Judge (Books of the Infinite Book #2)

by R. J. Larson

  While they waited, the noble council members passed around General Rol’s message and Kien’s Azurnite sword. A furtive scratching sounded at the door. A scrap of parchment was passed through to the council. The youngest nobleman cleared his throat and read, “‘From the citizens of Parne to Siphra’s king and his people. Belaal’s armies have besieged our city and killed our young men who defend us. We beg your army to rescue us before we are overrun and slaughtered by our mutual enemy.’”

  Akabe sat back. “This, then, is our tardy plea from Parne. What—”

  He was interrupted by another rap at the door. Two men entered, one weathered, lean, and rough-clothed, the other younger and well dressed. The weathered one nodded to Akabe. “Your servant met us as we were coming to speak to you, Majesty.”

  Straightening, Akabe asked, “The Infinite has already sent you, His prophets?”

  “He has,” the younger one agreed.

  The weathered one nodded. “Your Creator commands you, O King, to lead Siphra’s army against Belaal at Parne.”

  Akabe eyed his silent council. “I agree. Will you also obey the Infinite?”

  The eldest council member ruffled his elaborately waxed gray beard. “How can we not, sir? It seems Siphra is at war. May the Infinite spare our lives and take Belaal’s.”

  Kien’s nausea vanished. “The Tracelands thanks you, sirs.”

  Now, Infinite—I beg You—let us arrive in time to save Ela!

  Ela jolted awake, seeing the branch’s blue-white fire before she opened her eyes. Senses screaming, she gripped her precious insignia and looked around the Roehs’ night-stilled home.

  Infinite?

  Stand!

  She scrambled to her feet. A thud hammered the door with an alarming crack of splintering wood. Outside, a man raged, “Prophet! We’re going to kill you!”

  23

  The entry door dangled on its hinges. Ela expected a mob to rush inside. Instead, someone threw an oil lamp, followed by a blazing torch. Instantly a pool of flames spread across the floor, lapping at the woven grass mat.

  Ela gasped, then choked on the heated smoke. Father’s sleep-roughened voice called to Ela from the direction of her parents’ secluded room. “Ela! What’s that noise?”

  Unable to reply, Ela screamed an inward plea. Infinite!

  An image flashed through her thoughts. Following its silent direction, Ela tapped the branch into the fire’s midst.

  The blaze vanished, as if snuffed out by a giant hand. Fearing her attackers would throw another lamp and more torches, she rushed to the door. “All of you, back away!”

  When Ela stepped outside, a man snarled, “Prophet, listen to what you’ve done!”

  Distant, keening wails lifted off Parne’s walls and echoed toward her in mourning. Who had died? True, after two weeks of besiegement everyone was hungry, but surely no one had yet starved. Surely their rations would last a bit longer. As for the drying wells . . .

  “Ela!” Her antagonist’s voice spat the word like a curse.

  Ela recognized the man. One of her father’s cousins, Abiyr, stood before the house, backed by four other men. Abiyr’s face was similar to Father’s. Even his voice conveyed Dan’s low tones. Yet this cousin possessed none of Dan Roeh’s love. “My wife’s brother has died, poisoned by his wounds from the first attack. Tell me you don’t hear my family’s screams!”

  “I hear.” How could she not?

  Father called to her from inside the house, but she didn’t dare turn from her accusers.

  Another man lunged past Abiyr, equally furious, yet weeping. Heedless of the branch, he struck Ela, then grabbed her by the arms and shook her. “This was my son! My son who died—and you’re to blame! You spoke these curses. You brought Belaal! You killed my son!”

  Father charged from the house and shoved her assailant away. “Ranek, my daughter did not kill your son! An enemy arrow felled him because he didn’t listen to her warnings, so you keep your curses and your hands to yourself!”

  The grieving father swung at Dan and missed. Dan walloped the man and sent him sprawling on the paving stones.

  Cousin Abiyr grabbed Father’s arm and threatened, “Kindred or not, Roeh, we’ve agreed to repay you and your family for every death we suffer! Every blow we endure, we’ll inflict upon you and your wife and children and anyone who defends you! We’re going to turn your house into a tomb and seal you inside!”

  Dan shook him off. “You should be accusing yourselves! If you were the honorable, faithful men you’ve pretended to be, none of us would be in danger now.”

