Halls of Law

by V. M. Escalada

  “If I might ask—?”

  “What brings me here? Of course.”

  Jerek kept his eyes on Black Cloak, who’d just dismounted. His father didn’t like being interrupted. He wouldn’t show this soldier how displeased he was, but the rest of the household might see it later.

  “You’ll have heard about the recent upheavals in Farama, of course.” The First Officer waited until Dern Firoxi had nodded, so Jerek began to relax. “May I introduce Pollik Kvar, a Poppy Shekayrin of Halia, Mage and representative of the Sky Emperor Guon Kar Lyn.” Jerek’s stomach tightened. The Halian Empire? This was one of the invaders, then. What was he doing here with Polity soldiers?

  “Now I know what you’re thinking, my lord, but let me assure you there’s nothing to worry about. There’s been a change of rule, that’s all, and the Halians are just here to help us restore order, nothing more, nothing less. Disagreement among the royals doesn’t need to affect real people like yourself.”

  Jerek’s heart beat painfully in his chest. He knew from his tutors about changes of rule, but there hadn’t been one for—why, old Kalnast, Nessa’s grandfather who’d been his mother’s old Factor, used to tell of something that happened in his grandsire’s day. Some disruption within the royal family itself, if he remembered correctly. There’d been a civil war, and that was the reason only the Eagle Wing was allowed in the Peninsula. Had something like that happened again?

  Jerek looked at the Halian, and found the man looking back. He smiled, quickly, and the man nodded. He had a tattoo around his left eye, a round large-petaled flower, like a poppy.

  “There are, however, certain changes with which we expect everyone to comply,” said the Shekayrin. His voice was deeper than Jerek had expected, and with very little accent. The First Officer stepped toward them, his hand out for Nessa’s sword.

  “Women aren’t allowed to go about armed,” he said. “You’ll have to hand that over.”

  Jerek started forward, but Nessa’s grip on his shoulder kept him in place. She looked toward his father.

  Dern raised his eyebrows. “Surely you can see it’s just a practice weapon, First Officer? Factor Grassmeadow has been putting my son through his sword work.”

  “You’ll have to get him another instructor, my lord.”

  “I see. Nessa, please be so good as to give me the sword.” Nessa immediately reversed the weapon one-handed, as she’d taught Jerek to do, and handed it, hilt first, to Dern.

  Jerek looked from his father to the soldier and back. He couldn’t believe that his father wasn’t going to question this.

  “That will be all, Nessa, thank you.”

  “Very good, my lord.” She went, but not without giving Jerek a hard look he recognized immediately. Watchful and wary, it said to him. And that Nessa would expect a full report later. Jerek lowered his eyes and raised them, the closest he could come to nodding in front of these others.

  “. . . one of the conditions of our aid, Lord Firoxi,” the Halian Shekayrin was saying, “that the rule of women, in all its forms, be over. The magic of the body, what you call the Talent, is outlawed, and it is a punishable offense to harbor or to aid any of those known as Talents.”

  His father was smiling, but Jerek didn’t relax. He’d seen that smile before. “I’m not sure I understand. ‘The rule of women?’ Without Talents, how will matters of Law be settled?”

  Dern Firoxi was playing innocent. They’d already heard of this from the refugees. How the Luqs had been imprisoned, and the council made to swear a new allegiance.

  First Officer Luxor was smiling again. “What the Shekayrin means is, from now on, the courts are only going to accept evidence that’s plain to anyone. We won’t have to just accept what a Talent says.” The man shrugged. “I mean, how were any of us to know that they were telling the truth in the first place? Plenty of people outside the Polity don’t use Talents, and their legal matters are attended to.”

  “The Halian Empire has functioned well without the so-called Halls of Law for many thousands of years,” the Shekayrin added.

  “I see.” Dern nodded. “Yes. Well, there’s much value in what you say.”

  His father’s reaction was no surprise. Ever since that ruling about the olive trees on the edge of the southwest grove had gone against them, Dern Firoxi hadn’t had much good to say about the Halls of Law.

