Judge (27 page)

“I can’t be certain,” Sara murmured. “I just need to pray for you, and it’s easier to pray here than it was up in the city.”

To Ela’s left, Prill said, “I agree.” She frowned at Ela’s hair. “You’d best let me rework that braid, Ela Roeh.”

Ela looked down at her handiwork. All right. So the braid was uneven. Ragged, actually. But should a prophet worry about such trivialities? However, if it made her chaperone happy to tidy up the braid . . . “Thank you. I’ll fetch my comb.”

As she returned, Ela glanced around. Most of the women were clustered in groups, chatting and tending children, as placid as brooding hens. Kalme, however, was perched within the tree’s branches, picking gem-bright fruits and tossing them to the children and matrons who were too frail or timid to climb. Satisfied, Ela settled between Sara and Prill once more.

While Prill unraveled Ela’s braid, Ela murmured. “I’ll tell only you two. I don’t want my parents to be unnecessarily frightened. If I vanish within the next few days and fail to return, please pray for me. Reassure everyone that I’m fulfilling the Infinite’s will.”

Prill’s nimble fingers stilled. “Doing what?”

“I’m not quite sure.”

“Without me?”

“Yes.”

“I think I don’t approve.” Prill resumed braiding, but tugged at Ela’s hair. Hard.

“Ouch!” Ela rubbed her stinging scalp. “Trust me, you do approve.”

Additional braid tugging accompanied the matron’s scolding tone. “Ela Roeh, what aren’t you telling us?”

“Something you’d rather not know. Augh!” Fussy biddy of a chaperone!

Instantly, Ela regretted her rebellion. She turned and hugged Prill. “Just pray!”

The woman sniffled. Moisture, suspiciously tear-like, brimmed in her stern brown eyes. “I’m sorry for being so short-tempered. It’s because I’m concerned. You just be safe.”

Not likely. “I’ll try.”

A waking vision.

A breath of a breeze. An invisible separation from her fellow refugee-Parnians, who were sleeping in niches throughout the cavern. Ela stood and exhaled, bowing her head as a twist of nausea built in her stomach.

Infinite? As You will.

The silent, invisible whirlwind closed about her, tightening its hold like an indomitable fist. Removing her from the underground sanctuary.

 28 

P
arne was night-haunted. And she, Ela Roeh, was the unseen being who flitted across its refuse-strewn rooftops after dusk, her voice breaking into the city’s tattered stillness. Into the wretched, sleepless weakness of disease and starvation. “Parne, call to your Creator! Pray to Him—allow Him to spare you from the beasts who gather at your gates. Surrender and live!”

Most often, silence met her pleas. But now and then, a doorway creaked in the darkness, followed by whispers and footsteps in the courtyards below. And weeping, mingled with cries of despair that wrung Ela’s heart.

The stench of death permeated every street. All avoidable losses!

Pray, she urged the starving mourners. Listen to the Infinite and escape with your lives!

The Infinite whispered,
If they call to Me, I will save them!

They would survive famine, sword, and flames.

Oh, Parne, listen to your Creator. . . .

In the highest sector of the city, just below the temple, Ela paused on the roof of Zade Chacen’s house. “Chacen! Even now, He will spare you if you call to Him.”

The rooftop door creaked open and Chacen lunged toward her from the darkness. But not fast enough—and unarmed.

Ela skittered away into the deepening night. “Surrender and live!”

At dawn, she stood on the wall and stared out at the sea of crested tents and rippling banners. Banners, bearing badges of writhing reptiles and a golden flower—delicately incongruous in life as in her vision—heralded two western tribes, the Agocii and the Eosyths, who’d allied with Belaal and merged their small armies to King Bel-Tygeon’s, hoping to share Parne’s treasures.

No doubt they’d feasted on Parne’s captured supplies.

And, obviously, they’d seen her standing here, looking down on them. A number of Belaal’s gold-and-blue clad soldiers clustered together in the wall’s shadow watching her, their infrequent glances over their shoulders telling her that they were awaiting someone else’s arrival.

