Halls of Law

by V. M. Escalada

  It wasn’t very likely, she decided. She’d get Tel to leave plenty of trace, and she’d have to hope no one looked any further than that. If she was suspected? She let out her breath in a silent whistle, finally shrugging tight shoulders. It would give her a chance to really test the blocks Barid had been teaching her. She pressed her lips tight and nodded.

  The light flickered, and Ker hurried to adjust the wick in the lamp. What was taking Tel Cursar so long? Had the army’s hand signals changed so much, or hadn’t he seen her after all? She was just wondering whether to put the light out or leave it burning to explain the missing oil, when she heard a noise outside. She stayed where she was, watching as the latch lifted and the door swung slowly open. The lanky form of Tel Cursar slipped inside. Before she could move, he had her wrist in his grasp. His fingers, as warm as she’d remembered, were long enough to wrap completely around.

  “Still on kitchen duty?” A ghost of the grin she remembered so well flitted across his face. He seemed thinner, and there were stains on his purple tunic.

  “Luckily for you. Are you alone?”

  “There’s not so many of us now that we can spare more than one.” The matter-of-fact way he spoke sent a chill up Kerida’s spine.

  “It’s just that I can’t help you,” she said, motioning him to follow her into the storeroom. “All this, back here, you can take, just leave enough to make it look like the pile is still intact. But you’ll have to pack it up yourself. If I touch anything, they can Flash my trace on it.”

  Tel caught on right away, taking measurements with hands and fingers, and examining the drape of the cloth. “Have you any sacks I can use?”

  Ker showed him where the hessian sacks were, and stood holding the lamp as he filled two of the larger ones with travel cakes. He hesitated over a couple of the pots of sausages, but finally shook his head, taking dried meat instead.

  “The dried stuff will last us longer,” he said aloud. “I don’t know how to thank you for this. We had to leave most of our supplies behind. I wish there was something I could give you in exchange, but all I have is my sword.”

  “Keep that, whatever you do. I won’t need it.”

  “You don’t believe us, do you? No more than the old woman did.”

  Kerida looked away, a little surprised by the question, but more surprised by her own response. No, she realized she didn’t believe them. If she did, she wouldn’t be worrying about getting punished for helping them. She’d have other worries on her mind. “How can any of us believe you if you won’t be examined? What you’re telling us—it’s like saying the rain falls up, or mice hunt cats.”

  “You’d have to see it to believe it?” She nodded. “Well, I’ve seen it, Kerida. I saw what was left of the Hall in Kender. The bodies . . .” His eyes focused on something far away.

  “Tel, do you think—look, I’m military, and I know what I’ve heard soldiers say, what they’d like to do with the Halls and the Talents, if only the Luqs could be persuaded to allow it.” Ker grimaced. “My father never let anyone talk that way, never in his hearing anyway, but my sisters used to say talk like that was fairly common. Do you think, knowing the Luqs is captive, that some of those soldiers who think that way about Talents might have . . .”

  Tel Cursar’s face went stony, but he lowered his eyes as he shook his head. “If you feel that way, why are you helping us?”

  “Do you have any news of the Emerald Cohort of Eagles? My sister . . .” Ker’s throat closed and her eyes stung.

  Immediately, Tel’s face softened, and he touched her shoulder with his right hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. But, Kerida—” He remembered her name, and this was a really stupid time to notice that. “There was something we didn’t tell Matriarch, something we didn’t get a chance to tell her. Some of the troops we fought at the end—they were our troops. From the Jade and Onyx Cohorts, the ones that were in the city.”

  She couldn’t have heard that right. “Traitors?”

  He shrugged. “What else?”

  Pain made Ker realized she was biting down on her lower lip. “I’ll have to trust my sister’s alive.” She looked at the sacks of food. “And that wherever she is, someone is helping her.”

  “You aren’t like any Talent I’ve ever known.”

