Judge (28 page)

Jon’s frown deepened. “Is this sanctioned by the Tracelands’ Grand Assembly?”

“The Grand Assembly isn’t aware of my situation, and I’m told it’s irrevocable in Siphra. Imagine being a king unable to rescind an order! I’ve sent General Rol a message, requesting his advice and asking him to speak to the Assembly.”

Somber, Beka gripped Kien’s sleeve. “You don’t suppose the Tracelands will censure you . . . do you?”

Her words mirrored Kien’s growing fears. Censure was a possibility, particularly if certain anti-Lantec factions took control of any official debates regarding Kien’s Siphran status and his unwanted title. What if his homeland did condemn him? What if he was stripped of martial authority mid-campaign as he tried to save Ela and Parne? He’d be rendered powerless. “We’ll find out soon enough. Meanwhile, the king and the prime minister are waiting.”

“Well,” Beka said, a gleam of mischief and inspiration brightening her face, “while the prime minister’s wife and I are here, waiting for the siege to end, we’ll wage our own battle. I’ll write letters to the wives of every possible sympathetic member of the Grand Assembly. I’ll humbly explain your dilemma and beg the ladies, in their wisdom, to speak on your behalf to their husbands and anyone else who might question your devotion to the Tracelands.”

Despite himself, Kien laughed. “As I said, you’re my favorite meddler.”

“Of course I am.”

Ela set the flickering lamps into niches within the tunnel walls, then stepped back, trying to gauge the men’s progress in finishing the stairs.

Wearing scarves tied over their noses and mouths, Father, Deuel, Ishvah, and half a dozen others worked together, chiseling at the stone and passing rocks down the steps in an unspoken communication forged through long days of joint labor. Their mutual masterpiece, the stairs, resembled one of Parne’s
ascending paths, though it approached the crest of a cavern rather than the edge of a roof. Surely they were within days of completion. Then, once Father and the others were certain they could safely reach Siphran or Istgardian forces, they would escape Parne’s destruction.

Ela wished she could escape with them. Yet, somehow, that would become impossible.

Infinite, guard them, please.

A sense of His waiting patience answered. With something like an unspoken rebuke. All right. Ela frowned, sifting through her thoughts. Her emotions. Her attitude. How had she erred? Infinite?

Do you not yet trust Me with those you love?

Ow. Yes, there it was. She still doubted His provision for her family and friends. Hadn’t she conquered this weakness? Would she struggle with it until she died, all too soon? Dejection made her droop like some sort of wilting plant. Infinite, forgive me, please. I’m thinking and behaving like someone who doesn’t understand You. Help me.

I am here.

Something in His words alerted her. Nudged her. Ela shook off her feelings of dejection, then looked around the tunnel. Now that she’d replenished the lamps and brought a cache of fruit from the tree, she wasn’t needed here. She called up to Father, “I’m leaving!”

Dan grunted. “Take a torch.”

“Thank you, I will.” She lifted one of the crudely fashioned, resin-soaked torches from a pile near the steps, then cautiously lit it with a lamp’s flame. Torches didn’t burn nearly as long as lamps, but their glow was brighter. Just holding this torch made her long for her prophet’s insignia, the branch. She hadn’t realized how much she’d depended upon the branch’s light and its surrounding sense of protection. Was this part of the reason the Infinite had removed it from her? Had she been using the branch as a spiritual crutch? She hoped not.

Such a prophet she’d proven to be. An absolute failure. Ela shoved away her self-accusations before they took hold of her thoughts. Why was she feeling so dismal today? What was wrong?

Praying silently, she lifted the flaring torch high and hurried through the tunnel, her boots crunching over stray bits of rock and dust. Here and there along the walls, the poisonous golden crystals glinted from the shadows like claws. Delicate yet lethal talons clutching rocks throughout this passageway. Just waiting to attack and carve toxic furrows into her flesh. No. Not yet. She must contemplate greater things and consider her blessings. She shivered.

Just as she reached the end of the tunnel, a low, ominous reverberation shuddered through the cavern beyond, permeating Ela’s body and rattling her to the core. She froze in her tracks. What was that? A rockfall? Infinite?

His answer was a whisper of images sent to rest uneasily within her thoughts, provoking a pounding headache. She saw Chacen, gaunt, hateful, and armed with a yellow blade, storming a home in the city above, accompanied by his equally furious weapon-wielding followers. They were invading Parne’s innermost locales, placing oily cakes within walls and igniting trailing wicks. Destroying hidden tomb houses within Parne.

