Halls of Law

by V. M. Escalada

  “There’s one here! They’ve got a witch!”

  They’ve got a witch. He meant her.

  She wasn’t aware she’d moved until a hand on her shoulder pushed her roughly down, and a bow spring snapped! above her head. The man hadn’t quite reached the top of the stairs when the arrow caught him full in the throat, knocking him sideways. He slid off the narrow steps, sprouting three more arrows before he hit the ground.

  “Anything?” That was Wynn, standing over her.

  “Nothing. Looks like no one heard him.” That was the third man, not Flatnose, the redhead. “Good shooting, Wynn.”

  Ker started breathing again.

  “Really? I was aiming for his leg. Now we won’t be able to question him.”

  There was a hardness in the young woman’s voice that Ker had never heard before. She swallowed. She would have been expected to do the questioning. Suddenly she was even more happy the man was dead.

  -

  “You sure you want to get out here, lad?”

  Luca Pa’narion surprised himself by smiling. He didn’t run into many people old enough to call him “lad,” and until lately even those had called him “sir.” He swung his legs over the edge of the cart and lowered himself to the ground.

  “I can manage from here,” he said, brushing the hay off his pack as he reached it down. “Thank you again for the lift.”

  The farmer, a wizened old man with skin like a winter apple, studied Luca with narrowed eyes before looking away. “Have to see for yourself, is that it?”

  “Something like that, yes.” The old man wasn’t going to go running to the nearest Halian. Luca wouldn’t have climbed into the cart if he hadn’t Flashed that much without even trying. Still, that was no reason to burden him with details.

  “Never mind, lad. You’re not the first who’s come looking. I did the same myself. Not sure I would have believed it otherwise. I’ve been carting along this road for longer than you’ve been alive, since my dad’s day. Well . . .” He shrugged and took up the slack in the reins. “The Hall road’s not been kept clear, but you should have little trouble on foot.” He hesitated, and let the reins go slack again. “It goes against my heart to leave you in this place.”

  Luca stood without saying a word. Finally, the old carter nodded. “I’ll be along this way again in two or three hours, if you want a lift back.”

  “I may be here. Thank you again.” Luca waited, watching the carter and his load of hay roll away. Whatever they might be thinking, or saying to passing strangers for that matter, people in the area around Questin Hall seemed to be going about their regular lives. It could have been much worse. Or so he kept telling himself.

  At last the carter was far enough away that Luca felt comfortable about leaving the road. If necessary, the old man would be able to say, quite truthfully, that he didn’t see where Luca went. It had taken him longer to reach Questin than he’d planned, but the detours he’d taken to check the other safe houses for Talents in hiding had been necessary, as well as fruitful. There weren’t as many still living as he’d hoped, but more, perhaps, than he’d expected.

  In Windmonth the windows of the dormitories and attics of Questin should have been visible above the leafless maple trees planted between the Hall and the main road. After one look at the empty sky, Luca kept his eyes down, telling himself he needed to watch his footing.

  As if he wouldn’t be able to Flash where to put his feet.

  It was every bit as bad as he’d expected—though he hadn’t expected to feel this tightening in his chest, and this fog in front of his eyes. The Halians hadn’t merely set fire to the place, they’d pulled down the ruins afterward. There was not one stone still resting on another. There was not one shard of wood whole enough to recognize its purpose. Not one piece of glass larger than the palm of his hand.

  For the first time in weeks the weight of the guilt that never left him threatened to loosen his spine. He took a deep breath and rubbed his face with his hands. This was lunacy. If he couldn’t Flash this place, to learn whatever there might be here to learn, he was no use to anyone, not even himself, and he should go back to the road and wait for the carter.

