the distance past Tyrsan, Nikkan's thoughts finally coalescing into clarity. The other na'Zhekali looked at him sharply when he whispered, "Assassin!" He reached out impotently. "Dulain!"
No sooner had Mureln cried out than Ash responded as well, holding both hands out and everything and everyone on the platform froze, as time itself stopped. Storm leapt onto the platform, snatching an arrow from the air just inches from Tyrsan's back and rolling into a crouch to look around with a glare.
Terrence caught Ash as the man staggered a step once the spell was released. The older Illaini looked up dizzily to watch Tyrsan's sword cleanly cleave Turyd's head from his shoulders as Storm caught another arrow. Looking bewildered, the Dulain staggered when Storm shoved him away with one hand, snatching yet another arrow from the air.
Lyra climbed onto the platform, ignoring the screams of panic around her as she drew her silkwood longbow, calmly pulling a single arrow back. As Storm caught a fourth arrow, Lyra released her shot. The arrows stopped coming towards them.
"You didn't kill her," Storm stated flatly, looking at the familiarly fletched arrows in her hand.
Lyra stared into the distance. "No. Something is not right. She is better than that. There should have been three times as many arrows in the span of those." She could not meet Storm's eyes. "Forgive me. I know you do not like leaving those who attack able to do so again, but only she can answer for her actions."
"You need not apologize." Storm rested her hand on Lyra's shoulder, a smile finally showing through the hardness from moments earlier. "You stopped her attack. You did well." She looked at the Dulain sharply when he snatched the arrows out of her hand.
Tyrsan's face was flushed with a tangle of emotions as he stared at the distinctive fletching. "Bella did this? But this makes no sense! She is one of my faction. I trusted her!" He bellowed towards a cluster of stunned Unsvet guards. "Bring her to me! Alive!!" He turned his furious gaze on the na'Zhekali. "The rest of you come with me." Throwing the blade aside in disgust, he stated to the dumbfounded guards on the platform, "Clear this area."
"Yes, sir," they chorused before hurriedly jumping to the grisly task. They averted their eyes from the ancient body of the former Archivist as it caught up to its actual age and began to disintegrate. The wind gusted and blew the dust into the sky, as if it, too, wished to obliterate the stain on Fortress's history.