by R. J. Larson
They had just turned onto a side street when deep thuds echoed off the walls. More horsehooves, Ela guessed. The ground thrummed with vibrations. A big horse’s hooves. As shrieks and pandemonium filled the street behind them, Ela sucked in her breath, appalled. Could it be—
Tzana looked over Ela’s shoulder and squealed. “Pet!”
“Wrath of all the gods!” Osko snarled a spate of oaths that made Ela flinch. “Who released that befuddled thing? I chained him in the stables with the others!”
“Osko,” Tsir Aun said, with the merest hint of satisfaction in his voice, “You’ve failed. Cesspit duty with Tal, after the barracks floors tomorrow. Argue and the penalties will double.”
“Yes, sir,” Osko muttered.
By this time, Pet was breathing down the nape of Ela’s neck, wilting her braid. She glanced back and exhaled in retaliation, though her breath was nowhere near as fulsome. “You would have enjoyed the stables more, Pet, I’m sure.”
Osko snorted. Pet snapped toward him, then sighed into Ela’s braid again. Tzana burst into giggles. She chattered and crooned to Pet, offered him her hands to sniff, and tried to scratch his neck. If Judge Ket Behl’s clerk had imagined himself at the fore of a dignified procession, well, that delusion was surely sinking with the evening sun.
As Master Piln looked over his shoulder at the commotion, his little brown horse lapsed into a skittish fit and tossed him off. The clerk rolled helplessly in the street, finally coming to rest nose and toes up, blinking at the sky. His silence made Ela nervous.
“Master Piln!” The clerk’s assistant rushed to his side and squawked, “Are you dead?”
“Of course not!” Piln swatted away his flustered, fluttering servant. “Fool! Go catch my horse! Can’t you think?”
As his servant scrambled after the now-distant mount, the outraged clerk hefted himself to his feet and pointed a finger at Pet. “Remove that destroyer—it frightened my horse!”
“Pardon, sir, but a destroyer cannot be removed against its will.” Tsir Aun looked both polite and uncompromising. “This is, or was, Commander Taun’s destroyer, and it is now besotted with these girls. My men insist this is the effect of a spell—which, perhaps, will interest the Honorable Ket Behl.”
Ela grimaced at his words. But why should she feel betrayed? Tsir Aun spoke the truth.
Master Piln evidently realized the truth as well. He stuttered, “Then—then—keep that—that reprehensible beast out of my way! And you’d best hope my servant finds my horse again, or that animal will be forfeited!”
“He doesn’t like Pet?” Tzana sounded stricken.
“You were afraid of Pet when you first met him, weren’t you?” Ela squirmed as she spoke. Pet was snuffling at her shoulder. She hoped he wasn’t blowing his nose.
“The prisoner will maintain her distance from you,” Tsir Aun told the clerk, with a sidelong frown that demanded Ela’s obedience. “The destroyer will remain with her.”
“You be sure she does!” The clerk shook his cloak into order, regathered his tattered dignity, and—with admirable fortitude—limped ahead, up the street.
Tsir Aun allowed the man a lead of twenty paces, then motioned Ela to follow, with Tal and Osko on guard to the left and right of the street. The formidable commander walked beside Ela now, measuring his steps to hers. “My fear is confirmed,” he said. “This destroyer has pledged itself to you and your sister. When either of you sets foot outside a building, unless you command this destroyer to wait, or unless he is chained—as he should have been—he will follow you.”
“He’s going to be breathing down my neck for the remainder of my life?”
“Or for the remainder of his life. If you are in danger, he will die trying to defend you.”
Wonderful. No, horrible. But, why . . . “Why didn’t he defend Commander Taun?”
“He did,” Tsir Aun said. “Remember? He threatened you. And he was about to charge. However, you told him to be still and he halted. Which is why my men believe you are a witch. Destroyers never pledge defense to anyone without a direct order from their current master. And usually, the master must earn the destroyer’s complete devotion over the course of months.”
“The Infinite told Pet to be still,” Ela argued, aware that Tal and Osko could hear. “I simply said the words aloud.”
“Well, now you have a pledged destroyer, Ela of Parne,” Tsir Aun said dryly, as if trying to decide how to deal with the problem.
