Dawn of Swords (62 page)

Those were his last words. He turned and ran into the surrounding trees with nary a sound. Aully watched him disappear, her heart going out to him. She worried for his safety. Should his father find out what he’d done.…

Don’t think like that
, she thought. She rejoined Kindren and the rest of her people. They began the journey southeast, deciding to stay in the shelter of the low mountains until it was time to return home. They could not return to Stonewood, not if Detrick had truly taken over. Aully leaned into Kindren and imagined life going forward, wherever that might happen.
Going forward.
It was all they could expect from then on out, for it was a brave new world.

Beneath the burgeoning light of morning, the haggard group of elves disappeared over a mountain ridge, heading bravely for points unknown, with only their mutual love and the clothes on their backs to protect them. Aully prayed it would be enough. She knew it would have been for Brienna.

C
HAPTER

33

S
he had been sitting at the feet of her god, listening to his sermon alongside her husband, Ibis, and their children, when the rider came barging into the temple. Soleh leapt up at the sight of the soldier—his skin was pale, his hair disheveled, and his armor hastily donned. She exchanged a look with Ulric, who shrugged his shoulders in reply. Adeline smiled at the newcomer, giggling madly to herself, as she had done for the majority of Karak’s homily. Soleh looked over at her husband, who had just grabbed her hand, and then at her god, whom she had crafted Ibis after, resplendent in his black platemail, his golden eyes peering at the man at the door.

“Why do you interrupt us?” Karak demanded, his voice excessively loud.

The soldier dropped to his knees in an instant, the
clank
of his platemail echoing through the hall of worship.

“Many apologies, my Lord,” he stammered. “It is not my purpose to intrude. I was sent by the Highest to inform our lady the Minister that her presence is required at the castle.”

Karak looked at Soleh, his eyes boring into her soul, and she shivered as she faced the soldier.

“Why would Highest Crestwell require me now? It is barely dawn.”

“He did not tell me, Minister. He said only that I must come fetch you and that it was a matter most dire.” The soldier gulped and turned to the god. “And…h-he said you would want to be there as well, my Lord.”

“Is that so?” Karak asked. The tone in his voice had not changed at all, but the sheer volume with which he spoke made it all the more imposing. The soldier bent his head even closer to the ground, his affirmation whispered so quietly that Soleh could only guess at his words.

“Very well,” said the god. “Take your leave of us.”

“Sh-shall I tell the Highest you will be arriving shortly?”

Karak smiled. “There will be no need of that.”

The soldier stood, bowed, and then clanked out the door as noisily as he’d arrived. Soleh glanced at her god, her beloved Karak, and held her hands together beneath her chin, awaiting his command.

“Ibis, take your children home to the Tower Keep. Stay there until I tell you your presence is required.”

Ibis bowed, so handsome with his twinkling eyes and dimpled chin, a near perfect replication of the god who was now addressing him. Then she glanced at Ulric, who had inherited many of those same traits. Soleh felt a shimmer of pride just looking at them, so long as she ignored Adeline, who continued her mad cackle, albeit under her breath now.

“I will, my Lord,” said Ibis. He grabbed Adeline by the wrist and dragged her out of the temple, where Soleh’s bodyguards awaited with a carriage. Ulric followed close behind.

“And what of me?” asked Soleh. “We arrived in a single wagon. Should I depart with them?”

“No, sweet Soleh,” Karak said, his voice lowered. “You require neither horse nor carriage—not when your creator is by your side.”

The deity held his hand out to her, which she took. He scooped her up, as though she were a small child, and carried her toward
the inner sanctum of the temple, where darkness loomed. Soleh couldn’t stop staring at him as she rode along, drinking in his scent, fussing over every smooth line and crease in his perfectly chiseled face. So lost was she in her obsession that she never once thought of the words the soldier had spoken, nor of the aura of portent they carried.

Karak stepped behind his altar, around a vast collection of potted ferns that grew as tall as he, and entered the shadows. Soleh’s head grew dizzy, her vision swelling and then fading until all she saw was blackness. She felt herself reduced to the smallest of particles, soaring along the cosmos at a speed her human mind could not comprehend. She knew she should be alarmed, but the presence of her god surrounded her, infused her, soothed her, and Soleh Mori knew no fear.

