by R. J. Larson
Infinite!
Speckled lights danced behind his eyelids, then faded.
7
Straightening herself wearily on Pet’s back, Ela looked ahead at the narrow, wild river valley. Tall, lush evergreens crowned gray rocky cliffs, which descended sharply to the rushing river below. And the hard-packed cliff road was widening—an indication that they were nearing the next overnight stop on their journey. The Tracelands’ border city of Ytar.
Seeming to echo Ela’s thoughts, Jon Thel looked over his black-cloaked shoulder to grin at Beka and Ela. “We’ll be in Ytar before sunset!”
“Finally!” Beka exulted, patting her lovely destroyer’s dark neck. “A bath and real food!”
“And sleep,” Ela agreed. They’d need to rest before heading into the southern borderlands that separated the Tracelands from Istgard and Parne. Ela winced. She mustn’t think about Parne. Tzana’s head lolled against Ela, her small body limp as she dozed astride Pet. Ela snuggled her little sister closer. Pet’s big ears perked, listening. He rumbled an alarm.
Infinite? Ela tugged the vinewood branch from its place on Pet’s war collar and raised it to halt Jon’s staff and servants, who trailed them on the road. Behind her, Jon’s subordinate-commander, Selwin, had to rein in his destroyer. Beka’s elegant destroyer squealed, and Jon’s destroyer turned about and huffed, alert. Jon drew his Azurnite sword, holding it high, readied. They all looked up at the low tree-fringed rock formations to their left.
A ragged figure hurtled from a shaded ledge onto Jon, knocking him off his destroyer, sending Jon’s blue weapon over the cliff into the river below. Beka screamed. “Jon!”
Jon yelled and grappled with his assailant. Jon’s destroyer, Savage, bit into the man’s tattered garments, lifted him off Jon, and flung the howling offender over the cliff, into the river after Jon’s sword. Jon scrambled to his feet. “Beka, wait here!” Yanking a short-sword from his destroyer’s war collar, Jon turned and ran along the cliff road, evidently scanning the rocks below for his enemy.
Tzana awoke and squirmed. “What’s happening?”
Pet stomped, gouging potholes into the road. He started to turn, but Ela restrained him, fearing he would plow into Beka’s destroyer. “Halt!”
The destroyer groaned.
Behind them, Jon’s servants bellowed as a motley throng leaped from the foliage above, wielding clubs and knives. Ela cried, “Infinite, stop them! Blind them!”
At once, the attackers fumbled, dropped their weapons, and yelled in sightless panic.
“Oh . . . !” The robbers were blinded! Could she truly call on the Infinite to create such calamity? Frightful power! She must be more careful. And yet . . . Infinite, it would have been helpful to know of this prophet-trait months ago!
By now Jon was running toward them again, but his attendants didn’t need his assistance. Led by Selwin, they were beating the helpless men. Ela hesitated. Disgusting as these failed robbers were, she felt responsible for their safety. She’d prayed for them to be blinded, and now they were defenseless. If one of them died while debilitated, she’d be eaten with guilt. Reluctantly, Ela called out, “Stop beating them—they’re blind! Find cords and tie them.”
Pet’s noises of ferocious complaint shifted to grumbling.
His expression cold with suppressed fury, Jon hurried to Beka. “Everyone seems safe for now, except the reprobate Savage threw over the edge—that cursed man made me lose my sword!” Jon swung at the air with a fist. Composing himself somewhat, he said, “I’ll send others back to retrieve his body after we’ve dealt with these thugs. Beka, are you well?”
Beka faltered, “Um . . . yes . . . but what should we do now?”
Jon scowled at their prisoners. “We lead these criminals into Ytar, though I’m half ready to thrash them all. My sword—the military’s Azurnite sword—is lost in the river! General Rol will lock me up for the remainder of my life.”
Infinite? Ela appealed to their Creator. Could she retrieve Jon’s sword? Images slid through her thoughts, stole her breath, and left her disgusted. This was more information than she’d cared to know. “Is this another test?” she demanded. If the Infinite was testing her self-control, she was on the verge of failing. “Ugh!”
“Ela?” Beka leaned toward Ela, alarmed. “You’re not suffering another vision, are you?”
