Emily nodded. The room was surprisingly disappointing. A large wooden table; two smaller tables and an iron cage ... it looked as though it had been put together very quickly, rather than designed as a dedicated courtroom. Someone had hung a flag on the far wall, illuminated by several more candles. She hadn’t seen the golden crown and sword flag since she’d visited the White City, two years ago. The blue cloth made the gold stand out all the more.
“General,” she said. She couldn’t help feeling uncertain. “What do you wish of me?”
General Pollack held up a hand as Sergeant Miles entered the room, followed by two men in civilian robes. Emily vaguely recognized them from the welcoming dinner, although she couldn’t remember their names. One of them was completely expressionless, the other looked nervous, his eyes flickering from side to side as if he expected to be jumped at any moment. His hand kept moving around his belt, feeling for a weapon that wasn’t there.
“There are a number of disciplinary offences that need to be addressed,” General Pollack told her. “You will serve as one of the counsels.”
“I protest,” Sergeant Miles said. “Emily has no formal training in handling a trial.”
“She did handle trials in Cockatrice,” General Pollack said. He glanced at Emily. “Is that correct?”
“Yes, General,” Emily said. There was no point in lying. She couldn’t remember if Caleb had been there or not, but the trials had been considered newsworthy. “I also assisted in trials in the Cairngorms.”
“Bah,” Lord Fulbright said.
General Pollack gave him a warning look, then addressed Emily. “As an apprentice, one of your tasks is to serve as a counsel,” he added. “You will be responsible for casting and testing truth spells, as well as speaking for the accused.”
“If they request that you speak for them,” Sergeant Miles put in. He didn’t sound very pleased. Emily wondered if she’d made a mistake. The trials at Cockatrice had been startlingly informal. Here ... things were clearly a little more regulated. “If they don’t, you may be called upon to speak anyway.”
Emily nodded, her mouth dry. What had she gotten herself into now? She had the nasty feeling she wasn’t going to like what she was about to hear. Most disciplinary issues in the army were handled by the sergeants, not by the junior officers. Anything that had to be kicked all the way up to General Pollack would be bad, very bad. And that meant ...
She took the seat at one of the smaller tables and waited, trying to organize her thoughts. It had been years since she’d taken part in a trial in the Cairngorms, but Lady Barb had briefed her thoroughly. The charge would be read, the accused would be interrogated under a truth spell and then justice would be done. It had been relatively simple ... but here, she had the feeling it would be a little more complicated. She glanced up as she heard the door open and saw Lord Alcott step into the room, followed by a pair of officers in fancy uniforms. They were strangers, but their uniforms insisted they were horsemen. There was politics involved.
General Pollack cleared his throat, loudly. “Bring in the first accused.”
Emily turned, just in time to see a young man force-marched into the room and thrust into the iron cage. His hands were bound behind his back; he stumbled, barely catching himself before he fell and banged his head against the iron bars. The guards slammed the cage door shut, then retreated to the wall.
Sir Albright’s voice echoed through the silence. “You were caught in the act of stealing food from the commissary tent,” he said, addressing the prisoner. The young man — Emily realized, with a flicker of shock, that he was barely in his teens — looked dazed. “Do you have anything you wish to say for yourself before we pass sentence?”
Emily blinked in shock. This wasn’t a fair trial. And yet ... if the young soldier had been caught stealing food, they couldn’t let him off. What sort of message would that send to the other soldiers? But he was so young ...
The soldier shook his head, mutely.
“Very well,” General Pollack said. “For stealing from your comrades, you are sentenced to one hundred strokes of the lash. The sentence will be carried out tomorrow.”
There was no dissent. Emily watched, stunned, as the young man was removed from the cage and marched out of the room. That was it? A trial? And yet, if there was no question over his guilt ... she swallowed, hard. A hundred strokes of the lash? Would he survive his punishment? His back would bear the scars for the rest of his life. She wanted to protest, but she didn’t know what to say. None of them would understand, let alone agree with her, if she insisted it was an inhumane punishment.
Her eyes opened wide as a young woman was marched into the room and pushed into the cage. Someone had clearly worked her over, judging from the bruises on her face; her nose looked to have been broken, then left to mend without proper care. Her tattered dress was covered in blood. It was impossible to be sure of her age, but Emily suspected the poor girl was barely older than Emily herself.
“You are accused of murdering Lieutenant Young,” Sir Albright said, into the silence. “Do you wish to speak in your defense?”
The woman nodded. Her voice was almost a whisper. “Yes, My Lord.”
A faint flicker of amusement ran through the room. General Pollack silenced it with a glance.
“You may,” he said. “Lady Emily, cast the truth spell.”
Emily took a moment to compose herself, then cast the spell. Lady Barb had taught her the spell, pushing her to cast it again and again until it was perfect. Anyone touched by the spell wouldn’t be able to tell a lie, at least not deliberately, until it wore off. Gaius tested the spell, then nodded curtly.
Sir Albright cleared his throat. “Did you kill Lieutenant Young?”
“Yes,” the woman said.
General Pollack lifted his eyebrows. “What happened, and why?”
