Halls of Law

by V. M. Escalada

  “It’s Tel Cursar,” Tel said. “What’s going on?”

  “Well, what’s going on, my dear Tel, is you’re being given a chance.” Jak smiled, and cold spread over Ker’s whole body.

  “A chance to what, exactly?”

  “A chance to rid yourself of the witch.”

  COLD. Buzzing in her ears. A grin on Jak’s face. All teeth. Wynn drawing in a breath that was half sob. Ker crept a little closer to the entrance. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry.

  “Is it Jak?” Wynn said in her ear.

  “Not our Jak,” Ker said, glad to look away from the man’s smile. “He’s like the ones at the gate.”

  Tel stood hunched and frowning, eyes squinting against the light reflecting off the snow. “What happened to you?” he called.

  Jak’s new smile faltered, but only for an instant, before reappearing. “They’ve cleansed my mind, Tel. Cleared it of all the dust and cobwebs and the dark shadow that the magic of the body creates.”

  “The magic of . . . ?”

  “Of the body. The magic of the witches.” Jak tapped himself on the chest. “What the witches do, my friend. Drawing on the narrow, dark magic that they have within them. Not the true magic. The bright, wide magic of the mind and sky.” He shrugged, shaking his head and looking up, as if expecting to see something that would confirm what he was saying. “Only women use the magic of the body. Only witches.”

  “That’s not—” Ker subsided when Wynn tugged at her.

  “But there are men in the Halls as well as women.” Tel was thinking along the same lines.

  Jak shook his head, his mouth twisted to one side, as if he had bad news to share. “Tel, they’re not stupid, the witches. They know how to make things look good to cover up their tracks. They let us think that men have magic of the body as well, but you know they always travel with a woman. The witches have been fooling us for years.”

  “We’ve lost him.” Tel spoke out of the side of his mouth.

  “Keep him talking,” Wynn said.

  Tel made an affirmative sign behind his back with his left hand. “But the Halls are neutral,” he said aloud. “The Talents maintain the Rule of Law over the whole of the Polity.”

  “Listen to me, Tel. What they call the Rule of Law is nothing more than the rule of women. Think about it—they take anyone who shows any Talent whether they want to go or not, and we never see them again. Who knows what they really do with those poor kids? What’s that but tyranny?”

  Ker licked her lips. She’d had similar thoughts herself, once.

  With a final squeeze on Ker’s arm, Wynn turned away and began picking her way down the tunnel, peering upward at the ropes and bracing in the roof.

  Jak was still talking. “What’s the percentage of landowners who are men? Council members? Top traders and merchants? The women twist everything to keep us from thinking about it, from examining it too closely. That’s what the magic of the body does.” Jak sighed as if he was tired of talking about it. “That’s the world without balance, and that’s why the witches must be destroyed.”

  Tel shook his head, lips pressed tight. “I won’t give you Kerida,” he said finally. “Whatever you say.”

  Jak stepped forward and tilted his head, as if Tel had said something to him very quietly and he’d had to come closer to hear it. When he spoke, his voice was almost too low to hear. “Play along, you idiot. I’ve got them fooled.”

  Ker’s heart leaped, and then she remembered Jak’s smile. She knew a way to be sure, something she would never have tried before the griffin, but . . . Paraste.

  Jak eased back to his original position, and raised his voice again. “Don’t worry, the amnesty serves for your friends as well. The women won’t be able to stay in the military, but they’ll be safe enough. Sent back to their families or other work found for them.”

  As he spoke, Ker saw his aura as bands of color, spreading out from him, riding the air currents all the way to where she stood. Jak had the same three colors as Tel, but his looked pale, like a flame in sunlight. Worse, over all his colors lay a faint pattern of red webbing, like a spider’s web, or the delicate nets of wire that had been all the rage as hair ornaments two years before.

  “Tel, he’s lying.”

  As she spoke, Tel took a step forward out of the shelter of the entrance. Alarmed, Ker grabbed hold of his sleeve. At the same moment a harsh scream froze them all in their places, and Ker looked up. A shape too big to be an eagle filled the sky with rippling auroras of color.

