by R. J. Larson
“Very.” Unable to bear her sorrow, Ela looked the leader in the eyes. “Istgardians sacrifice children!”
His expression quieted. “Some do. They give what is most precious to their gods.”
“But what if their sacrifice is useless? Their gods aren’t even—”
“Don’t talk foolishness. Sacrifice to the gods is never useless, and I will not listen to you spouting blasphemy.” He turned his destroyer about sharply. The dark creature reared in protest.
Ela protested, “The desire to protect innocent lives is never blasphemy!” When the leader said nothing, she seethed. Why didn’t he care?
You will not be the first of My prophets to speak against this evil in Istgard. But this time, you will not only speak the truth; you will warn these foolish people of disaster beyond their imaginings. I am about to judge Istgard’s leaders for encouraging such evil.
The delicate hairs on the back of Ela’s neck prickled and she shivered. “What sort of judgment?”
Oh no. Why had she asked?
A cool breeze touched Ela’s face, calming her, easing her headache. What a mercy she hadn’t fallen off the destroyer. She opened her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. At least this vision was more tolerable in force, if not in substance. Fear shook her limbs.
“Are you quite ready to proceed?” The lead soldier looked fit to roar with impatience. “If you don’t move that idiot destroyer, I’ll have it butchered and drag you to the prison myself!”
Had the destroyer halted again? Ela straightened, perplexed. How did the creature know when she was overcome by visions? Were all horses so perceptive? She rubbed the destroyer’s neck and urged it forward. “Go. You mustn’t allow my visions to stop you.”
Tzana chirped her own encouragements. “Ela’s awake now, Pet! You can walk.”
“Pet” walked.
Behind them, Ket groaned in obvious disgust, and Tal cried, “Pet? She’s named him Pet!”
The fourth soldier, a gloomy-faced laggard who spoke rarely and belched often, was evidently offended beyond endurance. “To name a destroyer Pet is—it’s wrong! Lacks dignity! It’s bad enough that you’ve stolen Commander Taun’s horse, but now you lower that once-magnificent creature to nothing! The commander will rise from his grave and hunt you down for this, witch.”
“Pet is still magnificent, and I’m not a witch,” Ela said.
“Huh! You’re casting spells and having visions!”
“Silence!” the commander bellowed. “Ket and Osko, you will join Tal at the barracks tomorrow and scrub the floors. Three times. And if I hear a word of complaint, you’ll muck out the cesspits.”
“Yes, sir!” the soldiers called in unison.
Their leader redoubled the pace. Jolted, Ela leaned forward, clutching Tzana and the branch tight. Men, women, and children backed off but watched as Ela rode by, some of the women looking compassionate. Ela welcomed their compassion and prayed for the women. How many of them had been forced to offer their children to the flames beneath those exquisite spires?
Elegant buildings eventually gave way to a long, stout wall, crowned by ungainly watchtowers, which were covered with drab shingled roofs. Grim spear-wielding guards stalked back and forth on the wall walk above.
The leader called up to the guards, “Open the gates immediately! We have two prisoners.”
As they rode inside, Ela felt bleakness drop over her like a sodden blanket. What a dismal place. But what else could she expect? Perhaps she could be of use here. “This is our home for a while,” she told Tzana. “We need to make the best of it.”
“It’s big,” Tzana said, looking around, remarkably bright-eyed.
The commander dismounted, marched over to Pet, and looked up at Ela. “Give me the child, then climb down. No scenes, please.”
Please? Ela looked into the man’s stern brown eyes, seeing him instead of a soldier-leader. His soul contained more than she’d suspected. Honor. Even a hint of kindness.
Why hadn’t she noticed this before?
Child of dust, can you withstand too much knowledge at one time? the Infinite asked. No.
Now, imagery, like a memory sent to her from the future, made Ela smile. “Tsir Aun, the Infinite sees your heart and will bless you for your kindness to us. He asks you to seek His will and be worthy of your future.”
For an instant the commander looked stunned, as if he’d been thrown by his destroyer. “How do you know my full name?” But then he waved off her reply, seeming to dismiss a foolish notion. “Never mind. My future is of no concern. Let me fulfill my duties. Give me the child.”
