Halls of Law

by V. M. Escalada

  Tel pointed the pen at her. “There was someone like that in Red Company, I remember. Never said anything treasonous, exactly, but made a lot of people think.”

  “Even you?”

  Tel pressed his lips together before answering. “Even me, a little. But what was this one doing here? Now?”

  Ker frowned. “He was to wait until they saw what kind of response we gave to the ones at the gate, and if it wasn’t what they wanted, he was to let them in.”

  “So why didn’t he wait?”

  “Because of me. Because I was here.” Ker wiped her hands on her knees. “A Talent. A witch.”

  • • •

  “Can you tell us how long this man has been changed?”

  Ker was sitting in the Faro’s personal quarters. Her chair was comfortable, but she had to stop herself from fidgeting. She and Tel Cursar had reported to the Faro together, once she’d been sure she’d Flashed everything she could from the body, but Tel had been left standing at the door. Rank was still rank, no matter where they were. The Faro was never off duty, apparently, not even in her own bedroom. Ker eyed the Laxtor, Surm Barlot. Was he on duty here as well?

  “It was more than three years ago, but less than five,” Ker said. “That’s as close as I can get.”

  Surm Barlot was nodding. “There’ve been rumors . . . an uptick of malcontents. An increase in feeling against the Halls. More in the Eagle Wing, perhaps, than in the Battle Wings—though that may have been wishful thinking on our part.”

  “There has been much transferring of personnel back and forth between the Eagles and the rest of us in the last three to five years.” The Faro sounded thoughtful. “We thought we were maintaining order and discipline, by breaking up cliques and moving troublemakers. But if those we moved were like this one, we may have done ourselves greater harm than good.”

  They’d been transferring the enemy, Ker thought, nodding. Spreading them through the Wings. That’s what Juria Sweetwater meant.

  The Faro stopped drumming her fingers on the table and sat up straighter. “If nothing else, this explains much.” She looked Surm Barlot in the eye. “Beginning with how we lost the Peninsula so quickly.” Her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head toward Ker. “And the standard? Can you Flash it tonight?”

  Ker hadn’t felt tired until that moment, but now her shoulders sagged. “The morning would be better.”

  “Very well. Third Officer Cursar, you will escort the Talent back to her rooms, and fetch her to me at the first hour.”

  • • •

  Ker slept badly, and woke up the next morning to find Wynn Martan frowning as she set down a breakfast tray and opened the window shutters in the Talents’ sitting room. There was oatmeal with dried fruit cooked in it, and a cup of very watery kaff. The last time she’d had any decent kaff was the morning the enemy had come to the Hall. The morning of the day she’d killed her first person, though that was starting to feel further and further away.

  Tel tapped on the outer door just as she was swallowing her last mouthful of oatmeal. Ker threw on her cloak and followed him out. They stepped into the square between the administrative buildings just as a red sun was clearing the edge of the mountains. The air was crisp and smelled of snow. The year was turning. A week ago it had been full light at first hour. There were people out and about, and it seemed that those who passed near slowed down to stare at her. Some touched their crests. Startled, Ker nodded in return.

  When they reached her quarters, the Faro was already in conference with her senior officers. No sign of breakfast. Surm Barlot was there, of course, as was Wilk Silvertrees and the Camp Commandant.

  Surm Barlot smiled at her. “We’ve had a chance to read the notes taken by Tel Cursar, and we have questions, if you don’t mind, Talent.” Considering this was her job, Ker could hardly mind, but she felt oddly reassured by the courtesy.

  “Can you tell us anything more about this change you Flashed in Markon Zahlia? There were people here who knew him, vouched for him.” This was Wilk Silvertrees, with a current of antagonism in his voice that hadn’t been there the day before.

  “Do not forget, Cohort Leader, that he was killed while trying to give information to the enemy.”

  “I don’t forget, my Faro.”

  Ker laced her fingers together. Everything she had to say was in the report. “All I could Flash was that a Halian, one of the Shekayrin, touched Markon Zahlia with a jewel, and the way he looked at things was changed. Refocused.”