When the light returned to her eyes, she could see a dimly lit sky in the distance. They were sheathed in darkness, beneath the stables on the far side of the Castle of the Lion. Soleh gasped in wonder. She knew Karak could ride shadows to wherever he wished, but she had never experienced it for herself. That she had been given the opportunity made her feel very blessed indeed.

Karak placed her two feet on the ground and gestured for her to lead the way. She did, feeling light as air, almost floating along the cobbled walk as she pulled open the door to Tower Justice. Karak did not enter, instead signaling for her to go on without him.

“Remember, sweet Soleh,” he said. “To maintain order, sacrifice is sometimes necessary.”

With that he turned away from her. She sighed, stepped into the tower, and closed the door behind her with a heavy
thud
.

Once inside, any lightness she’d felt instantly disappeared.

Standing in the rounded antechamber was Highest Crestwell. With him were Thessaly, Captain Gregorian, King Vaelor, two Sisters of the Cloth, and half of the Council of Twelve. They had been deep in discussion when she entered, a conversation that
ceased so quickly, it was as if a thousand stones had been dropped on them all at once. Every eye turned her way, the group’s panic and anger shining through at her. Captain Gregorian seemed particularly fearsome; his face was so taut it seemed as though his flesh would split along the fissures in it. He wore common breeches and a tunic rather than armor, but his swordbelt was fastened around his waist. It was then she noticed his clothes were soaked with blood.

“What happened?” she asked, panic beginning to gallop up her spine. “Why have I been summoned?”

The Highest grimaced, giving King Vaelor a disapproving look. He then said, “You are the Minister of Justice, Soleh, and it is time to do your job.”

The king and the council members nodded in agreement, and then ushered their way out of the tower, without giving Soleh the courtesy of an acknowledgment. She felt more than insulted, though her anger could do nothing to override the fear of the unknown that was building up inside her.

“I demand to know what this is about,” she said, trying to sound forceful.

“You will,” mumbled the Captain.

The Sisters remained silent, as was their wont.

“Tell me, both of you.
Now!
”

“No!” the Highest snapped. Soleh was taken aback by both his tone and the better-than-thou look that crossed his face. “You will
not
make demands of me. I am still your superior,
Minister
. I expect you to treat me as such.”

Soleh forced her head to bow. “You have my apologies, Highest. Please, show me where I must be, so I can dispense Karak’s justice.”

Strangely, Clovis motioned to the two Sisters and allowed them to lead the way as he walked toward the staircase at the far end of the circular room. Captain Gregorian scaled the steps after him, with Soleh on his heels. She had to get up there. She had to see what was important enough to rip her from the arms of her beloved
creator. Thessaly took up the rear, a guarded look on her face as she climbed the steps one at a time. She refused to look Soleh in the eye.

When they reached the courtroom’s antechamber on the second story of the tower, the Sisters walked straight through it, not stopping to wash their hands or to genuflect before the placard professing Karak’s commandments. Neither did Clovis. Soleh would not allow herself such insolence, though she seemed to be the only one who felt that way, as Captain Gregorian mimicked the Highest and Thessaly; normally just as much a stickler for court tradition as she was, he passed her by. Shivering, Soleh hastily wetted her hands with lukewarm water from the carafe, whispered a few quick words of praise to her god, and followed the rest into the main courtroom, where she promptly began to feel weak in the knees.

The scent hit her first, nearly knocking her off her feet. It was a pungent, coppery scent, smelling strongly of ammonia and human waste. The sight hit her second, and that finished the job the smell had started. She collapsed to one knee, holding a hand over her mouth, gagging.

Laid out in the middle of the courtroom, on a pair of wooden slabs, were two bloodied bodies that were so debased she couldn’t tell whether they were male or female. There was blood everywhere; it covered the corpses, the slabs. Drips even speckled the courtroom floor. Soleh noted, though not consciously, that one of the cadavers was unnaturally bloated, whereas the other was not. That accounted for the horrible smell.