There was a long pause. “He was coming to my bed every day,” the woman said. Emily realized that she had to be a camp follower, a whore. “He insisted that I didn’t take any other clients as long as I was with him. When my monthlies stopped, I knew he had to be the father. But when I told him, he refused to acknowledge the child.”
The unborn child, Emily thought.
“He told me to leave the camp,” the woman said. “Told me to leave ... I had nowhere to go, not after I ran away from home. I stabbed him ...”
Emily couldn’t help feeling sorry for the woman. She’d left her home to become a camp follower ... she was right. She had nowhere to go, even if she could — somehow — get out of the city. Her original family wouldn’t take her back, she wouldn’t be able to keep up with her duties ... and now she was a murderess. The army would take a dim view of Lieutenant Young’s death, whatever her motive. And yet, there was an unborn child involved. She couldn’t be hung while she was pregnant.
She stared down at the floor as General Pollack pronounced sentence. Years of hard labor, assuming she survived childbirth. And the hell of it was that he’d been merciful. Lieutenant Young’s family would demand bloody revenge. Emily barely heard the women being removed from the room, then the next two men being marched into the cage. She only looked up when Sir Albright started to speak.
“You stand accused of rape,” he said, sternly. “Do you wish to speak in your defense?”
Emily looked up, sharply. Two men were standing in the cage, their eyes downcast. Perhaps it was her imagination, but they didn’t look very pleasant, even though they wore nice uniforms. And yet, there was a hangdog expression on their faces that worried her.
“She was asking for it,” one of the men burst out. “She told us she would take both of us.”
“I see,” General Pollack said. “Gaius ...”
“I object,” Lord Fulbright said. “My men are honest.”
General Pollack gave him a sharp look. “Are you invoking noble rights?”
“Yes,” Lord Fulbright said. “These men are nobility. They may decline to be interrogated like commoners.”
Emily frowned, despite herself. Technically, he was right. Aristocrats could refuse a truth spell, particularly one designed to compel them to answer. She even understood why — a compulsion spell could be used for asking questions at random, fishing around for something — anything — that could be used against them. But it didn’t speak well of Lord Fulbright — or of his men — that they’d refuse even a basic truth spell. Was Lord Fulbright standing up for their rights ...
... Or did he have something else in mind?
General Pollack looked displeased, but he kept his voice steady. “What happened, and why?”
“We had returned from the latest raiding mission,” the older of the two men said. “We reported to Lord Fulbright, then went for a walk around the town. Halfway down the street, we encountered a young girl who signaled to us.”
He held up his hands, pressing thumb and forefinger together to make a circle. Emily felt herself flushing. She’d seen girls making similar signs back in Dragon’s Den, hinting that their virtue was negotiable. She didn’t think Caleb had ever used them, but she’d never dared ask. It wasn’t something she wanted to know.
“We gave her coins and slipped into the alleyway, where she took both of us,” the man continued. “When we were done, we went back to the tent and slept. And then we were woken by the guards, who took us into custody.”
Emily wasn’t sure she believed them. A simple truth spell would have proved their words beyond doubt, so why had they refused it? The only answer that made sense was that they had something to hide. And yet ...
General Pollack gave them a toothy smile. “The girl you found complained to her family, who complained to us,” he said. “Do you wish to change your story?”
“The word of a merchant bitch should not be held against my men,” Lord Fulbright insisted, stiffly. “I have no doubt she led them on, then brought charges in the hopes of burying her crimes.”
“We shall see,” General Pollack said. He raised his voice. “Bring in the witness!”
Emily tensed as a dark-skinned girl was escorted into the room. She was young, roughly three or four years younger than Emily herself. The clothes she wore, elegant without being pretentious, suggested that she was a merchant’s daughter. She looked terrified, her eyes flickering from side to side as she was shown to a chair.
“You may be spared truth spells, if you wish,” General Pollack said, addressing the suspects. “But your accuser has no such defense. Do you wish to change your statement?”
The prisoners said nothing. General Pollack smiled humorlessly. “Cast the truth spell,” he ordered Emily. “Gaius, test it.”
Emily hesitated, then cast the spell. It was stronger than the earlier spells, carrying with it a strong compulsion to talk. A powerful magician could shrug it off, easily, but she couldn’t sense any trace of magic surrounding the girl. She didn’t even seem to notice when the spell settled around her.
“Young lady,” General Pollack said. His voice was surprisingly gentle. “What happened to you last night?”
The girl looked up at him, her eyes fearful. “I’d been working with the seamstresses all day,” she said. She sounded shocked at how easily she’d answered. “It was late when I took my leave, too close to sunset for comfort. I needed to get home quickly. I was midway home when two men grabbed me. They pulled me into an alley ...”
Emily gritted her teeth as the full story spilled out, feeling cold anger burning in her breast. Hodge had tried to rape her, Robin had tried to rape her ... this poor girl had been raped, taken against her will. Emily wanted to kill the suspects herself. She wanted ... the girl’s life had been ruined, even if her family didn’t kill her for daring to be raped. She’d never be the same again.
“Thank you,” General Pollack said. He glanced at Lord Fulbright. “Do you have anything to say?”
