“It is not all the same, Raddock Fisher,” Jeorje Watch said, thumping his polished black walking stick. “We can’t just take leave of our customs and civility because someone died. This is the time of Plague, when death comes often. Creator punishes those what sin in his own time. The Tanner girl will have her judgment when the Brook’s standing business is done.”
He spoke with the authority of one who is never questioned, though Selia was Speaker. She accepted the slight—a common one from Jeorje—because he argued to her favor. The later the hour grew, the less likely Renna’s sentence, if death, would take place that very night.
“We could all use some supper,” Tender Harral said, though he and Jeorje were often at odds themselves. “As the Canon says, There’s no justice from a man with an empty stomach. ”
Raddock looked around to the other Speakers for support, but apart from Hog, who was always the last to arrive and the first to leave, all were resolute to keep the council meeting in its traditional fashion. He scowled but gave no further protest. Garric started to open his mouth, but Raddock silenced him with a shake of his head.
They had supper, and discussed the business of each borough in turn over the coffee and cakes that followed.
“Reckon it’s time to see the girl,” Jeorje said when the business of his borough, always handled last, was complete. The closing of old business was the Speaker’s to call, but again he spoke over Selia, thumping his stick like the Speaker’s gavel. She sent the witnesses out onto the porch, then led the nine council members in to see Renna.
“Girl ent faking?” Jeorje asked.
“You can have your own Gatherer examine her, if you like,” Selia said, and Jeorje nodded, calling for his wife Trena, the Herb Gatherer for Southwatch, who was near ninety herself. She left the kitchen and went to the girl’s side.
“Men out,” Jeorje ordered, and they all trooped back out to their seats at the table. Selia sat at the head, and Jeorje, as always, the foot.
Trena emerged some time later and looked to Jeorje, who nodded permission for her to speak. “Whatever she done, girl’s shock is true,” she said, and he nodded again, dismissing her.
“So you’ve seen the state of her,” Selia said, taking up the gavel before Jeorje could try to take over protocol. “I move that any decision should be postponed until she comes back to herself and can speak her own defense.”
“The Core it should!” Raddock shouted. He started to rise, but Jeorje cracked his walking stick on the table, checking him.
“Din’t come all this way to glance at a sleeping girl and leave, Selia,” he said. “Best we hear from the witnesses and accusers now, in proper fashion.” Selia scowled, but no one dared to disagree. Speaker or no, if she went against Jeorje, she would be doing it alone. She called in Garric to make his accusation, and the witnesses, one by one, for the council to question.
“I don’t pretend to know what happened that evening,” Selia said in her closing. “There ent no witness but the girl herself, and she ought to get to speak in her own defense before we pass judgment on her.”
“No witness?!” Raddock cried. “We just heard from Stam Tailor, who seen her heading toward the murder not a moment before!”
“Stam Tailor was rot drunk that night, Raddock,” Selia said, looking to Rusco, who nodded in agreement.
“He sloshed up on my floor, and I threw him out and closed early after that,” Rusco said.
“Blame the one who put the drink in his hand, I say,” Jeorje said. Rusco’s brow furrowed, but he was wise enough to bite his tongue.
“Either he saw the girl or he didn’t, Selia,” Coran Marsh said. Others nodded.
“He saw her in the vicinity, yes,” Selia said, “but not where she went or what she did.”
“You’re suggesting she’s not involved?” Jeorje asked, incredulous.
“Course she’s involved,” Selia snapped. “Any fool can see that. But ent none of us can swear by the sun at how. Maybe the men took to fighting and killed each other. Maybe she killed in her own defense. Coline and Trena both attest she was beat bad.”
“How don’t matter none, Selia,” Raddock said. “Two men can’t kill each other with the same knife. Does knowing which man she killed, if not both, make a difference?”
Jeorje nodded. “And let us not forget it was most likely by feminine wile that the men were taken to wrath. The girl’s promiscuity led them to this path, and she should be held to account.”
“Two men fight over who owns a girl, and we blame the girl?” Meada broke in. “Nonsense!”