  Ranek hissed, “Say what you want, but I swear we’ll kill you all!”

  Pressing a hand to her burning face, Ela watched Abiyr and Ranek curse and threaten Father. If these men had their way, Father and Mother and Jess would die. Because she was the Infinite’s prophet. No. She couldn’t allow it. “If someone must die to compensate for your loss, then kill me. Leave my family out of your schemes.”

  “No.” Father stepped in front of Ela and faced their assailants. “If you attack her again, you might all die! Do you want to become instant dust, like Tavek?”

  The men backed away, but the bereaved Ranek spat at Ela. “You are responsible for every death in this city!”

  What good would it do to argue against such single-minded hatred? Anyway, for Father’s sake, perhaps for the sake of these men’s souls, she had to diffuse the situation. Gently, Ela set the branch before Dan and herself. The branch’s glow intensified in the darkness. “Leave. Now.”

  Her enemies squinted, then turned and fled, their footsteps echoing and fading with distance. The branch dimmed to plain vinewood.

  Dan put an arm around Ela and swung her into the house, past the broken door. “Even if we mend that door, we cannot stay here.”

  True. Ela sensed the Infinite’s silent affirmation of Father’s statement. She relaxed and waited as Dan pondered options.

  Kalme’s voice whispered from the darkness, “Who was it?”

  Ela heard her father pacing, his footsteps crackling on the grass mat’s remains. Finally, he spoke. “My own relatives. Abiyr and Ranek wanted to kill Ela, and all of us, because one of Ranek’s sons finally died of wounds from Belaal’s attack.”

  Mother exhaled shakily in the darkness. Father paused and spoke tenderly. “Kalme, we must hide. I know of a possible refuge.”

  “But . . . Tzana . . .” Kalme protested.

  “Tzana is at peace,” Ela promised her mother. “Nothing can happen to her now. But Father is right. For your sake—and for Jess’s—it’s time to hide.”

  Kalme sniffled, yet her voice strengthened as if she’d made a decision. “All right. I’ll gather what we can carry and we’ll go. But where?”

  A tentative knock at the door startled Ela. Prill’s silhouetted form and soft words calmed her immediately. “Is everyone safe?”

  “Yes.” Ela motioned her chaperone into the house. Not that Prill would be more secure within the Roeh home. Which reminded her . . . “Father? What about Matron Prill? And Deuel and the Nesacs?”

  Dan approached Ela and Prill. “Matron, it’s clear we must abandon our home. Come with us. I know where we might hide, but you cannot breathe a word to anyone. Just gather your things and meet us here promptly. We must steal away before dawn.”

  Prill huffed, sounding taken aback. “Dan Roeh, is this really necessary?”

  “We won’t compel you,” Dan said. “But you ought to hide as well.”

  “Goodness, no,” the matron objected, “I can’t simply leave my—”

  Ela interposed. “Prill, if my enemies cannot find me, you’ll become a target. You know it’s true. You’ve been seen with me too often.”

  The matron’s sigh acknowledged Ela’s warning. “You’re right. I’ll hurry and gather my things. Not that there’s much left worth gathering.”

  “Things can be replaced,” Ela murmured. “You cannot. Hurry, Prill. And don’t tell anyone.”

&nbs
p; Dan grunted. “Except Deuel, the Nesacs, and a handful of others. Ela, gather the food while your mother prepares Jess.”

  Tzana?

  Kien lowered the general’s latest note, and a sealed bag of coins, which had been delivered from East Guard by a horseback messenger. It couldn’t be true. How could Tzana be dead? Dazed, he stared at tonight’s feast, set before him by Akabe’s servants in the palace’s crowded, regal central hall. Tender quail, baked in clay, perfumed the air with a spicy, smoke-scented sauce. Impossible to eat now.

  Seated beside him, Akabe rested his carving knife on a platter’s golden rim. “Bad news, my friend?”

  “Yes. And quite delayed.” Unable to say more, Kien handed Akabe the parchment. He could almost see the words Akabe was now reading.

  Thel’s latest news, much delayed, is grievous. Tzana Roeh is dead. Moreover, the Parnians have beaten their chief priest and threatened Ela Roeh’s life for prophesying that Parne will fall. Parne’s infighting can only hasten Belaal’s triumph and assure us of our worst fears. I am sending you a month’s military pay with this messenger. . . .

