Hunter's Legend

by R. J. Vickers

  “Right,” I said. “Or we need someone who can testify against him. Samara!”

  “What?” my mother said. She dragged herself to her feet again and faced me, wearier and more vulnerable than I had ever seen her.

  “She’s Professor Jakor’s assistant. I bet she knows something, even if she has been lied to. And she’s a Drifter too, so she’s in danger. If she were given a chance to speak, without any danger of being caught by Professor Jakor, she might tell us everything we need to know.”

  “And how are we to find this woman?” my father asked. “We can’t walk right into the University. The grounds are restricted to the public, and we could hardly pass as prospective students.”

  “I know that well enough,” I grumbled.

  “Could we call on her without raising suspicion?”

  I shook my head. “Jakor would know at once what was happening. I don’t think she has many connections in the city. We need someone who can enter the University and ask questions without raising suspicion.”

  We all stood in silence for a few minutes. I could think of no one useful.

  Then an idea hit me, and I took a step backward. “We need a journalist! It’s perfect!” How had I failed to think of it before? “Pelton would love the job. He would be wonderful.”

  “Who is this, dear?” my mother said.

  “After Hunter died, I was being hounded by journalists for ages. Pelton is the only one who interviewed me. He was irritating and persistent, but he would do anything for a good story. Can you send him down to meet me here?”

  “Immediately?” my father said. “Before the trial?”

  “Yes. I want to give evidence against Professor Jakor at the trial. It’s my best chance of being heard.” I locked my hands behind my back, thinking hard. “Pelton works for the Palace Times. He should be at their office, unless he’s out on some assignment. Tell him he has a chance at the most important story of his life, but he has to come talk to me now. Today.”

  “And after that?”

  I wanted them to bring me food and a warm blanket, or a universal key that would get me out of this place. I sighed. “Come to my trial and vouch for me, and if we can’t convict Professor Jakor, help me pay the bail. I’ll return the money as soon as I can. I promise.”

  “Even if you couldn’t, do you think for an instant we would spurn you?” my mother said, reaching out for my hand. Her fingers somehow retained a measure of warmth, and I sought what little comfort I could in her steady grip. The rift between us was still there, but she was reaching out to me, willing to forgive me even in my darkest moment.

  Through her eyes, I saw how I must look now. There, pale and fraying at the seams, stood the girl who had once turned her back on her own family. I had vanished, headstrong and determined to prove myself, without once questioning the circumstances behind the choice my parents had made. And in the hollow sadness behind my mother’s eyes, I saw once again how small a price my silver hair had been with her life in the balance.

  Did every choice that shaped my life stem from that one essential detail—that I was raised talentless among adepts? If I had grown up a Weaver, would I have left home to search for a place where I felt valued? Would I have met Hunter, and tied my fate to his?

  No. The entirety of my life would have been shaped by the Weaver’s Guild. I would have needed to search no further.

  But did I regret anything?

  No.

  At last I gave my mother’s hand a squeeze and released it. I forgave her. Years too late, I could finally forgive. And she was ready to give me another chance.

  “Take care of yourself, Cady.” My father’s voice shook in the laden silence. “We won’t force anything on you, but we would feel very lucky if you stayed with us for a few days after the trial.”

  I nodded, unable to find my voice.

  My parents were as good as their word. I had barely been served my lunchtime bowl of mush, this time studded with carrots and potatoes, when the now-familiar guard reappeared, this time leading Pelton.

  With a flicker of satisfaction, I noted that Pelton looked ill at ease down here. He walked stiffly, hands straight at his sides, and when he reached the foot of the steps he stopped well back from my cell door. The guard’s sour expression lightened as he raised his eyebrows at me before settling again on the bottom step.

  Pelton cleared his throat. “Milady?” He squinted into the depths of my cell, focusing on the lantern lying several paces from where I sat.