  Faro Sweetwater glanced upward, her eyes sharp. “Which was it? Changed, or refocused?”

  Ker breathed in through her nose. The Faro would have made an excellent tutor. “Refocused. His thinking wasn’t completely different, more like he wasn’t sure before, and now he was.”

  The Faro nodded. “Anything more on what this jewel is?”

  Ker shut her eyes, concentrating. What had she seen, exactly?

  “It’s like a red crystal, about the size of an egg.” She held out her hand as though she held something in the palm. “It’s faceted, highly polished, and it seems to have light inside it, like diamonds do. Except . . . except I think this would have the light even in the dark.”

  “And you think this jewel is what effected this change? Or was it merely that Markon Zahlia thought so?”

  “Markon knew nothing about it himself, Faro. That wouldn’t stop my knowing what it did.”

  “But not how?”

  “It has to do with the man who used it, the Shekayrin.”

  “Do you think it was the same man you saw at Questin? How many of them are there?”

  Ker tilted her head to one side, raising her shoulders. “I’ve no idea. This one, though . . .” She shook her head slowly. “Not the same man I saw before, not exactly. Though I can’t tell what the difference is.”

  “Can you tell us how many more there are like Markon Zahlia? Where they might be found, or how we might recognize them?”

  “No, Faro, I’m sorry. He reported to—” Ker shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can describe him, but nothing more. It wasn’t a military man, Faro. It was a merchant on Potters Street in Farama the Capital.” Ker paused, but no one spoke. “As for finding more like Zahlia, well, the obvious answer won’t help us much right now.”

  “Because you don’t do people well, at least not live ones.”

  Ker thought about the red mist that had obscured the auras of the men on the road, and was the only residue of color around Markon Zahlia’s corpse. She might not be able to Flash people as well as a Full Talent, but she could Flash auras without any problem, at least since the griffin.

  “There might be a way,” she said. “But I might have to Flash everyone individually.”

  “The soldiers won’t like it,” Surm Barlot said.

  “They’ll follow the Faro’s orders, or I’ll know the reason why.” Wilk Silvertrees got to his feet.

  “Just a moment, Cohort Leader.” Juria Sweetwater’s quiet tone stopped the man in mid-turn. “Vital as this is, we have another priority. I thank you for your counsel, Talent Nast. Third Officer Cursar, you will escort the Talent to the Standard room now and scribe for her.”

  • • •

  Kerida blew on suddenly cold fingers. This kind of Flashing was much easier than what she’d already done with the corpse. It would be no different from Flashing the oldest scroll in the library, or that stone with the flakes broken out of its edge. Items that Questin Hall kept so that Candidates could hone their skills at Flashing objects with plenty of history.

  “Things the Hall used to keep, anyway.”

  “What was that?”

  Ker jumped. She was so focused on what she had to do she’d forgotten Tel was there.

  “Questin Hall,” she said. “We had old things for the Candidates to practice on.” She described the old vellum scroll and the
ancient stone. “It was a hand ax,” she said. “A man with a name I can’t pronounce made it by hammering away flakes of stone from the edge until it was the right shape. It’s older than time—though that doesn’t make any difference to the Flashing.” At least not to the ones with the strongest Talent. Ker didn’t want to say that aloud; it would sound like she was bragging.

  “How do you mean?”

  “You can get a sense of the time an object has been in existence, but to the thing itself, the time is always ‘now.’”

  Tel blew out his breath. “Well, it’s probably still there,” he said. “The stone,” he added when she looked at him. “It’s probably been in fires before, so it’s probably still there.”

  Ker felt oddly better. “You’re right.”

  The Standard of the Bear Wing rested in its special stand against the left wall as you entered. The Wing’s images of the Mother, Daughter, and Son faced the door from the far wall. The Standard, and its honors, were always placed at the Mother’s right hand. The Standard was only something old, Ker reminded herself, with plenty of history to access.