“Not a big one,” Ela sniffed. “Just two small ones—the second very irritating.” If only Kien were here. Praying, she descended from Pet, who gave her a dire glare, as if warning her not to leave him.
Tzana frowned at her, still sleep-grumpy. “Where’re you going?”
“Down to the river—we won’t be long. Stay with Pet.” To emphasize her order, Ela gave her destroyer a low growl. “Wait.”
Pet stomped. But he waited.
Beka also commanded her destroyer to wait, then dismounted to join Ela and Jon. Still disgusted, Ela shook her head. “You won’t believe my vision!”
Jon looked sickened. “You’ve seen that I won’t find my sword?”
His sword? “Yes. I mean—let’s hurry.” She’d cool off beside the river, then deal with her anger and its cause.
While they walked toward a lower portion of the riverbank, Beka cajoled her husband. “Jon, dear, with everything we’ve been through, I ought to have a sword.”
“You don’t know how to use one. You’d need lessons. Besides,” he warned, “if we don’t find mine, we’ll be unable to buy you a needle, much less a sword.”
They picked their way down the rock ledges and stepped onto the narrow riverbank. Ela stared out at the rapids, then at the cliffs above, gauging the proper location. “Where, exactly, did it fall? Here?”
Bleak, Jon eyed their destroyers above, aligned his steps near Ela’s and nodded toward the river’s center. “You’re right. I’m sure it was there, more or less.”
Ela threw her prophet’s branch into the river.
Beka gasped. “Why did you do that? The branch was your insignia!”
“It’s still my insignia. Look.” She nodded at the water. Jon’s sword popped up in the current, suddenly buoyant as a leaf. “Grab it!”
Jon whooped and bounded into the water, reaching for the sword, which glided into his hand, contrary to the river’s flow. He clutched the silvery hilt and kissed its dazzling blue blade, then danced out of the river, making Beka laugh. “Infinite, bless You!”
Ela bowed her head, also thanking the Infinite. When she opened her eyes, the branch was floating directly in front of her at the river’s edge. She lifted the precious vinewood from the current and stared. Not a drop of water on it. Useless to show Jon and Beka this marvel; they were kissing. Well, at least two members of their group were happy.
Now to deal with the second portion of her vision. Ela tucked up her tunic and used the branch for support as she hiked up the small rock incline, leaving Jon and Beka behind. On the hard-packed cliff road, Ela smoothed her garments and lifted her chin. “Behave,” she ordered herself. She marched toward their small entourage.
“Are we leaving now?” Tzana demanded, looking down from the disgruntled Pet’s back.
“We’ll leave as soon as the Thels return,” Ela promised. “Be patient, both of you.”
She must take her own advice. Be patient. Self-controlled. As must Pet. Poor dear monster. Ela couldn’t blame him for being upset. Obviously he feared she was in danger.
The eleven prisoners were sitting in a tattered, woebegone line at the edge of the road. Ela stopped directly in front of their renegade leader—a thin man, not quite as ragged as his followers, but definitely not as elegant as Ela remembered. Lord Ruestock. Siphra’s former ambassador to the Tracelands, a spy, and her own pitiless abductor. Not to mention a lecher who made her feel unclean with his every glance. Shuddering, she snapped, “Ruestock!”
His blinded brown eyes widened. A sneering smile lifted his narrow face. Oily and fawning as Ela remembered, Ruestock crooned, “Ah, Ela. Parne’s loveliest
prophet! Really, your apparel was so dowdy I didn’t recognize you in the least—when I could see you. It is you, my dear, am I right? I never forget a beautiful woman’s voice.”
Ela clenched her teeth and reminded herself not to kick a man she’d disabled. “I am not your ‘dear’!” She half knelt to ensure he would hear her clearly. “Why did you imagine you’d be safe attacking us, particularly when we were riding destroyers?”
Ruestock sneered as if considering her question silly. “My orders were to attack the servants only, to snatch a few valuables and flee. Wylie, the fool who attacked your leader, disobeyed.”
“Still, your action was inexcusable.” Ela hardened her tone. “Our leader is Commander Thel, whose home you raided last year while abducting me.”
Ruestock’s scorn thinned. “I raided the Thels’ home while abducting you?”
“Your hired thugs, then—don’t mince matters!” Ela snapped. “The Infinite has given me authority to repay you for everything you’ve done. Tell me, sir, why should I allow you to live?”