  “Weimerk!”

  As if he’d heard her, the griffin circled lower, coming in for a landing near Jak. He had definitely grown, and his aura was so bright, his feathers seemed limned in light.

  Afterward, Ker remembered the next few minutes as if everything happened at once.

  Jak spun toward the landing griffin, lifting the crossbow he’d been holding at his side.

  Tel and Ker both took another step forward, crying out, “No!”

  Jak jerked back toward them, eyes round, lips parted.

  Ker heard the twang of the crossbow. Something punched her in the side, slamming her against the rock. She twisted, clutching at Tel, her knees giving under her.

  The griffin screamed again, the sound filling every corner of her brain, shoving out all colors and all light. There was horror and fear in the sound. Strange that something which had eaten his nest mates should be so moved by someone else’s pain.

  “Tel?”

  “I’ve got you. Breathe. Shallow! Take shallow breaths.”

  They were moving, and something blocked the light. Cold numbness spread through her side, and she couldn’t see.

  “Come on!” Now Wynn was with them, helping Tel walk her forward, the two of them supporting her under the arms. She heard thunder, like rapids off in the distance—felt a shiver under her feet. The rock around them rumbled, Wynn yelled something Ker couldn’t make out, dust clogged the air, and something hard struck her on the shoulder. Wynn had activated the deadfall and collapsed the tunnel entrance. A sudden roar deafened them as the tunnel itself collapsed behind them, the impact bouncing them forward. Ker felt them stagger, but somehow they kept her moving.

  “Ker! Kerida, come on!” That was Wynn’s voice, Wynn’s hands on her upper arms, tugging her forward. The sharp pain in her side felt like broken glass.

  “Wait. Tel.” Shallow breaths.

  “He’s right here, we’re both here. How badly are you hurt? Can you move?”

  A silly question, considering how much they’d moved her already. Though they’d had to, hadn’t they, if they’d collapsed the tunnel?

  The noise of skittering and clattering rock continued. Something about the quality of the sound, and the feel of the air, told her that they were in a more open space. Her mouth felt full of dust, and she hoped that they still had their water. A light, at first faint, grew slowly stronger. The glow stone. And what an odd color it had.

  Ker was still Flashing, but couldn’t remember what to do about it. Dust floating in the air didn’t obscure their auras. She wanted to cough, but something told her she shouldn’t. There was a smear of dirt across Wynn’s face. Wynn’s very serious face.

  “Ker? Kerida?”

  Wynn was talking to her. “I’m all right,” she said. “You can let me up.”

  Instead of answering, Wynn took Ker’s right hand and moved it until it was touching something close under her left armpit. At first, her brain refused to accept the evidence of her fingers. Why could she feel the thick fletching of a crossbow quarrel? Where was the rest of the shaft? As if asking made the Flash clearer, Ker knew. The shaft was inside her, all the way inside. The sharp edges of the point had found their way through the cage of her ribs, slicing through the lung and just nicking her heart, only the shaft itself now holding the hole closed. Ker tried not to b
reathe at all. Something warm trickled over her hand. Someone cursed, calling on Mother and Daughter. She was so cold. The only thing warm about her was her blood.

  From the darkness came a rough, familiar voice.

  “Let me look at that, child. Don’t move now. I said don’t move.” Ganni’s face, eyes narrowed. Where had he come from? His aura glowed, rippling bands of green, blue, yellow, purple, orange, and pink . “Looks worse than it is,” he said to the shadow standing behind him. “Soldier boy, you’re in my light.”

  “Give us a little room here, please.” That was Tel. He really was impossibly tall, wasn’t he? And so far away.

  “Blasted griffin was right.” This was a voice Ker didn’t recognize. “Too bad he couldn’t tell us sooner. She going to die?”

  “Fix it. You fixed me.” Tel’s voice was shaking. Wynn said something, and Tel shushed her.

  Ker’s lips parted, but she was afraid to speak.