She scooted Tzana toward him and watched as he set the fragile little girl down carefully in the courtyard’s trampled dirt. Then Ela managed her own awkward descent from the huge destroyer’s back, nearly falling off the war collar’s last foothold. “Ugh!” She stumbled and dug the branch into the dust, seeking balance enough to stand.
Ket jeered.
“Eat, then go find your uncle,” Ela commanded him as she dusted off her tunic. “I’ll speak to him tonight. Then the king and his family will send for me.”
“The king and his family?” Ket huffed. “How you talk! As if they’ll greet you with a feast and joy.”
“There will be no joy for the king, or for you. Remember my words, Ket. It’s not too late—your Creator offers you the contentment you’ve never known.”
The haughty soldier’s face went blank, then took on the bewilderment of a child. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, witch.”
“Again, I’m no witch. Only Infinite’s servant. Eat, then go to your uncle.”
She turned her back on him and found the commander, Tsir Aun, staring at her. “How old are you?” he asked, as if trying to figure out a puzzle.
“Almost eighteen.” She felt much younger. Her knees were shaking. Knowing what was going to happen tonight didn’t make matters any easier.
Pet whickered plaintively as Ela and Tzana walked away. A twinge of remorse surprised Ela, and she stopped long enough to reassure the huge destroyer. “Be patient. Let the soldiers feed you and don’t worry. We won’t be far.”
The big horse calmed a bit, though with an air of grumpiness that made Ela smile.
Tsir Aun shook his head in apparent disbelief, then led the girls inside the prison’s main tower.
Starvation, Kien decided, was not his preferred method of dying.
But now, staring at his meager ration of parched bread and a bowl of hot water with a single wilted leaf foundering beneath its surface, Kien realized starvation was his intended fate. The warden’s wife would see to it.
Stringy-haired and haggard, with her wrinkled white headdress flapping above her gray sweat-stained tunic, the warden’s wife stood beside a large kettle in the center of the stone-paved prisoners’ yard. With the air of a displeased mother, she doled hot seasoned water into bowls, accompanied by hard grain rolls from a basket at her feet. She shoved these rations at the grimy prisoners, who clattered past her in a well-guarded line. To favored prisoners, she served bits of boiled meat and overcooked vegetables, plopping them into the hot water like waste into a privy pot. Kien shuddered, almost glad he wasn’t one of her favored prisoners.
He glanced about the yard, planning. By supposed virtue of his once-royal blood, Kien was chained to no one but himself and was always seated beside no one but himself. The situation was ridiculous. Hopeless. How could he possibly connive an escape if, because of undeserved respect, he was continually separated from the other prisoners?
To thwart any dubious honors this evening, Kien pretended forgetfulness and wandered toward some potential conspirators who were chained together in a shaded corner.
“Sir.” A guard stepped in front of Kien, waved a hand to gain his reluctant attention, then pointed to an unoccupied wall in the sunlight. “There’s your place.”
Kien stifled his frustration and headed toward the sunlit wall. At least he would be warm by the time he finished
his rations. Cautious of the bowl—water was water, after all—he sat on the dusty stone pavings and braced himself to eat. He partially dunked the hard roll into his water, waited for it to soften, then gnawed at the mess.
The yard’s single doorway squealed open and a prison guard shoved in two more prisoners, then tossed a wooden bowl behind them, which clattered loudly on the stones.
Two girls.
All conversation stopped. Even the warden’s wife paused to stare.
What, Kien wondered, had this skinny young female and the tiny Unfortunate with her done to deserve imprisonment with Riyan’s most vile miscreants?
The older girl, wielding a slender wooden staff, surveyed the motley assortment of criminals and nodded as if she’d expected to see them. With a tender smile she motioned the child-Unfortunate to sit on the stones near the cauldron. Then she retrieved the wooden bowl, which she silently offered to the warden’s wife.
Shaking her white headdress, the older woman scolded, “Don’t bother asking for a second bowl! You two will have to share that one—I’ll not be chasing up and down the stairs for any wrongdoers.”