  “The time of Luqs Rolian isn’t nearly as far back as the stone ax,” she said aloud.

  “Easy stuff, then?”

  Ker blew out her breath. “A Full Talent could just touch the thing and get the answer right away. I’ll have to trace back through all the bearers to Rolian, and then forward again, tracking his blood to the present.”

  “Should we get started, then?” Tel gestured at his writing materials. This time his paper and pens had been supplied by the Faro’s own scribe.

  Kerida rubbed her hands together. It seemed that nothing was going to warm them. She took several calming breaths and reached out. Paraste.

  This time it took her only a moment to shunt aside the information particular to the shaft itself—who made it, from what wood, where the tree had grown—and focus on the information she wanted to know. Right now, three people shared the job of Standard-bearer for the Wing. They were all still alive, and it was easy for Ker to push their images aside. Two of the previous bearers had retired from the military. The third one had died falling from a horse, and there were no others still living. Only three had been women—it was almost the only position in a Wing where actual strength was valued over skill.

  There had been a time when the position of Wing Standard-bearer belonged only to someone from one of the old Shield families, like her own. And like that of Rolian Kestrel who, because of plague and an unexpected abdication, had become Rolian the First, the Lawgiver.

  His hands and, according to Wing lore, his blood had touched this shaft.

  “He was very young,” Ker said. “Our age. And not very close to the Luqs’ throne. Eighth or even ninth in line. He certainly didn’t expect to become Luqs, didn’t even want to be.” Ker swallowed. “He was looking for a career in the military, but his father thought he’d get over it. His father was the Luqs’ cousin, and he had Rolian given the standard-bearer’s spot because he thought it was safe.” Ker shared a grin with Tel. Lots of people thought that. “He thought Rolian would see the horrors of military life and come running home again.”

  “And?”

  “Rolian saw horrors all right, just not the ones his father expected. Rolian loved being on the march and the rough country and the camaraderie—even the food. His first battle was against the Felnids, and what he saw horrified him so much he pissed himself.”

  “You mean it’s his piss on the shaft, not blood?”

  Ker jerked upright, gasping. She’d completely forgotten Tel was here to scribe. “For the Daughter’s sake, Tel, don’t write that down.” She was half laughing, but she meant it. “I can’t be the only Talent who’s ever touched this thing, and none of them have ever told, so we definitely can’t.”

  “All right, but if it isn’t his blood . . .”

  “No, no, his blood’s there as well.” Ker shut her eyes again and tried to concentrate. Rolian’s blood was on the shaft, all right. The question now was, could she find it anywhere else?

  In his own time, the people between him and the throne had died, or abdicated. But the one who abdicated had no children—the real reason for the abdication, Ker saw. Huh. That was something that would have been known by the Inquisitors of the time, obviously, but by precious few others. It certainly wasn’t something she was supposed to know, so she said nothing out loud.

  “Rolian had three children,” she said. “This is like studying history again. Except now I’m Flashing the names of all the royal children, not just the ones who inherited.” She frowned as she followed the line of names down to the present Luqs, an only child. Her father had died young, just after she was born, and she’d inherited not from him, but from her grandfather, Fokter the Fourth. And then—

  “Fokter had another child,” Ker said aloud. “A son.” She blinked and turned to look at Tel, letting go of the shaft. From the feel of her face, she was grinning.

  “There was only the Luqs’ father,” Tel protested. “There wasn’t anyone else.”

  “There was.” Ker nodded. “When he was much older—too old, anyone would have thought, to father a child. With that young woman from the Worrin family, his last consort. The Luqs must have been fifteen or sixteen when the child was born.”

  “How could Fokter be sure the child was his?”

  “Oh, come on, Tel! How is anyone sure? They go to the nearest Hall and they ask a Talent. If common everyday people do that, don’t you think the Luqs would?”

  “So the Halls knew?”