“It ent nonsense, Meada Boggin, you’re just too shaded to see it, seeing how the accused’s your kin,” Raddock said.
“There’s the night calling it dark,” Meada said. “I can say the same of you.”
Selia banged her gavel. “If everyone related to a problem in the Brook had to be disqualified in moot, Raddock Fisher, there would be none to argue at all. Everyone has a right to speak. That’s our law.”
“Law,” Raddock mused. “Been reading the law,” he produced a book bound in worn leather, “ ’specially the law for killers.” He turned to a marked page, and began to read:
“And should the foul deed of murder be committed in the confines of Tibbet’s Brook or its purview, you shall erect a stake in Town Square, and shackle those responsible for all to see for a day of repentance, and a night, without ward or succor, that all may witness the Creator’s wrath upon those who violate this covenant.”
“You can’t be serious!” Selia cried.
“That’s barbaric!” Meada agreed.
“That’s the law,” Raddock sneered.
“See here, Raddock,” Tender Harral said. “That law must be three hundred years old.”
“The Canon is older still, Tender,” Jeorje said. “Will you discount that next? Justice is not meant to be kind.”
“We ent here to rewrite the law,” Raddock said. “The law is the law, ent that what you said, Selia?”
Selia’s nostrils flared, but she nodded.
“All we ’re here to debate is whether she’s responsible,” Raddock said, placing Harl’s bloody knife on the table, “and I say it’s clear as day she is.”
“She could’ve picked that up after, Raddock, and you know it,” Tender Harral said. “Cobie wanted Renna’s hand, and Harl threatened twice to cut the stones from him if he tried.”
Raddock barked a laugh. “You might convince some folk that two men could kill each other with the same knife, but they wasn’t just killed. They was mutilated. My great-nephew didn’t hack Harl near to pieces with his manhood gone and a knife in his heart.”
“Man has a point,” Hog said.
Raddock grunted. “So let’s vote and have done.”
“Second,” Hog said. “Town Square has never seen such crowds, and I need to get back to the store.”
“A girl’s life is at stake, and all you care is how many credits you can make off the folk come to gape?” Selia asked.
“Don’t preach to me, Selia,” Hog said. “I was the one had to mop up the blood out of my back room.”
“All in favor of moving to vote?” Jeorje said.
“I am Speaker, Jeorje Watch!” Selia snapped, pointing the gavel at him. But already there was a show of hands in favor of a vote, checking her. Jeorje accepted the rebuke with a mild nod.
“Fine,” Selia said. “I say the girl is innocent until we can prove otherwise, and there is no proof of anything.” She looked to her right for Tender Harral to continue the vote.
“You’re wrong, Selia,” Harral said. “There is proof of one thing: young love. I spoke to Cobie and looked in Renna’s eyes. They were both grown and wanted to decide the match for themselves, as is their right. Harl had no call to refuse, and I’ll stand in the sun’s light and state my belief that any bloodshed started with him, and ended with him, too. Innocent.”
Brine Cutter was next, the giant man’s voice uncharacteristically soft. “Seems to me
that anything the girl done, she done in self-defense. I know what it’s like to see things so horrible that it makes your mind run for succor. I was much the same, after the corelings took my family. Selia saw me through that, and the girl deserves the same. Innocent.”
“Ent no innocent,” Coran Marsh said. “Whole town knows Renna Tanner’s a sinner, offerin’ herself to Cobie Fisher in fornication. Apt to make any man mad with lust! If she’s gonna behave like a coreling, we should put ’er out among them with easy hearts. Swamp demons have cored better’n her, and the sun still comes in the morning. Guilty.”
Jeorje Watch was next. “Harl’s daughters were ever a trial to him. It’s but by the grace of the Creator that this scene didn’t occur nigh fifteen years ago with her sister. Guilty.”
Raddock Lawry nodded. “We all know she’s guilty.” He turned to Rusco.
“Tying a girl out for the corelings, no matter what she’s done, is savage,” Hog said. “But if that’s how you do things here…” He shrugged. “Can’t just let people go around killing folk. I say put her out and have done. Guilty.”
“See if I let you speak for the Square next year,” Selia muttered.