  Luca squatted and pulled off his gloves. A moment later, he was on his knees, uncertain whether he was using his hands to Flash the remains around him, or to prop himself up. He didn’t remember kneeling. Harvests might be taken in, markets still observe their days, hay carts might still wheel their way down country lanes, but there was no one left here. Luca Pa’narion was the only Senior Talent—certainly the only Inquisitor—left in the Peninsula. Such was the end result of all his work of the last year, looking for evidence to convince others of the conspiracy he’d uncovered.

  It had started so simply, with a dead body who wasn’t the person everyone in his town thought he was. And the gradually unraveling thread that had led to more suspicion and more investigation. And then all the meetings with that arrogant woman who might very well be the last Luqs of the Faraman Polity, unable to persuade her, after the oddities he’d discovered at Jobado, that the officers of the Eagle Wing should undergo a systematic examination. This—what he saw around him now—was the result of his failure.

  Even if he had been successful, might he not be standing here alone, just the same? By the time his suspicions were aroused, it was likely already too late. The invasion had been much farther along in its planning and its execution than he and his fellow Inquisitors had been able to find out. He hadn’t even known how wide the Halian network had been. He hadn’t even known that Talents were at risk.

  Luca rose to his feet, brushing snow off his knees. The old carter was right. He’d needed to see for himself that Questin was gone. And with it every scroll, every book, every artifact that had trained Talents for thousands of years. According to his Flash, a few of the boys and the younger men had been taken away living, though for some reason he could not tell exactly who. The rest were gone. Many of them not even Talents. No one’s enemies. Killed out of fear—he could Flash that much. The Shekayrin hadn’t bothered to use the jewel on everyone. Hadn’t checked to see who were only household serfs and gardeners.

  The Shekayrin . . . Luca took three paces to the left, and seven to his right. Here was where the Halian priest had stood. From this spot Luca could see faint red lines radiating outward, spreading over the rubble and debris. Allowing for the unevenness of the terrain, the lines seemed to form a faint web. This web, almost impossible to see, was the remnant of the mage’s power.

  Wiping off his face with the hem of his cloak, Luca left the ruin of the great hall, tramping around to where the outbuildings and stables had been. Even here the destruction was complete. The Halians had taken the horses, though they’d first had to round up the ones that had run off into the fields. Luca concentrated, breathing slowly and letting the Flash deepen. The horses hadn’t broken down their corral out of fear, someone had let them out. His heart began to beat faster.

  Someone had let the horses out. Someone had escaped.

  He closed his eyes and walked into the field, past stable yard and pen, across ditch and through wheat field, his feet the only ones that had walked here since the horses had been rounded up. The person who’d managed to escape had gone this way, on horseback. Luca pushed his Flash deeper until he knew the names of the horses who’d been loose, milling about in the field. Until he could Flash how long the snow had fallen, and where the moisture that made up the flakes had come from. Until he could name the rider who had escaped.

  Kerida Nast.

  Kerida Nast alive and well and headed for the old mines.

  Luca Pa’narion began to laugh.

  “TALENT Nast.” Juria Sweetwater’s voice drifted upward in the cold air. Kerida looked around her. The Laxtor was just coming down the ladder. The confrontation with the squad of soldiers outside the walls was over. For now.

  “Her
e, Faro.” Ker made her way down the steps, edging around soldiers who made room for her. Many of these stood stiff with anger, lips showing white over clenched teeth. Someone steadied her, holding her elbow as she stepped off the last step. It felt like every eye was on her. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

  Faro Sweetwater gestured at the corpse. “What can you tell me about this man?”

  Ker looked around at interested faces. “Is there somewhere more private?” she said.

  “Kalter Gulder, see that the Talent gets whatever she needs.” The Faro looked around as if seeing the gathered soldiers for the first time. One steel-gray eyebrow lifted. “Is there a feast day I am not aware of?” Was it Ker’s imagination, or was there actually a hint of laughter in the older woman’s voice?

  All around her, soldiers relaxed, some even grinning, as officers snapped orders. Many, officers and ranks alike, acknowledged the Faro with a touch to their crests—a salute normally not done inside a camp unless to acknowledge orders. Even Kerida felt a certain degree of tension leave her shoulders. By acting as if there was nothing out of the ordinary, the Faro had made everyone feel better.

