I would appreciate some feedback...

Okay. So. I'm in a Creative Writing: Short Fiction class right now. Our final stories are due Monday, and I'd like some peer reviews of mine. I'm not particularly happy with the ending, but other than that I'm pretty pleased so far. Please point out why I shouldn't be.

And before you point it out, yes. I'm using names I've used in RPs. I'm not particularly good at coming up with names and I reuse the ones I like; sue me.



But is it Justice? (Revision)

As the guards with the halberds lead me up the path to the courthouse, people lining the streets shout words of support to me. A few even throw rotten fruit or rocks at the guards with the halberds, focusing on the one carrying the chain to my manacles. Still, these men are all well disciplined and hardly flinch as the hurled projectiles glance off their armor, each stone producing a sharp ring as it bounces away from the steel. They hide it well, but I can see the fear in their eyes; fear that one of the peasants would come to the street with a crossbow or some other such implement of death that could pierce their breastplates, staining their green tabards with their blood, all to free their “savior.” But the peasants bring no implements of death. They all walk with me and the guards with the halberds the whole twenty minutes it takes to traverse the cobblestone path between the jailhouse and the courthouse. All the while, the commonfolk shout at me and the guards. They call me their hero, their liberator, their savior. In truth, I am nothing but a murderer.
The courthouse looms above us, its massive wooden doors creaking open on hinges in dire need of oil. They open slowly, and the guards with the halberds form a semi-circle around the entrance, standing at attention, keeping the throngs of observers at bay with their steely gazes, their weapons pointed skyward. This isn't enough to keep the people at the front back; in the end, the guards level their halberds, blades dangerously close to the people. This is enough to get them to retreat. Relieved, I think about the bitter irony of people dying to save a murderer like me.
Resigned to my fate, I walk into the courthouse. Only now did the guard who carried my ball put it down, taking gaping breaths as his muscles release the burden. Normally, a prisoner is made to carry his own ball; the lawmakers say something about it representing their shame. That a man was provided to carry my burden said many things, but most importantly was this; there is someone important who thinks I have nothing to be ashamed of. I thank him softly, and he simply nods in response, still struggling to catch his breath as I wonder who sent him.
Carrying the ball to the small podium that I'm told to stand at isn't so difficult, since it's only a few yards from the door. As I drop the iron weight to my side, I'm struck by how huge the room is; the unpainted brick walls seem to be miles away, and the light of the torches falls far short of illuminating the ceiling. The massive number of people sitting on the wooden bleachers whisper and mumble, the sound of their voices amplified by the room's echo to almost deafening levels. More guards with halberds stand between the assembled observers, and the ones who escorted me from the jailhouse stand before the huge wooden doors as they creak closed, all of them looking nearly identical with their green tabards and the open-faced helmets.
Suddenly, a clear tenor voice sounds over all the others, causing me to flinch. “The court will now have silence!” shouts the bailiff, and suddenly the only sound in the room is the faint echo of his order. “Thus begins the trial of Dorin Smithson for the murder of Duke Saberlin Farthing!” For a moment, I'm taken aback—his first name was Saberlin? I'd never heard that before.
“Representing the accused today is Gene Terrick, and representing the Farthing estate is Lathlan Keeyan! The mediator and decision maker for this trial is the esteemed Mother Seena Artly! As always, Saint Eua's eyes are upon us; may she see justice served on this day!”
“Thank you, baliff. You may take your seat,” says the elderly woman sitting at the mediator's desk, with a weak voice that barely carries throughout the room. In less dire circumstances, she might have seemed a motherly figure; her gray hair falls over her purple robes, and her wrinkled face looks down upon me with weary blue eyes. “Keeyan, please begin with a description of the crime.”
I look to my left as a thin, middle-aged man with black hair and a well-trimmed beard stands. “Yes, milady. Three nights ago, Lord Farthing was found in his dining room, dead. The wine he had been drinking had spilled on the floor around him, and was found to have been poisoned. Smithson, Lord Farthing's serving man that night, was questioned not two hour afterwards in his home, and admitted to the crime.”
As he sits, Seena's gaze falls upon me one more, and she nods gravely. “You admit freely to this, Mr. Smithson?”
“Y... yes, milady.” My voice is cracked and dry, and I realize that this is the first time I have spoken in at least a day.
