The Unremembered

by Peter Orullian

  The colored bits of confetti showered like a blizzard in the street, swirling around the bodies of the children as they passed. Some small bits stuck to the sweat on their faces and forearms. Whistles pierced the din, noisemakers popped and rattled, and a few celebrants blew horns of their own.

  Then the first pack turned and followed the course down a narrow side street. The crowds lined the route there, too. The throng lifted its roar down the roads where the Roon snaked out into the city. The sound reverberated off stone buildings.

  The last runners passed them and followed the course down the street to Wendra’s left just as the return route began to thrum with the excitement of the lead pack. Wendra could feel her heart pounding. Every beat fell like the blow of a hammer.

  The intensity of the crowd was nothing to what it now became. Every onlooker howled and cheered at full voice. The force of the volume pressed at her eyes, tingled in her skin, and raised every hair on her body. She felt simultaneously like one dropped into a winter river and roasting on an oven spit. Waves of heat and chill raced down her arms and up her back.

  Then Penit appeared from the return avenue.

  His shoulders were bent, his arms driving with sheer determination. He emerged from the byway ten strides ahead of Dwayne. He’d found his own sure stride, his legs churning like a champion horse in long, powerful rhythms. His feet glided across the cobblestone, his heels never touching the ground. Tears of pride welled in Wendra’s eyes as she added her voice to the incredible chorus around her.

  Through the wide concourse Penit sprinted, seeming to gain speed with every stride. The crowd knew their winner, and screamed in anticipation of the ribbon, now again raised by the men bearing the batons.

  Through the riverbanks of shouting celebrants Penit ran. The crowd’s frenetic energy became a counterpoint to the smooth, elegant pace Penit kept as he dashed down the open concourse toward the finish line. He came closer, a calm but determined look on his face. The same look she’d seen when he’d gone out to find her help from the cave. She held her breath and embraced the joy that raced her heart.

  Then, a strange look passed over Penit’s features, a kind of thoughtful concern. He looked back over his shoulder at Dwayne, now twenty strides behind him, and the rest of the lead pack just emerging from the far avenue. His legs carried him forward, but in his eyes was a realization that hadn’t yet reached his feet.

  Fifteen paces from the ribbon, Penit stopped.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Winners and Wisdom

  The largest known amount paid to buy a vote on the High Council is ten thousand full realm marks. The vote was on land usage and taxes beyond the city wall.

  —From a list of court trivia kept by Solath Mahnus historians in their private study

  Penit came to a skidding stop, his breathing labored, his eyes on the ribbon so close ahead.

  The crowd erupted with frustrated expectation. Some jeered, others roared in confusion. Wendra noted the pitch shift to something deeper, less appreciative. Violent gestures exhorted Penit to finish the race. A few heads shook in annoyance.

  Penit could have jogged the remaining distance and still won. Instead, he quarter-turned and watched as Dwayne came racing on. His friend gave him a curious look. Penit nodded, and returned an encouraging expression.

  A moment later, Dwayne broke the ribbon. A roar of victory followed, and the boy was snatched up and placed on tall shoulders. A winner! Other children buzzed past Penit to finish for honor’s sake. Some slowed and stopped, moving off to rejoin parents.

  The crowd filled the street, rushing to congratulate Dwayne. A few sauntered close to Penit and gave him bewildered stares or cursed. Wendra fought through the wall of people to Penit, silencing his critics with a scathing glare. Seanbea forged a path for them back to the wall near the gate, where she knelt and embraced Penit for several moments before realizing he was not crying or upset.

  She drew back and gave him a guarded look. “Why did you stop?”

  He peered over her shoulder at Dwayne, his face a study in contentment that slowly became a smile.

  A moment later, the race coordinator and a number of attendants dressed in city colors surrounded Dwayne and began escorting him toward the gate. The man holding the baton was nearly past her and Penit with his brusque, sensible stride, when he abruptly stopped beside them.