8
Ela tightened her grip on Tzana and the reins. Pet grumbled, a low echoing threat that vibrated through Ela, and—she was sure—everyone traveling with them. Worse, the warhorse twitched violently, clearly longing to wreak havoc on Ela’s irksome enemy. She smoothed Pet’s massive neck. “Shh. We’re approaching Ytar. I’ll deal with matters there.”
Beka leaned over her destroyer’s war collar, catching Ela’s attention. “Why does he keep making that awful noise?”
“He wants to crush Ruestock.”
“Well . . .” Beka shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“You’re right.”
“Of course I am.”
They traded smiles. Riding ahead of them, Jon whistled sharply, signaling their approach to the Tracelands’ most distant western border city, Ytar.
Slivers of memories pierced Ela’s thoughts, causing pain. Her first vision as a prophet had dropped her into Ytar as a helpless witness to its earlier destruction during an attack from the now-vanquished neighboring kingdom of Istgard. She’d seen flames consuming Ytar’s buildings. Citizens screaming, pleading for their lives . . . being hacked to death by Istgardian soldiers. She’d wailed and mourned with Ytar’s people, suffering their terror.
But now Ytar’s white outlines attested to its rapid recovery from death and ashes.
Ela leaned forward, scanning the small city in the afternoon light. Delicate spires of new buildings gleamed above a short white, bulky section of wall, evidently the beginning of a stone shell meant to encircle the city. Clashing styles hinted at recent architectural conflicts. Infinite?
A wisp-like image slid into Ela’s thoughts, making her frown. “Jon?”
He turned, one dark eyebrow raised. “Yes?”
Ela tilted her head toward Ytar. “They’ve been quarreling with Istgard despite the peace treaty.” A treaty Kien had composed while imprisoned in Istgard. “Have you heard any reports?”
“Not until this instant.” Grim-faced, Jon glanced at the city, then back at Ela. “Will we suffer an extended stay here?”
“Yes. Unless we can persuade both sides to see reason—and I don’t feel like being reasonable!” Much as Ela dreaded it, she was needed in Parne. If only Kien were here as a military judge, protecting his treaty.
“I wish Kien were here,” Beka said, so plaintive, so near Ela’s own thoughts that Ela nodded and blinked away frustrated tears.
“First,” Jon spoke as if pondering aloud, “we deal with our living baggage, stash our gear, stable the horses, and eat. Then I’ll investigate and decide if we must intervene.”
The living baggage, Ruestock and his cohorts, were reassuringly meek as Jon’s servants led them into Ytar’s sparse new jail. Jon called the jailer to the prison gate and snapped, “I am Commander Jon Thel, here on official business. I require your full cooperation and an interrogation room—as soon as I’ve found quarters and stables for my staff and my family.”
Family? Hmm. Ela almost smiled. Jon had evidently adopted her and Tzana.
The jailer scowled at the destroyers, the Thels’ servants, and Beka, Ela, and Tzana—particularly Tzana—seeming ready to complain. Jon said, “This is Ela Roeh. Prophet of Parne.”
The jailer exhaled, swallowed, and bowed. “Um. We’re honored, Ela of Parne.”
Infinite, she begged in silence, give me wisdom. And patience. Her headache eased. She smiled at the jailor. “Thank you, sir. Your name is . . . ?”
He squared his shoulders as if reporting for duty. “Amak.”
“Thank you, Amak. Unfortunately, I must trouble you further. The former ambassador of Siphra is one of your prisoners, and I’ll need to speak with him as soon as I’ve settled my sister in our quarters. I’d welcome your presence as a witness to our conversation.”
“Of course.” Eyes narrowed with distaste, Amak said, “Former ambassador, eh? He won’t require pampering, will he?”
“None at all. He’s suffered too much pampering already.”
Jon looked over his shoulder at Ela. “General Rol would insist that I also witness your meeting with Ruestock—accompanied by my subordinate-commander.”
“Witnesses will be welcomed,” Ela murmured. Perhaps Ruestock would be more businesslike. Less blatant in flirting with her.
Jailor Amak interposed, “Am I permitted to bring in our local authorities?”
“Yes.” Jon gave the man a glare evidently calculated to impress. “On behalf of the Tracelands, I require their attendance tonight. Send word to Ytar’s council.”