“Of course.” The girl’s voice was clear, low, and surprisingly calm, Kien thought. Wouldn’t most females in her situation be frightened out of their wits? The girl accepted two hard rolls, slipped them into a fold of her tawny mantle, then smiled as the warden’s wife plopped small chunks of meat and vegetables into their bowl of hot water. “Thank you.”
Holding her bowl and slender wooden staff, the girl turned away. Kien straightened, intrigued. She wore a wide baldric with an ornate scabbard that could only belong to nobility. Was she noble? And where was the sword? Confiscated, most likely. But without its scabbard? Interesting . . . That scabbard looked familiar. . . .
The girl sat with the child, and they shared the food happily, as if enjoying a picnic. The other prisoners—all men, and understandably distracted—resumed eating. But without the usual lewd banter, curses, and threats normally exchanged during their meal.
“I suppose I’ll have to guard you two,” the warden’s wife complained. “Why they’d send girls here is beyond my knowing! I’ve enough work to do, tending meals and waiting on a crippled husband!”
Kien didn’t bother to hide his grin at the thought of the crippled warden.
“Don’t worry,” the girl told the warden’s wife kindly. “You won’t be delayed long. A judge will send his clerk for us as soon as we’ve finished our meal.”
“And I’m the queen of Istgard!” the woman snipped, thunking her ladle into the kettle.
“You wouldn’t want to be the queen,” the girl answered. Her smile faded. “Pray for her.”
“Pray for her! Why? She has everything I can only dream of!”
“Soon, unless matters change, she will only be able to dream of everything you have.”
Kien wondered at the sorrow suddenly shadowing the girl’s thin face. The tiny Unfortunate patted her hand as if to console her, and they resumed eating. Soon after the new prisoners finished their food and set aside their bowl, the solitary door opened. A stout man, handsomely cloaked in gray and pinned with a silver law clerk’s insignia, stepped into the yard, his movements finicky, as if he feared treading in manure. And he might.
“Ela of Parne!” He noticed the two females and said to the girl, “I suppose that means you. Come with me. You’re called to the court of Judge Ket Behl.”
“I was expecting you.” Her walking stick in hand, the mysterious girl stood politely, forcing a smile as if she’d been invited to a party she’d rather not attend. She and the odd child followed the clerk from the yard.
Questions buzzed in their wake, whispered by Kien’s fellow prisoners.
Just before a guard slammed the door, blocking the girl from Kien’s sight, she said, “You must return the general’s sword to me.”
The general’s sword? Kien devoutly hoped he’d see the girl again.
7
You must give me General Tek Juay’s sword!” Ela charged after the self-important clerk in the stone passageway. “I need to return it to his family.”
“If you are so concerned about the general’s family, then why did you kill him?” The clerk pivoted on his booted heel to face Ela so swiftly that she jumped back a step and nearly trampled Tzana.
“I did not kill the general. I found his body.”
“A common defense. And a useless one, Ela of Parne.”
“It’s the truth,” Ela insisted.
Tzana leaned around Ela and piped up. “We found a dead man—his face looked like bark.”
The clerk recoiled a bit at this description, but then he recovered and smiled at Tzana. “So you are a witness, eh?” Looking at Ela again, he said, “Too bad. She’s too young. And”—he squinted at Tzana’s earnest, wizened face—“perhaps not altogether . . . shall we say, ‘all together’?”
What a snide man! Ela itched to slap him. “I should think that my sister’s obvious innocence would make her testimony more trustworthy than an adult’s.”
“More easily led, I should think,” the man replied. “Now, having settled this matter, let’s hurry along.”
He strode ahead, leading Ela and Tzana through several guarded doorways before they stepped outside to the prison’s main yard, where evening shadows purpled the stones.
Determined to make the clerk listen, Ela halted beside the prison tower’s steps. She tucked Tzana behind her and planted the branch upright in the dirt at her sandaled feet, like a guard with a spear. “We’ve settled nothing. I will not go until you bring me General Tek Juay’s sword.”
The clerk’s face went deep red, and he blustered, “Do not order me about like a menial!”
“I apologize if I’ve offended you. But I won’t leave until I receive the general’s sword.”
“You have been summoned by the Honorable Ket Behl, and you must answer the summons immediately. If you do not, you will be severely punished, I promise you!”