  “You will come with me, all three of you,” he said, pointing at Wendra and Seanbea while keeping his eyes fixed on Penit. “I’ll have no discussion about my race. The regent and her table will hear an account of it from both you and Master Dwayne, and we’ll let her decide what to do.”

  He pointed at each of them with his baton, then stepped smartly away, heading for the gate. The men in bright Recityv crimson folded them into the circle they’d formed around Dwayne and a shifty-looking man. Wendra thought she recognized the man’s face, but couldn’t quite place him.

  Together, the five of them passed through the inner gate and onto the smooth surface of the Solath Mahnus courtyard. The stone clacked beneath their heels. Long slate slabs had been meticulously fitted together, rendering the yard virtually seamless. Dark marble benches edged the perimeter, here and there occupied by men in full armor and women in neatly pressed dresses. Planters stood on both sides of each stone bench, where manicured trees offered little shade, but prim decoration.

  On the far side of the yard, a large archway tunneled into the hill. Above it rose the sprawling courts and halls of Solath Mahnus. Each roof showed crenellated abutments more decorative than useful. The stone of the outer walls had been carved with various crests denoting houses and families.

  Their steward ushered Wendra, Seanbea, and Penit into the tunnel lit brightly with oil lamps. They passed several intersecting passages until finally they came to a wide stair guarded by four men bearing halberds. The fastidious baton wielder did not even bother to acknowledge the guards, fussing past them and up the stairs at a sturdy clip.

  Wendra’s legs had started to burn by the time they stepped into a wide, vaulted chamber. The room was appointed with suits of armor and weapons resting on oiled wood stands, pedestals bearing glass cases where sepia parchments sat atop easels. Murals hung painted on canvases several strides to a side, and long drapes in solid, dignified colors depended from brass rods fastened in the climbs of the room’s great height. All around, charcoal-colored marble set in feathered patterns announced the dignity of court, and the refinement of artistry.

  Their guide led them through the hall into a second chamber bordered by doors and dominated by a narrow stair that began in the middle of the room and ascended past the second and third floors, issuing them directly to the fourth story. Marble balustrades ran along the edges of each level, though Wendra had no idea how people found their way to those floors.

  At the top, several soldiers stepped into their path in a practiced manner, and waited until the race coordinator said something to them before they would withdraw. They pushed through a large set of double doors, and saw a number of maps and long scrolls on tables where sat men and women, harried looks upon their faces.

  At the back of this room stood another set of double doors guarded by eight men. The race coordinator impatiently waved them away as he approached. The soldiers gave way and the doors were drawn back to reveal a winding stair.

  At the top of these final stairs was a set of doors that stood unattended. Wendra’s stomach churned. She took Penit’s hand, and as an afterthought, took Seanbea’s hand as well.

  Their guide stopped at the door and turned to face them.

  “I’ve sent ahead for an audience.” He looked them over one by one, pointing at each person with a crooked finger as though taking count. “This is an interruption the regent will permit because it bears on the completion of her High Table, but it is not an invitation to speak. If you are asked something, you may answer. ‘My lady’ is quite appropriate when addressing the regent. Otherwise, keep quiet.”

&nbs
p; The fellow didn’t wait on questions or protests, and with a small grunt pushed open the heavy doors to the regent’s High Office.

  Every surface shone in alabaster marble. Arched windows running from floor to ceiling let sun into the chamber. There were two hearths attended by a cluster of high-back chairs and flat benches. A table set before each fireplace held books, some open as though left while being used. At the back of the High Office, a brass tableau had been fixed into the wall. It showed a king in full regalia removing his crown. Upon it, inscriptions gleamed in the light. Beneath it sat an elegant elderly woman in a large, upholstered chair behind a broad desk. To the right of the desk sat an old man with a grey-white beard, wearing a patient smile.

  At the sight of the regent, Wendra felt the sudden urge to kneel. The woman had a commanding gaze, and seemed to be waiting.

  The race coordinator cleared his throat apologetically and stepped forward, nodding to both the regent and her counselor. “My lady, Sheason Artixan, I present you the winner of the Lesher Roon and his father.”