  Jerek wasn’t sure how trees could tell you who had planted them and therefore who they belonged to, but he believed it just the same. He carefully kept that thought off his face.

  “. . . make as few changes as possible to the way things are.” First Officer Luxor had pulled some papers out of his saddle bag and was looking them over. “In your case, for example, Lord Firoxi, I see that this was your wife’s property, which she inherited from her father?”

  “Yes, my late wife, the boy’s mother.”

  “Well, not to worry, young lord.” The soldier patted Jerek on the shoulder, which he managed to endure without cringing. “The place is still yours. But in future,” the man continued, talking again to Jerek’s father, “inheritance will pass only through the male line.”

  “But the property still belongs to my son?”

  Jerek knew the other men would hear this and think his father was only worried about him, and they’d think Dern must be a very good and loving father.

  “In Halia, the wife’s property becomes that of her husband,” the Shekayrin said. “I would suggest you make an inquiry to that effect once matters become more settled.” The Halian paused, his brow furrowed. “A word of advice, Lord Firoxi. I would give the post of Factor to another, if you would like your inquiries to prosper.”

  Jerek’s stomach dropped an inch, and he swallowed.

  First Officer Luxor cleared his throat. “In the meantime, we’re asking that everyone just continue going about their business until the new regime is settled.”

  “Any idea when that will be? My people will want to know.”

  You mean you want to know.

  “At the moment we are seeking a suitable member of the royal family to assume the throne.” The Shekayrin’s tone left Jerek in no doubt who the “we” referred to. “But there do not seem to be many male candidates.”

  With the Luqs’ second cousin Prince Hanlor also gone, there wouldn’t be any, none that Jerek knew about anyway. And if there were any to be known about, his tutor would have made sure he’d memorized the names.

  “What happens if they don’t find anyone?” He flushed as his voice cracked halfway through his question.

  His father frowned; later, Jerek would hear about speaking without leave, but that would be later. In the meantime, the Shekayrin was looking at him with interest.

  “The Emperor will send a member of his own family, his own blood to sit on this throne. Our prince will marry here, and raise his family here, and become a good king to you, under the Sky Emperor, the father of us all.” The Shekayrin bowed his head for a moment.

  “Certainly, of course.” Dern Firoxi smiled stiffly at the Halian before turning back to the officer. “Is there anything else just now? Won’t you come in and rest before the evening meal?”

  “Just two more details, if you will.” The soldier turned to the Shekayrin.

  The Halian reached into a small pocket Jerek hadn’t noticed before, made by the flower crest sewn on the front of his tunic, and pulled out a red stone. Jerek leaned forward to see it better. His father frowned, so he stepped back again.

  “Are you familiar with this jewel?” the Halian said. His voice had thickened, and for the first time Jerek noticed the trace of an accent. “Are there any deposits of such a stone on your lands?” The Shekayrin turned to Jerek. “Young boys are great explorers, are they not? Have you seen such a thing, young man?”

  “Well, Jerek? Have you? Speak up.”

  Jerek shook his head, m
omentarily speechless. “No. That is, there’s the old quarry . . .” He let his voice die away. Their neighbors the Salcians might not appreciate him pointing soldiers and Halians in their direction. Olive trees or no olive trees.

  “Yes, of course,” he heard his father say. “But that old quarry is granite, not a fine stone such as this.”

  Jerek breathed easier.

  “But you said there were two things?” Dern added.

  After a glance at the Halian, First Officer Luxor continued. “The Shekayrin needs assurance that there are no Talents in your household, Lord Firoxi.”

  His father frowned, his brows drawn together. “This isn’t a Hall, Officer Luxor. There are no Talents here, I give you my assurance.”

  “If you personally vouch for everyone else, my lord, then you would only need to be examined yourself.”

  Jerek’s father blinked. “Examined? With no Talents, who, exactly, is going to examine me, Officer?”

