Once more, Dari checked Aron’s essence. She saw no flickers of energy or other indications that he might be losing emotional control, despite the fact he had just learned the Stone Guild would be doing something to aid a man he considered complicit in the murder of his family. His body remained equally placid. As before, the only indication Dari had of his true feelings was the furious gleam in his eyes.
“Why is Canus the Bandit not up for trial this day?” Lord Altar demanded, keeping his back to the hearth.
Both Aron and Zed seemed to take interest in this question. They shifted forward and seemed to be listening more intently.
Lord Baldric’s color deepened, and Dari saw him dig his fingers against his palm. “We have received no judgment on him from any dynast. As far as Stone knows, his deeds are as much rumor as reality. We cannot hunt an unconvicted phantom.”
Lord Altar swore, then reached into his robes and withdrew a folded bit of parchment. “A decree from the Court of Altar at Can Olaf, convicting the outlaw of his crimes in my lands. Now you have a judgment against the outlaw, and shortly one will follow from Lord Brailing, and perhaps Lord Cobb as well.”
Dari’s teeth ground together at the thought that Lord Cobb might be cooperating with Lord Brailing and Lord Altar in any fashion, even in a matter where they shared common concern.
Lord Altar put the parchment on Lord Baldric’s desk and thumped it with two fingers. “This bandit is no better than a desert sand-rat, murdering soldiers and raiding villages. And he has followers. Growing numbers. I want him stopped.”
Lord Baldric picked up the parchment, studied it, then placed it back on his desk. “And so he will be. If he can’t be brought in, his charges will be read In Absence.”
“That takes time!” Lord Altar’s shout thundered through the rock chamber, but no one in the room flinched.
“It does,” Lord Baldric said in a calm, overly quiet voice, and Dari couldn’t help noticing that the Lord Provost wasn’t using the honorific of Chi to append any of his statements. “Unless he can be captured, we have no alternative but to make a reading every cycle, until at least six readings have been completed. Then and only then can we draw stones for him and begin the hunt.”
“That is unacceptable,” Lord Altar growled. “Canus the Bandit is dangerous. He’s a monster!”
Stormbreaker and Windblown coughed at the same moment and lowered their gazes. Lord Baldric seemed to have to gather his wits before responding, as if taken aback by hearing Lord Altar call anyone else outlaw or monster. Dari could hardly blame him for that. Aron remained in his oddly calm state, but that light in his eyes was brighter than ever.
When Lord Baldric at last decided on his words, he said, “Canus the Bandit may indeed be dangerous, but he is also a man, a citizen of Eyrie, with the right to fair reading, and a chance to present himself for Judgment Day.”
Lord Altar grabbed the edges of his robes, making a show of controlling his temper. “Stone shouldn’t tarry in this process. I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be responsible for that unpleasantness along the Watchline.”
Dari moved before her mind completely processed the words, grabbing Aron’s wrist with one hand even as she forced her consciousness through the Veil. She gave herself less than a second to adjust to the brightness, the enhanced sounds and images of her increased perception; then she let her strength blend with his, lending him soothing and self-control and deliberately muting the color of both of their legacies.
He accepted her intervention with no resistance or resentment, but moments later, his eerie-calm mental voice echoed across her awareness. Thank you, Dari, but I’m fine.
She immediately realized Aron had carefully contained that thought-message, so that only she could hear it. She didn’t believe him, though. Not even for the second it took her to return to normal levels of awareness.
Stormbreaker’s face was as passive as Aron’s, and Windblown seemed to be pretending he hadn’t heard the dynast lord correctly.
Lord Baldric, on the other hand, was glaring at Lord Altar with no further pretense of politeness. “Unpleasantness?” The question was so tight and pointed that Dari felt the stab in her own belly. She wondered if Lord Baldric might end up as one of the Judged for slicing a dynast lord’s throat.
Lord Altar’s face colored an even deeper, uglier red than Lord Baldric’s. “I know what you think. You and every bastard behind these walls—but it’s not true. I had no part in that madness.”
“You had no part in stopping it, either,” Lord Baldric snarled, leaning toward Lord Altar until Windblown caught the Lord Provost’s robes from behind.