She watched, remembering her vision.

Bel-Tygeon, striking, self-assured, and filled with the arrogance of spoiled royalty, strode toward the gathering. His men bowed, but the king ignored them, calling to Ela, “Now, Prophet! Am I shamed? Have you come to curse me again?”

“You bring curses and shame to yourself, O King, by allowing yourself to be worshiped as a god. Only the Infinite rules in the heavens.”

He laughed and yelled, “Is it so? I’ve seen nothing to persuade me of your words—your idle threats! What will you do to convince me Belaal’s ways are wrong?”

Prill would not like his tone. Or his manner. The confidence of a man used to treating all women as his own. Handsome as he was, his soul was nothing like Kien’s. Unmoved, Ela said, “Within seven days, Bel-Tygeon, another king will take Parne, and you will know you are not a god.”

The king’s amusement faded. “By what means?”

“By the Infinite’s Word. Until then, know that He watches you!”

She felt the sweep of air against her cheek. The unseen current encircled Ela, removing her from the sight of Parne and its enemies.

For Ela! Two days until they reached Parne!

Kien gritted his teeth as Lorteus struck his arm with the flat of a sword. The fightmaster snarled in a chant, “Always moving, always moving! Expect every foe to deliver you a fatal strike at any instant!”

What about a mortally beastly fightmaster? Kien scowled into his opponent’s battered face. How were his broken toes going to finish mending if this man kept hounding him? While Kien tried to move without reinjuring his toes, a thunderous cadence shook the ground. Recognizing its rage-inspired pace, Kien nearly howled, sensing imminent victory over his ruthless trainer.

Lorteus clearly felt the same fearsome beats, which sent vibrations upward from the very soil, shaking Siphra’s whole encampment. Lorteus shifted his gaze toward the sound, distracted just long enough for Kien to lunge and grab him in the same stranglehold he’d used to bring down Maseth.

They dropped like two felled trees. The fightmaster spit syllables of outrage until a massive black monster-horse snapped him up by his thick tunic. Lorteus screamed.

Kien released his howl of laughter, then yelled, “No, don’t hurt him! Scythe! Drop the fightmaster!”

Scythe grumbled in supreme disapproval. But he dropped Lorteus like a rejected snack, then bent to lift Kien instead.

Dangling midair, Kien warned, “Careful of my toes, you lummox.” The instant he was on his feet, Kien stroked the monster’s glossy black neck. “How are you?”

The destroyer groaned tellingly and sighed unmistakable noises of sorrow.

Kien smoothed what he could reach of Scythe’s mane. He could almost feel the beast’s grief for Tzana, his longing to see Ela. “I understand. Believe me. The wait is killing me too!”

Scythe shifted and exhaled a moisture-laden gust of breath into Kien’s hair. It was all Kien could do to refrain from checking for slobber.

By now, Lorteus had scrambled to his feet. He started to reach for his sword. But Scythe bit toward his hand. To his credit, the fightmaster didn’t retreat, though his complexion went ghastly in evident alarm. He muttered to Kien, “You’ve a . . . destroyer?”

“Yes.” He grinned at the shocked man. “Why? Is this important?”

“It is in-indeed.” Lorteus scraped together something resembling an air of command. He studied Scythe and his eyes lit like an eager boy’s. “You must learn new fighting tactics!”

Scythe rumbled a threat. Lorteus’s fight-scarred face tightened, but he didn’t step back.

Kien felt obligated to say, “Again, Scythe, don’t hurt him. He’s a fightmaster. We’re supposed to quarrel. It’s his job to swat me with swords.”

The destroyer curled his equine lips back from his big teeth in obvious disgust.

Lorteus bowed and said, “We’ll delay the remainder of today’s lesson.”

Good. “Thank you, Lorteus. Most likely my sister and her husband are on their way into camp.” When the man left, Kien gave Scythe a fond cuff. “Have you behaved for Jon and Beka?”

The monster warhorse sniffed and looked away.