  “Look at me, girl,” came a growl close to her ear. “Keep your eyes on me.”

  Ker tried to do as she was asked. His aura still glowed, but Ganni’s face was stained with shadow, and it was hard to focus.

  “I can’t see it, do you understand, my child?” There was fear and anger in his voice, and a current of despair flattened his aura. “I can’t move skin and tissues I can’t see.”

  Ker grabbed the old man’s wrist as the world blurred. How could he not see when she could Flash his aura even with her eyes shut? Flash how his colors swirled, wrapping themselves around her. Five colors—no, six, with the deep pink she’d seen in no one else. How could he not see how the quarrel with its steel point lay alongside her heart, how her lung lost air with every shallow breath?

  “Ah!”

  Suddenly her breath stopped, there was a blossom of heat in her side, and it seemed as though her ribs would crack. Then—nothing. No pain. Just warmth spreading through her chest from where Ganni’s hand pressed against her. Ker breathed again.

  “I saw it,” the old man murmured into her hair. “So clear as my own hand. I saw it, child. There,” he said in a louder voice, lifting his head. “Told you it looked worse than it was.” He held up the quarrel. It didn’t seem to have anywhere near enough blood on it. “Does anyone have a spare shirt, or a tunic? Child’s bled like a stuck pig.”

  “A pig would be more useful,” said the unknown voice. Now Ker could tell it was a woman. The same colors as Ganni, but black instead of pink. “At least we could eat it.”

  “And what would Weimerk say to that, do you think?”

  “Life was a lot simpler before the blasted griffin, that’s what I think.” Black, not pink. How strange. “She’s back to us awfully quick, isn’t she? And they’ve pulled down our tunnel.”

  “You unhappy, Cuarel?”

  “Me? You know I’m always on your side, Ganni. But I can think of some who aren’t.”

  • • •

  Tel never thought, when Wynn was explaining how the deadfall worked, that they’d be pulling it down with Jak Gulder on the outside. He counted the number of Feelers around them—or at least the ones he could see. He and Wynn still had their swords and knives, but almost everything else was buried under the debris of the collapsed tunnel. Three Feelers had stayed behind to dig out what they could, but Tel suspected it was more to rescue what food they’d carried, and less to get them their clothes and weapons. Outnumbered, certainly. Could they count on the same strange cooperation they’d had last time? What if—

  “Did I see what I thought I saw?” Wynn looked back over her shoulder. “Was that a griffin?”

  “Too bad he didn’t come sooner.” Tel shook his head. “As it is, we’ve managed to lose the Kalter, to say nothing about Fed Durk and Nate Primo.”

  “Which puts you in charge,” Wynn said.

  Tel clamped his mouth shut. He’d figured that one out for himself.

  “We shouldn’t complain about Weimerk. At least he told the others where to find us.” Ker sounded so tired Tel lifted his hand to pat her on the shoulder. He let it fall without touching her, half smiling at the thought of what her reaction would be.

  “And speaking of the others.” Wynn stepped between them, lowering her voice. “One minute you’re pale as a snowbank, your lips are turning blue, and you’re dying. Next thing we know you’re sitting up with a smile on your face, and the old guy’s binding you up saying it’s just a scratch.” She frowned. “Though you’re still pretty pale. Who are these people? What are these people?”

  Ker looked up at Tel. “They’re—” His throat closed and he shook his head. “They’re allies, that’s all I can tell you.” With a tilt of his head, he indicated the people around them. “Faro Sweetwater knows about them.”

  “Uh-huh. And does Jak Gulder know about them, too, or am I the only one in the dark?” She glanced around. “No pun intended.”

  “No, he doesn’t. With luck, he’ll think we were killed when the mine entrance came down— Blast!” Tel stopped and grabbed Ker’s sleeve. She looked up at him, and her face changed.

  “Oh, Mother,” she said. “He knows about the prince.”

  “Which means the enemy knows as well.”

  His heart still sinking, Tel resumed walking. “Which means we’ve got to get to the prince before them.”