Lord Altar’s fist drew back so quickly Dari couldn’t believe Stormbreaker managed to lunge forward and catch the man’s elbow before he swung. The dynast lord wheeled to face Stormbreaker and cursed him even as Stormbreaker let him go and bowed his apology for laying hands on a noble without permission. Stormbreaker made no attempt to challenge the furious man again, and Windblown kept his gaze respectfully averted.
Lord Baldric did not, and when Lord Altar once more looked the Lord Provost of Stone in the face, Dari caught a wave of the shame she had sensed earlier.
“I joined forces with Helmet Brailing to do what must be done for Eyrie—not to murder fools and simpletons.” Lord Altar’s tense face relaxed a little, lending the barest of credence to his assertion.
Aron moved on the hearth, making Dari jump so badly she dropped her false knitting project and had to snatch it back off the floor. She almost leaped through the Veil again, but Aron’s outward calmness remained intact. It was almost as if he had forged a full metal fighting shield out of thin air and the force of his will, and now had it firmly between his heart and anything Lord Altar might say. For that, at least, she was greatly relieved.
“If Stone had true mettle,” Lord Altar added, raising both hands, palm upward, as if he were pleading with the furious Lord Provost, “every guildsman who could bear arms would march out of Triune with me and help us finish this war for the good of Eyrie.”
Lord Baldric didn’t struggle against Windblown’s grasp, but he swore before declaring, “Stone will not be a party to war. Not now, and not ever. We’re a guild, not an army.”
“Thorn is taking a broader view.” Lord Altar wisely moved a few steps toward the chamber door, away from the Lord Provost. He brushed Stormbreaker out of his path with a single sweep of one arm. “My cousin Pravda has ordered Thorn to offer aid to Altar and Brailing soldiers, should we choose to send them into Dyn Vagrat. It’s either that or deal with the armies of Mab and Ross.”
“Your cousin may do as her conscience allows, I suppose, even when her guild charters demand otherwise.” Now Lord Baldric’s words were condescending, and something beyond angry and disgusted. He jerked himself free of Windblown’s grasp, and Dari didn’t know whether to keep herself seated or leap to her feet and prepare to draw weapons. “Family ties are supposed to be severed and forgotten when guild vows are taken, but perhaps Thorn has let go that tradition as well.”
Lord Altar seemed to hesitate. When he continued he sounded even more like he might be pleading—or as close to pleading as a man like him ever came. “Gemelle Mab has been fragile since her childhood. You know this, Baldric. Everyone does. She cannot bear the burdens that have been laid upon her.” He gestured toward the chamber’s north window, as if to point all the way to Can Rowan. “If she would listen to reason and allow the Circle to truly assist her with the rule of Eyrie, I would stop this campaign now.”
Lord Baldric didn’t grace those comments with a retort, but Dari couldn’t help staring at Lord Altar, relieved that he couldn’t see her in return. She could scarcely believe anything she was hearing. The oddly gentle tone, not the words he spoke, came near to stunning her senseless.
Did Lord Altar actually care about Lady Mab, in some personal sense?
A memory nudged at her, far in her mind’s distance. Something she had heard in childhood a few t
imes.
Yes. I remember now. A tale of how Lord Altar in his youth had tried to woo Lady Mab, but failed. She wasn’t interested in a man so much her senior, and her attention had already been captured by the man who would become her husband.
Could that old story possibly have some truth to it?
And all these years hence, was Lord Altar still obsessed with a woman who had spurned him?
She had no time to ponder the possibility or its implications, because Lord Altar had decided his audience was at an end. To Lord Baldric, he said, “Remember my words. If you ever have a chance to persuade Lady Mab to listen to reason, take it.” Then he nodded to Stormbreaker, as if suddenly remembering the Stone Brother existed. “And you—fight well. I want blood for my niece’s pain and insult.”
Stormbreaker gave the dynast lord a polite bow as Lord Altar proceeded past him, to the chamber door, and out into the hallway, letting the heavy wood slam into place behind him.
No one spoke.
No one so much as moved, except Aron.
Dari watched him stand and bring himself to his full height.
