by L. W. Jacobs
Good. Aelya had done her work. Now to do his.
Tai swooped low, needleaf roaring behind him in the glut of air, and dropped the flaming tree tight against the forward wall, wood extending above the stone prison. Eyna dropped hers a moment later, the tree bouncing slightly against the wall on the far side of the gate, both roaring in earnest. Tai shot high as the first few arrows arched out, fighters rising from the walls, and pulled the sack of oil from his neck. In the distance he saw Lumo’s wagon lumber from the trees.
“Too soon,” he hissed, but with nothing to do, he swooped below the approaching wafters, spraying the oil across the wood wall above his tree. The oil caught a moment later, and men on the wall cried and jumped back. Tai dipped a second time, avoiding a Titan coming for him with a long lance, and emptied the rest of the skin on the walkway.
Eyna’s tree, meanwhile, had rolled away from the wall, burning uselessly a few paces from the wood fortress. Men were gathered on the wall above it, a steady rain of arrows keeping her from moving it back. Tai growled and shot over the crowded interior of the camp, smell of feces and unwashed bodies strong, a few cheering him below. Across the far side, Lumo and brawlers had abandoned the wagon and were charging the wall, massive birchwood ram held between them. Tai passed them by, dropping to grab a smaller log from the wagon and fly back. The distraction wouldn’t work if their fires weren’t big enough to need everyone’s attention—and a few soldiers had already spotted Lumo and his crew, were running toward their section of wall. Tai swung at these with the log, knocking three of them into the restless crowd below. More ran in their direction, but nothing to be done about that now.
Tai flew back toward the gate, people shouting below. He came in low and fast and knocked a fistful of men from the walkway, the fighters too focused on Eyna and the blaze.
Eyna took the cue and dove forward, wafters on her tail. She grabbed the trunk of the still-roaring tree as Tai batted another fistful from the wall. A moment later, Eyna dropped the tree directly on the walkway in a shower of sparks and screams. Tai shared a victorious grin with her. The other side of the gate was an inferno, men struggling to get close enough with buckets of water, prisoners and guards alike pushed back by the heat of the blaze.
They flew back to the far side, wafters letting them go as they fought the blaze. That was the first part of the plan: whether or not Lumo’s team succeeded, if the fire breached the walls, there would be no stopping the flood of escapees.
The second part was smashing the wall with a battering ram. The wall shuddered again as Tai approached, walkway splintered and poles beginning to slant under the assault. More soldiers had come, and Tai and Eyna set to work dealing with these, Eyna drawing her bow and Tai swinging with his log. Achuri prisoners had massed below the fight, shouting and crowding around, despite Aelya’s warnings to stay away until the brawlers had broken through. Tai spotted Aelya among them, dropped down to pick her up.
People crowded him on all sides, crying, shouting, hands clutching. “Take me over!” “My son! He’s too hurt to walk!” “Kill ’em! Kill ’em all!”
Tai bowed his head. “Brothers,” he said in Achuri, “I cannot take you all. But with any luck, you can take yourselves in a moment. On the other side you will find allies and weapons.” He looked up then. “Fight. Fight or we will never escape this place.”
A space opened around them and Tai shoved upward, Aelya hooking her good arm around his shoulder. A roar followed them, anger and defiance and glory rolled up and ready to burst. Eyna knocked a guard from the wall, and the crowd seethed around him.
Aelya grinned beside him. “This is the real rebellion. Lighthairs just can’t get angry like we do.”
Tai grinned back, something like pride rising in him as he dropped her on the far side. Lumo and the others rammed the palisade wall with a steady motion, backing up three paces, then running forward to slam the now-blunted log into the standing logs. Depending on the strength of their abilities, the brawlers would probably begin to run out of uai in another finger or two, but the timbers leaned where they were hitting, upper bulwarks broken and roping snapped. It wouldn’t be long now.
“Aelya. Run to the wagon and uncover the weapons. We’re about to have an army of mad Achuri with a Councilate to fight.”