  The inn really wasn’t far off, and sooner than he expected Jerek Firoxi was tying Fogtail to the ring outside the door and following his new friend in. At a signal from Talian, he lowered himself onto a nearby stool, leg muscles stinging from the sudden relief of not having to carry him anymore. He wondered if horses ever felt like this, or if having four legs spread the work out. He straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin, and looked around. He’d never been in an alehouse before.

  The room was well set out, with the street door in the center of one wall and the serving counter to the left, next to a set of stairs. Another door in the far left corner, almost blocked by the counter, no doubt led to a rear yard. In the far wall, across from the street door, was a large fireplace, set with grates and hooks, for cooking in the old manner, though the fire was banked just now. The room had no windows, but the top halves of the doors opened to let in the day’s light.

  A square-built woman with a slightly underhung jaw and streaks of gray in her fair hair sat to one side of the room’s longest table, with papers, pen, and ink spread in front of her. It was clear she knew they were there, but she didn’t look up from her accounts until Talian was at her elbow. The boy murmured in his aunt’s ear, his voice too low for Jerek to hear individual words. Suddenly, the woman was on her feet, her hand flashed out, and Talian was plucked upward, held just off the floor by a grip on his collar.

  “You idiot!” the woman said from between clenched teeth. “You absolute fool. What were you using for brains? Alento! Watch the door!”

  A noise and movement behind him pulled Jerek’s head around, but before he could move, the square woman had grabbed him by the left arm, jerked him up off his stool, and started to shake him.

  Jerek automatically froze at the sudden, unexpected attack, but the pain in his left arm was abruptly washed away by an unfamiliar heat. This was the kind of thing his father did, and maybe there was nothing he could do about his father, but there was something he could do now. He let himself fall heavily toward the woman and, remembering a trick Nessa had taught him, brought his right elbow up and plowed her in the stomach, at the same time twisting free of the now loosened grip.

  Before he could run for the door, however, he was caught from behind, lifted, and thrown onto a short bench in the corner formed by the fireplace. A table was shoved up against his chest, bruising his ribs and wedging him against the stone. The man who’d thrown him there was an older version of Talian, about five times bigger and with forearms the size of small hams.

  The woman stopped coughing long enough to push the hair from he
r face. “By the Mother, who are you? And what do you want with Bedeni Soria? Speak up, boy, and don’t lie to me, or it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

  If anything, Jerek’s rage had been given fuel by pain and the tears he was trying to blink away before anyone saw them. That rage, and all the times he’d never been able to fight back, suddenly rose in his throat, nearly choking him.

  “None of your business, you Motherless dog,” he spit out, and for once his voice didn’t crack. “My message is for Bedeni Soria and no one else, least of all you.”

  To Jerek’s surprise, instead of lashing out, the innkeeper cocked her head and laughed until she finally resumed coughing. She wiped her eyes with the end of her sleeve.

  “Well, you don’t get that tone from somebody who’s not a rich man’s brat, that’s one thing for sure.” She turned to the giant. “Go back to the door, Alento. Tell anyone who comes we’re closed and they can come back later—or not at all, for all I care.” Shutting the top half of the street door cut off most of the light, but the room grew warmer. Without moving the table out, the square woman pulled up a stool and sat down.

  “There now, young sir, or lord or whatever you might be. I had to make sure of you, can you see that? I had to make sure this light-headed nephew of mine wasn’t bringing any black cloaks to my place. You know what I mean?”

  Jerek nodded and sat straighter, a little flattered that the innkeeper had been frightened of him.

  “Now then, there’s plenty of people would like to get a message to Bed Soria. What if it’s a message he’d rather not hear? Unless you tell me what it is, and who you are, nothing goes farther than this room—maybe not even you. Do I make myself clear?”

  Jerek surprised himself by beginning to relax. Maybe this woman wasn’t a bully after all—or not just a bully, he amended. If the innkeeper was being this careful of Bedeni Soria, maybe she’d be just as careful of the old man’s friends. Among whom Jerek was about to place himself.