  Finished, Akabe snapped a glance at Kien. “Do you consider this note to be confidential?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Time to kick the hornet’s nest. The army is prepared, yet my people dawdle, dragged down by legalities. It’s been two weeks—I’m sick of waiting!” Akabe stood, grabbed an ornate silver salt cellar and hurled it across his table. Salt and silver fell with a ringing crash onto the hall’s elaborately tiled floor. Everyone, nobles and servants, turned to stare at their king.

  Lifting General Rol’s note, Akabe bellowed, “News from the Tracelands! Ungrateful Parne has beaten its chief priest and threatens their honored prophet with death because she has foretold Parne’s defeat. Already, Parne carves itself to pieces as a feast to strengthen Belaal’s armies with gold and weapons! I give Parne less than a month to survive!”

  Formidable as any general, Akabe glared at his courtiers. “And when the monster Belaal has consumed Parne, it will stalk its next victim, its nearest foe—Siphra! Yet, like fools, we delay over trivial official concerns! Whoever loves Siphra will fight to protect it now!”

  Akabe shoved the note at his nearest advisor, then muttered to Kien, “Walk with me.”

  “To where?”

  “Anywhere. Let everyone see that I’m too upset to eat. In fact—” As they departed from the great hall, Akabe yelled, “Where is my fightmaster? Bring me my swords!”

  “Admirable show,” Kien said beneath his breath. Almost enough to distract him from grieving for Tzana and Ela.

  Akabe hissed, “Who said it was show? I am serious and done with waiting. Now let’s see if my advisors’ rumps are stung enough that they move!” Brooding, he added, “Even if our armies begin the march tomorrow—which I doubt—it’ll take us two weeks or more to make the journey and assure our supply lines. We cannot allow Belaal to take Parne!”

  “Call a meeting,” Kien urged, forcing off his grief. “Keep your council awake until they finish preparations. We must go!”

  With Your blessings, Infinite. . . .

  Deuel glanced up and down the dark street before answering Ela in a conspirator’s hushed whisper. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” Ela murmured. “My father knows of a reasonably safe place. Gather your supplies and be ready to go with us. He’s speaking to Chief Priest Nesac this instant.”

  Deuel’s eyes widened in the dim light. “How long do I have to decide?”

  “Now.”

  He nodded. “I’m coming.”

  “I’ve packed lamps and some oil and wicks,” Kalme whispered, adjusting a basket slung from her elbow. “And we have all our food. There’s not much left. What will we do when it’s gone?”

  “Mother, we mustn’t fret.” Ela shouldered one parcel, threaded her free arm through the straps of Father’s oldest knapsack, then grabbed the branch. She eyed Mother’s burden. Kalme had rolled numerous garments into tight fabric cylinders and fitted them snugly into Jess’s emptied carrying pouch. After shifting the sagging pouch onto her back, Kalme tucked the dozing Jess into the crook of one arm. When she reached for a bundle of foodstuffs double-knotted within the Roehs’ largest coverlet, Ela grabbed it instead. “I’ll carry this. You’re holding Jess.”

  “I’m not helpless,” Kalme argued.

  “Neither am I.”

  Father, loaded with tools and supplies, motioned to them from the doorway. Joined by Prill, they followed Dan through the small public square that fronted their home. Moonlight slanted silver-pale over the city’s white plastered edges, lending an appearance of false serenity to the night. Ela could almost pretend Parne was at peace, tranquil beneath the starry skies.

  Abiyr Roeh’s family had long since quieted. Ela hoped they were sleeping. Her face still burned from Ranek’s blow. Not that it mattered. Worse would follow.

  They crept through the silent marketplace. Near the heavily barricaded Murder Maze, Nesac and his wife stepped out from the shadows. Both were cloaked and holding all they could carry. Footsteps sounded nearby, muffled, yet rushed.

  Deuel met them, shifting several large bundles and whispering, “I’ve begged others of the faithful to accompany me, but they’re frightened.”

  “Perhaps we can help them later,” Ela murmured. She turned to Father. “Which way?”

