Halls of Law

by V. M. Escalada

  Once he’d established his baseline measurements, Svann had made her go three days without sleep, making Wynn and Jerek responsible for keeping her awake, before testing her again. The results had been the same; she’d been just as accurate. Now he was testing what would happen if she were deprived of water. Lack of food would be next.

  But was this the second or third day without water?

  <>

  Ker would have wept with relief, if she’d had any moisture to spare. She was not alone. Svann was with her, so it must be the third day. Testing day. All she had to do was answer his questions, and he’d give her some water. She tried to focus.

  “I am putting something in your hands.” Odd. Svann had sounded different a moment ago. She felt fingers, warm and strong, take hold of her wrists. As soon as they were free from the vise of her knees, her hands began to tremble again. “It’s all right,” Svann said. “I’ve got you.”

  Again the feeling of relief.

  Svann turned her hands over and put something between them, holding them closed over the object when it seemed that she wouldn’t be able to do it herself. “It’s all right,” he said again. “Take your time.”

  How can I take my time? The sooner she was done, the faster she’d get some water. Paraste. Suddenly she Flashed, not on the arm ring she was holding, but on Svann himself. A Flash as strong as anything she’d gotten from the griffin. He was worried, and he spoke out of genuine concern for her, and not just for his experiments. Surprise overwhelmed the Flash completely for a second or two, before she once again became aware of the arm ring.

  <>

  There it was again, echoing in her head. “What did you say?”

  “I did not speak.” That was Svann. He was farther away. Not in her head at all. “Concentrate, Kerida.”

  She swallowed, and tightened her grip on the arm ring.

  <>

  It was enough to make her weep. The voice in her head was surrounded by bands of colors, hundreds of them. Was she starting to hallucinate? Whose voice was she imagining?

  <>

  Oh, Mother, it sounded like him. It did. Ker felt herself falling forward, and then a strong grip on her shoulders that could only be Svann’s hands. Of course, it wasn’t the Halian speaking. She could tell that now.

  “I can’t leave my friends,” she said, unsure whether she spoke aloud.

  “Of course not.” That was Svann. His hands gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Tell me about the object, and all this can be over.” He was trying not to show how worried he was.

  <>

  The presence, the echo that was sound and space and colors, was suddenly gone from her head, but Ker could still feel Svann’s hands on her shoulders. That meant—it must mean—that she’d really heard Weimerk. That somehow the griffin had been able to Far-think to her, as though she were a Feeler. What was it she’d said to him?

  “I won’t leave my friends.”

  “Of course not, my dear. Of course not.”

  She was no longer Flashing Svann. He must have let her go. She ran a dry tongue over drier lips and focused on the arm ring, stiffening her shoulders. Right now, she needed water more than anything else, and this was the way to get it.

  “This is made of silver, and it’s very old. It was your father’s,” she said. “Nevlin Svann was his name. He wasn’t a Shekayrin, but his father, your grandfather, was, and this arm ring was his as well. Before that it was his mother’s, your great-grandmother. It’s from her the magefire comes—” The arm ring was snatched from her hands.

  “That can’t be.” The words were bitten off.

  Kerida said nothing. Her mouth was just too dry.

  “The thirst is affecting your Flashing.” He’d started using her term for it.

  Ker squeezed her eyes shut. “Your father always wore this on his left forearm; he used to turn it when he was thinking.” She shook her head. “I either Flash, or I don’t. I don’t get some of it right and some of it wrong.” A beginner might get confused, especially when generations were involved, but it had never happened to Kerida. “Your great-grandmother was a mage.”

  A sudden sharp pain on the side of her face and she was on the floor. Somehow she managed to raise her hands in time to land on her elbows and not on her nose. Svann seized her right arm in a grip that felt like a blacksmith’s vise and dragged her upright. He shook her until her teeth snapped together and thrust her back into her chair before striding to the door and flinging it open.