  Hastily I set aside the bowl of gruel and stood. I wanted him to remember me as a celebrity, not as a grubby convict. It was not until I lifted the lantern and stepped to the cell door that his gaze found my face. He flinched in surprise.

  “Milady! Two Weavers who called themselves your parents recently sought me out, and I was—I admit—hesitant about their directions. I thought it had to be a trick! How could the beautiful, mysterious Cady Fenwood find herself locked in the pits of Baylore? The lady I shared dinner with could have won her way out of any argument with a single smile.”

  “Enough with the flattery,” I said drily, though his color was beginning to return as he resumed his customary role. “I need your help. I’ve been wrongly accused, and the only evidence I have against the real criminal is in Hunter’s journal. And that is far too easy to dismiss.”

  “Ah-ha!” Pelton clapped his hands. “So the secret comes out! Hunter trusted his deepest secrets to the only person he truly cared for.”

  “He didn’t give me the journal,” I said shortly. “I had to find it. And no, I’m not doing another interview with you about that. But I have a much better story, if you just want to pay attention.”

  Pelton’s mouth twisted in amusement. “Fine. Then shoot.”

  “There’s a professor at the University who has been engaged in criminal activity. No one knows. He has a secret lair beneath the school, but no one can get in except him. I need you to go to the University and ask for a woman named Samara. She’s a Drifter—you can pretend you’re writing a piece on Drifters or something. Whatever you do, don’t mention my name.”

  Pelton nodded. I could see his mind working fast.

  “Bring her down here to me. I need to talk to her. She might be the only other person who can testify against the professor—apart from Hunter, of course.” I folded my arms. “And if you cannot find her, or she refuses to talk, but you can prove to me you’ve tried your very hardest, you can write a big piece on the scandal of my imprisonment, and how my mind is unhinged after all.”

  “Hmm,” Pelton said, the beginnings of a smile gracing his thin lips. “I would much rather expose this nefarious professor. Your story would be paltry in comparison.”

  “As I thought.” I was satisfied. Even if he cared nothing for my cause, his own motives would be more than enough to compel him to succeed. He would have a legitimate reason to enter the University, and I suspected he would be more than competent at sweet-talking the administrators.

  “When do you need this Samara by?”

  “As soon as you can possibly find her. My trial is tomorrow, and I want Samara to present her evidence there.”

  “Very well!” Pelton cracked his knuckles and gave me the wide false smile he had worn throughout his formal interview. “I might be seeing you very soon, milady.”

  Turning on his heel, he gestured to the guard at the foot of the steps.

  “I’m starting to wish we hadn’t arrested you,” the guard said wryly. “I’ve never climbed so many stairs in my life.”

  I grimaced. “Sorry!”

  He waved off the apology. “Might be asking for a transfer, that’s all. If you see someone unfamiliar next time your friend is back, it’s because I’m working with the gate guards. They’re lazy as cats, the lot of them; only time they bother anyone passing through is when the king’s imposed a new quota for arrests.” It was too dark to catch his expression, but I thought he smiled at me.

  This time the waiting was longer than
before. Now that Pelton was gone, I thought of a million things I should have told him. I should have come up with an actual story for him, so he didn’t invent something that came too close to the truth. I should have warned him that Samara was not a full-time student, and might be difficult to track down. I should have told him the name—or description, at least—of Professor Jakor, so he could be certain he spoke to someone else. So many details could go wrong. I had been so confident before; now I expected him to fail.

  When I tried to wait quietly on the cot, my legs itched with restlessness. After a brief while I resorted to pacing, back and forth along a diagonal line, feeling every bit like a caged wildcat. If I had a tail, it would be lashing in frustration at each turn.

  Dinner came, and still there was no sign of Pelton.

  He must have failed. If he could not find Samara before sunset, no one would allow him into the University. And I would face my trial utterly unprepared and unable to say a word against Jakor.