“They are high-born,” Lord Fulbright said. Emily glared at him, feeling magic flickering under her skin. She could end him. “What does her maidenhead matter? Pay the bitch and put an end to it.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t going to be possible,” General Pollack said. “These two ... idiots ... could have started a civil war. No, they will be punished.”
Emily felt a sudden surge of affection for her future father-in-law as he passed sentence, condemning the two men to hang and seizing their goods to compensate their victim. Lord Fulbright lodged a protest, which was simply ignored. General Pollack might have to pay for his decision later, Emily knew, but he’d made the right call. Rape could not be tolerated at any time, particularly now. The entire city was on a knife’s edge.
“Very good,” General Pollack said. He leaned back in his chair. “Next?”
Emily sighed and forced herself to watch.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“WE CAUGHT TWO MEN DROPPING DEAD bodies into the wells,” Sergeant Miles said, as they walked towards the mansion. “They were both charmed into treason.”
Emily glanced at him, sharply. “How?”
“Basic compulsion spells, modified to black out chunks of their memories,” Sergeant Miles told her. “When they were caught — when the spells were broken — they still knew nothing useful. We don’t know who enchanted them.”
“So we have a traitor in the ranks,” Emily said. She still thought that someone had hexed the roof, throwing her into the Wildfire. “Or an enemy magician running around the city.”
“Farrakhan does not have a large magical community,” Sergeant Miles told her. “But someone could easily have kept their powers hidden.”
Emily sighed as the mansion came into view. It reminded her of the White House, although someone had added hundreds of stone gargoyles, which lined the walls and sneered down at the visitors. She probed them with her senses, but they didn’t seem to be magical. And yet, there was something about them that bothered her. Perhaps it was just the ambience. Farrakhan was dark, but the mansion blazed with light.
She shook her head in disbelief. A line of finely-dressed men and women were making their way up the steps past a line of armed guards. Judging by their uniforms, they were private guards rather than City Guardsmen. No one would have worn such absurd outfits unless they were being paid. She couldn’t help thinking, as they were waved through the entrance, that they looked like giant bumblebees. There was nothing practical about their uniforms at all.
But it marks them out, she thought. Private guards and personal armsmen had always worn special uniforms. She’d certainly seen enough of them in Zangaria. And no one is in any doubt as to who they represent.
The sound of music greeted them as they walked down a long flight of stairs. Emily sighed in dismay as she took in the scene; guests walking around and chatting in low voices, dancers twirling around the dance floor, tables groaning under the weight of food and drink ... it was the same as every other social gathering she’d attended, even though the city itself was under siege. She forced herself not to stare at the men and women gorging themselves as if there would be no tomorrow. If they kept eating, there might not be a tomorrow.
And they didn’t even start to prepare for a siege until it was too late, she reminded herself, darkly. No one had seriously considered the possibility of someone actually managing to cross the Desert of Death. Everyone had known it was impossible. And when they realized they needed to prepare, there was very little food to take.
“Emily,” Gaius’s voice said. Emily turned to see him descending the stairs, a local beauty on one arm. There was something faintly desperate in the blonde woman’s eyes. “How lovely to see you here.”
“You too,” Emily lied. They should be manning the battlements or planning an escape or doing something — anything — rather than partying. There were enough supplies, she was sure, to make replacement potions ... she would sooner be doing that than attending yet another party. “I thought you were still on patrol.”
“Nah, Cat decided he wanted to go out this time,” Gaius told her. “They’re trying to locate
the necromancer.”
Emily smiled, humorlessly. “Do they actually want to find him?”
“Always good to know where the enemy is,” Gaius said. Beside him, his date giggled unconvincingly. “At least we’d know where not to go. And if he doesn’t come back, we’ll have a rough idea what got him.”
“I suppose,” Emily said. She was surprised she hadn’t been sent out on patrol yet. Her face was still scarred, but the rest of the wounds had healed nicely. “It wouldn’t prove anything, though.”
“We might have killed all of the necromancer’s magicians,” Gaius said. “He won’t risk having many, will he?”
“Probably not,” Sergeant Miles agreed. “No matter how he binds them to him, there’ll always be a risk of them breaking free and becoming necromancers themselves.”
Emily nodded in grim agreement. Oaths could be made unbreakable with magic, but a cunning man — or an insane man — could figure out ways to circumvent them. A necromancer might not manage to cover all the bases, particularly when struggling to resist the urge to sacrifice the prospective magician and absorb his magic. But a twisted human couldn’t be trusted completely, not when he’d been born and raised in the Blighted Lands. He might kill his master, only to take his place as a threat.
And he won’t think twice about sacrificing his former friends, she thought. The Blighted Lands made slave plantations look civilized. He wouldn’t have been raised to think of his fellows as people.
“I’ll talk to you later,” Gaius promised. He indicated the girl on his arm. “I promised Sandy an evening of dinner and dancing.”
More likely dinner than dancing, Emily thought, waspishly. She knew it was bitchy, but she was too tired to care. Sandy, judging by her dress, wasn’t quite high enough to be able to lay in a private stockpile of food before the siege began. She was probably a merchant’s daughter or a low-ranking aristocrat. She’s trading her body for food and protection.
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