“Sorry, ma’am, but I am speaking for the Square,” Hog said. “Folk need to feel safe when they come to shop in town. Ent no one going to feel safe with a killer about.”
“Harl was a sour old crow who never cared a whit for anyone but himself,” Meada Boggin said. “I tried to broker a match for Renna myself once, but Harl wouldn’t hear of it. Ent no doubt in my mind he killed young Cobie, and Renna did what she needed to keep him from killing her, too. Innocent.”
“Then why was Cobie stabbed in the stones?” Coline asked. “I think he raped her, and she came to town to get him back. Stabbed him between the legs, and then they fought until she could finish the job. Harl must’ve gone after her, and she caught him from behind. The girl’s got blood on her hands, Selia. She could have gone to one of us, or called for help, but she chose to solve her problems with a knife. I say she ’s guilty.”
All eyes turned to Mack Pasture. With four votes of innocent and five of guilty, it was in his power to deadlock the council, or pronounce her guilty. He sat quietly for a long time, his brow furrowed as he rested his face on his steepled fingers.
“All keep saying ‘innocent’ or ‘guilty,’ ” Mack said finally, “but the law don’t say that. We all just heard it. It said ‘responsible.’ Now, I knew Harl Tanner. Knew him long years, and never liked the coreling’s son one bit.” He spit on the floor. “But that don’t mean he deserved a knife in his back. Way I see it, that girl didn’t mind her da, and now two men are dead. Whether she swung a knife or not, she’s sure as the sun rises ‘responsible ’ for what happened.”
Shock stayed Selia’s hand, and the gavel lay on the table untouched, though the vote was done. Jeorje thumped his walking stick on the floor. “Guilty, six to four.”
“Then I’ll see her cored tonight,” Raddock growled.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Selia said, finding her voice at last. “The law says she’s to have a full day to make her peace, and today’s nearly over.”
Jeorje thumped his stick. “Selia is correct. Renna Tanner must be staked in Town Square tomorrow dawn, for all to see and bear witness until the Creator’s justice is done.”
“You expect people to watch?!” Hog was aghast.
“Folk can’t learn their lessons if they skip school,” Jeorje said.
“I’m not going to just stand there and watch the corelings tear someone apart!” Coline shouted. Others, even Coran Marsh, voiced protest as well.
“Oh, yes you are,” Selia snapped. She looked around the room, her eyes hard stones. “If we ’re going to…to murder this girl, then we’re all gonna watch and remember what we did; man, woman, and child,” she growled. “Law’s the law.”
CHAPTER 22
THE ROADS NOT TAKEN
333 AR SPRING
IT WAS A FULL day’s ride from Fort Angiers to the bridge over the Dividing River, which separated the lands of Duke Rhinebeck from those of Duke Euchor. The Painted Man had left too late in the day to make it before sunset.
It was just as well. His farewell with Leesha had left him in a dark mood, and he welcomed the chance to show a few corelings the sun. Jardir had taught him the Krasian technique of embracing pain and it worked well enough, but there were few balms so sweet as choking the life from a demon with one’s bare hands.
The Hollow was in good hands with Leesha, at least until the Krasians advanced. She was brilliant and a natural leader, respected by all and governed by a pure heart and good common sense. If she was not yet a better Warder than he was, she soon would be.
And she’s beautiful, he thought. No denying that. The Painted Man had traveled far and wide, and never seen her equal. Perhaps he could have loved her once, before Jardir had left him for dead in the sand. Before he had been forced to tattoo his flesh to survive.
Now he was something less than human, and love had no place in his life.
Night fell, but his warded eyes saw clearly in the dark. He touched Twilight Dancer’s barding and the wards there glowed softly granting night vision to the giant stallion as well. He kicked into a gallop as the corelings rose, but there were thick trees to either side of the road, and wood demons kept pace with him, leaping from branch to branch or running just inside the tree line. Their barklike armor made them almost invisible, but the Painted Man could see the aura of their magic glowing softly, and did not mistake them. Above, wind demons shrieked, following his course and attempting to match speed for a dive.