  I could not stomach my dinner. Shoving the bowl back through the cell bars, I collapsed on my cot and stared at the shadowed stone ceiling. Somewhere in the distance, another prisoner snored lightly. Though my legs were still, my mind continued to pace the cell. Back and forth, back and forth.

  It was the longest night of my life.

  Just when I thought I would go mad in the sleepless silence, my mind wrung dry and buzzing with emptiness, the warden came by with breakfast. This time I managed two bites before nausea tightened my throat. I set the bowl aside, hands trembling, and nudged it away with a guttural scrape. My eyes ached.

  When he had finished his rounds delivering food, the warden stumped back to the foot of the stairs and confronted me. “You’re leaving today, huh?”

  “Yes.” I did not want to talk to him.

  “I don’t think this’ll be the last you see o’ this place. Bail might be too high for ye, eh? Not many people can pay it, ‘cept them with loads o’ money. Lots o’ prisoners go out all hopeful, jest to be thrown right back down ‘ere.”

  He was baiting me. I said nothing, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had frightened me. It was true, what he said. My parents would be hard-pressed to meet any sort of bail. My one chance was in presenting evidence against Professor Jakor. And this was seeming a wilder hope by the minute.

  At this very moment, Pelton could be happily writing the story of my arrest. Why, he could have written it last night, ready for printing on the morning of my trial. It would attract a scornful audience eager to witness my downfall.

  “Ye’re quiet,” the warden sneered. “Ye know I’m right. This won’t be the last you see of me, eh?” He jangled his key-ring mockingly in my direction before sloping off into the darkness.

  Before I had a chance to resume my pacing, a light appeared in the stairwell. I stumbled to the cell door and pressed my face to the bars, straining to see who approached. First I recognized the boots and trousers of the city guard, and then—

  Nothing. The guard was alone.

  It was the same sour-faced guard as before, which was a small comfort.

  “Guarding the gate didn’t suit you after all?” I said weakly, trying to hide my fear.

  He chuckled. “I was overqualified, they said. Imagine that!” He dug a key from his pocket and unlatched my door. “You’ll be happy to know that the court is ready to try you.”

  It was what I expected, yet the words were still like a blow to the chest. Feeling faint, I collected Hunter’s journal and joined the guard at the door. I had never felt less prepared in my life.

  Chapter 21

  T he courthouse turned out to be an unassuming building that squatted directly opposite the prison entrance. That was fitting. The room inside was filled with tiered wooden benches, with a row of leather armchairs at the front which the judges were beginning to fill.

  Straightening his shoulders, the guard led me to an equally plush chair at the end of the judges’ row; I was facing a second empty chair, which I assumed would be filled by my prosecutor. I hoped it was not Jakor.

  “I’ll stay for the trial, if you want,” the guard told me once I had settled in the chair.

  I nodded, touched by his concern. I could not feel my legs.

  The room was mostly empty, which meant Pelton had not made my story public yet. My parents sat on the bench closest to me, and they gave me encouraging smiles. My mother was gripping my father’s hand so tightly her knuckles had gone white. To my surprise, Lieman and his wife sat near the courtroom door, and a few of my parents’ neighbors were scattered through the room.

  I straightened in surprise when I saw Volandrik. He looked grim, but he managed a smile when I caught his eye. I did not know whose side he was on.

  Before long the three judges were shuffling their notes into order and looking expectantly at the door. Two of the judges’ chairs remained empty; evidently this trial was not important enough to justify wasting their time. My prosecutor must be running late.

  When the door opened again, sending a bar of sunlight slicing through the gloomy room, I shut my eyes to delay the inevitable. Taking a deep breath, I opened them.

  Jakor had arrived.

  Even though I had prepared myself for this inevitability, I could not keep my hands from trembling in my lap or my mouth from going dry, so dry I could not swallow. I locked my hands together.

  I had nothing. No evidence, no witnesses for my defense, no ground to stand on. Jakor would tear me apart; he would ruin me forever. I would never return to the University. Nine plagues—he could even persuade the judges to set the bail at an unachievable sum. I might be jailed for the rest of my life.