  “I shall do it, Lord Firoxi. With this.” The Halian held up the red jewel again, and this time Jerek thought it looked darker, and as if something moved in its facets. “The stone contains no taint of the magic of the body. Alternatively, I could examine your entire household, but there would need to be compensation for my time.”

  “That will not be necessary.” There was more steel in Dern Firoxi’s voice. Steel Jerek was familiar with. “I will be happy to— What is it now, Jerek?”

  Jerek must have tightened his grip on the horse’s rein without being aware of it, making the horse jerk its head and snort at him.

  “Nothing, sir.”

  But the Shekayrin was looking at him with narrowed eyes, absently rubbing the red stone between the thumb and fingers of his left hand. “Are you sure, little lord? Is there nothing you wish to tell us?”

  Jerek clenched his teeth, and tried to keep his eyes away from the red stone. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

  “You mentioned a hay barn, Lord Firoxi. I’ll send my men to have a look at it now, if you don’t mind.”

  “We have nothing to hide, First Officer.”

  “Don’t hurt them!” The words sprang out of his mouth before Jerek could stop them. They did stop the soldiers, though. “They’re not Talents. They’re just ordinary people going to their family in West Andal.”

  “Jerek!” His father’s tone cut like a sword.

  “I was going to tell you, sir, at dinner.”

  First Officer Luxor put his hand on Jerek’s shoulder. “No harm done, Lord Jerek, but you do see that we need to check? Someone might lie about being Talented, you know.”

  Jerek gritted his teeth. His father was frowning, but Jerek was more upset by the fact that the soldiers were once more heading for the hay barn, this time with the Shekayrin close behind. It wouldn’t take them long to find the three people he’d left hidden in the loft.

  “Lord Jerek, you’re not a child. You know what outlawry means. Talents should submit themselves, not run away. If these people are innocent, why have they fled?”

  Jerek opened his mouth, but shut it again without responding. That was the kind of argument adults used when they weren’t going to listen to you.

  “Perhaps you should take your son inside, Lord Firoxi.”

  Jerek allowed the pressure of his father’s hand on his shoulder to turn him and guide him toward the house. They stopped just inside the door, where his father turned to face him. Jerek stiffened before he saw the man’s eyes were only clouded, not blazing. “Don’t judge yourself harshly, son, you did the right thing. We can’t believe everything these people tell us.” His father shook him slightly, but at least his grip had loosened. Jerek would have a bruise as it was. “Orderly transfer of power, my horse’s ass. This won’t end here, Jerek, mark my words. We’ll have to mind ourselves very carefully if we’re to come out of this with our property and ourselves intact.”

  There was a smudge on the tile closest to the door. Jerek fixed his eyes on it. “Yes, Father.”

  Just then a woman started screaming, somewhere outside the house, and Jerek was glad that his father’s grip had tightened again.

  Ker’s toe caught on an irregularity on the tunnel floor, and her own momentum carried her down. She threw up her hands to save her face, and the claw skittered off into the darkness ahead of her.

  “You all right?” Tel and Ganni hooked their hands under her armpits and hauled her to her feet.

  “I’ve lost the claw,” she said, rubbing the graze on her left hand.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Who knows what’s going to matter?”

  Ker searched frantically as Tel held the glow stone for her. She’d just caught the gleam of something smoother than the rock floor and was reaching for the claw when a noise made them all stop and look around.

  “Het! Het! Meeaou! Meeaou!”

  The echoes came from everywhere. Tel scanned the space around them with narrowed eyes. “What is it?” His voice was hollow.

  Ganni called into the surrounding darkness. “Anybody hurt?”

  “Wait.” Ker snatched up the claw and shoved it into the front of her tunic. “It’s the griffin. He knows he’s being herded, and it’s frightening him.” She clenched her jaw tight. It had sounded like a baby crying. A very large baby, but still . . .

  “It doesn’t sound very fierce, that’s for sure,” Tel added, echoing her thought.

  “Doesn’t it?” Ganni’s tone was grim. “It’s a baby yet, a chick like. But it’s got no way to know we’re trying to help it.”