“He’s trying to find me?” Ela nearly choked on the insight. “He’s destroying tomb houses and shrines to uncover our hiding place?”

Yes.

“Oh no!” Still seeing the weapons in her enemies’ hands, she dashed from the tunnel and turned, her focus drawn to the tree’s luminous presence. Toward the precious souls sheltered beneath its branches. Men, women, and children. Mother. Jess. “Infinite, is Chacen very near?”

Yes.

She approached the tree, breathless, not daring to speak aloud. Can I stop him?

Yes.

By surrendering to Chacen, she realized.

Then he would kill her. Sweat filmed Ela’s palms. She quivered, causing the torch to waver in her grasp. To give herself time to pray and overcome the panic, Ela knelt and rolled the torch over the cavern’s floor, extinguishing its flickering light.

Infinite? If I surrender to Chacen by dawn tomorrow, will it be soon enough?

An unspoken affirmation settled her. Ela breathed a sigh. Thank You.

She mustn’t cry. She wouldn’t. She needed to trust her Creator and think instead of a blessing. Her family and His faithful ones would be spared.

Still trembling inwardly, Ela found her mother.

Sheltered in the tree’s glow with Jess in her lap, Kalme lifted her dark brows, eyes wide with fear. “What was that noise? That quaking?”

“The Infinite showed me it was a tomb house collapsing in the city. Rather close, but everyone will be safe enough down here.”

Kalme’s distress eased visibly. “How is your father?”

“He’s fine. They’ll finish the stairs in a day or two. May I hold Jess?”

“Of course.” Mother looked down at Jess, clearly doting over his plump little form, his sweet face and bright brown eyes. “He’s getting heavy.”

Ela snatched her baby brother and kissed him, mumbling into his warm little cheek until he rewarded her with a toothless, soul-soothing grin.

Another more ominous boom rumbled through the vast cavern, shaking everyone. And shaking the walls. Ela huddled over her brother, shielding Jess from a spattering rain of clods and dust. Was Chacen bringing down the whole city?

Around her, she heard the other women and children shrieking. Jess cried, evidently resentful of Ela’s protective grip. When the dustfall stopped, Ela sat up, jostling her infant brother to soothe him. He scrunched his tiny face at her and put out his
lower lip, Tzana-like. Yes, beyond doubt offended. “If only you knew,” she told him.

Kalme reached for Jess. “That one was closer! You’re sure we’re safe here?”

“Yes, Mother. Don’t worry.”

Though the attacks would succeed if she didn’t surrender. Everyone here would be condemned as traitors to Parne. Ela shivered, almost seeing the bloodied swords and knives wielded by Chacen and his followers, exacting revenge on the Infinite’s faithful without reason or pity.

Infinite? I’m ready. I’ll go.

 29 

K
ien shifted on Scythe’s back, settling his feet into place along the destroyer’s war collar.

His broken toes felt better today. It helped that the army’s determined march toward Parne had consumed most of the past two days, preventing Fightmaster Lorteus from commanding him to practice.

Prime Minister Aun of Istgard rode up beside Kien now, matching his destroyer’s pace to Scythe’s. Kien nodded a greeting, marveling that this honorable man had, only last year, been his captor-guard—repeatedly dragging him to and from one of Istgard’s prisons to face his accuser, Istgard’s deceased king, Tek An.

His severe face outlined in the lowering sun, the prime minister nodded, a corner of his mouth lifting. “Lord Aeyrievale.”

Kien grimaced. “Sir, no offense intended, but I believe you’re secretly laughing at me.”

Tsir Aun smiled. Just a bit. “Yes, I admit I’m amused. You, the most patriotic of Tracelanders, have had a second noble title forced upon you in less than a year. And this time the title’s proponents were successful. One way or another, you’ll have men bowing to you.”

“Please, let’s not even joke about it.”

“Nevertheless, whatever the Tracelands might think, you
are
a Siphran lord.” Tsir Aun eyed their destroyers, who were huffing
low threats at each other. “I’ve heard your new lands and your tenants are beleaguered by Aeryons.”

“So I’ve been told.” Kien growled at Scythe, who was snapping at Tsir Aun’s steed. “Aeryon hunting is the only appealing aspect of this whole disaster.”