“You mean we can keep him?” Tzana whooped in Ela’s arms.
“What would you do with a destroyer, little one?” Tsir Aun asked, his dark eyebrows lifted.
“Play with him!”
“Of course.” The commander looked vaguely sickened.
As Tal and Osko grunted and frowned, Ela smiled at her sister. “What are we supposed to do with a destroyer?” she wondered aloud.
“First, you must survive this night.” His voice neutral, Tsir Aun asked, “Are you afraid, Parnian?”
“Always.” Aware of their listening attendants marching alongside, she said, “Though the judge will ignore the charges set against me.”
“How?” Tsir Aun demanded, as his comrades stared in disbelief. “Each charge against you requires a death sentence, and you cannot possibly prove your innocence.”
“I am innocent. And if the Infinite defends me—as He will—I cannot be condemned.” Remembering the end of her vision, she shivered and kissed Tzana’s face. “We’ll face more worrisome troubles tonight, Commander. When all seems well to you and your men—be ready.”
Ela marched through the high-arched stone gateway, eager to be finished with this trial, yet dreading what waited beyond. A beautiful tree-and-shrub-edged courtyard tempted Ela’s attention. But she followed her guards, climbing the steps to Judge Ket Behl’s courtroom.
Pet halted just inside the gate and rumbled noises of complaint, stomping his understandable disapproval.
“Wait!” Ela called to the uneasy animal. “We won’t be long.”
Tzana toyed with Ela’s damp braid. “What are we doing?”
“I must tell a judge what happened—why those two men died. But you must not speak unless the judge questions you. Agreed?”
“All right. But I can’t like this,” Tzana whispered. “I want to leave.”
“So do I.” As she walked into the handsomely tiled chamber, Ela prayed and hugged Tzana again. Must her vision end in the terrifying darkness she’d seen? “Infinite, please.”
You are safe enough for now. Do not consider the darkness until you must—and know that I will use evil for good.
“Evil for good?” Ela repeated. “What . . . Oh, never mind.” She sighed. Did she really want to know what evil?
Tsir Aun was frowning, as if he questioned her sanity. Not a defense tactic she wished to use. Ela set Tzana down and stretched slightly, easing her shoulder, adjusting the branch.
Master Piln, dignified again in his clerkly role, mounted a stone dais at the far end of the chamber, limped across it, and rapped grandly on a door. “Your Honor, they are here.”
A muted voice called out an unintelligible reply, which the clerk seemed to understand. He hobbled to the single item of furniture on the dais—a finely carved, cushioned chair—and adjusted its thick green pillows. A tight smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Evidently satisfied, he crept off the dais and arranged himself on a chair before a scroll-strewn table.
The far door opened and Ela’s antagonistic guard Ket emerged, haughty as usual, his polished helmet in the crook of his arm. Tal and Osko both shuffled. Tsir Aun frowned. Ket ignored them.
A man, resplendent in a decorously pinned and draped gray cloak, sauntered after Ket. Ela immediately saw the family resemblance. The smugness. The irritability.
Ela wondered if Ket had told his uncle-judge the truth.
Mouth pursed in his puffy, jowly brown face, the judge eyed Ela. “You are the accused?”
“I am Ela of Parne. Servant of
the Infinite.”
“Pish,” the judge said. “Parne is nothing.”
Almost exactly the same reaction as that pillager Commander Taun. Obviously, a fair trial was not forthcoming. She prayed for peace and waited as the judge settled into his chair.
At his little table, Clerk Piln clinked vials of ink and scratched quills across scrolls. An important man. During the delay, Ela’s scars—souvenirs left by the scaln—began to itch up and down her legs. She bit her lip against the urge to scratch. Most undignified.
Ket Behl stared at her, scornful, as if Ela was already condemned. “You deny murdering our general Tek Juay?”
“Yes. The general was dead days before I found his body.” Sickened by the memory, Ela added, “The air, sand, and sun had dried his skin. Baked it.” She shifted a foot slightly, trying to ease the maddening itch of the scars. “Moreover, about the time General Tek Juay must have died, I was recovering from a scaln’s attack.”
