Bowed No More

The group stood about the image of the city and studied the disposition of guard, the banners, the steady stream of supplies trains and the disposition of troop encamped about it. “See Sire, it's just as he said.” Angelique glanced aside at John kneeling, weighted with his magical chains just as he suppressed a groan of pain with a shudder of effort. “Why couldn't you find it before?” “As he broke out of their magic bonds and stepped away with a league step there was a twist he didn't understand. When he was describing it again to me a detail of the description made me realize that the night wind shifted ninety degrees as he left. We were looking in the wrong direction, in the wrong place.” Rupert snarled, “It's still all lies, he couldn't have escaped if they hadn't let him go, see how the Liè chains keep his filthy magic captive now! Lets see him explain that!”


The King turned to John. “Well, John, what say you. How could you have escaped from their Liè chains if you can't escape from ours?” John struggled to raise his head and speak, but was too beaten and his throat too dry. “Give him wine.” Petr leaned his halberd against the wall, grabbed a mug and splashed an inch of wine into it. With the help of the other guard, he gently raised John's head and supporting it, raised the cup to his lips and coaxed him to drink. Finally, able to respond, voice rasping, barely more than a whisper, John replied. “Liè chains only suppress evil magic. They don't contain me.” Rupert began disdainfully to speak again, but a gesture from the King stopped him. “Then why do you kneel suffering before me if you could be free?” John's voice had already weakened, they had to lean closer to hear, “Because you command my suffering Lord.”


“Ridiculous! Don't believe this slime!”, Rupert spit on John. The guard shifted minutely, but Rupert had not the skill to see and realize that only their loyalty to the King kept him safe. Again silencing Rupert with a gesture, the King told John, “If you can be free, then be free.”


Gradually a light, white and beautiful, began to arise about the kneeling man. Within it could be seen ghostly angelic figures rushing to minister to the suffering man. The reaction of those in the room varied with their hearts. The guards, loyal and true, knelt and wept tears of joy, Angelique's face shone in the light, soaking it in and then shining it out again. The King was startled to see that her feet were at least an inch from the floor. Rupert hid his eyes, crouching and turning his face away. Only the King himself seemed unaffected. John's chains fell to the floor all at once with a thudding clang instead of the ring of clean steel. The terrible suppurating sores covering John wherever the chains had been in contact with him began to close and fade before their eyes. The bowed suffering man seemed to unroll, to lengthen, his muscles relaxing away from their terrible twisting and cramping and regaining their tone. The angelic figures faded away one by one until finally the last, with an accusing glance into the King's eyes kissed John on the forehead and disappeared.


John knelt, head down, and the King was amazed to see that even his clothing was clean, the evidence of two weeks in the dungeon gone. “John, look at me.” John raised his head and looked at the King. The nobility of the gaze affected the King in a way that the sight of the angelic beings had not. It was an effort not to turn away from the love and beauty in that look. “Stand.” John immediately arose, lithe and strong, as if the weeks in chains had left no effect at all. In the background, one of the serving women sobbed.