“What about protecting those who depend upon you?”

“What are you trying to say, Prime Minister?”

“You will be compelled to accept responsibility for your people.”

A certain bleakness in Tsir Aun’s tone made Kien stare. “You didn’t want to become Istgard’s prime minister, did you?”

“No. Yet I am. And I’ll remain so for as long as I’m needed.” He spoke sternly to his destroyer, who’d fitfully flattened his equine ears. “Wrath! Straighten those ears!
Now
.”

Wrath obeyed, but both destroyers grumbled as if the prime minister had ruined their game. Tsir Aun eyed Kien again, still severe. “Your people could suffer the rule of a far worse lord.”

They are not my people. Kien almost said the words aloud, but stopped himself. According to the Siphrans, he was wrong. Officially. The inhabitants of Aeyrievale
were
his people, and Akabe couldn’t rescind the order.

Infinite, I don’t want people!

And to think that less than two months ago, he’d had the effrontery to lecture Akabe on a king’s responsibilities and obligations. He had less to whine about than Akabe. “The inhabitants of Aeyrievale might have to live without me. I’m a military judge-advocate. The Tracelands will inflict penalties upon me if I officially accept this honor.”

“It would be a terrible loss for Aeyrievale.” The prime minister surveyed Kien now, clearly undeceived. “You are reluctant to accept responsibility for leading others. Not in a military setting, but in a personal realm. May I ask why?”

Kien hid a scowl. Tsir Aun was entirely too perceptive. “I know what it is to have others depend upon my decisions. And to fail them.”

The prime minister’s expression became faraway. And self-blaming. “You’re thinking of the massacre at Ytar. And the attack in Riyan, the day you were arrested.”

“The day I was ambushed and my servants were slaughtered? Yes.” He’d never be able to speak of that day without self-loathing. And hatred for the tyrant who’d ordered the attacks. “I failed my men. They begged me to leave the night before, but no! I thought I knew better. I believed I should tell that butcher king, Tek An, what I thought of him for attacking Ytar.”

His tone harsh, the words of a soldier who knew the truth, Tsir Aun said, “Undeserved as the charge was, you’d been condemned as a conspirator. Had you heeded your servants, you would have been caught and attacked anyway. In the wilderness, no doubt. And if I know you, sir, you would have died with them.”

Yes. That was true. The massacre at Ytar had been too fresh and raw in Kien’s thoughts. He would have fought any Istgardians to the death. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“I know I am.” Tsir Aun didn’t smile. Nor did his mood lighten. But he shifted the subject as if trying to distract Kien. “My wife and I visited Ytar recently. We were nearly ambushed, though it was clear we were visiting as a private household.”

Hit with surprise, Kien stared. “The Ytarians are still thirsting for revenge?”

“I cannot blame them. However, thankfully, the Infinite sent a certain prophet to Ytar in advance of our visit, and she interceded.”

“Ela.” Kien almost sighed over her name. “How was she?”

“Well enough.” Tsir Aun grunted. “She and the Thels were beset by robbers the day before. I’ve heard you’ve had dealings with the robbers’ leader.”

What? “I have nothing to do with robbers, sir!”

“An exiled Siphran lord. Ruestock.”

The thin, arrogant Siphran lord’s face smirked within Kien’s thoughts, making him seethe. “Well, he’s no longer exiled—though I wish he were! I should have allowed Scythe to kill the man last year. He’s partially to blame for this Aeyrievale debacle.”

“Perhaps it’s not a disaster, but the Infinite’s plan for you and for Aeyrievale. Do not be hasty in abandoning them, Lord Aeyrievale.”

A chill slid over Kien’s scalp and down his neck and arms. How could he escape this burden? Infinite?

Tsir Aun spoke again. “I take it you’ve no regrets in refusing the Istgardian crown.”

“None. Particularly knowing it was the Infinite’s will that I refuse.” Kien wished his Creator would answer as decisively regarding Aeyrievale.

Tsir Aun didn’t reply. Instead, he studied the horizon.

Kien followed his stare and saw a haze of smoke rising over what appeared to be a distant, pale hill. “Parne! Finally! And, it seems, the campfires of an army.” Ela . . .

“Belaal,” Tsir Aun observed. “Our timing is perfect. We’ll approach Parne under the cover of darkness. By the way . . .” The prime minister of Istgard nodded toward Scythe. “Your destroyer ate half of a former palace garden.”

