Prophecy's Ruin (Broken Well Trilogy) (37 page)

‘Yes,’ said Corlas sadly.

‘Well . . . since meeting Jaya, I think I am better at sensing others who have it . . . and I think that you do.’

‘Bless you, boy,’ Corlas said, and smiled. ‘I think so too.’

•

On the road south of Kadass, the blind woman could hear the sounds of the city. ‘How far to go?’ she asked in a quavering voice.

‘We’re close, Mother,’ said the hard-eyed young woman by her side.

‘Yes, Frera,’ said the colourful little bird perched on her shoulder. ‘Almost there.’

Thirty-two / Trial

Thirty-two

Trial

Trial

Baygis elected to hold Jaya’s trial in the Kadass courts, despite urging from Assicon Cydus to hold it in Arkus’s Eye. For Baygis it was insult enough that he had to concern himself with a case of petty vandalism, but the idea of taking it to the Eye, the great court of the Halls where High Overseers presided over only the most important of trials, was appalling.

‘If I were to try a vandalism case in the Eye,’ Baygis had said to Cydus, ‘I would be guilty of it.’

‘Yes,’ Naphur had agreed, then added, less diplomatically, ‘Now please go away, Cydus, you audacious little peacock.’ That had turned Cydus an interesting shade of pink.

Holding the trial in the Kadass courts meant that the wasp Trusted probably would not attend, which was ultimately the exact opposite of what Cydus had wanted – he had wanted to exonerate himself before her. It was beyond Baygis why the pompous ass didn’t just buy her another present.

Baygis watched people filing into the court. He was just inside the entrance to the balcony from which he would preside – it overlooked a flat area of floor where the accused would stand. Tiered wooden benches around the walls formed a viewing gallery, and Baygis noted familiar faces there. Fahren sat with Bel and Corlas opposite the balcony. Baygis gave his hearing a magical boost and tuned into their conversation.

‘If she’s found guilty, the term won’t be especially long,’ Fahren was saying. ‘And I’m sure that the Throne won’t stop you visiting her in Kadass Jail.’

‘Is that supposed to be reassuring?’ said Bel. ‘And what do you mean
if
she is found guilty? You need not soften your words for me, High Mage.’

‘Don’t call me that,’ said Fahren anxiously. ‘And worry not so overly. Cydus’s power in this matter is transitory, and exists because the wasp Trusted is in Kadass and Naphur is afraid to agitate her.’

‘Naphur should show some backbone,’ said Bel. ‘The Trusted is his subject, just like everyone else.’

‘A very
powerful
subject, my boy,’ said Fahren.

‘Well, don’t forget who amongst us is really the
powerful
one,’ replied Bel. ‘Perhaps it would be best not to get the future saviour of the realm
agitated,
or does that count for nothing?’

‘Bel! Just remember that when the wasp Trusted leaves, Naphur won’t be so worried about Cydus kicking up a stink. Who knows how long Jaya will remain in jail – especially if she marries a peacekeeper.’

Bel turned to Fahren wearing an expression of such alarm that Fahren’s eyes crinkled in amusement. Baygis also smiled – he well understood Bel’s reaction to marriage. He continued to look around the court. At the front, of course, sat Cydus with a couple of his friends, speaking loudly and laughing. Baygis noted a few other courtiers scattered about, boorishly interested in the slightest of scandals. Behind him an aide cleared his throat and Baygis turned slightly in acknowledgement.

‘High Overseer,’ said the aide. ‘The accused has arrived. She waits with the other witnesses.’

‘No other witnesses will be necessary.’

‘Very good, lord. Shall I announce you?’

‘Please,’ said Baygis unenthusiastically.

The aide walked to his own small desk on one side of the balcony. He cleared his throat and a murmur rippled through the crowd as they realised the trial was about to begin.

‘Silence, please!’ called the aide. ‘This is the trial of Jaya Kincare, charged with unlawful entry into the house of Lord Assicon Cydus and reckless damage to his property. Presiding is High Overseer Baygis Naphur.’

Baygis entered the balcony and took his position on a high bench at the front. He flicked his white-gold overseer’s robe out behind him as he sat, and nodded to his aide.

‘Bring in Jaya Kincare!’ called the aide.

A guard appeared leading Jaya, who was shackled at the wrists. Baygis glanced at Cydus, who was waiting greedily for the girl’s humiliation. He would not be sorry to disappoint him, or the other scandalmongers sitting in the viewing gallery.