  He surprised a huff of laughter from her. “Not like any Talent anyone in here has ever known either.”

  It was when he went to lift the first pack that she saw the look of pain cross his face.

  “Are you injured?”

  “It’s nothing.” He sounded as though he meant it, not like he was showing off. “I strained my shoulder a bit; it will pass. We’re all close to the end of our strength. That’s why we were hoping for shelter here. Even a day would have helped.”

  Kerida nodded. People who didn’t heal quickly weren’t likely to find a life in the military. They were likely to find a death; she almost grinned at the old joke. “Do you know the Rija Vale at all?”

  “Our Cohort Leader did. The rest of us, not so much. This is my first time this side of the Serpents Teeth.”

  Ker nodded. She thought she’d heard a trace of an accent in Tel’s speech. If he’d never been south of the mountains that separated the Peninsula from the rest of the Polity, that would explain it.

  “Keep to the main road then, and head north toward the pass. About halfway there, maybe a day’s march, you’ll come across a grove of old oaks, real old monsters, maybe twenty trees, all spread out. There may still be pigs feeding under them.”

  “Not for long.”

  Kerida grinned back at him. “Leave the road there and go west, straight up into the hills. West and a little south. You’ll go through some rough pasture land, at first, but it turns rocky pretty quickly, and you’ll start seeing pine trees. Keep a look out for a tall white pine, with a double crown. You’ll find a cave close by. Should be empty this time of year.”

  “Should be?”

  Ker shrugged. “They say it used to be a mine. Shepherds use it now, but only during the summer months. You should be safe there for a few days at least. There might even be bedding, firewood, other supplies, left for the spring.”

  Suddenly Tel snatched up her hand and pressed it to his throat, so her fingers spread across his collarbones, where she would touch him if she was Flashing him. She could feel the hard muscle under the thin linen of his shirt. Why was his heart beating so fast?

  “Come with me. I swear what we said to Matriarch is true. You’re all in terrible danger here. Can you Flash it? Come with me.”

  For a moment she saw herself doing it, she saw herself grabbing her cloak and her spare boots and following this young officer into the night. But only for a moment.

  “I can’t Flash you,” she said. “I don’t—I’m not good with people.” Except she could tell his injury was more serious than he’d said. “Besides.” She drew her hand away from him. “They’d know. The first week I was here I ran away, and it took them about as long to find me as it takes to tell you about it. This is a Hall of Law. All they have to do is touch my bedding or something else of mine to know exactly where I’ve gone. You’re better off without me.”

  “I’m not so sure, but we’re better off than we were, at least.” He patted the sacks of food. “I wish you could come. Keep your eyes open, please. Best of luck to you, Kerida Nast. I’ll never forget your help.”

  “Best of luck to you, Tel Cursar.” She helped him sling the sacks over his left shoulder, mindful of the unhealed arrow wound that was paining him in his right. “Mother watch over you.”

  And then he was gone.

  • • •

  Company Commander Fedna turned out to be wrong about one thing. It took the Halian invaders only three days to reach the Hall, not five. He was right about everything else.

  Kerida’s kitchen duty was over, but it was the time of yea
r when every able-bodied person, even some of the most Senior, were recruited to help with the harvests of the last apples, cabbages, and chard, the digging up of carrots and turnips, and the heavy mulching of the parsnips and of the asparagus and artichoke beds against the coming frosts. They’d drawn lots, and Ker was considered lucky to be down in the root cellars under the kitchen, trapdoor swung open above her, lantern hanging on a hook over her head.

  Ker hadn’t thought herself very lucky to be back in the kitchen, though she quickly discovered that everything was changed now that she wasn’t under order of discipline. Now others besides Cana smiled at her, talked to her. Even the Head Cook nodded at her in greeting, calling her by name, and Ker would have given oath that the man hadn’t even been aware of her existence.