Beka sniffed as they rode away from the jail. “I’m all for seeing Ruestock punished, but if you two are dragging the city’s council into this, then no doubt the meeting will last all night. I am bowing out. Tzana and I intend to rest and enjoy our evening.”
A glowing smile lit Tzana’s wearied little face. “Yeah!”
“Cowards,” Jon teased. “Let’s go find some food.”
The meeting hadn’t even begun and already she was tired. Ela shifted the branch between her hands and watched Jon motion his subordinate-commander, Selwin, to sit at the jail’s stark meeting-room table. Bruised from today’s roadside battle and exuding bothersome self-importance, Selwin swaggered to the table, acting as Jon’s scribe.
Would it be rude of her to verify the subordinate-commander’s discretion? Undoubtedly. Ela bit her lip as Jailor Amak led the rope-bound Lord Ruestock inside. Amak bowed to Ela. “I supposed you wanted to speak with this one before the council arrives.”
“Yes. Thank you,” Ela murmured.
Jon addressed Selwin. “This part of the meeting is unofficial.”
Grimacing, Selwin folded his hands on his traveling desk. “Yes, sir.”
Ruestock sniffed. Disdain dripping from his every word, he said, “Ah, yes. An unofficial meeting. How convenient for you, that you might pretend no knowledge of it later, good sirs.” And he uttered a soft curse.
Ela watched Jon’s hands clench into fists. He said, “I remind you that a lady is present. Whatever your opinion of me and my men, you will guard your tongue for her sake.”
“Mmm,” Ruestock agreed. “The lovely prophet. Tragic that I cannot see her—quite unfair.”
To end his complaints, Ela prayed aloud, “Infinite, please restore this man’s sight.”
Ruestock blinked, squinted, then recovered and smiled. “Ah, Ela. What a joy to see you! Pretty as ever.” He swept her with a critical glance. “Despite your dreary attire.”
Before Jon had the chance to lose his temper, Ela warned Ruestock, “The Infinite restored your sight, sir, but that can be reversed.”
“My dear girl, I—”
“I am not your dear girl.”
He affected hurt. “Are you not the least bit flattered by my sincere admiration?”
“No. Your sincerity means nothing. You are a sneaking, foul-minded, vicious—”
“Ah,” Ruestock interrupted. “You’re thinking of the
past. I assure you, my actions were strictly impersonal. They—”
Despite her resolution to remain calm, Ela cried, “You threatened to kill my sister!”
Jon shifted one hand to his sword. “What? He threatened to kill Tzana?”
Ruestock’s voice pitched higher now, in a genial-sounding protest. “What threat? It was nothing. A bluff against the little Unfortunate to gain your cooperation.”
Ela wanted to strike him. “It was no bluff, sir. Admit the truth.”
Expression hardening, the former nobleman said, “Well, it’s unimportant now. My plans failed and the king is dead. Long live Siphra’s new king, whose supporters confiscated my lands! And, because I’m neither lord nor ambassador, I’m reduced to roadside skirmishes to survive. Moreover, I’m in exile, which is not entirely my fault.”
“Implying that I’m partly to blame?” Ela shook her head. “No. Accept responsibility for your actions. You’re no longer an ambassador because you deserved to be ousted.”
“Deserved? How dare—!”
“Control yourself,” Ela warned. “If my destroyer believes I’m in danger, he’ll come after you.” Ruestock looked down, fury visible in the tensed line of his mouth. Ela continued. “Also, I must point out that, prophet or not, if I act according to my own will and make such errors in judgment as you’ve done, then the Infinite allows me to suffer the consequences. You are collecting the punishment you’ve earned.”
“And what is my sentence?”
Ela hesitated. Ruestock began to wheedle, “Ela, Ela, you are too merciful and tenderhearted to declare me guilty without proof of any wrongdoing worthy of death.”
He was right, regrettably. She studied the branch. It remained plain uncommunicative vinewood. Sighing, Ela gave up. “When the Ytarians release you, you’ll go home to Siphra.”
“Why? My lands have been confiscated by the new king’s royal council.”
“King Akabe is a reasonable man. Appeal to him for the restoration of your lands.”
“Then what?” Ruestock argued. “He wouldn’t trust me in any official capacity!”