“How was it done?”
I hesitate for a few moments, the details of that day flooding my mind. Slowly, I begin to recount Farthing's last moments.

“More wine!”
I rush forward with another golden goblet to Farthing's seat. The smell of the roasted water fowl he dines upon only reminds me of how little I had eaten myself lately. As I reach his seat, I hear the small door to the dining hall open. In one fluid motion, I place Farthing's next cup—his third for this meal alone—and pick up the one that had been emptied, the cup's golden surface reflecting the gleaming light of the chandelier above.
Through the doors, a guard enters. Farthing barely slows his feasting as the man approaches, sending a small glance towards the newcomer, annoyance and contempt plain in his beady eyes. The guard approaches briskly and kneels before Farthing, bowing his head as he speaks.
“My lord, five more workers have died in your silver mines, slain by beasts in the night.”
Farthing wipes a bit of wine that had been caught in his small beard with the neck of his silk robe as he turns to speak to the guard. “So find five more people who've lagged in payment of my respects and put them to work. Raise taxes if you need to.” He pauses a moment to belch before adding, “Raise them even if you don't need to, actually.”
This distraction is all I need. Moving away from the table, I take the small vial of mandrake poison out of my front pocket and dump the powder into the cup as I move back to the serving table across the room. It swirls in the cup as I pour yet more wine—I'd learned long ago that if I didn't get the his next drink to him quickly, I would be beaten afterwards. A few moments and the powder is thoroughly mixed with the drink, completely invisible to the eye.
As I add the poison, I can hear the guard behind me. “But sir, won't we bring the wrath of the knights upon us if we keep this up? I'm sure if sir Caid were to hear of this--”
“Caid? Why, goodsir Caid dined with me just last eve! I'm sure as long as the silver is pure and plentiful, he'll be able to overlook some minor details.” He chuckles as he adds, “Peasants die all the time, no?”
“I-- As you say, milord...” I turn just in time to see guard bow and leave the room without a word. He'd be sent to those mines himself if he disobeyed his lord, and I'd heard stories of the place that would make the Abyss seem inviting in comparison.
Returning to his meal, Farthing drains the contents of his goblet in one swallow, slamming the cup to the heavy wooden table when he finishes. Through more painful experience, I had come to know this as an order for another glass. Once more, I swiftly return, the tainted wine in hand. Upon arriving, I place the glass on the table without spilling a drop in spite of my shaking hands.
Farthing doesn't even give me time to scoop up his other goblet as he reaches for the freshly poured serving. I hastily return to my place; already I tell he knows something is wrong. I can hear him beginning to choke behind me, and I freeze. He begins making one of the most pathetic sounds I had ever heard, too soft to reach anyones ears but my own. It's almost like the crying of a child. I hear his heavy chair scrape against the floor as he tries to stand, but from the soft thud I hear next, I guess that his legs failed him. Through all of this, I haven't the will to turn and look at the man I had killed. After that, all I remember was running away and feeling the enormity of what I had just done sink in...

“And you freely admit to this?” Seena looks down upon me intensely.
“Yes.”
“I see... Mr. Keeyan, have you anything more to ask?”
Lathlan nods and says, “I would like to know more of the guard who distracted lord Farthing was; he is a potential accomplice in the murder.”
Suddenly, a truly innocent man's life was at stake, and I shout, “No!” After an awkward pause to recompose myself, I add, “That man had nothing to do with my plot! He was simply a convenience. I am the only one guilty of lord Farthing's murder. I worked completely alone.” And it's true. They say the mediators are blessed by Saint Eua with the ability to see truths and lies as they leave a guilty person's mouth, and I silently pray that this is true, lest the unfortunate guard who entered that night be brought down with me.
To my relief, she nods. “Eua's sight reveals all to me; the accused speaks the truth. He has concealed nothing from the Lady Justice, and admitted his guilt. The trial is over, and we will now proceed to sentencing.”
For the first time, I watch a man to my right stand. He is of a fairly pudgy build, with short blond hair and a pair of spectacles resting on his broad nose. His anger clearly visible on his face, Gene says, “Milady, I must respectfully object! All has not yet been said!”