‘You are Jaya Kincare?’ Baygis asked in a carrying voice.

‘Yes, High Overseer.’

‘I have already had your admission. Is there anything else you’d like to add?’

‘No.’

‘Good,’ said Baygis. ‘Then you are guilty as charged and sentenced to two years in Kadass Jail.’ He rang a brass bell that stood on the bench. ‘That’s it, everybody. Off you all go.’

Cydus was clearly outraged at being denied seeing Jaya chewed up by the court and Baygis gave him a little smirk. Then Baygis glanced across at Bel and the others, and his amusement faded as he saw Bel’s expression.

•

Bel barely heard Fahren speaking to him.

‘. . . am sure we can work out some kind of . . . visitation rights . . .’

Let the old man waffle
, thought Bel.
I’m not going to settle for any kind of compromise
.

As the woman he loved was led away, she looked back at him and an understanding passed between them – he would fix this, somehow. She disappeared, and he fell to wondering how. He briefly imagined storming into the jail and freeing her no matter who was in his way and hang the consequences – what could they really do to the blue-haired boy?
Man,
he corrected himself.
Blue-haired man.
The other way, though, was to simply demand it. Would they really refuse him? Would they dare?

‘Come, Bel,’ his father was saying, taking him under the arm. Bel blinked – the courtroom was emptying. He rose and allowed himself to be led out. Baygis appeared in the corridor outside.

‘Bel,’ he said, ‘I am sorry. If there was another way –’

A commotion broke out at a nearby doorway. A young woman ran into the corridor, her curly hair wild and her eyes wilder. She was followed by a nervous peacekeeper who kept ineffectually trying to grab her wrist.

‘. . . can’t come in right now, miss!’ they heard him say.

‘They said he was here!’ insisted the young woman, knocking the keeper’s hand away.

An older woman appeared at the door behind the young woman. This one was obviously blind, as she was leaning on a stick and holding the door frame. ‘Essie?’ she said, but Essie – Bel assumed Essie was the young woman – wasn’t answering. As Essie’s head turned, her eyes fixed on a point and blazed.

‘There!’ she shouted, pointing at Corlas. ‘There he is, Mother! He’s there! It’s him! That man!’ she screamed, ignoring the peacekeeper trying to quiet her. ‘That’s the swine who murdered my father! HE KILLED MY FATHER!’

She screamed it again and again, stabbing her finger like a dagger of justice. Her blind mother called plaintively from the door frame, and everyone else stood and stared.

‘Oh, yes!’ shouted the woman. ‘I recognise you, you swine, you dog, you filthy, murdering –’

‘Enough!’ roared Bel, stepping forward. ‘Cease this slanderous outpour lest I choke it to a stop! This man is Corlas Corinas, the hero of the Shining Mines, a soldier of Kainordas! Who are you to dare sully him with these baseless accusations?’

‘Do you deny it?’ spat Essie, still staring at Corlas.

‘Of course he denies it!’ shouted Bel, and whirled to his father.

Corlas stood frozen, staring at Essie, his expression ashen. Bel blinked, not understanding what he was seeing.

‘Father?’

More guards appeared. ‘Seize her,’ said Baygis. Essie continued to scream and claw at the keepers who held her, while her mother sobbed. ‘Take her to a holding room, and see the blind woman is given a place to wait.’

‘What madness is this?’ said Bel.

‘That,’ said Baygis calmly, ‘is exactly what we shall find out.’

•

The hatred from this young woman is astounding,
sent Fahren.

Yes,
replied Baygis.
She believes it so vehemently
.

They were in one of the rooms used to house prisoners before trial, featureless but for a table at which the girl Essie sat. A guard behind her forced her down each time she tried to rise, to shake her fists in anger, to scream and yell. It took time to get any sense from her.

It was over twenty years ago,
said Baygis.
And she remembers only a big man with a big beard. Many fit that description. A man with a similar beard and build to Corlas would be easy to mistake.

But his name,
said Fahren.
She knows his name.

‘How did you learn the name of this man?’ Baygis demanded.

‘What?’

‘His name, girl! You knew the name Corlas. Did you learn it during the attack?’

Essie stared back defiantly. Baygis laid his hands on the table and leaned in close, piercing her with power-filled eyes. She faltered before them, her gaze flickering downwards.

‘You didn’t, did you?’ said Baygis. ‘Even insane murderers usually don’t leave their names behind for witnesses to remember.’ He sent magic into her, slipping around her tongue and vocal cords, making them pliable to the truth. ‘How?’ he asked. ‘How did you learn the name Corlas?’