  Ker bit her lower lip. What would happen if the griffin wouldn’t communicate with her?

  A sharp yell in the near distance got them all running, but they hadn’t gone more than a couple of dozen spans when the light revealed a pair of Miners. One was the scar-faced woman, on her knees, cradling what was obviously a broken arm.

  “I’m good, I’m good,” she insisted, as they crowded around her. “It just nipped me with its beak, didn’t break the skin. It’s heading toward Face Nineteen. It’s scared of us.” She looked more worried about that than about her broken arm.

  They left her being tended by her partner and ran on. This time Ker was careful where she placed her feet, though the bobbing light of the glow stone in Tel’s hand wasn’t too helpful.

  “No! No!”

  The words were clear enough, but the voice resonated in a way that even the rock walls couldn’t account for. The tunnel suddenly ended in a space that would have seemed larger, if it hadn’t been full of a baby griffin.

  The beast was as large as a bull, and almost as hefty. For all that, he was obviously a kitten. Or a chick. Both. Kerida shook her head. The feathers on his head and neck were still downy, though there were some longer true feathers as well, and his wings were well fledged. His lion’s coat was the palest of golds and his paws seemed much too large.

  Ker felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck. Would he grow into those paws? The beast was simultaneously the most terrifying and the most adorable thing she’d ever seen.

  Tel had stopped just in front of her, facing the grifflet, net at the ready.

  “Stop. Help. Stop.” There was the explanation for the unusual resonance. It was the griffin speaking. He lowered his forequarters, tucking in his wings and turned his head to one side, as if intending to roll on the floor, so much like a cat about to ask for a belly rub that Ker stepped forward, hand outstretched, before she knew what she was doing. Tel barred her way with his free hand.

  “Wait,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “It’s trying to speak to us.”

  “It’s just making sounds, like a mockingbird.” Tel didn’t let her pass.

  “No. No. Speak. Speak.” Again the griffin turned his head, this time lowering himself to the ground and tucking himself as far back against the wall as he could.
/>   Tel glanced at Kerida as she inched away from him, his lips parted.

  “Be so steady, Talent,” growled Ganni. “Steady and sure.”

  Ker edged forward. “Are you speaking to us?”

  “Speak! Out! Out!” He stood up, almost dancing, and his wings rose.

  An arrow sprang out from behind her, and a curse, but it shattered itself against the far wall to the beast’s right. Both Ker and the griffin had ducked, and both straightened slowly.

  “Sorry, sorry,” said a voice Ker didn’t recognize.

  “Hold still! Everyone!” She turned back to the griffin. “Please. Sit.” It was all she could do not to back away. Instead, Ker patted the air with her hands, as if she was talking to a dog. “Sit.”

  The griffin lowered himself once more to the ground, his tail twitching back and forth. Had he responded to her request, or just to the movements of her hands? Ker swallowed, stepped forward, holding out her right hand. “I’m going to touch you, all right? Touch you, that’s all.”

  “Kerida, no.” Tel lunged for her sleeve but she managed to stay out of his reach.

  “I’ve got to, it’s the only way I can Flash him.” Ker kept her eyes on the griffin. “You won’t hurt me, will you?” She stretched out her hand, hoping no one else could see her trembling. At first, the griffin sat on his haunches and pulled his head back as far as possible. Then, slowly, he moved his head forward, just enough to sniff at Ker’s fingertips. She felt hot breath blow from his eagle’s nostrils.

  Finally he relaxed, his wings settling, and stretched out his neck until his head was within her reach. Ker set her hand down gently, and found the feathers unexpectedly warm, downy and soft. Paraste.

  Ker concentrated, trying to see the griffin not so much as a living being, but as an extension of the claw she’d been carrying most of the morning.

  “He doesn’t have vocal cords like humans. But—” She held up her hand and heard the murmurs behind her die away. “He isn’t just repeating the sounds, either, the way a mockingbird would. He’s choosing the words.” She looked back over her shoulder. “He is speaking to us.”