“Why are you making promises you cannot keep?” Ela asked.
Puffing out a breath, the impatient clerk tried to grab Ela’s arm. She swung the branch toward him, and his fingers sizzled as they hit the vinewood. “Ow! You are a witch!”
Witch. Again. Ela closed her eyes and begged her Creator for patience. For His guidance. She looked up at the angry man and spoke loudly, so everyone in the prison yard could hear. “Sir, I am the Infinite’s servant—not a witch. Furthermore, I give you my word I intend to follow you without delay, as soon as General Tek Juay’s sword is returned to me. Oh . . . and I’m sorry about the three large blisters on your fingers.”
The clerk looked at his fingers, then at her, a line creased between his dark, wiry eyebrows.
Ela smiled. Certain that all the guards and grubby hangers-on in the yard could hear, she said, “Your blisters won’t swell and rot your fingers off if you bring me the sword. In fact, by the Infinite’s mercy, your blisters will heal the instant the sword is in my hands. Your choice, sir.”
Clearly exasperated, and perhaps a bit unnerved, the clerk whirled about and yelled at the guards, who lurked near the tower’s metal-studded doorway. “Where is General Tek Juay’s sword? One of you rogues bring it to me at once, or the Honorable Ket Behl will know why!”
Even as the clerk was shouting, Tsir Aun emerged from the doorway, wearing a clean tunic, polished plate armor, his bright red cloak, and a gleaming black-plumed helmet. General Tek Juay’s sword rested flat in his outstretched hands. Distinctly formal, he bowed his head to the clerk and offered him the sword. “Sir, this was in the warden’s quarters. I regret you had to wait so long.” More quietly, he added, “My men and I are witnesses in this matter. If you will allow us to accompany you, we’ll be sure the prisoners cause you no further delay.”
“Yes, yes. Of course.” The clerk accepted the sword and offered it to Ela, tentative now. Did he expect her to attack him?
“Thank you.” She secured the branch in the crook
of one arm, accepted the ornate sword, and slid it carefully into the glittering scabbard. As she straightened the baldric and took Tzana’s hand, Ela glimpsed the clerk furtively checking his fingers. He blinked hard, then opened his eyes wide, as if he didn’t trust what he saw.
Or what he didn’t see.
Ela smiled. “Your blisters are healed because you’ve obeyed the Infinite. As He said.”
The clerk opened his mouth, then shut it again. Marching toward the gate, he motioned the guards to let them pass through. Outside, Tal and Osko waited, helmets casually beneath their arms. Both appeared damp, as if they’d recently doused their heads in a pool and allowed the water to drip onto their cloaks and tunics.
Tsir Aun’s face hardened, and he glowered at his subordinates, unblinking.
In response, the men donned their helmets, adjusted their swords, and smoothed their cloaks, then stood at attention. Tsir Aun looked away, his displeasure eased.
With a scornful snap of his now-healed fingers, the clerk motioned a humbly clad assistant to bring a smallish glossy brown horse. Almost groveling, the assistant led the horse forward, struggled to boost the clerk onto the beast, then gasped, “Thank you, Master Piln!”
Tal, the guard to Ela’s left, snickered as if trying to restrain himself. Ela understood why. The brown horse was a mouse compared to any destroyer. Beneath his breath, Tal chortled, “Ha! Look at that pretty brown . . . mite!”
“Cesspit duty, after you scrub the barracks floors tomorrow, Tal,” Tsir Aun commanded.
“Yes, sir!” Tal wheezed and managed to stifle his mirth.
Beside him, Osko smirked.
“I miss Pet,” Tzana told Ela, her small voice mournful. In sympathy, Ela bent and picked up her little sister. The walk couldn’t be too far. Nothing compared to their forced march through Istgard’s countryside. Ready, she looked ahead. Hopefully, the clerk, Master Piln, was riding his pretty horse as a point of status, not necessity—the leader of their motley procession.
A wormlike assistant, two tattered girl prisoners, and three soldiers—two of them bumptious oafs. Yes, a striking procession. Ela sighed. “Onward,” she murmured to Tzana.