“Impossible!” The judge scowled. “One does not recover from a scaln attack!”
“I have the scars,” Ela said. “The Infinite healed my wounds. Otherwise, I would have died of the venom.”
Everyone stared now. Even Tsir Aun. Ket Behl sneered. “Show us these scars.”
Heated embarrassment flooded Ela’s face. But she stepped forward, pressed the branch against her side with her elbow, and cautiously lifted her tunic until the hem was almost to her knees. The scars showed violet-red, and deeply furrowed, on the fronts and backs of both legs.
The judge cleared his throat. “Record that the said scars do exist, being deeply incised into the legs of the accused and are, ahem, recent. Colors are . . . purple and red. The flesh severely creased and marked in the, ah, patterns one would expect to be inflicted by a scaln.”
Master Piln’s quill scraped and scratched furiously across his scroll. No one said a word. When he looked up, Ket Behl was more respectful. “These scars are impressive. You should be crippled. But they cannot be scaln’s scars. No one has ever survived such a mauling.”
“The scaln stalked me in a canyon,” Ela said. She lowered her hem and gripped the branch with both hands, sweating as she saw the scaln’s face once more. “I heard the gurgle first. Then the hiss. Its breath was rotten. Its face—”
She relived the attack, her terror. The pain. The blood that would not stop dripping from her wounds. Her hallucinations and the fever. “The Infinite healed me, according to His mercy. And for His glory. My scars are reminders of my failure to call on His Name immediately.”
“Your Infinite need not be mentioned here.”
“Yes, He must. He healed my wounds, though I should have died.”
“She didn’t know me,” Tzana said, her thin, clear voice unexpected.
“Child, you will hush!” the judge ordered, making Tzana gasp and hide in Ela’s mantle. “And you, Ela of Parne, will not argue. What other evidence can you offer in your defense?”
“Only my knowledge, given by the Infinite. Commander Taun attacked General Tek Juay from behind and slashed his throat because the general condemned his cruelty and failure to follow orders halting the massacre at Ytar.” Ela nodded toward Ket, Tal, and Osko. “They witnessed their commander arguing with the general shortly before the murder.”
Tal nodded, as if he remembered the argument. Ket glared at him. Osko shuffled from one foot to the other and looked away. The judge saw their discomfort, and his face reddened. He stared at his nephew, who lowered his gaze. Quietly, each syllable clipped, Ket Behl said, “You are neither condemned nor excused in the general’s death, Ela of Parne. The accusation is discarded. Tell me, what weapon did you use when you killed Commander Taun?”
How smoothly he dismissed the charges for the sake of his nephew’s good name—and his own. As if no one would notice. Even so, Ela blessed the Infinite and disputed the next charge. “I did not kill Commander Taun. I begged him to listen to me—to live. And to confess to his crimes. Instead, he struck me. I warned him . . .” Ela swallowed. The memory was too raw. Despite the sting of tears, she continued, “I told him that if he struck me again, the Infinite would remove his life’s breath.”
“Again, you defend yourself by naming the Infinite,” Ket Behl pointed out. “He does not exist. Your testimony is invalid.”
Ela dashed a hand at her tears. “I am the Infinite’s servant. Does a servant speak of work without mentioning his or her master?”
Unmoved, the judge said, “Rephrase your answer.”
“You have dismissed the Infinite.”
“Yes. Rephrase your answer.”
Infinite, how? After a brief pause, the answer came. Nauseated, Ela said, “Very well. I told Commander Taun not to do something that would cause his death. I begged him to listen to me! He did not. He fell while raising his sword to strike me—though I wielded no sword. And when he died, I mourned his passing. I still mourn. Am I responsible for his death, Your Honor?”
“Is this true?” the judge asked Tal and Osko.
“Close enough, Your Honor,” Osko muttered as Tal agreed.
“Then I have no choice but to ignore these charges.”
“Uncle,” Ket argued, “you cannot excuse her! If she had not been there, Commander Taun would still be alive. She caused his death by some form of witchery!”
“Silence.” The judge narrowed his gaze at Ket. “Witchery is a nonexistent charge. Five self-proclaimed witches and soothsayers ply their trade on this street alone! I can count twenty nearby. Half of Riyan pays fortune-tellers, and the other half wishes they could afford to pay them. This case is ill-considered, and I am deeply disappointed with those who have wasted my evening here.”
