Judge (12 page)

“I’ll amend that,” Kien said. “You have behaved in a civilized manner. But you’re the only person in this whole stinking city who’s shown me the least courtesy.”

“Well, I’ll turn rude, Tracelander, if you keep blathering on about our stinking ways.”

“Forgive me. Sleeping in alleys and eating rubbish has turned me testy.”

“Just guard your words when you answer ol’ royal Ninus.”

Not reassuring. Kien tromped on through the filthy streets, tallying the citizens’ legal infractions as he walked. A thief cutting a purse from an unwary man’s belt, then fleeing down the street. Numerous people drunk in public. Prostitutes in residential doorways and shrine entrances, clamoring for his attentions. Not to mention assault. Two rough-clad men struggled in the
street until one ended their brawl with a knife to the other’s belly. Kien started toward the assailant. But Teos wrenched him back. Kien protested, “We must intercede! That man could be dying!”

“That’s not my duty,” the guard said. “Anyway, why stop one murder? There’re thirty others equal to this today. And no one cares.”

“They should!
This
is part of the reason your city’s been condemned.”

“Move!” Teos shoved him onward. “Don’t make me bind you, Tracelander!”

The royal palace was grand. If garish red and black columns could be called grand. The gatehouse, a massive edifice of tasteless red stonework, manned by crimson-clad guardsmen, seemed more theatrical than royal. But Kien supposed it was best to not announce his opinion.

“Here.” Teos led Kien through the gatehouse tunnel, following the lead of two gangly youths, who were evidently royal servants waiting for the chief guardsman’s arrival. They straightened, bowed their heads, then led the way, remaining some ten paces ahead.

Kien noticed the curious, wary looks the young servants threw him over their shoulders as they walked through the palace’s labyrinthine torch-lit corridors. Were they afraid of him? It seemed so. He tested them, meeting their stares with a frown. One servant stumbled, the other gasped, and they both looked straight ahead—not glancing at him again.

They
were
afraid of him. Kien suppressed a smile. Bad Tracelander. Ela would be more compassionate, he was sure. But he was glad she hadn’t been forced to sleep in the trash-strewn, rat-infested alleys of Adar-iyr. And grateful she hadn’t been subjected to such displays of moral degradation as he’d witnessed. Her heart would be broken, fearing for their souls.

Definitely an attitude he ought to cultivate more attentively. Dear Ela . . .

Voices in the palace corridors drew Kien’s attention from
daydreams of Ela. Polished voices, different from the raucous cries of the rabble. Cultured, but no less brutal.

A woman’s languishing drawl asked, “Is that the doomsayer?”

“It would seem so,” a man answered.

A third sniffed. “Burn him. Now.”

Kien gritted his teeth. Burn? He’d rather not.

Infinite?

 13 

T
eos hauled Kien forward while placing one huge hand on the hilt of his own sword. Kien pondered the man’s gesture. Why would a plain guard fend off surly courtiers for the sake of a mere doomsayer?

And what doomsayer had ever been popular? Certainly not Kien Lantec of the Tracelands. Indeed, the pack of courtiers seemed eager to attack him—if they’d been physically able. Thankfully, the nobility of Adar-iyr were swaying or leaning on each other, bleary-eyed: the men in their gold-belted tunics, with gold diadems and peacock feathers; the women with pearls cascading from their elaborate hairstyles down onto their stunningly emphasized bosoms.

Kien swiftly fixed his gaze above the diadems and peacock feathers. What was Adar-iyr’s protocol for confronting debauched, half-undressed courtiers who wanted to burn him alive?

When in doubt, ignore them. And pray for their misguided souls to be enlightened.

He stared over their heads as Teos led him after the young servants, who bowed and scraped their respective ways through the crowd.

“Scruffy creature,” one of the women complained.

A man answered, “What can you expect? He’s mad.”

“I still say we should burn him,” the first instigator said. “A living torch.”

One of the ladies giggled. “Perhaps we’ll send a fiery offering over the waters to our god Nereus when the king is finished with him. That’ll lift a few of these clouds over us!”

Kien focused on the arched doorway ahead, determined to ignore them. Wise men didn’t argue with drunkards. Perhaps when these courtiers sobered, the Infinite would permit him to warn them. And yet, if violence threatened, he had to defend himself, didn’t he?

If the courtiers were this decadent, what was King Ninus like?

Infinite? May I speak during this audience?

His Creator’s answer was a silent affirming nudge that propelled him forward. Kien almost grinned.