“What…
is
this?” she gasped.

“Get off the dais,” said the Captain. “See who they are for yourself.”

She didn’t want to. In the name of all that was holy, she
truly
didn’t. Yet she saw in the faces all around her, save for those of the Sisters, which were expressionless as always, that this emergency call of justice would not commence until she had. She covered her nose with her hands, took a deep breath, and steeled herself for what lay
ahead. She took each step deliberately, just as she had done every day for many, many years. The appalling odors became all the more dreadful the closer she came, but she dared not stop. She realized that the bodies belonged to a man and a woman. The woman was in a horrific state, completely disemboweled, while the man’s throat had been slit and his member mutilated. She grew pale.

Soleh looked at their faces closely, the only parts of either body that had been scrubbed clean of blood. Both were badly bruised and distended from the gases of death, but she almost immediately found something familiar about them. Then she noticed their hair—the woman’s was red and curly, the man’s brown with a few streaks of gray. Their identity hit her all at once, and she backpedaled, almost tripping over her own feet in the process.

It was Crian Crestwell and the western deserter, Nessa DuTaureau.

Her eyes shot up, seeking out Clovis.

“I am so sorry,” she said, her voice echoing throughout the chamber.

The Highest scowled at her. “Save your apologies for when your duties are complete,” he said harshly.

Soleh wanted to retort but held her tongue.
His outrage is understood
, she thought.
I cannot imagine how I would feel if I lost a child in this way.
She thought of the time that had almost happened, when Oris had been badly burned, trapped in a raging fire while stupidly trying to rescue the three whores trapped inside. He had been unconscious for nearly a month, and during that time Soleh had been nearly inconsolable. There were moments when she’d wished she could take her son’s place. It was only when Oris finally opened his eyes—scarred for life, but alive—that she allowed herself to
live
once more. She then thought of Vulfram, residing in the same tower as the two of them, and immediately feared for his safety. He wasn’t there, not standing with the others, not dead on a slab. That could mean.…

She shook with fright even as she nodded to those who formed a bracketed line around the two corpses. She then made her way uneasily across the remainder of the courtroom floor, climbed the stairs on the other side, and took her place in the Seat of the Minister. Thessaly did not join her, instead remaining by her father’s side. The woman who had sat at Soleh’s right hand while she interpreted Karak’s justice for the guilty still refused to look at her. Soleh drummed her fingers on the armrest of the throne, a lump in her throat, and waited.

Captain Gregorian took two steps forward. He swallowed hard and snapped his feet together. Unlike the way he had been down in the antechamber, he was now completely composed and businesslike. It was a transformation that gave an illusion of normalcy to this strange and disturbing call to duty.

“Court is in session,” stated the Captain. He genuflected on one knee before the Seat of the Minister, then stood to his full height once more, following protocol.

“Bring out the accused,” Soleh said, fearful anticipation causing the knot in her stomach to tighten.
Please let it not be him.

Gregorian bowed his head and made his way not to the main vestibule, which was where the criminals were normally ushered in from, but to the side passageway, built into the tower as an alternate route of escape in case of fire. The Captain yanked open the door and dipped inside. When he returned, he dragged behind him a stumbling man whose arms and legs were chained together. The man was bare chested, with a messy stubble of hair on the top of his head. His face was bruised and bloodied, and he walked with the lurch of one who’d either taken in far too much liquor or had been beaten senseless.

Soleh’s heart sank despite the shock of his condition.

She wheeled on the Highest. “Why is my son in this state? Why has he been beaten?”

“SILENCE!”
screamed Clovis, his voice echoing so loudly, she could imagine it reaching the top of the spire. “Your responsibility
on that throne is to pass judgment on the accused, not question the bearers of the law.”

She sat back down, flabbergasted and afraid.

Gregorian hauled Vulfram through the courtroom, past the onlookers, past the two mutilated corpses, and threw him down before her. Her son’s back flexed with each breath he took. He stayed where we was, on his shackled hands and knees, head down. The Captain walked in front of him and addressed the court.