Ket growled, making Ela wish Pet could snap at him. This afternoon’s vision buoyed to the surface of her thoughts. She must conclude matters here. “May I speak?”
Bored, the judge waved agreement.
“Thank you, Your Honor. I am no witch. My words are from the Infinite and can be tested, because they will be fulfilled. Always. Now, Judge Ket Behl, your king has sent for me. His messengers approach your gate. But before I leave, I am required to warn you. Because you have dismissed the Infinite, He has dismissed you.”
“What does that mean?” Ket Behl stood, his gray cloak swaying with his indignation. “Are you threatening me?”
“No, I am not. But tonight the Infinite has judged and condemned your family. His sentence will depend upon your own heart. Your choices.”
“You are demanding a bribe!” Ket accused, his eyes now bright and hard, like a man about to eradicate his prey. “How much money do you require to lift this curse?”
Ela trembled as the Infinite’s wrath overcame her own petty exasperation. This man exemplified the superstitions and evils that were destroying Istgard. “You work of dirt! The Infinite has no need of silver or gold—He created all the wealth that’s ever existed. The only thing you can possibly give Him is genuine remorse, and plenty of it! Your time is short, Ket. Unless you change!” Her accuser cowered and stared, silent. Ela shook out her mantle, then bent and picked up Tzana. “It’s time for me to leave. Your king’s men have found me.”
Sharp whistles resounded from outside. The courtroom door banged open. A tall, green-cloaked official barged in, followed by four guards, also clothed in green, their weapons clattering. The official could not have looked more disdainful as he addressed Judge Ket Behl. “We are looking for an Ela of Parne. She is summoned in the name of the king.”
“Here,” Ela told the man. He blinked at her. “I’m ready to go.”
Tzana tapped at Ela’s shoulder, and whispered, “I liked your hair. It looked like the branch!”
“What?” She noticed the branch fading. It was ablaze? “Oh.”
No wonder everyone stared. She managed a smile, then turned to the door.
“What’s happened?” Disbelief made Ela almost stumble. She set Tzana on the steps before Judge Ket Behl’s courtroom, then rushed down to the courtyard. The Infinite
hadn’t warned her of this.
The miniature trees and flowering shrubs she’d admired in the court’s garden were now twigs and nubs. And all along the borders of the now-obliterated plants, she noticed formerly decorative stones overturned, dirt-sides up, wildly out of order. Seeing a familiar form, Ela gasped. “Pet! You’ve destroyed the judge’s garden! He will probably fine us!”
Pet crunched down his mouthful of shrubbery, unperturbed. Ela was almost certain she saw a you-shouldn’t-have-left-me-alone glint in his dark eyes. How could one admittedly large horse do so much damage so quickly? No wonder they were called destroyers.
Tzana cried out from the steps, “Oh, Pet! You’re in trouble!”
“You must not leave!” the king’s official called to Ela. He descended the steps, his comrades following, all five of them clearly ready to chase Ela down. Immediately, Pet flattened his ears, snorting out dire threats toward the king’s men. They backed away.
Tsir Aun took charge. “Ela, order him to follow Tal and Osko. They will take this creature to the stables, feed him, then secure him for tonight. Ket, you will accompany me and resume guard. Osko, you will rejoin us later. Wait in the palace entry until we meet you—after the audience with the king.”
“Yes, sir.” The commander’s men agreed in unison. But Pet balked.
Ela went to her pledged destroyer and smoothed his glossy black coat, murmuring, “Go with them, you rascal. I’ll survive, I promise. You’ll see me . . . later.” She almost believed Pet nodded. Tal and Osko coaxed him away, though he looked back at Ela and huffed.
The instant Pet was out of sight, the king’s men surrounded Ela. The stout bureaucrat said, “The king wishes to hear the circumstances of General Tek Juay’s death. Tsir Aun”—he turned to Ela’s guard—“we were told you and your men witnessed the general’s death.”
“No,” Tsir Aun corrected the man politely. “But I can explain the circumstances to the king, if he wishes.”