Freya takes up a grudging position against the wall, fixing the chief bandit with a look of anger and contempt but not speaking. When Arael finishes casting his spell, her centipede makes a sudden appearance, waving its legs agitatedly and running frantically around her shoulder.
Freya pushes away from the wall and speaks suddenly into the tense silence. "Did you answer truthfully when these men questioned you before?" She gives the rest of the room a shrug, as she cuts to the chase.
Sarien leans against a wall some distance away from Freya, arms crossed and watchful. His lips quirk a little in a smile at Freya's question but he remains silent throughout.
Trask sighs, as if resigning himself to whatever comes next.
Yes, I did...although I didn't say as much as I could have. What more do you need to know? He ticks off the statements on his fingers as he talks. My name is Elgar Trask. I was hired by someone I believe to have been disguised magically to harass and disrupt trade passing into and out of Westcrown. I have received payment for my services at irregular intervals, while I slept. I have sometimes felt as though I was being observed, when no person was around to do the observing. At this, Arael shifts, somewhat uncomfortably. Trask continues. I lost my wife, whom I loved, to the Wasting several years ago. I beat my children because they remind me of my loss of her. I wish that they could have a better life, free of me, for I am without hope and, more significantly, without ambition.
Having long since run out of fingers (on the one hand, anyway) to tick off points with, Trask lowers his shaking hand to rest on the floor. He takes several heaving breaths, nearly sobbing at the last.
I have killed, and should be killed in return.
He laughs, a horrible barking sound that cuts into the silence.
Now, then. What else do you want from me?
Freya glances around the room. "He," she says, pointing to Hardin, "wants to see you redeemed, become a 'better man': hard-working citizen, loving father, credit to society." She looks back at the bandit and shrugs. "Most of us probably just want to hand you over the proper authorities and not have to think about you any longer. It's awkward, dealing with a broken man; no one quite knows where to look." She crouches down in front of him. "The truth is a powerful device, isn't it? Crueler than any Hellknight's rack, where you can go to your death convincing yourself you deserve better? But even the truth can lead back to a lie. You've unburdened yourself, and already you're becoming a tragic figure: the hero at the end of the opera, burdened and broken by his circumstances, who nevertheless summons the strength to sing his final aria and collapse in a heap of flowers and applause. What a noble end." She stands up. "But that's a lie, too. You're not a victim, of life or anything else. You're the villain, who took the only two beings on this world to hold you in anything but comtempt, the only legacy of the woman you claim to have loved, and rewarded them with cruelty and abuse. And that's the truth, isn't it, Elgar Trask?"
Trask squints at Freya, as if seeing her for the first time.
Yes. Yes, girl, it probably is true. I'll tell you this much: I don't want to see those kids again, now or ever. They're better off without me, and if they're not, then they will be. I love 'em, but I don't know aught about how to treat 'em since their mam's been gone. Don't know how to raise 'em. I get too mad at 'em. I get drunk, and... he shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts. No, girl, you're right to call me out for making excuses for myself. I am what I've become, whether by my own choices or by circumstance, it makes no difference at all. You're right, I'm the villian. So what's it to be for me, then? You're the heros, you get to decide that, don't you?
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"As much as I'd like to think that redemption is in your path, it has to be something you want for yourself."
"I can say that your children will be well cared for. They miss you. Much as you miss your wife."
He nods to Rauno. Then says to Arael, "Can we book him passage to someplace where he won't talk, or do you have contacts in the city who can take him into custody?"
"Or, should we start digging graves for he and his men?"
"Don't care," Freya shrugs. "But just because they're 'in custody' doesn't mean they can't talk -- about who turned them in and where to find us. I'd rather them telling their story to savages in Mwangi ... or people in line with them in Pharasma's Boneyard."
Sarien remains silent, showing no reaction to either Trask's admissions or the way the others casually discussed his fate in front of him. He has little interest in taking part in the discussion and even less in assuming responsibility for the bandit's life.
"Oh, goblins! and bandits!" Freya spits out impatiently. "Things every city has, and however many we kill, there are ten times more waiting to step into the void! Are we blind? It's the Hellknights and the House of Thrune that mark this place as unique. When will we strike a blow that means something? Or is our next step to go from shop to shop confronting merchants using dishonest scales?"