  There was a part of her, Ker thought, that would still rather be out on the march with her pack on her back and a sword at her side, but it was a much smaller part than she would have expected. In the last few weeks she’d seen the possibility of an entirely new future, one well worth reaching for. She couldn’t go back, and she was beginning to think she didn’t really want to.

  Tonight, after the evening meal, she was going to meet with Barid again, this time officially and in one of the teaching rooms. He was giving her extra tutoring, to accelerate her studies. Ker grinned. Matriarch had pressed her thin old woman’s lips tightly when asked, but she couldn’t actually forbid extra study. And maybe they’d have time, now that Barid had taught her how to keep the special block in place, to talk about the things Inquisitor Pa’narion had in mind for them.

  “Wind’s picked up,” was the comment passed down by Devin—who turned out to have a very nice smile, now that he was allowed to use it on her. Kerida grinned back at him, picturing the reddened noses and chapped hands of those whose lot had set them outside. The next load of carrots darkened the opening above her, and she reached up to steady it as it was lowered down. As gently as she could, she dragged it to the far end of the cellar, where a round copper lamp hung from a hook on the square overhead beam.

  Once she reached the shallow wooden trays set aside for them, Ker began laying the carrots out on damp sand, trying to achieve the most economical use of the space. She was placing the last layer, concentrating on getting the sand an even thickness, and didn’t register the soft thump from behind her until she turned and found the trapdoor shut.

  “Daughter curse you barren.” Kerida climbed up the ladder, taking a firm grip on wooden rungs worn smooth by the touch of many hands. “Hey, Devin! What are you doing? Open up!” No response. “Come on, this isn’t funny.” And here she’d thought they were treating her better. She applied her shoulder to the trapdoor, but it didn’t budge. Though it was thick and solid enough to walk on, she should have been able to lift it, unless something was weighing it down. “Devin!” she called again, then stopped, straining her ears. She could just make out a murmur of sound, a sense of movement, of thudding weight. She glanced at the rafters above her. Nothing. No light, no dust falling through the well-fitted planks. These cellars were cut into the same rock as the foundations of the main building, the kitchen floors partly stone, partly wood, thick and strong either way. She was lucky to hear anything at all.

  A quick search through the cellar confirmed there was nothing she could use as a lever. Finally, frustration more than any hope of a different outcome made Ker push against the door once more. This time, it gave a little. Encouraged, she climbed higher on the ladder, for a better angle, and heaved. The door lifted free of the opening and with it resting heavy on her shoulders, Ker climbed higher still, managing finally to push it over onto the floor.

  “Devin? Cana?” Ker heaved herself out of the cellar and got to her feet. The kitchen was empty. No one was waiting to laugh at her. No one was waiting at all. She stepped away from the trapdoor and looked around. Nothing in the kitchen looked different. There, near the opening in the floor, was the next basket of carrots, waiting for someone to pass it down to her. But where was everyone? And why had they shut the trap?

  She headed for the door that led to the service corridor, but stopped halfway, looking down at a mark on the flagstones. Kerida knew these stones. She’d scrubbed them at least once a day for the last three weeks, and there had never been any mark like this on them. She squatted down, and reached out. A part of her mind must have known what the stain was, because when she brought her finger to her nose and smelled blood, she wasn’t shocked. Someone had cut themselves, that was all. This was a kitchen, such things happened all the time.

  But a knife cut wouldn’t have emptied the kitchen of its staff. She’d seen blood from knife cuts, how it dripped, or fell, or got wiped off on the nearest apron. This was too much blood for a knife cut. And it was smeared, as though whatever had bled had been dragged. She noted the direction of the dragging and flipped the trapdoor closed. Whatever had bled had been resting on the door. That was why she hadn’t been able to open it.