She grinned and ran off. Tai turned to find a blue-and-gray figure descending on the team of brawlers, sword clutched in each hand. “What the meck—” To its left more came, some wafting, some running with a brawler’s grace, all clad in Coldferth tunics.
Tulric.
Tai clenched his teeth. Not now. “LUMO! Fighters!”
Eyna dropped from the wall and shot the first wafter before he could strike, and Tai launched himself at the next approaching. He’d told them to run if they faced real resistance, but they were so close—
He closed with the wafter, knocked her sword left with air as he kicked out, cracking a blow to the forehead that dropped her cold. The Coldferth fighters were a stream behind her, thirty or more. And at their back, jogging beside his personal timeslip, came Tulric in his plumed helm.
Tai flew for his log. By the time he made it back, the rebels were engaged, battering ram dropped as they fought axe on sword, fist on flesh. Prisoners roared on the far side, a few climbing through gaps in the slanting poles, fighting the prison guards desperately trying to keep them in. Tai swept his log into the mass of blue and gray, fighters dodging out of the way, connecting with a few. He swung again, caught up in the roar of defiance from the prison, the urgency of getting them out. Eyna was there, and Lumo was a fearsome beast with his double-headed axe.
Still, they were outnumbered. A rebel went down under a scarlet sword, and Tai saw another battling with one arm hanging limp. They needed to retreat. Retreat or do something decisive. Like—
He shot for the rear of the Coldferth band, swinging his log at Tulric and his timeslip. There was just a slight tug, and a blur at the end. Tai loosed the log, shoving it off with air as the timeslip scaled its length at double speed. Shot himself the other direction, catching Tulric under one arm and blasting upward.
“Gillan!” The man struggled against him, but Tai had him tight.
“No timeslip to protect you now, Tulric. Surrender or I kill you.”
Tulric sneered. “You’re outnumbered, Tai. Let me go and I’ll call them off.”
“Like how you called them off after you stole my children? Your dead body will call them off.” The prison camp dwindled as they continued to shoot upward, gray and green fighters shrinking.
“You can’t fight us, Tai. The Councilate is too strong.”
Tulric struck his resonance and Tai let go. Tulric seized his body, eyes widening as Tai shot them ever higher. At this height, the brawler would die too, despite his increased strength.
“I don’t need to fight you, Tulric. We’re too high now. All I have to do is push you off. You kill me, you even hurt me, and your dead body sends all the message I need to your fighters.”
“You’re insane.” His voice was calm but his eyes were wide. The air grew chill around them. “All this for a couple little kids?”
“All this for my people. For a life better than sucking the Councilate’s dregs.”
Tulric shook his head. “You still don’t get it, do you? Our people are already gone. There’s no beating the Councilate—they’re the future, Tai! And we’re the past, unless we join them. Figure them out. That’s the real war—beating them on their own terms. Not this rebellion.”
“Look at what happens when we don’t fight back.” Tai gestured at the camp, battle raging like a kicked anthill. “They lock us all up and let us die. Or haven’t you seen the bodies coming out of there?”
“That’s because they fought!” Tulric yelled over the wind. He clung to Tai now, air cold as winter’s night.
“It’s because they didn’t fight!”
He shook his head. “You really are that stupid, aren’t you? Why do you think they haven’t hit
your hideout yet? Do you really think we don’t know where you’re hiding?”
Tai squinted, slowing some in air. “What?”
“Your forest village? The place in the mines? The Councilate wants you to fight, Tai. It’s easier that way. Gives them a reason to lock us all up. To kill us. You’re the one that’s causing all this, not me. You’re playing right into their hands.”
Horror struck him. “You can’t know that.”
In his moment of shock, Tulric struck, pulling a thick blade and jamming it into Tai’s neck.
The world erupted in pain, and Tai screamed, losing his resonance.
“I pull it out and you die!” Tulric was yelling, the earth beginning to pull them back. “Let us down slow or I—”
Darkness swallowed the words, swallowed the sky and pain.