  The woman stood. Her mantle fell to the floor in flowing folds. She hunched a bit from age. Lines in her face told of a life of fret and laughter. Yet her eyes sparkled with fire and clarity.

  “I’m told the winner of the Child’s Seat isn’t as evident as you suggest.” The regent indicated both boys.

  “The boy who crossed the ribbon first isn’t in dispute, my lady,” the race coordinator replied. “But the winner may be.”

  “Don’t draw it out, Jonel,” she urged.

  “This child,” he began, motioning Dwayne to stand beside him, “crossed the ribbon ahead of the rest.” He looked at Penit and brought him forward with a glance. “But this child led the race to within a house-length of the finish before stopping and letting the ribbon-taker pass him by.”

  The regent held up a hand. “Is this true?” she said, looking directly at Penit.

  He nodded. The race coordinator gently pressed a knuckle in his back. “Yes, Anais, I mean, my lady.”

  Penit immediately looked up to see what danger he’d caused for himself in referring to the regent in such a way. Helaina surprised them all by smiling graciously.

  “A long time since anyone honored me so,” she said, sharing a look with the Sheason. “Wouldn’t you agree, Artixan?”

  “I would,” the old man said, still wearing his smile.

  “We’re concerned that the children may have conspired to thwart the natural delegation of the Lesher Roon, my lady,” the coordinator said. “And I put the matter before you to decide whether another race must be run, or the results of this Roon should stand. I’ll have the records reflect my diligence selecting the appropriate Child’s Voice.”

  The regent nodded once. “So noted, and wisely so, Jonel. Thank you.” She then stood and rounded her desk, making her way with a slow, deliberate step. No one moved or spoke while she came to Penit. The sound of her shuffling steps filled the silent chamber.

  At last she stood before them. “Come to me,” she said, proffering her hands to Penit and Dwayne.

  With a gentle shove from Jonel, they did as they were told, each taking one of the regent’s hands.

  “Your names?” she asked.

  Each boy gave it.

  She looked down at Dwayne, her eyes gripping him in a solemn stare. “Did you conspire with Penit to win the Roon?”

  Dwayne shook his head. “No, my lady. I ran my hardest. I didn’t expect Penit to stop, but when he did I just ran past him.”

  The regent gave a nod of satisfaction before turning to Penit with her iron stare. “And you, son, if you were sure to take the race, why did you stop?”

  Penit looked back at Wendra, his eyes pleading. She gave him a reassuring nod. He turned back to the regent.

  “Dwayne is much smarter than me, my lady, much smarter.” He tried to look at his own feet, when the regent took his chin and lifted it again.

  “And what has this to do with deliberately losing the Roon?”

  Penit shrugged. “I wanted to win. Wendra and I have come a long way, and I thought if I won I could get us out of trouble with the Quiet and Vendanj and everybody.” Wendra caught a start in the regent, who tightened her gaze on Penit. “But after I got close to the ribbon, something kind of hit me. Whoever wins the race has to make important decisions for the whole city. Dwayne will do a better job of it than I could. He knows more; he figures things out better than I do. If it was surviving on the street, that might be different. But it’s not. So, if the children are going to have someone to speak for them, it should be Dwayne before me.”

  The regent gave Dwayne another look. The other boy stood dumbfounded.

  “How do you know this about Dwayne?” the regent asked.

  “We met at Galadell, that’s where—”

  “I was lucky to get him back,” Dwayne’s father blurted. Sweat had gathered on the man’s forehead, though it was cool enough. “Was worried half to death.”

  The regent showed him a suspicious eye, then gestured for the boys to sit at her desk. She slowly retook her own chair, resting her aged body in the cushioned seat and gathering a breath before speaking.

  “Go on now, Penit. And mind you speak the truth. We’ve no leniency for lies.” She settled her keen eyes on the boy again.

  “Wendra and I got taken by a highwayman to Galadell. First he took me because Wendra got sick and I went out looking for help.” Penit rushed ahead with his story. “Wendra came and rescued me, but before she got there, I met Dwayne. He was being held for sale, too. They made us run a lot, the faster kids separated from the slower ones. Dwayne and I got put together, and food was better after that.