“Only half?”

“It was a large garden. We are waiting to see if any life returns.”

Kien scowled at his destroyer’s twitching, listening black ears. “Have you no sense of restraint?”

Scythe grunted an unconvincing noise of disregard.

Tsir Aun said, “He was improperly leashed by government servants while Lara and I were meeting with the Thels. We accepted the blame.”

“Thank you. But I still feel responsible.”

“No need.” The prime minister half smiled. “Actually, it was quite impressive. Your destroyer deserves his name.”

Scythe tossed his head, betraying definite pride with the gesture.

Moving softly to avoid waking anyone, Ela tucked the strap of Father’s old waterskin beneath her mantle. Its podgy water-filled
outlines sloshed against the small hoard of fruit she’d hidden within the belted, layered folds of her tunics.

Ready, she allowed herself to glance at her parents, who slept beneath a quilt with Jess snug in a nest under Kalme’s hand. If only she could kiss them good-bye. But she didn’t dare. Forcing herself to turn away, she smiled toward Prill instead. Even in sleep, her redoubtable chaperone was on guard. She’d evidently bundled three of the busiest little girls together and whispered them to sleep with stories. Then she’d fallen asleep herself, her thin hands turned toward the children even in slumber, as if—at the slightest stir—to prevent them from wandering.

Ela didn’t know the little girls’ names. She’d been too busy warning Parne at night and sleeping during the day to visit with many of the refugees. Well, though she’d had no time to play and teach the little ones, at least Prill did. Infinite, bless her.

Prill, don’t forget! Tell my parents I’ve been called away by the Infinite.

Her heart hammered at the thought, so hard that she shook with its violence. If she stayed any longer, she’d weaken. She’d collapse. Infinite? Ela looked up at the tree, trying to calm herself in its gentle light, worshiping its Creator despite her panic. Help me!

A spiral of air steadied Ela, then swept her from the hushed cavern.

For an instant she blinked, disoriented by darkness until she looked up at the nighttime sky. Stars glittered amid sapphire and violet heavens, so lovely that she could almost forget she was standing in a dying city. Then she took a breath, and her nostrils filled with the thick, foul-sweet odor of disease and rotting flesh.

She hugged herself, fighting the need to retch. How many had died? The overpowering stench of decay testified that the living had given up on entombing the dead. Yet some still lived. In a darkened house to her left, someone was sobbing, low and harsh. Giving voice to a despair so profound that Ela couldn’t escape its depths. Another soul lost!

Tears welled, almost choking her with grief. She clawed at
her braid and unraveled it, then arranged it as a tangled cloak of mourning. Dust from the street offered the only adornment she needed. As she sifted a handful of grit over her hair, sobs shook her, refusing to be contained.

She drew in a tormented breath, then wailed, “Paaarne! Will you die in your faithlessness? Why won’t you call to your Creator, Who has always loved you? Why did you reject Him? Now you must drink from the cup you poisoned for yourselves!”

Infinite? Why was
I
so blind to their transgressions? Why won’t they hear You?

Driven by desperation, she ran up a public stairway. At the top, she looked over the city and wept. Through her tears she cried, “Listen to the Infinite and live!” A vision overtook her then, and she reeled against its impact, falling to her knees.

Though she huddled beneath a nighttime sky, she saw the coming day’s terror. Parne’s secret would be revealed. Sickened, she scrambled to her feet and ran along the rooftops, toward the temple. “Chacen! You’ve weakened Parne’s walls! Tomorrow your enemies will laugh, believing you’ve given them a way into the city!” Ela paused, listening. A scuffling sounded below, punctuated by harsh whispers that prickled the fine hairs along her arms. Who was coming for her?

Robes fluttering, she ran up flight after flight of steps until she couldn’t breathe. At last, she sagged against a wall and listened, muffling her harsh, hurting gasps within the folds of her mantle. No footsteps sounded from the stairs below.

Safe. For now.

Regaining her breath, she cried, “Parne, you must surrender to the conquerors who will enter your streets! Listen! The Infinite commands you, ‘Surrender and live!’ If you fight, you will die by the sword!”

A man’s voice bellowed, “Traitor!”

Footsteps again. Clattering up stairs. Coming toward her.

No! Not yet. Infinite, please, give me one last night to warn them! Praying, she ran.