I close my eyes as the observers all begin muttering, and flinch once more as the bailiff stands and demands silence. Seena gives a pained sigh and asks, “He has admitted to murder. The law says that the murder of a Duke entails excommunication followed by hanging. What more is there to reveal?”
“This man did murder, yes; that much is obvious.” He slams his fist on his desk and shouts, “However, what he did was for the good of all! Farthing was a tyrant who was unworthy of the gifts granted to him by his family, and the world is far better off without him! We should be knighting this man,” he says, gesturing grandly at me. “Not hanging him!”
“Nonsense!” Lathlan now stands, his voice even, a smirk on his face. Already, I feel sorry for Gene; I know Lathlan to be an experienced lawyer, and Gene, though I had heard he was a promising student, is fresh out of Helldrith Academy. With a calm demeanor, Lathlan continues. “The law is very clear about the fate of those who murder their lords. Our laws are what give us order and keep us safe; without law, we would have chaos. To allow even a single exception to these laws is to invite many more, negating the entirety of their purpose. Murder is murder, regardless of who was killed. To allow this man to get away with murdering his lord, who he might have found oppressive, is to say that it is acceptable to kill those you dislike; surely you do not wish to tell the people that? Why, if we were to allow such behavior, no one would be left alive.” He pauses and, as an afterthought, turns to Seena and says, with a bow, “Save for perhaps church officials such as yourself.” 'Tis all I can do to keep from spitting at such a patronizing man.
“I shall have none of your straw men today, Keeyan!” I flinch once more as Gene pounds his fist on the desk again. “Farthing was responsible for more deaths than there are people filling this room, and everyone knows it! He starved the servants in his fields to death, and ate enough at each meal to feed at least two families! He spent money that should have been spent housing the poor people he was responsible for lining his codpiece with gold and buying every whore within--”
“Gene Terrick, we are in the gaze of Eua!” Seena shouts suddenly, her voice finding sudden strength. “You shall keep your tongue in check! Such disrespectful speech has no place in my courtroom!”
This gets his attention, and he backs down. “My apologies, milady; though I speak nothing but the truth, I allowed anger to spur me too far...” I think to myself, bitterly, that he is far from the only one spurred by anger. The vague figures of the peasants that I can still hear shouting “free our savior” outside appear in my mind's eye for a few moments.
“Nothing but sentimental rubbish!” Lathlan stands and looks to Gene. “None of your claims can be proven. Why, were the situation so dire, the law would have surely come down upon Lord Farthing's head; is that not the duty of the knights?”
“The knights can only be summoned against a Duke when he is to be taken to trial, and had they received the order I have little doubt they would have gladly carried out this duty. But the order was never given, all because Farthing bribed those responsible for giving it!” I watched as Gene pulled a sheaf of parchment from a small satchel at his hip. “And here is proof! Provided voluntarily by Farthing's accountant, records of his spending for the last three years.” What? But Farthing had all of his documents burned. Had the accountant been making copies secretly? My questions are left unspoken and unanswered as Gene goes on. “Between the obscene amount spent on, and I quote, 'golden dinnerware, meals fit for the king, and pleasurable company,' are the names of several kingdom officials, responsible for keeping making sure servants are treated humanely. I would note, with no small degree of interest, that one Duran Caid is listed here most often—he is the man in charge of deploying the knights against dukes who break the laws, is he not? I also notice that Mr. Keeyan's name appears several--”
“Milady, I must object!” Lathlan's expression had turned suddenly frightened. I'd seen animals caught in hunter's traps with the same expression, and I must admit, it fits the man. “Neither I nor Farthing are on trial here; Mr. Terrick is trying to shift the focus of these proceedings away from the matter at hand!”
With a contemplative expression, Seena looks to Gene. Finally, she says, “Mr. Terrick, Mr. Keeyan is correct; this trial must focus on the murder of Lord Farthing, not his wrongdoing in life.” As Gene opens his mouth to speak, she holds up her hand and continues, “However, after this trial is over, I will personally examine these documents, and if I find evidence of wrongdoing, I will arrange for the guilty parties to be brought to justice myself.” I smile at this, the first time I had smiled in a long time. Now the people who had allowed this to happen and benifited from the death of Farthing's servants would be caught. I watch with a kind of sadistic glee I wouldn't have thought myself possible before this as the color drains from Lathlan's face; he knows he is finished.