Stormbreaker was watching Aron, too, his handsome face taut with concern. Windblown had his hand on his sword hilt, as if he might have to draw his blade to keep Aron in check. Lord Baldric and Zed didn’t seem as concerned, but both remained silent and alert.
“He was truthful in all he said, except the bit about Canus the Bandit being responsible for the Watchline massacre.” Aron’s essence remained calm, at least on the surface, and his disguise of dull colors, perfect in every respect. “He well knows who ordered those killings, though he may not have been directly involved—and I don’t believe he approves of what Lord Brailing did.”
The conciseness of Aron’s report surprised Dari as much as its contents. She had been so distracted by worry over Aron’s reactions that she sensed little from Lord Altar other than anger and aggression, and that last bit of weird affection for Lady Mab. As she stood and took her place beside him, she was captured by a moment of admiration and pride, that Aron had used his legacy so efficiently, and concealed it so very well.
“I have nothing to add,” she admitted to Lord Baldric. “Aron read Lord Altar better than I did.”
Lord Baldric clenched his jaw, then released it and spoke more to Stormbreaker than anyone else. “Altar’s displeasure with Brailing’s crime wasn’t sufficient to sway him from allying with the old bastard to start a war. If I’m not here when this is all over and the recriminations begin, remember that.”
“Lord Altar believes the war is necessary,” Aron said, keeping his gaze on the door. “He believes he’s right, and that we’re all fools or cowards here at Triune.”
“Cayn take him and his Thorn cousin, too,” Lord Baldric snapped, waving a hand to dismiss them all.
As Aron waited for Stormbreaker and Windblown to exit ahead of him, he seemed absolutely in control of himself, except for the way he stared out the now-open wooden chamber door—as if he could see through halls and walls and track Lord Altar’s every move. His fingers, long fingers, a man’s fingers, twitched as if his entire essence itched to take an action he knew he had to avoid.
Blath was more right about Aron than I imagined. Perhaps than even she imagined. Dari studied Aron with a new and anxious wariness.
Aron was almost grown. Soon enough, Lord Altar and Lord Brailing might make his acquaintance more directly, and discover that for themselves.
CHAPTER FORTY
DARI
The six stone pillars marking the Judgment Arena loomed like gray arms reaching toward the morning sun. Dari eyed them as she approached. Her heart pounded louder with each step, drowning out the happy chatter of sheltered boys who liked to help out on Judgment Day.
Triune’s lower grounds overflowed with apprentices and Stone Brothers making preparations. By now, the Stone Sisters in residence would have withdrawn to guard the living quarters of the sheltered, as many who sought refuge at Stone would not feel safe out on the grounds when the public was permitted inside, even only as far as the arena. Abused women, children who had fled their homes in terror—Stone determinedly fended off any lingering threat to those they accepted for protection.
Dari wanted to stop at the House of the Judged, a large building on the north side of the arena. She usually remained there with a handful of older Stone Brothers to dispatch the spirits of the dead, as need arose, because she had no interest in watching combat. Worse yet, if Stormbreaker was involved in one of the fights, she would have to live through each blow and strike, and feel it nearly as if it were her own.
Today, though, she had no option about attending, thanks to Lord Altar’s visit. She had to go into the arena and keep an eye on Aron, since Iko couldn’t very well show himself to the multitudes without creating a total political disaster for Lord Baldric.
Dari kept her feet firmly on Triune’s main byway, and moved with the increasing swell of castle occupants heading southward toward the arena’s entrance. The younger children beside her were all laughter and bluster, but the older sheltered and the few Stone Brothers had grim expressions to match her own. This was no festival, despite the busy, noisy atmosphere. Men would die today—women, too, though women amongst the Judged were few. Dari had noted that for a woman to be given over to Stone for judgment, her crimes had to be heinous indeed, and Stone Sisters usually took the draw for such cases. Even behind the walls of Triune, where some of the fiercest female warriors in the land resided, the unspoken code of men that prohibited them from harming women remained a powerful force. It was difficult to persuade a Stone Brother to pick up weapons to strike down a woman, no matter how many people that woman might have murdered.