Tai awoke to screaming, pulling out of darkness to a moment of brilliant clarity. The city, the forest, the detention center like a painting below, rushing up to meet them. The hot blood running up his neck, misting into a cloud. Tulric’s face, red with terror.
“No,” he said. “I don’t need to kill all of them. You’re enough.”
With his last ounce of strength, he drew in breath and shoved Tulric off him with uai. Then darkness came again, a thick blanket in the whistling cold air.
30
It has become quite the rage for these southerners to dye their hair, in an attempt to fit in among us. While it has long been known—yes, let us admit it—that those with peppering will occasionally resort to tinctures to hide their parentage, the outright dyeing of a head—or, friends, the ridiculous measure of shaving it entirely!—seems to have come with the newly rich of the South. Still, we admit to a certain curiosity as to their methods…
—Madam Kallenia, Speeches of the Day, Year 78
Ella read.
She read books on Councilate justice. She read scrolls on famous hearings of the new Councilate. She sat in the library and read volumes on Councilate governance, skimming for sections about the justice system. She read collections of broadsheets from the capital detailing prominent hearings of the week, going back months. She read reams and reams of hearing transcripts, or skimmed them at least, looking for examples of Arbiter interference. She woke up in the library the next morning, neck stiff and a puddle of drool staining the page of Reyenal’s Notable Judicial Revisions, Vol VII.
She kept reading. There was too much to know: how countersuits worked, the options for libel charges when they succeeded or failed, the most common punishments for illegal commerce and theft and money laundering. She realized, sometime around noon, that she might be able to bring Odril up on charges of treason—but she didn’t want him killed.
Yes, you do.
Well, maybe part of her did. But what she needed was economic punishment—for the court to strip Odril of his wealth and annul all his contracts. Anything less—or more—than that, and Tunla would be passed to the next inheritor on Odril’s long list.
Assuming she could win at all.
“Am I—interrupting anything?”
Ella started from her reverie to find Sablo, looking at her over what had become a pretty massive pile of books and scrolls. “No! Ah, just some research.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “You don’t do things halfway, do you?”
“I try not to.”
“Well. Could I interest you in some lunch?”
Her stomach growled, and Ella realized she hadn’t eaten since sometime yesterday. She felt the pull to keep reading—but Sablo’s help would be important too, if it came to that. But how much could she trust him? She couldn’t exactly ask.
“Our…friendship,” she said, as they shared cod-and-pickle millet cakes at one of the Tower’s food carts. “I hope it won’t affect your impartiality.”
He chuckled. “I doubt there’ll be much need for that. The Council will do the work—I only step in if need be.”
Ella swallowed. “And if need arises?”
He stayed smiling. “Well, if need arises, I might be convinced to sway one way or the other. There’s still tonight, after all.”
Ella’s chewing slowed. “Are you suggesting—”
“I’m not suggesting anything!” He was still smiling, but there was an oiliness to it—one she recognized from plenty of her older male clients. So, this was about sex, after all. “Just that I’ve appreciated getting to know you over the past week.”
Told you so.
“Well.” Her policy on this was clear and always had been. “I hope our friendship has been convincing in its own right.”
Sablo seemed to catch her meaning and had the decency to redden, at least. “I—suppose it has, at that.”
Ella stifled a sigh. She had hoped at least one man in the Councilate had integrity. Maybe the whole thing did need a purge. “Is it true, the talk of more rebel attacks?”
“I’m afraid so. They sunk most of the dock last night.”
“Gods. Will a legion be enough to stop them?”
“Oh, I imagine it will. And if it doesn’t”—he winked at her—“we’ve got someone on the inside now. Let’s just say we’ll be ready, next time they try to attack us head-on.”
She held back a gasp. A traitor. Tai needed to know this. “Well, that’s reassuring.”
They finished up their lunch with idle talk, Sablo excusing himself early. Something had undeniably shifted between them after his suggestion, but hopefully not enough to turn him against her.
I told you he wanted a roll in the sack.