  Dan nodded them toward the oldest, least prosperous section of Parne, along its ancient southern wall. They crept through a labyrinth of old courtyards, worn street paths, and overgrown alcove gardens. At last Dan herded them inside a murky courtyard tucked against Parne’s southern wall and obscured by several other houses built above.

  An overgrown tangle of parasitic plants and dead-limbed snags discouraged any thoughts of welcome. Musty heaps of leaves and weeds lumped beneath Ela’s feet. Nesac’s wife gasped and Deuel grumbled as they ducked beneath a rustling curtain of dry vines. Kalme stifled a sneeze.

  Finally, Dan halted before a sealed door.

  Ela winced. A tomb house. They were taking refuge in a tomb house?

  Matron Prill sucked in an audible breath. Mother protested softly, “Oh, Dan . . .”

  “Trust me.”

  While they waited in silence, Dan kindled a small taper with his flint and metal kit. Obviously comprehending his plans, Mother offered him a lamp. He lit the wick, then removed a slender chisel from his tools and slid it behind the seals, quietly loosening them. Finished, Dan stood. “Inside. Hurry, but don’t touch the seals. The sky will lighten soon.”

  One by one, they eased through the doorway, cautious of the seals, which still lined the doorframe. Father stepped inside, shut the door, and carried the lamp to a far wall.

  Dark-painted plaster had crumbled away from the wall, revealing pale ancient rockwork. Ela imagined she’d glimpsed a bit of the city’s skeleton through its decaying plaster-flesh. She shuddered.

  Father slid a wider chisel along the wall, swiftly prying off more crumbling plaster.

  He outlined the door traditional to most of Parne’s tombs, and shouldered it open. Dry cold air wafted from the room beyond. Dan exhaled. “Move inside. It’s safe, believe me.”

  Prill spoke now, squeamish. “We’re staying in here? All of us in this one little tomb?”

  “No.” He smiled at the matron, suddenly mischievous as a boy. “Tomb houses shelter more than corpses. I visited this place as a child, with my father. He had business dealings with the old man who rests here.”

  Jess squeaked in the darkness, evidently waking up. Kalme set a kiss on her son’s small head. “Be patient.”

  Lifting the lamp, Dan surveyed the inner chamber. Ela joined her father and looked around at the rows of sarcophagi. Dan inspected the tombs, touching their sides. “One of these hides a stairway.”

  Oh. Ela set down her parcels, keeping only the branch. “What are you looking for?”

  “An air current. I remember feeling an air current from the false tomb.�
��

  A false tomb? Ela copied her father’s motions, checking each sarcophagus. Deuel and Nesac joined their search. In the second-to-last row from the wall, a chill slid past Ela’s hands as she touched a tomb’s lid. “Father?”

  The branch took fire, gleaming beside the false sarcophagus.

  24

  Father made no move to lift the sarcophagus lid. Instead, he knelt at the base of the tomb and pried at the narrow slab until a small door rasped open in the gloom. Soft-voiced, Dan exulted, “They thought I’d be too young to remember anything!”

  Apparently not. Despite herself, Ela almost smiled. Trying to see, she held the shining branch near the small door, which shifted downward, shelflike.

  Dan looked up at her. “Will you go first?”

  No! “Why?”

  “You’re carrying the prophet’s branch for light.”

  Ela’s hands went cold and sweaty. Her mouth dried. Why did it have to be a tomb—even a false one? Was this where she would die? Infinite?

  His answer was an unseen parental nudge. Go.

  “All right.” Offering inward prayers, she knelt, slid the branch through the narrow entry, and looked inside. Three stone steps led down into a tawny dirt tunnel, its rough walls clawed through by gnarled, moisture-seeking roots.

  As she hesitated, Father nudged her. “Go.”

  Augh! Yes, both of you! I’m going. She scooted into the tunnel feet-first.

  Dan shoved his old knapsack after her, followed by the two bundles she’d been carrying. “Take your parcels.”

  Balanced on the stone steps, Ela set the supplies in the dirt below. When she looked up again, Father was holding Jess. “Take him before he yells. Your mother’s next.”

  Jess blinked at the branch and at Ela, then whimpered. She tucked the branch into the crook of her arm, then cuddled Jess close. He nuzzled at her, making noises of complaint. “Mother’s coming,” Ela promised. Jess squirmed, adorable despite being hungry. If only . . . Ela tried to force down the hopeless longing.