“I think I have nearly heard enough.” Seena leans back in her chair and places her right hand on her forehead. “Unless either of you have more evidence to present, I want you to move on to closing statements. I will render my judgment afterwards. We will start with you, Mr. Keeyan.”
All eyes in the room, including my own, turn to him. The pompous bastard still hasn't regained his composure, still wearing the trapped expression. He takes a few breaths, then stands, his voice quivering as much as his legs as he begins, “M-milady, while 'tis perhaps true that Farthing was not a well liked man, or a good man, my earlier point still stands. The law says that the murder of a Duke is to be punished first by excommunication, and then by hanging, sending the guilty to meet their fate in the icy Abyss. We are here to see that the law is served. If there can be exceptions to the law based on the circumstances, than there may as well be no law for all the good it would do. He has admitted to the crime, and must now face the wrath of the law. There is nothing more to be said.” His monologue done, he sits in his chair. I can see him fidget nervously as Gene stands.
“Most of what Mr. Keeyan just said is true, milady. The law does indeed say that the murder of a Duke is to be punished by excommunication followed by execution. He is also correct in stating that the accused has admitted to the murder. However, where he strays is by saying that we are here to serve the law. This is simply not the case. No, we are here to serve justice. Before you sentence this man, I beg you to ask yourself whether this is just. 'Tis the law, yes, but is it justice? Anyone, from the simplest child to the master philosophers, and even Saint Eua herself would say the same thing. It is NOT justice!”
A stirring speech, I think. 'Tis a shame that Seena had already made her decision, even before Lathlan started to speak. When a person has settled on a very difficult decision like she has, if you watch close enough, you can always tell. I saw that a few minutes ago, and I can see now that the speeches changed nothing. Gene settles back into his chair, beaming at the effect his speech had on the observers, now all whispering to one another furiously.
A full minute passes as Seena feigns deliberation, and at last she signals to the bailiff, who calls for silence. “I have reached a decision.” She looks down to me and, with a sad tone, says, “Dorin Smithson, I find you guilty of the murder of Duke Saberlin Farthing. You will hang at dawn.” It doesn't surprise me, though judging by the outcry from the observers it did many. I see Lathlan grinning, and looking to my right, I see Gene slumped in his seat, looking as though he may burst into tears.
Suddenly, there is a loud sound from outside, and for the first time I notice that the chanting outside had ceased—but when? Then I hear one voice, words muffled by the thick doors. The voice seemed to be shouting an order.
And then, a loud impact on the door, so fierce that it cracks several of the planks, sending splinters everywhere. Before I have time to think, the guards around the door fling themselves against the besieged door, and one shouts, “Get Mother Artly out of here! Now!” The observers on the bleachers begin panicing as another impact on the door produces more splinters. The guards braced against it grunt as one as they dampen the blow, but it's plain to see that they cannot hold it—if nothing else, the old hinges will give out first.
Panic grips the room at the third crash. I turn around to see that Seena has already been escorted out. The people on the bleachers run all at once for the back of the courthouse, where one would presumably find a back exit. I can see Gene shouting and waving at the panicing spectators, futile trying to calm them. Lathlan has vanished; presumably joining the mass of fleeing people. And all the while, I try to understand what's happening.
Finally, one of the guards grabs my shoulder. “The door'll not hold long; stand clear if you wish to remain whole!” He pushes me away, and slowly I stagger away from the podium, which sat so close to the door. I couldn't get far, however, hobbled by the ball chained to my leg.
One more crash, this time followed by the lock hitting the floor. I heard a voice outside yell, “'Tis open! For our savior!” All of the people outside echoes that cry and began forcing the door to open wider. The group of people who had been carrying the ram—crudely built from a recently felled tree—places their burdens on the ground and drew their weapons. The peasants all carried implements of labor converted to for war; axes, pitchforks, sickles, scythes, picks, threshing flails, all wielded against the guards with the halberds. A few people had fashioned clubs from table legs, and a few people carried knives. Metal clashed with metal as the two forces met; the guards better equipped and better trained, but the peasants emboldened by their cause and overwhelming in number.
As battle was joined, all I could do was shout, begging them to stop this worthless rebellion. However, my pleas went unheard over the din of fighting...