  I was surprised Pelton had not appeared to witness my downfall.

  “Ah. Messer Ras Jakor. Welcome.” The judge in the center, an elderly man with an impressive beard, bowed his head in deference to Jakor.

  Jakor opened his arms with a flourish, his presence dominating the room. When he took a seat across from me, he did not look my way, though something of a smirk was playing at his mouth.

  “Let us keep this simple,” the white-bearded judge said, studying me benignly. “I have it in my records that Cady Fenwood was arrested on a charge of trespassing on University grounds after she was expressly forbidden access. I believe you were enrolled as a student before you were suspended?”

  I nodded.

  “First we must determine whether the suspension and exclusion from the grounds were merited. Messer Jakor?”

  Jakor straightened with an all-too-knowing gleam in his eye. In the absence of any evidence on my behalf, I would indubitably appear to be in the wrong.

  “Lady Fenwood was the target of suspicion from the moment she enrolled at the University. She had already trespassed on the school grounds before applying; many of the professors were adamantly opposed to her admission, convinced she was only seeking further access to the school grounds. Surely you have read about her involvement with the infamous Hunter Coalmar. The entire case is rife with speculation. Some claim Hunter lost his mind and committed suicide. Others intuit that Cady was involved—she stood atop the cathedral tower with Hunter in his last moments, after all, and no one could see what events transpired in the brief time preceding his death.

  “I believe otherwise. Neither Hunter nor Cady acted in a way that led me to doubt their sanity. Rather, the entire affair had the appearance of a well-orchestrated scheme. I know it is not my place to speculate, yet there was something sinister in both Hunter and Cady’s unhealthy fascination with the University. And I can guess where this stemmed from.

  “Hunter applied for a position at the University many years back, you see, and he was livid when he was denied. I believe he saw it as a personal attack on his upbringing—as the papers have revealed, he was raised in the slums. He never forgave the University, and set about attempting to discredit it.”

  “Thank you,” the judge said. I could tell he was interested in spite of himself. This was a blow to me—I had
no idea Hunter had applied to the University. It did not surprise me, but it rankled to know he had kept yet another secret from me.

  “This is all very interesting,” the judge continued, “though I would prefer if you kept your discussion to Lady Fenwood’s involvement.”

  Jakor nodded smugly. He had been about to return to me regardless, I knew. “As I mentioned before, Lady Fenwood had been caught sneaking about the University grounds prior to her application and admittance. It was with great trepidation that the administrators enrolled her, and she was issued a word of caution—she was not to meddle in University affairs, or she would risk expulsion.

  “Less than a quarter had passed before she was found doing just that. She was caught sneaking through the underground vaults of the University, a set of rooms forbidden to the students and housing all manner of expensive and dangerous equipment. Of course she was suspended—I say suspended, because a few teachers still spoke up for her. I found their trust unwarranted. It was at this point she was told she would face immediate arrest if she entered the University grounds again.”

  Jakor bowed his head to the judge. “You see why her arrest was appropriate. Lady Fenwood has threatened to undermine the University on numerous occasions. She could have been arrested with just as much validity that night she was caught in the University vaults; if not for the benevolence of certain professors—” I caught his eyes flick toward Volandrik, a motion so slight I doubted anyone but me had noticed it “—she would have been called to justice long before now.”

  “Very well,” the judge said. “Thank you for your explanation. According to the evidence you have given us, would you deem it fair if Cady Fenwood was given a permanent restraining order against the University, and her bail set at five thousand varlins?”

  I could not breathe. Five thousand varlins! That was a quarter of Hunter’s entire fortune. My parents had likely never seen so much money in their lives. I would be left to rot in prison.

  “That sounds perfectly adequate,” Jakor said. His carefully neutral expression was clearly hiding a look of triumph.