Inside the lamplit royal audience chamber, the king lolled in a deeply cushioned chair, looking like a man who had been awake all night at a rather overwhelming party. His puffy, sagging face conveyed only tepid interest in the proceedings. He grunted as Kien approached, then motioned to a nearby clerk, ensconced on a massive floor cushion.

In response, the clerk dropped a wooden-spooled scroll into a basket beside him, then dismissed the two young servants with a careless wave. Licking a thumb, the clerk flipped through a stack of torn parchments, extricated one, and perused it. “Is it true you were heaved from the belly of a sea creature?”

“Yes. Don’t I look it?” Kien asked. “Before the beast swallowed me, my clothes and boots were virtually new.”

Ninus studied Kien’s boots and clothes. “Mmph.”

The clerk’s thin nostrils flared. “What sort of beast? What name?”

Name? Was the man serious? Kien chuckled. “Being sucked down as a main course isn’t exactly a social occasion. I didn’t ask its name. But I’ve never seen such a beast before. I believe the Infinite created the beast for the singular purpose of failing to digest me.”

Ninus sighed.

Obviously taking this as a signal, the clerk made a note, then proceeded. “What is your homeland?”

“The Tracelands. And believe me, I’d rather be there. Do you know how many laws I’ve seen broken in your streets? I’ve lost count! With all respect, King Ninus, your people are . . . feral!”

Eyes widening, Ninus sniffed. “Hmph—Tracelanders!”

The clerk mimicked his king’s sniff. “Exactly, sir.” He frowned at Kien. “What god cast you on our shores?”

“As I said: the Infinite. There is no other god.”

“Eh?” Ninus shook his head.

“Disbelieve me if you like,” Kien challenged. “But the Infinite brought down King Tek An of Istgard and King Segere of Siphra.” Leaning forward, determined to convey his concern, Kien willed Ninus to pay heed. “Now it’s your turn, sire, so I beg you to listen: You will perish and your people will go down with you if you can’t be bothered to control them. Your island-realm is a stench in your Creator’s nostrils! Unless you act, you have seventeen days to live. Then you, your kingdom, your people, even the rats in your streets will be obliterated!”

Ninus shifted in his chair. His clerk said, “What must we do to avoid . . . obliteration?”

“Pray to the Infinite. Believe, repent, and change your ways—you and all your subjects. Trust me, He hears you and will receive your prayers. He wishes to protect your souls.”

The king slouched and closed his eyes, uttering, “Clouds.”

“Ah.” The clerk nodded. “Did your Infinite cast these unnatural clouds over our island?”

Kien blinked. Infinite? Are these ever-present clouds unnatural to Adar-iyr?

Yes. They are a warning of My coming judgment.

He should have known. “Yes. They are a warning of the Infinite’s coming judgment.”

Ninus winced. The clerk waved a hand. “You are dismissed.” To Teos, he said, “Take this man to the kitchens and feed him. Offer him a bath and new clothes. Now depart.”

Kien hesitated. That’s all? What a bizarre royal audience. Was this a trap? He rested one hand on his sword as Teos led him out the opposite side of the king’s chamber.

“You’re a Tracelander for sure,” the chief guardsman complained as they marched through a wan, overshadowed, grid-like garden. “No respect for royalty!”

Ela tucked the last fold of her baby brother’s swaddling linens together and smiled into his round, dark-eyed face. “Jess, you are so handsome!”

Jess pursed his baby lips, clearly unimpressed by the compliment.

Beside Ela, Beka scooped Jess from beneath Ela’s hands. “Handsome? He’s perfect!”

Jon looked up from the count-and-capture game he was sharing with Tzana. “Are you talking about me?”

“No, dear,” Beka said. “But don’t despair. I think you’re perfect too.
And
handsome.”

Kalme stepped over the plastered threshold into the main room, her soft brown eyes serene. “Girls, thank you for watching Jess. I’ll take him now—it’s nap time. Ela, I need some dried fruit and meat. Will you go to the market for me?”

Go,
the Infinite prompted.

“Of course.” She smiled. “I’ll take Tzana. We’ll visit Pet after our trip to the market.”

“No, I think I want a nap,” Tzana said. She pushed away the board game. “Mother, can I hold Jess until we fall asleep?”

Ela stared at her sister. Tzana, not wanting to visit Pet? Of course, she couldn’t blame Tzana. Jess was irresistible. And Ela and Beka had been greedy, cuddling him most of the morning.

Besides, after ten days’ rest, it seemed the Infinite had plans for His prophet. It might be best for Tzana to remain with Mother.