  “Will the infirmary serve for your examination, Talent Nast?”

  Ker pulled her attention away from the Faro and turned to Jak Gulder. “That would be fine.” She’d never actually done it, but in theory Flashing a dead body wasn’t much different from Flashing clothing, or weapons, or any other inanimate object.

  “I’ll need someone to scribe for me,” she said. Usually, there would be two Talents at an examination like this, one to Flash, and one to record. These officers would know that as well as she did.

  “I would be pleased to do it,” Jak Gulder said, holding out his hand as if he was partnering her for a dance.

  “No, thank you, Kalter. You must have other duties. Tel Cursar hasn’t anything else to do right now and since I know him better, he’ll be less distracting.” She smiled at Jak and waited to see if he would overrule her. As Talent, the choice was hers, and the man’s response to this simple request would show her what her standing really was.

  “As you say, Talent. Let Cursar know if you need anything else.” Jak turned to Tel. “You heard her, Cursar, you’re the Talent’s shadow until you’re told otherwise. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Tel touched his crest.

  The body was placed on a stretcher, and Ker and Tel followed as two of the ranks carried it to the infirmary building. They laid it out on the bed nearest the window. There was an oil lamp on a nearby table, its wick trimmed and a sparker waiting to light it, but for Flashing the amount of light was fine.

  “We’re in luck.” Tel gestured at the empty room. “There’s no one sick. And speaking of luck, did you notice that Kalter Jakmor Gulder isn’t very happy with either of us at the moment?”

  Ker lifted her eyebrows. “Well, I think that’s unluckier for you than it is for me. I’m a Talent, remember?”

  Tel cast his hands into the air. “So now it’s all right you’re a Talent? Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

  Did it? Tel grinned like he was joking, but his pale eyes were dead serious. Ker studied him. He’d done what a soldier should do. He couldn’t put her wishes before the needs of the whole Polity. He’d done what she would have done herself. Probably.

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’m speaking to you, aren’t I? You want more? You want me to thank you as well?”

  Tel’s grin widened, and his shoulders lowered just a fraction. “Not thank me, no. Just keep in mind that Gulder actually can make more trouble for me than he can for you. At least until I get a permanent assignment.”

  Ker shrugged, glancing up at Tel from the corner of her eye. “You’ve landed on your feet so far, haven’t you? I’m sure you’ve got at least as many lives as a cat.”

  “Looks like I’m going to need them.”

  “What do you mean?” Ker shifted her eyes to the corpse. Where would be the best place to touch it?

  “Weren’t you listening, there at the gate?”

  Ker turned to face him fully, her mouth gone suddenly dry. Certainly, she’d have to think about the madness she’d heard at the gate, and so would everyone else in camp for that matter, but . . . She eyed the body. She, at least, had a legitimate distraction.

  “Tel, I stopped listening at the part about witches.”

  “Sure.” He nodded, rubbing his face with his long-fingered hands. “I can see that. But he called on Surm Barlot to hand over the Faro and surrender the Wing. Said we had no legal authority to hold the fort against them. That they were the Polity now.”

  Fingers drumming against her thigh, Ker nodded. That was what the Faro had been afraid of. “Have they declared a Luqs?”

  “Well . . .” Tel’s brow furrowed. “Nothing was said about that.”

  Ker shut her eyes. “Sorry, I need to focus,” she told Tel. “Examining a body for the first time is a big enough challenge without worrying about all that.”

  “Right.” Tel moved a stool close to the bed for her and stood back, looking around the room. “I’m going for paper,” he said. “There’s not likely to be any in here. Light the lamp for me, would you?”

  Of course. Tel would need light to write by, even if she could work in the dark. Ker moved the lamp to a good spot on a table nearer the bed. The wick caught right away. She dragged the stool even closer to the body and sat down, rotating her shoulders to relax the muscles.