  Now Ker heard muffled sounds and a scream, rising to painful pitch, suddenly cut off. She was halfway along the passage leading to the great room before she was aware she’d moved. Something, however, made her slow as she approached the end of the passage, and creep to the opening instead of rushing out. The sounds were clearer now, sounds Ker hadn’t heard in almost two years. Blows, weapons striking wood, striking flesh. Crying, sobs, and more screaming. The smell of blood and of viscera. She edged closer to the opening, almost to the spot where she had been standing a few nights before, watching Tel Cursar and the other soldiers.

  Horses. It was there her mind stuck, on the extraordinary sight of men on horseback in the great room. Men with swords, axes, and even some spears, leaf-bladed and bright in the glow of the fires. Some part of her mind wondered why the soldiers were wearing the wrong uniforms, until she shook herself, realizing with a sick clenching of her stomach that the people on horseback were Halians.

  Tables and benches had been broken and tossed aside. Walls, windows, furnishings, flickered in the light of a fire burning fiercely on the dais, just where Matriarch’s chair should be. The Mother and the Daughter had been pushed from their shrine, and lay smashed on the floor, though the Son was still intact. A man in a quilted vest pulled on over what looked like a red Polity tunic was tossing pieces of statue into the flames, where the pottery was starting to glow hot. The smoke made her eyes water, and, what with the shadows thrown by the fires and the moving horses, it took a moment for Kerida to see Devin and Cana almost directly across the great room from where she stood. The girl’s face was bruised and smudged, and she was holding her left wrist in her right hand, as if it were injured. A dark stain down the front of Cana’s tunic told Kerida where at least some of the blood on the kitchen floor had likely come from.

  There were others against the wall, all of them people she knew, people she’d been eating with, studying with. There to the left was Serinam, one of her Tutors, trying to calm the youngsters around him. Everyone Ker knew was lined up against the far wall, held there by the men on horses, men in motley outfits made up of quilted clothing along with bits and pieces of Polity uniforms. They were being brought forward to the cleared space in the center of the room one by one, and made to kneel, before an ax swung.

  Kerida’s knees shook under her as she leaned against the wall for support. It was true. What Tel and the other soldiers had tried to tell them. All true. The invaders were killing Talents.

  Standing next to the invader with the ax was the only other person on foot. This was a taller, darker man, with a tattoo on his face. The others were mostly bareheaded or wearing light leather helms, but this one wore a kind of chain mail hood, close-fitted, that left only his face bare. When he turned, his black cloak swung open, revealing a blue tunic with a red emblem Ker couldn’t make out. This taller man was directing the others, that much was clear. Especially the axman. Ker saw the tall man point to the people huddling against the wall. As he pointed, the on
es on horseback would herd someone forward.

  The next one pointed out was Cana. Cana with the soft smile and friendly whisper. Cana kneeling under the ax. Kerida wanted to call out, tell them the girl wasn’t even a Talent. Then the ax fell, and Kerida was running back down the corridor to the kitchen, covering her mouth with her hands, to keep her own scream in.

  Go back, said a voice in her heart. Go back, you coward, and help your friends. Don’t be stupid, said the other colder, harder voice in her head. You can’t save them. But she could save herself. She could carry the word. She was a Talent. Unlike the soldiers, she would be believed.

  Once in the kitchen, she grabbed up a pack and began to thrust food into it. The slab of bacon waiting to be sliced for luncheon. The part of the wheel of cheese that always sat on the sideboard. She dashed into the storeroom and grabbed up travel cakes, shoving them as quickly as she could into the pack, tears sparking her eyes. Was it only three nights ago that Tel Cursar was doing this? A waterskin. A carving knife almost the length of a short sword—even now she was afraid to touch the Head Cook’s knives. A cloak someone had left tossed over a stool. The sight of the pepper grinder sent her back into the storeroom, where she flipped up the lid of the spice chest and, acting as quickly as she could, thrust a half dozen packets of dried herbs into the pack.

  Back in the larger room she stood biting her lip, taking time to look around her. The trapdoor was closed. She hadn’t moved anything else of consequence. If the enemy came back to the kitchen, they’d find it exactly as they’d left it.