Essie gulped. Only the strongest of wills withstood Baygis’s ability to force out the truth.

‘Arkus,’ she gasped.

‘What?’

‘Arkus sent us a messenger!’ she said shrilly. Again she tried to stand, but the guard behind placed strong hands on her shoulders. ‘He said we deserved justice!’ she shouted. ‘He said that the crimes against our family had gone unpunished long enough! He said that the Sun God himself had deemed us worthy to know the name of our transgressor!’

‘A messenger?’ prompted Baygis, raising an eyebrow.

‘Iassia!’ shouted the girl. ‘I promised I wouldn’t tell!’

Iassia?
came Fahren’s thought.
The weaver you caught?

Yes. He obviously has some dark purpose in this.

‘Essie, listen to me,’ said Baygis slowly. ‘That bird is a manipulator of minds. Do you understand? He is no servant of Arkus. This name he gave you means nothing.’

Essie shook her head miserably. ‘I know him,’ she said. ‘I’ll remember his face till the day I die. He killed my father. He ruined everything! After he came, the farm fell to dung around us. My mother could hardly get out of bed. It is no lie.
It is no lie.
’ She fell back, exhausted by her struggles.

What could the bird want?
asked Fahren.

I don’t know. But we cannot trust this girl.

Her conviction is powerful, though,
said Fahren.
For all their skill, I do not think weavers can reinvent memories. Baygis, she truly believes that Corlas murdered her father.

Do you?

There was a pause.
No,
said Fahren.
Not yet. But I find it worrying. Weavers are extremely intelligent. I don’t think this Iassia would have underestimated our ability to discover he’d played a role here. And . . .

What?

Weavers have the power to silence those they enter into a bargain state with – yet Iassia didn’t invoke that power here. If he’d made a deal with this girl, we’d never have discovered his involvement. Yet he didn’t block us from finding that out.

What are you saying?

That weavers are magnificent engineers, Baygis. Right now, we might be doing exactly what Iassia wants.

You mean he wants us to question Corlas?

Yes.

We must still question him,
said Baygis.

Yes,
said Fahren, his face growing worried.

I cannot see Corlas’s hand in this,
said Baygis.
The man has been a faithful servant of the light for as long as we’ve known him. He fought the Shadowdreamer himself, by Arkus!

Let us see him.

They went to the next room. It was just like the first, except Corlas sat at the table, his expression unreadable.

‘Taskmaster Corlas,’ said Baygis, drawing up a seat. Fahren did the same.

‘High Overseer. High Mage.’

Baygis glanced at Fahren.
Do we mention the bird?

Not yet.

‘These are troubling accusations, Corlas,’ said Baygis, and his face indeed was troubled. ‘What do you have to say about them?’

Corlas stared back from under bushy brows. ‘I do not know this young woman, nor her mother,’ he said. ‘I did not kill their kin.’

‘You were in that area, though, around the time of the crime,’ said Fahren. ‘Were you not? On your journey between Whisperwood and the Halls?’

‘You know that to be the case,’ said Corlas. ‘I would not deny it.’

‘And you never stopped at the farm where these women lived?’

‘No.’

He has always been difficult to read,
said Fahren.
When he first returned to the Halls and explained absconding from the army with a story of enchantment, I could not fault him. It was a version of the truth, however, and . . .

You sense a lie in this?

Yes.

I shall ask about the bird.

When Fahren raised no objection, Baygis went ahead. ‘Have you ever had dealings with a weaver bird, Corlas? The one called Iassia, perhaps, whom I tracked down outside Kadass?’

Corlas opened his mouth, and paused. Then he said, ‘No.’

‘Corlas,’ said Fahren, ‘please – we are not your enemies. We don’t think you’re a murderer, but there is something more to this, something beyond mistaken identity. Those women were coaxed here by a weaver – a weaver who knew your name.’

Corlas’s brow furrowed and he seemed about to say something. The look changed to frustration and he remained silent.

Baygis sighed. ‘I’m afraid I must question you again, Corlas,’ he said. ‘Under the influence of magic. I’m sorry.’ He sent magic into Corlas, lubricating his throat so the truth would slide out. ‘Now again,’ he said, ‘tell us everything you know of these events.’ Even as he intensified his truth-coaxing magic, Corlas kept his mouth firmly closed. ‘Corlas?’ he said forcefully. ‘What can’t you tell us?’