Jon pretended to complain to Tzana. “Fine. Take a nap. I’ll try to not feel abandoned.”

The little girl sighed. “But you yawned and made me sleepy, so it’s your fault.”

“Implying that I’m boring? Ow!” While gathering the game pieces, Jon told Beka, “I promised my men we’d return with supplies today, so I’ll accompany you to the market.”

“You presume I’m going?” Beka affected huffiness.

“Dear,” Jon said, perfectly calm, “it’s a market. If you’re reluctant to go, then you must be ill.”

As they grabbed their gear, Kalme handed Ela her coin purse. “Here’s two-weight in coins.”

“Two?” Ela protested, “Mother, you don’t need so much for dried fruit and meat.”

“No, but you need a new mantle and so does Tzana. Buy some fabric, please. Ten lengths.”

“Yes, Mother.” But marketplace fabric was so expensive! Ela stifled her objections and retrieved the branch. No doubt Mother was still celebrating her daughters’ return with new garments, probably with Father’s full approval. Ela blamed herself. She’d denied her parents the joy of a homecoming feast last week, reasoning that Parne’s approaching destruction was no reason to celebrate. And Ela, as the prophet and bearer of such grievous news, shouldn’t be given a new mantle. Tzana, however, was a different matter.

Ela crossed the crackling woven floor mats and bent to kiss Tzana’s cheek. “Enjoy your rest. I’ll give Pet a hug for you.”

“He would understand if he could see Jess,” Tzana explained, worry fretting her forehead. “Anyway, I’m really tired.”

“Then you ought to nap,” Ela agreed. “Come, let’s tuck you in.”

She rested the branch against the wall, then fluffed Tzana’s sleeping pallet and its pillow. Tzana settled down with a sigh and a pleased smile, particularly as Beka nested the freshly swaddled Jess beside her.

Ela chuckled. “You two look so cozy, I’m jealous.” She kissed her siblings, then stood and retrieved the branch.

“Don’t forget the fabric.” Kalme gave Ela a hug, then chased her outside with Jon and Beka.

Jon stretched in the sunlight, then yawned and shook himself. More alert, he grinned at Ela. “Your family’s home is so quiet and peaceful that I almost fell asleep.”

“It is. We’ve been blessed.”

Beka gave her husband a fierce nudge. “Meaning our home isn’t peaceful?”

Jon laughed and took her hand—after checking his sword. “
Our
home is exciting, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

As they walked, their boots and sandals clattering against the public courtyard’s pale stones, Jon changed the subject, his voice turning grim. “Ela, it’s been more than a week. When will Belaal’s army arrive?”

“Soon. About two weeks.” She caught Beka’s gaze. “I know you promised Kien you’d keep watch over me, but you must leave before Belaal arrives.”

“Ela,” Beka protested, “I won’t leave you here!”

Implacable as stone, Jon said, “Beka, we must. Otherwise, given Belaal’s reputation, we’ll be captured and enslaved,
if
we’re blessed.” His dark eyebrows drew together in a thoughtful frown. “However, we could travel to Istgard, then return with Tsir Aun’s forces.”

“The Infinite agrees,” Ela said as her Creator’s approval threaded into her thoughts.

Beka sighed. “Then we’ll go. But not until the last possible instant.”

“I concur.” His serious expression brightening, Jon added, “That way, I’ll be able to consolidate at least two reports of both Parne and Istgard into one scroll. The general will be pleased. Now . . . what do we need from the market?” He strode ahead.

They entered Parne’s largest public square, which teemed with people. Quarreling men, laughing women, and the odd, high girlish voices of foreign eunuchs caught her attention as they bargained with Parne’s renowned gem traders, purchasing treasures for their masters.

Evidently startled by the eunuchs’ voices, Beka hesitated and whispered, “Oh, those poor men. Listen to them. . . .”

“Pray for them.” Ela hurried Beka onward, hoping to distract her from asking questions. There were no eunuchs in the Tracelands, and Ela didn’t want to repeat the horrifying, pity-inducing details she’d overheard from others in the marketplace whenever eunuchs visited Parne. “They’re foreign servants, sent by their masters from the south and the west beyond the mountains—I’d hate to see them, or anyone, caught in the coming siege.”

Thankfully, Beka grimaced at a passing manure cart. “Ugh! What a stench!”

Wrinkling her nose in sympathy, Ela focused on the bleating lambs sheltered along the walls in makeshift pens. Some of these same animals would be offered in sacrifices at the temple this evening—useless sacrifices, considering the rebellious souls who offered them. Heartsick, Ela breathed prayers to her cherished Creator.