  “Dwayne is very smart. He doesn’t know as many of the stories as I do, or how to place a bet on a roadside game of dice. But he had a whole plan for escape, and I saw how he helped the younger kids when they got scared. He even helped the men and ladies, teaching them how to deal with the traders. I’m just glad he finally got out.” Penit shot a look at Dwayne’s father.

  The regent held a finger to her lips as she listened. Her sharp gaze didn’t vary as she assessed Penit’s words. “But you must know the Roon selects its own. It’s not for you to decide who takes the Child’s Seat.” Helaina spoke with a dignified calm, but certain sternness.

  “Yes, my lady,” Penit said. “But maybe the Roon is what made me stop. That’s what I think.” Penit ran his arms across the gloss of the table. “The race doesn’t have a brain, it can’t think. I decided that what the Roon meant was a race where all the children run and do their best to select one to sit at this table. I might be the fastest, my lady, but the best thing I can do is be sure you get the smartest one to help you do your ruling. That’s Dwayne, no doubt.”

  The regent smiled around her finger.

  “And anyway, now maybe I don’t have to worry about the Bar’dyn and Vendanj and the rest. You can help them.”

  Helaina’s smile faded from her aged lips. “You’ve seen the Bar’dyn, boy? And Vendanj, you’ve spoken with him?”

  “Yes. Vendanj helped us get away from the Bar’dyn. So did Seanbea.” Penit turned and smiled at the Ta’Opin. “But we got separated from the others. And we haven’t seen them since.”

  “We will speak of these things later,” the regent declared in an authoritative voice. “For now, I’m left with the trouble of who will sit at my table.” She scrutinized each boy’s face. “The rightful winner should have been Penit, who shows wisdom and humility in forfeiting the race.

  “Still, the people have witnessed the ribbon falling to Dwayne, and will claim him as the rightful Voice.” She sat back into her chair, straightening her hunched shoulders. “More than this, young Penit reminds us of the spirit of the Roon, the spirit of the table. We dishonor ourselves to question his sacrifice.” She looked at Penit. “Besides, son, though I would be glad to have you take a permanent seat here, I trust your judgment on young Dwayne.” She offered him a grateful smile.

&n
bsp; The regent then looked at Artixan, who’d been mostly quiet. The Sheason nodded with a look of satisfaction. Just then, the door opened and a page bowed deep in apology.

  “Excuse me, Regent,” the page said. “But the Court of Judicature has been convened to hear a defense of the Archer.”

  “What is this?” the regent said, standing with some difficulty. Fire burned in her eyes. “We can’t open this to law, there’ll be riots.”

  “Pardon, my lady,” the page went on. “Against the protest of our magistrate, the right to Preserved Will has been claimed, and the law still holds in the annals. I’ve been asked to convey you there to hear the Dissent and rule upon it. Lord Hiliard of the Court of Judicature doesn’t wish to rule without your endorsement.”

  The regent looked around, the ire clear and bright in her face. On her wrinkled cheeks color rose. She didn’t speak, her mouth a thin, tight line. Finally, she nodded.

  “Follow me, Artixan,” she said. “The rest of you, too. We’ll continue after I put this matter behind us.”

  She bustled past them, her steps more sure now. Wendra went to Penit and gave him a gentle squeeze as they all followed the regent through the door and down the many steps toward the Court of Judicature.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Preserved Will

  Being right only goes so far where a jurist’s opinion is concerned. Trials are won in private rooms before Dissent begins.

  —The Practical Advocate, an unsanctioned volume kept in the home office of Recityv’s First Counselor

  Grant stepped back into the court that had sent him to the Scar.

  Twenty godsdamned years.

  Guards stood stoically beside the entry. But the gallery buzzed with speculation. Attendants fluttered in and out of view, hastily performing errands and delivering messages. Discontent rose from sophists who hated that their judgment had been challenged. That part made Grant smile.