  In minutes Tel was back, holding up a thin sheaf of paper, a pen, and a small inkpot. “Duty officer had some,” he said, settling down at the table. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  She nodded again, and turned back to the body. Who, what, when, where, and why. She took in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and gripped the cooling right wrist. The skin was still warm. Paraste.

  The sudden colors startled her almost into losing her hold on the wrist, but she relaxed as soon as she realized it was only her own aura, and Tel’s, that she saw. Around the body was just a faint cloud of red. Nevertheless, her Flash was clearer and brighter than she’d ever experienced before. For the first time when touching a human, she didn’t feel as though she were trying to swim in mud.

  “His name was Markon Zahlia,” she said. “He was a Second Officer in Yellow Company, Opal Cohort of the Eagle Wing. Born in Ariand. Served in the military since he was fifteen. Didn’t rise higher because his reading wasn’t very good. He was much better with figures, so long as he did them in his head.”

  “Ker.”

  “Yes, all right.” This wasn’t the kind of information the Faro was looking for. Ker touched the clothes with her other hand. The tunic and shirt were definitely his own, but . . .

  “He’s killed women,” Ker said.

  “Every soldier has.” The lamp cast shadows on Tel’s face that made his cheekbones stand out, and his eyes look golden.

  Ker focused her own eyes back to the body.

  “That isn’t what I meant,” she said. “This man killed his First Officer. He let people think she died in the fighting, but he did it and stepped into her place.”

  “No female soldiers.” Tel’s voice was like ice. “That’s what you said.”

  “None at all.”

  “Your sister . . .”

  Ker held up her free hand. She was not going to think about Ester. She was not. “Do you remember what I said about the soldier at the Hall? The one I killed? Remember I said it was like there had been some kind of event in his life that changed him?”

  Tel shook himself. “I remember now.”

  “The same thing’s happened to this man. He’s Markon Zahlia, but it’s as if he’s—” How could she describe it? She glanced over at Tel, his pen poised. How often had she seen clerks in the Hall, copying out documents. “As if he was a copy of himself. But with something added in . . . or left out.”


  Tel was frowning back at her. “Is that what you want me to write down?”

  “I think you’d better. If something happens to me, someone else will want to know what I Flashed, in case they ever Flash anything similar.”

  “If something happens to you, there won’t be anyone else to Flash anything similar.”

  That thought triggered something . . . something about the when, and the where.

  “Listen, whatever happened to this man, it happened long before the invasion of the Peninsula.” Ker looked at Tel, suddenly sure. “He was already one of the enemy before the enemy came.”

  “That’s the difference that you’re Flashing? That he became one of the enemy?”

  “Part of it, yes. He didn’t become someone else. He didn’t stop being Markon Zahlia, and he didn’t think of himself as one of the enemy. He thought he was still on the same side. Tel—” Her friend was missing the point. “Don’t you see? He’s been like this for years, not just since the Halians came.”

  Tel rubbed his hands over his face. “And the people we met on the road?”

  Ker shook her head. “I didn’t try Flashing anything from them directly, remember? Not like this. There’s something I don’t see clearly, something I don’t understand.” Frowning, she mentally set the two Flashings side by side; perhaps one would shed light on the other. “There’s not many Shekayrin, not enough to ‘purify’ everyone who resists.” Ker frowned. She shifted so she could look at Tel more directly, waiting until he lifted his pen from the paper and looked up. “This man was ‘purified,’ but the people we met on the road, they were only ‘pacified.’”

  “Huh. I’d say ‘stupefied,’ but I suppose it’s much the same thing. I said it was like they were drugged.”

  Ker nodded. “In that state, they couldn’t have done what this man was doing. They couldn’t have come into the camp and spied on us. He’s been spying and passing along information, but he’s also been spreading tales and influencing others, turning them against their officers—”