  “The Inquisitors and Matriarchs knew, yes. But old Fokter decided not to muddy the waters around the Luqs’ succession. You know how there’s always someone who’d prefer the ruler to be a man.” She thought of the scene at the gate and shivered. Was that what had happened in the Halians’ country?

  Tel shook his head. “The throne’s hers by right—was hers by right, I mean, no matter what. This new child would have been her father’s younger brother, so she’d still be before him in the succession.”

  “That’s just politics, and you know it.” Ker rubbed at her face. She was exhausted again. “He would have been someone the Wings could have rallied around, if they decided they didn’t like the Luqs. He’s her half-uncle, but he’s of age to be her brother.”

  “And he’s still alive?”

  “And he’s still alive.”

  • • •

  It felt strange sitting at the same table with the Faro and her officers while there were soldiers—Tel Cursar among them—standing. Sitting with the Faro’s council was the normal place for the Talent of a Battle Wing to be, but it still didn’t feel right.

  “Talent Nast.” Ker jerked upright. How long had the Faro been speaking to her? “Can you confirm the location of the remaining prince of the blood?”

  A large map was unrolled on the tabletop in front of the Faro, and small silver map weights, shaped like bears in various poses, were placed on the corners. The older woman gestured Ker closer. Ker had never seen a map so big, and it took her a moment to orient herself. She started by tracing the Juadal River up from the coast to Farama the Capital and worked her way inland, following Polity roads through the pass in the Serpents Teeth to the fort where they stood.

  If she could then focus on what she knew of the missing heir and translate it somehow into a spot on the map—her Tutor used to say, when she and the other pupils were having difficulties finding information, “This isn’t a hunt, people. Don’t chase the facts, let the knowledge rise in you. Trust it.”

  Trust it. Ker took a deep breath and, without further thought, put her finger down again. “Here,” she said. “This is where the prince lives.” If she was reading the map itself correctly, this was farmland tucked between the mountains and the plains of the western coast, about as far from the capital as you could get and still be in the Peninsula. />
  “Valden Plains, old land,” the Faro said, nodding. “Where some of the first families came from. Thank you, Talent.”

  “Makes sense,” Surm said, drumming his fingers on the map as Ker resumed her seat. “It’s an area where no one would look twice at someone who has a resemblance to the royal family.”

  The Faro nodded and removed the weights, letting the map curl closed. “A small party will go,” she said. Her eyes were focused on the tabletop, as if the map was still there. Wilk Silvertrees cleared his throat. “I have decided, Cohort Leader,” she added.

  “As my Faro, wishes. Of course.” The older man bowed.

  Ker looked down at her clasped hands. Did the Faro find Silvertrees’ devotion as embarrassing as Ker did?

  “We must penetrate into territory which is likely held by the enemy. A large force will only draw attention to itself.” The Faro wasn’t explaining herself to the Cohort Leader, Ker realized. She was speaking out of courtesy to those who hadn’t been consulted at all, like Ker herself. “If I could send a large enough force to overcome the enemy—” She shrugged. “But that I cannot do, not until one of the other Wings joins us.”

  And was that likely to happen? Ker wondered. Obviously, the Bear Wing had been close enough to answer when the Eagles had sent distress signals. The Faro would have sent other messengers herself, before leaving her own position, and for that matter the signal fires here were still lit. But it could take weeks before another Wing could reach Oste Camp. They were spread throughout the Polity, a strategy which had always kept the peace and maintained the law, and it also kept ambitious Faros from rubbing up against each other. Only the Eagle Wing, with the Luqs herself as its Faro, was allowed in the Peninsula, and on occasion the Eagles’ job had been to keep the others at bay.

  There were some Wings which couldn’t come to help them at all. Many were too far away, and if too many troops were pulled off the border forts and walls, the enemy from overseas wouldn’t be their only worry. But the Faro was still speaking.

  “Talent Nast,” she said to Ker. “You are too valuable to spare, and yet you must be sent for the prince. Without him, the Wings will waste valuable time arguing among themselves instead of moving against the enemy. We need him—and quickly.”