  “You! Fetch me—” His silence was abrupt. “No. Find Tel Cursar, tell him to fetch Wynn Martan. At once.”

  He slammed the door shut and turned back to Kerida, his cloak swinging behind him like a black flag. When he was close enough, he grabbed her by the hair on the top of her head and lifted her until she was balancing on her toes.

  “There is no chance.” He shook her. “Do you hear me? No chance in this world there was a witch in my family! There is not a single taint of body magic in me. None!” He had the jewel clutched in his fist, and now shook it under her nose. “There is only the magic of the stone.”

  “But—” Kerida gasped, tears starting from her eyes. She would have nodded if Svann’s hand in her hair didn’t prevent it. She clung to his wrist with both hands, trying to relieve the agony that burned in her scalp.

  And she Flashed on him again. And this time she Flashed on the jewel as well.

  The stone was as old as the world and as hard as time. It had an aura like a living thing, but the colors were Svann’s. And the facets, somehow they were his as well. She hadn’t seen that before. The pattern was the jewel’s, but it was his as well. Each had formed the other.

  The stone was still connected to the earth it came from, and drew upon the slow magic of the mountains and the rock, the roots of the world. She saw how Svann was connected through the jewel to all these things, like an insect on the leaf of a tree is connected to the soil touched by the tree’s roots.

  “You are the jewel,” she said, and saw his eyes widen as he heard her. The pain on her head eased as he lowered her to the floor.

  A knock stopped whatever he might have said next. Svann went to the door himself, opening it only a few inches until he saw who was there, then swinging it wide to allow Tel Cursar to enter with Wynn.

  Svann took Wynn by the shoulder and pulled her to face Ker.

  “Their safety depends on your cooperation,” Svann said. “That is our bargain.” He transferred his grip to Wynn’s wrist, and before anyone could guess what he meant to do, he had twisted two of her fingers out of place. Mercifully, the sound of the joints dislocating was covered by Wynn’s yelp.

  With Wynn still hanging from his fist, Svann turned his stony gaze to Kerida.

  “You will not lie to me again,” he said.

  Kerida parted her lips, but her throat closed tight.

  Svann lifted Wynn’s wrist again.

  “No!” It was only a croak but Svann paused, swiveling his eyes to meet hers. “I won’t! I won’t.”

  Svann lowered his hand, though he still kept his grip on Wynn’s wrist. “The next time I will not merely break the joints of her hands. And there is still the boy.”

  Kerida tasted bile in the back of her throat. It was only a couple of fingers, she told herself. Wynn would still be able to use a bow. Probably.

  “Take her away.” Svann shoved Wynn at Tel and turned away before seeing whether or not he caught her.

  “Hold still. Breathe!” Tel eased Wynn down until she was sitting on the floor, her back against the wall. Fortunately, there was a tapestry on each side of the door, giving the injured girl some padding against the cold stone.

  “Long, slow breaths.” Tel squatted down
next to the girl. “Don’t faint.”

  “What happened?” Pella’s voice from over his shoulder was quiet.

  “Nothing.” Tel made sure he had Wynn’s attention as he spoke. “She fell and hurt her hand against the edge of a table.”

  Her lips were drawn back from clenched teeth, but the girl nodded. She understood. She knew the witch would be in worse trouble, if everyone found out what she was. And if it came to that, there was no way to explain what had really happened without mentioning the witch—and that Tel himself couldn’t do.

  “It’s just a couple of dislocated fingers,” Tel said. He was speaking both to Wynn and to his partner. He kept his voice calm and gentle. This wasn’t the poor girl’s fault. This was just another thing the witch had to answer for. “We’ve all had worse in training.” He pulled his personal knife from his belt. The hilt was narrow and rounded, closely wrapped with tiny strips of leather. “Pella, hold her shoulder and upper arm.”

  Pella squatted down close against the wall. He wrapped one of his meaty hands around Wynn’s shoulder and took a firm grip on her elbow with the other. He caught Tel’s eye and nodded.