“Yeah, well. If he’s that kind of man, there’s no guarantee it would mean anything once it was done, anyway.”
It’d sure be better than not doing it.
She frowned. “Are you suggesting I sell myself to the very man you described as gross?”
Just stating the obvious, sis. This could be trouble, down the road.
Ella sat back down at her table and opened a heavy volume on judicial law. “Let it be. I’m ready.”
She tried to find Tai that night, to tell him of Sablo’s traitor, but it wasn’t their night to meet, and Newgen’s gates were locked.
“No one comes in or out except on Councilate business,” the guard told her. “Least not until things settle down outside.”
“But I have people I need to see out there! Business interests!”
“Tell ’em to come here. It’s for your safety, ma’am.”
Ella went back frustrated and worried. She had no way of sending word to Tai, and in some ways, that information could be much more important than her whole suit, though she couldn’t help feeling a lot rested on her defense tomorrow. If she could expose Odril, if she could free Tunla and get a real punishment for what was apparently a common and overlooked crime, maybe it would send a message to the other Houses, to the Councilate. Maybe it would show the Councilate wasn’t past redemption, despite its corruption.
Or it would just prove to her the whole thing was doomed.
The arbitration was held in a large chamber below the Councilate offices, green-tinted view of the western hills beyond its glass walls. Sablo was already there, sitting on a high seat at the back, representatives of nine of the Council Houses at a long table in front of him, dressed in their colors. To either side were podiums with small rooms behind them for holding witnesses, black for defense, white for attack. A large crowd murmured at the back, likely gathered from the boredom of being confined to the Tower. Ella recognized no one.
She took her place at the left podium, arranging her notes and trying to stay calm. If she wanted to win this, she had to stay focused and clinical. She tried to seek Sablo’s eye, but the man was engrossed in work, scanning documents as he waited for the arbitration to begin.
Odril entered not long after, corner of his mouth turned down as though the room were not up to his standards. Ella was cheered to see he still had a bandage on his scalp from where she’d clubbed him. He met her gaze, and his face turned into a full sneer. She put on a pout and touc
hed her scalp, sticking out her lower lip: Does it hurt?
He scowled and seated himself across from her.
Sablo looked up and pounded the bead-hung staff of office down with a jangling boom. “This hearing shall come to order. Ellumia Aygla accuses Odril Alson of theft against House Alsthen. Preceded by countersuit, Odril Alson accusing Ms. Aygla of illegal commerce. Proceed.” He pounded the staff again and looked back to his documents.
One of the council motioned Odril forward. “Mr. Alson, what are your accusations?
Odril stepped forward. “This woman”—he threw a finger at her—“seduced me and others into illegal commerce with her, as well as visiting violent injuries on my person.”
Ella flexed her jaw. Odril spoke the language of the courts decently.
“Ms. Aygla? How do you respond?”
“Innocent, sirs,” she said at once. “Innocent on all counts.”
The councilor nodded. “Then we will hear attacking arguments first. Mr. Alson?”
“Thank you, councilors.” Odril gave them a deep bow. “I regret I’m not able to bow more gracefully before you, due to the wounds this woman has inflicted on me.” He gestured to the bandages on his forehead.
The councilor remained impassive. “What is your evidence?”
Odril opened his leather case and withdrew a sheet of parchment—the contract. “This document, proving Ms. Aygla entered into a patronage agreement with me under the false pretense that she was a licensed calculor.”
The councilor scanned the document, passed it down the line. “Ms. Aygla, how do you respond?”
“The document is invalid, as it was signed under duress, councilor. The attacking party had stolen my money and turned the passengers of the ship against me. I was forced to sign his illegal contract or find myself penniless on the shores of a foreign city.”
“Money you’d gotten illegally,” Odril cried, “from more of the same unlicensed activity!”
“Have you evidence to back this claim?” Ella asked, forcing herself to take slow, regular breaths. Several of the legal theorists posited that successful defense was as much about appearing trustworthy as the evidence itself.