Not good. That sort of avoidance behavior guaranteed some costly mischief. “Did you eat someone’s garden?”

The black monster grazed near Kien’s booted feet. Feigning innocence, Kien suspected. Wonderful. Scythe had probably chomped down several estates somewhere.

More thunderous hoofbeats shook the encampment. Kien waited, certain Jon and Beka’s destroyers would bring them directly to him. Or, more accurately, to Scythe.

Jon rode into the open space first, splendid in his black commander’s uniform. He saw Kien and called over his shoulder to a yet unseen person, “He’s here and in one piece!”

“Were you wagering I’d lost a limb?”

“Not precisely.” Jon reined in Savage, then descended to the ground. “Beka’s been fretting over you. Particularly now.”

“Why particularly now?”

Jon grinned. “You’ll hear why soon enough.”

Looking thoroughly aggravated, Beka rode up and commanded Audacity to stand with Savage. The female destroyer obeyed but fussed and huffed as if certain Beka was making a terrible mistake. Beka stormed in turn, “Really, Aud! Will you just behave?”

Kien laughed. “Now, girls—”

Audacity snapped at him and so did Beka. “Oh hush, Kien!”

Scythe tugged Kien backward. Gently. Kien muttered to the beast, “Obviously, you know something I don’t. So what is it?”

The destroyer sighed. Humid monster-horse breath saturated Kien’s hair. He suppressed a shudder.

After Jon had helped Beka dismount, and after she’d stretched and shaken the wrinkles from her gown, Beka offered him an apologetic look. “Kien, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound testy. It’s just that I feel awful!”

She looked awful too, but Kien wasn’t about to mention her sickly coloring or the circles beneath her eyes. Before he could ask if she’d contracted an exotic fever, which he intended to run from, Beka beamed. She patted Jon’s arm in obvious delight and said, “I’m pregnant!”

Kien hesitated. “This is good news, right? You won’t bite me if I congratulate you? And Audacity won’t bite me if I hug you?”

“No! Here.” Beka rushed to hug him. Kien gave her a gentle squeeze and kissed the top of her braided, veiled hair. Beka sighed. “Oh, Kien, I’m so tired! And I’m hungry and swelling like—”

“Stop!” Kien raised a hand in warning. “I want to be the proud and ignorant uncle, remember? I don’t want to hear your symptoms.”

“If you know how miserable I feel, you’ll be more sympathetic. Really, I have to tell you . . .” She continued to talk as if she’d
mistaken him for one of her friends. Xiana Iscove, for example. Kien shot a squeamish look at his brother-in-law.

Jon smiled and deliberately looked away.

Coward!

“Oh.” Midstream, Beka stopped complaining. She patted Kien’s hand. “I told Ela that I would tell you she loves you.”

What? Trust Beka to confuse him with something that ought to be simple. “Can you rephrase that?”

As if Kien were a toddler, Beka carefully enunciated, “I said to Ela, ‘I’ll tell Kien you love him.’ And she agreed I should.”

“She didn’t argue?”

“No. Why should she? It’s the truth.”

Kien laughed and lightly jostled his sister. “
You
are my favorite meddler. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, please, can we eat?”

“Of course. If you don’t mind rations.” Two days. He sent up a silent, fierce prayer.

Infinite, I beg You, let me see Ela soon!

Even as Kien finished the prayer, a young crimson-clad royal servant scurried toward him. Breathless, the scrawny servant bowed. “My lord, the king requests your presence. The prime minister of Istgard waits with him.”

Aware of Beka’s questioning look and Jon’s sudden frown, Kien nodded to the boy. “Yes, thank you. Tell the king I’m on my way.”

The youth turned and ran, his movements so uncoordinated that his official red cloak swung precariously, becoming awkwardly misaligned about his neck. Obviously new at his job. Kien shook his head, then realized Beka and Jon were both staring.

Beka said, “‘
My lord?
’ What’s this about, Kien?”

He grimaced. “Akabe, the king, has declared me Lord of Aeyrievale, against my will, because I saved his life. He’s also declared me Siphran.”