The Painted Man let go the reins, steering the giant stallion with knees alone as he took up his great bow. A shriek from above provided ample warning, and he spun, putting a warded arrow through the head of a diving wind demon with an explosion of magic.
The flash of light seemed to bring the wood demons all at once. They exploded from the trees all around him, shrieking their hatred and leading with teeth and talons.
The Painted Man fired repeatedly, his warded arrows punching great, blackened holes in the corelings to either side. Twilight Dancer scattered those ahead, warded hooves sparking like festival crackers as they trampled through.
The demons gave chase, loping alongside the galloping horse. The Painted Man shoved his bow back in the harness and took up a spear, spinning it in a blur as he stabbed at corelings coming from every direction. One got in close, but he kicked it in the face, the impact ward on his heel throwing it back with a flash.
All along, Twilight Dancer continued to run.
Charged from the night’s killing, they remained fresh and alert when the Riverbridges came into sight at dawn, though neither man nor steed had rested all night.
It had been fifteen years since Riverbridge was destroyed. It had been a Milnese village then, but Rhinebeck had wanted a share of the bridge tolls, and had attempted to rebuild the village on the south side of the Dividing River.
The Painted Man remembered the audience where Ragen had told Duke Euchor of Rhinebeck’s plan. The duke had raged and seemed ready to burn Fort Angiers to the ground rather than let Rhinebeck toll his bridge.
And so arose two merchant towns, one on either side of the river and both calling themselves Riverbridge, with little love lost between them. There were garrisons for royal guardsmen, and mounted travelers were taxed on both sides of the river. Those who refused to pay could either hire a raft to ferry them and their goods—often for more than the tax—or swim.
The Riverbridges were the only walled villages in all of Thesa. On the Milnese side, the walls were piled stone and mortar; on the Angierian side, great tarred logs, lashed tight. Both went right to the river’s edge, and the guards who patrolled the walltops often called curses to their counterparts across the water.
The guards on the Angierian side had just opened the gate to greet the morning when the Painted Man rode through. His hands were gloved, and his hood pulled l
ow to hide his face. It may have seemed odd to the guards, but he made no effort to explain himself, holding up Rhinebeck’s seal without slowing his steady pace. Royal Messengers were given free passage on both sides of the river. The guards grumbled at his rudeness but did not hinder him.
There was fog in the morning air, and most of the Bridgefolk were still warming their porridge as the Painted Man passed through the towns, all but unnoticed. It was easier this way. His painted skin tended to lead half of them to shun him like a coreling, and the other half to fall to their knees and call him Deliverer. He honestly didn’t know which was worse.
From Riverbridge, the road to Miln was a straight run north. The average time for a Messenger to make the ride was two weeks. His mentor Ragen’s average was better: eleven days. Astride Twilight Dancer and fearing no darkness, the Painted Man made the trip in six, a trail of demon ashes in his wake. He passed Harden’s Grove, the village a day south of Miln, at a full gallop in the dead of night, and it was still hours before dawn when Fort Miln came into sight.
As much his home as Tibbet’s Brook in some ways, the Painted Man was overwhelmed by the emotion he felt at again seeing the mountain city he had sworn so many times never to return to. Too distracted to fight, he set up a portable circle and made camp while he waited for dawn, trying to remember what he could about Duke Euchor.
The Painted Man had only met Euchor once, as a boy, but he had worked in Euchor’s Library, and knew the duke’s heart. Euchor hoarded knowledge as another man might hoard food or gold. If he gave Euchor the battle wards, the duke would not share them openly with his people. He would attempt to increase his own power by keeping them secret.
The Painted Man could not allow that. He needed to distribute the wards quickly to every Warder in the city. There was a network of Warders in Miln, a network he had helped build. If he got the wards to Cob, his former master, they could be everywhere before Euchor had time to suppress the knowledge.
Thinking of Cob opened a floodgate of memories he had long suppressed. He had not spoken to his master or anyone else in Miln for eight years. He had written letters but never found the strength to send them. Were Ragen and Elissa well? Their daughter Marya would be eight now. What of Cob, and his friend Jaik? What of Mery?
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