  “Here, put this between your teeth.” Tel waited until Wynn had her teeth clamped on the hilt of his knife. “Ready?” Pella nodded again and Wynn shut her eyes.

  “On three. One.” He saw the muscle in Wynn’s jaw tighten. “Two.” She was holding her breath. Without saying “three,” Tel pulled and twisted first one finger and then the other.

  “I thought you said on three,” Pella grunted. He’d switched his grip to wrap his arm around the girl’s shoulders.

  “So did she.” Tel watched Wynn’s eyelids flutter down, and the knife drop to the floor. “You watch here, I’ll get her back to their rooms.” Without waiting for an answer, he scooped up his knife and resheathed it. Then he lifted the fainting girl in his arms and set off down the corridor.

  Jerek was on his way back from the kitchen, where he’d managed to put three travel cakes into the front of his tunic, along with a double handful of dried plums. Wynn had sneaked a knife the night before, but they still needed a way to carry water. Jerek thought he might persuade Cook to let him have one of the old skin water bags, hanging disused in a storeroom, for a football. The gruff old man made the kitchen serfs jump, but he seemed to like Jerek, often patting him on the shoulder, and setting aside tasty bits for him. He and Wynn had soon figured out they got better food if Jerek fetched it.

  He slowed as he turned the corner into the corridor leading to their room. Their door was open. Ker was with the Shekayrin this morning, and Wynn would never leave the door open. Anything out of the ordinary could be dangerous—that’s what they’d told him. He crept closer, releasing his breath when he heard the murmur of Wynn’s voice, and then Tel Cursar’s. He knew that Tel had been changed somehow by the Shekayrin, but that bothered the women more than it bothered him. Here was a chance to judge for himself.

  Jerek hesitated when they both turned to look at him. Suddenly, he was sure the travel cakes were making a huge bulge under his tunic.

  As if he understood, Tel smiled at him, shaking his head. “There’s never enough to eat, is there? Tell you what, cut me in on your swag and I won’t tell on you.” The tall man had stepped to one side as he spoke, blocking Jerek’s view of Wynn, but she moved so he could see her again. He forgot all about the stolen food when he saw Wynn’s bandaged hand. He pushed forward.

  “What did you do to her?”

  “It’s all right, Jerek.” Wynn put her good arm around him. “He didn’t do anything.” Just the same, the look Wynn shot the man was full of disapproval. “He’s the one who bandaged me up.”

  “The Shekayrin.” Jerek had to force his teeth to unclench. “He hurt you.”

  “It wasn’t really the Shekayrin.” Tel put his hand on Jerek’s shoulder. “It was the other girl. She disobeyed him. She knew what could happen if she did that.” Wynn’s arm tightened around Jerek, and Tel lifted his hand. “But you don’t have to be afraid, Jerek. You don’t even have to stay here, with the w—” Here Tel coughed and cleared his throat. “With the women. You could bunk with me.”

  Jerek searched Tel’s face. He could see it now, the change. He could also see the man meant well. “No. Thank you.” He swallowed, but asking was the only way to know. “Why don’t you love her anymore?”

  Tel’s face went blank, then clouded over, his pale brows almost meeting above his spit-gray eyes. “I never loved her. She’s . . .” His voice faded away. “You know what she is,” he said finally. He didn’t sound very sure of himself, though. And he’d known right away who Jerek had meant.

  “But you used to love her. Before the Shekayrin touched you with his jewel.” Jerek angled to stand between Wynn and Tel. “I could tell, just watching you at dinner that night. And Wynn says . . .”

  “Jerek,” Wynn said in his ear.

  “I’m asking,” he told her. “I want to know. The old stories say true love is more powerful than any magic.”

  Tel’s face cleared, and his smile spread as he straightened to his feet. “Well, there you are, then. Obviously, I didn’t truly love her. That must have been her—well, you know what it must have been—keeping me sweet so I’d help her. Luckily, your stepfather saw through her, or we could have ended up only the Son knows where.”