The arena’s gates stood open, and the sight of the barrier made Dari’s chest that much tighter. She slipped inside with the other spectators, then sought a view of the roof of the House of the Judged, barely visible over the north wall, to get her bearings. The Judged, who had been carried to Triune in barred wagons across the cycle, would enter from a small gate in that wall. Beside the smaller gate, there was a set of rooms where the Stone Brothers and Stone Sisters readied themselves to perform their duties. Apprentices sat on benches outside the rooms, prepared to assist their masters as needed.
This is barbaric and foolish, insisted the part of Dari’s mind still rooted in her own culture, where crime was rare and murder almost nonexistent. Stregans dispatched murderers immediately, or rather her cousin Platt did, as was his duty as king. This business of reading charges, of giving the accused an opportunity for a second judgment from the gods and goddesses—that was laughable to Platt, to all of her people. A sign of Fae weakness. Dari herself had believed this without question, until she came to Triune.
Now she saw that the process had a certain elegance. A fairness to it. The Judged were at a disadvantage, in that they were pitted against trained assassins who would fight them to the death, or hunt them to the same ends. To Dari, this was as it should be. Those who murdered or raped or pillaged at weapon point deserved no level battlefield. Yet the Judged did have a chance. If fate chose to shield them, or give them good fortune, if somehow they deserved some second opportunity at right living, granted by whatever deity they claimed as their own, they might receive it.
But today Stormbreaker faces combat with a vicious rapist, a desert rat who’s probably killed more people than any Stone Brother. If that rat receives his second chance at Stormbreaker’s expense, how then will I feel about these customs?
Dari rubbed her palm against her chest as she edged through the crowd inside the arena gates, slipping behind the small fence separating the arena’s dirt surface from the stone and wood benches built in tiers into the arena walls. She moved closer to the small gate and ready rooms, until she spotted Aron taking his position on the bench right next to Zed, as she expected. She checked the color of his essence, pleased to find it was still a dull, disinteresting shade of blue. By Aron’s posture, he was still calm, but focu
sed on his day’s duties, which gave her some measure of relief. Galvin Herder sat on the far end of Aron’s bench, but to Dari’s relief, his attention appeared to be completely diverted by the day’s demands.
Perhaps he’ll stay too interested or too busy to make more trouble today. Dari picked at her thumbnail with her teeth. Not far away on her right, Lord Altar and his traveling party took their seats in one of the six partially enclosed areas reserved for dynast nobles. The walls encasing them on either side bore the steel and copper colors of Altar, and the back panel had been decorated with sword crossed with arrow, clutched in the talons of a great white Roc—just like the tattoos on Lord Altar’s neck.
Dari couldn’t help noticing how out of place Lord Altar seemed, despite his fierce, angry countenance and the way he glared at the gate where the Judged would enter. From what Lord Baldric had told her, it wasn’t unusual for members of a noble line to attend Judgment Day, but exceedingly rare in these days for a dynast lord to be present himself. The arena crowd, comprised of the sheltered and people from nearby towns who found this process amusing, milled in slow groups, staring up at Lord Altar and his retinue.
Meanwhile, handfuls of goodfolk in travelers’ clothing filed into the seats nearest the arena floor, and Dari knew these were the family and friends of the murdered, raped, or grievously injured, come to see justice done. Many of these would have ridden for days or even weeks to arrive, and there were no smiles amongst this sad, tired group.
Dari’s heart went out to those poor souls who had been so wronged. She settled herself on a strip of wood where she had an easy view of both Aron and Lord Altar, but her attention kept returning to the travelers.
“What’s he doing here, y’think?”
The voice startled Dari so badly she almost bit the tip of her thumb clean off.
When she looked at the seat beside her to see who spoke, she realized it was Raaf Thunderheart. Like Aron, Raaf had gotten older, seemingly when she wasn’t looking. He had fewer freckles, more pounds and muscles, and his red hair was shoulder length now. She tried to make herself smile at the boy, but the gleam in his eyes, obviously from anticipation of the day’s events, made her want to sigh. Every day, Raaf grew more caught up in the life of Triune, in being Aron’s little tagalong, and no doubt he drew closer to taking vows at Stone.
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