  “Yes. My stepfather. Of course.” Jerek closed his mouth.

  Tel nodded and patted Jerek again. “Don’t worry.” He looked over Jerek’s head at Wynn. “She won’t let anything bad happen to you, now that she knows not to trifle with the Shekayrin.”

  Jerek watched Tel Cursar leave without closing the door. “Kerida, you ass,” he said under his breath as anger boiled through him. “Her name’s Kerida.”

  “Ker, really, it’s all right.” Wynn’s face was still pale, except for the dark purple smudges under her eyes.

  “How did he know you were lying?” Jerek sat with his shoulder pressed against Wynn, as if he’d been there for a long time.

  “I wasn’t lying. But I’ll have to in future.” Kerida wrung out a fresh cloth in the basin of cool water, and used it to replace the one wrapped around Wynn’s hand. Tel’s bandages had done nothing to help the swelling.

  “But what was he so mad about?”

  Ker shook her head, shooting a glance over her shoulder at the door.

  “Keep your voice down if you have to, but I think I at least deserve to know, all things considered.” Wynn winced. “You couldn’t have known what would happen. Come on, tell us.”

  Ker frowned, but Wynn just lifted her eyebrows. The swelling in her hand was going down, thanks to the application of cold water. Better still would be herbs to help with Wynn’s pain, but it wasn’t likely the kitchen staff would give them such things.

  “Well?”

  Ker placed the cloth back into the bowl and set it to one side. She’d been slowly rehydrating herself since Svann had released her, but it took all her willpower not to empty the bowl down her throat.

  “I said he’d got his magic from his great-grandmother.” She frowned. “It’s like they think there’s two kinds of magic, one for men and one for women, and the women’s magic is bad. So if what I said was true, if he got his magic from his great-grandmother, it would be like he carried some kind of disease.”

  “And is there a difference?” Jerek looked from Ker to Wynn and back again.

  “No, there isn’t,” Wynn said. “Lots of men are Talented, everyone knows it, even if those stupid jewels seem to make people forget.”

  “I don’t think it’s as simple as that.” Ker drummed her fingers on her thigh as ideas formed and reformed. “The Feelers’ Gifts don’t seem to work the same way the Talent does; it looks like men and women do have different ones. The Far-thinkers are all women, for one thing, and the ones who can move and lift things all seem to be men.”

&
nbsp; “Both men and women get Gifts, though?” Jerek was frowning, eyes narrowed in thought.

  Ker nodded. “But if the Halians think that women’s magic is bad . . .” Was that one of the reasons they’d killed everyone at the Halls? There was something else bothering her. Something about how the jewel Flashed . . . She shook her head. “But Svann’s great-grandmother had a jewel of her own. Her magic wasn’t any different from his.” Ker sat back on her heels. “How soon can you travel with that hand?”

  Wynn leaned forward, grinning. “Never mind the hand. Jerek and I are ready to go tonight.”

  The boy gave a short nod, and reached into his tunic. “I got more food,” he said. “Enough for when we get outside.”

  “Outside.” Suddenly Ker remembered the voice of the griffin in her head. “Wait. Let me try something.” She shut her eyes and took two long, slow breaths. Paraste.

  Are you there? she thought, as loudly and as clearly as she could imagine. Weimerk, can you hear me? She reached for that feeling of a vast echoing space that had marked Weimerk’s presence before.

  Or had seemed to. Maybe she’d been hallucinating after all.

  “Ker, are you all right?”

  She opened her eyes and took one of the travel cakes from Jerek’s hands. “Just something I wanted to try.” She wouldn’t tell them, she decided. Why get their hopes up? “According to what I’ve Flashed from the corridors, the guard shift changes at the midwatch, and then not again until dawn.” She grinned. “The two men who patrol this section of the building tonight are the rigid, orders-are-orders types, and they’ll stick strictly to the schedule of rounds.”