Vault Of Heaven 01 - The Unremembered (101 page)

“That is good to hear,” the challenger said, his voice betraying his true feelings. “Nevertheless, we have a witness, the young girl Leia, who testifies that the man you prepare to hang is not guilty of seeking the Sheason’s help. And we have leaguemen arriving at his home where the poisoned girl had just been healed by the Sheason, as though they were anticipating his arrival and prepared to pounce upon him. The timing is interesting—”

“The circumstance of the timing suggests nothing of conspiracy in this matter,” the league counselor said forcefully. He folded his arms.

“The question before the Court of Judicature,” the challenger continued, “is this: A Sheason saving the life of a poisoned child, an innocent man accused of seeking that Sheason’s help, and two boys preserving the Will and life of the accused are all caged in the wet stone of your catacombs.

“You may argue that the Sheason still violated the law, to which I would ask you to consider how he came to do so. Because if he is to die, then you must make an inquiry into the leaguemen who gave tainted candy to the girl he chose to save.” The challenger’s voice lowered to a whisper. “And the only other lawbreaker here is Leia, a sister who sought help to save her sibling. The law condemns her for seeking the Sheason’s help. But I put it to you now: Is she truly guilty? She would not have had need to seek help were it not for the fatal sweets given her sister. Or perhaps in a simpler way, do you hold her guilty for preserving the Will of a loved one, regardless the circumstance?” A long pause stretched throughout the assembly. Then the challenger finished. “Surely you will set them free.”

The challenger sat again beside Vendanj, whose face betrayed no emotion, though Wendra thought the Sheason seemed satisfied. The challenger’s words seemed to ring in the round chamber. For long moments afterward, no one spoke or appeared to move. The counselors across from Vendanj’s table stared blankly at them. Slowly, low voices muttered to one another. No one attempted to quiet them.

Wendra watched the robed council, their faces unreadable. Seanbea leaned back and spoke into her ear. “The council will not rise until they are prepared to render a decision. They have been known to sit for three days in deliberation.”

“They do not discuss the new evidence?” Wendra asked, looking past the Ta’Opin to the colorful robes of the council.

“Each member decides alone and makes a ruling. The largest number of votes prevails.” Seanbea followed Wendra’s gaze. “The regent may overturn their decision, but it is so rare that I cannot recall it happening. Though stories tell of trials in seasons gone by when the regent defied the court.”

Wendra nodded and settled back to await the decision. Braethen looked on intently; Mira stood next to her chair, which she’d given to the witness. The challenger and Vendanj, subtle contempt visible on their features, looked out across the intervening floor at the line of court counselors.

The whispering continued, often interrupted by a self-remonstrating attendant shushing the congregants. By turns, the air thickened, growing dense with heat and a mix of human smells. Wendra caught a glimpse of Artixan seated against the wall just behind her. The Sheason eyed Vendanj closely. He blinked slowly as if unconcerned with the trial, some inner question claiming his attention.

Abruptly, one of the council members stood. Her robe fell in long deep folds. Then other members stood, one by one. The deliberations concluded, the regent nodded and the council member on the far left raised an arm in the direction of the counselor’s table. The man next to her did likewise. In turn, each lifted an arm, the wide sleeve hanging in a low arc beneath his or her wrist. Each arm pointed toward the first counselor and his companions. The chatter of those assembled grew with each vote, gasps of surprise and delight and uncertainty escaping hundreds of mouths at once, followed by a renewed furor of speculation.

The accounting continued, council votes pointing toward the distinguished men in their fine black attire. Looks of self-assurance replaced the austere severity in their hollowed cheeks. Every hand confirmed the merits of their prior judgment. All save the last, whose arm lifted calmly toward the challenger. Uproar ensued, which quickly quieted before the regent could quell it. But the shock stirred the chamber, all eyes falling on the final voter. This last council member looked directly at the man with deeply tanned skin, then at Vendanj and Braethen and Mira and the girl. She did not seem to seek approval for casting her vote in their direction, but Wendra thought the woman sought to have them know of her resolve apart from the extension of her robed arm.

The challenger nodded appreciation, though the look of disgust and defeat contorted his lips and brow. A small man raced forward and produced a ledger into which he began to make an inscription.

“Your pardon,” Vendanj called with his resonant voice.

The Court of Judicature became instantly silent, and the diminutive recorder lifted his pencil from his book.

Vendanj pushed back his chair and came round the table. He disregarded the counselors opposite him; he disregarded those still holding their arms to designate their votes. All the assembly seemed outside his consideration. He approached the regent as a sole individual with a stride of sure defiance. He came to the foot of the marble stair and placed one boot upon the first step. He stood staring at the regent, who returned his fixed gaze for many moments. The two appeared locked in a contest of wills.

As Vendanj began to speak, Wendra heard restless shifting behind her from Artixan. The old renderer muttered under his breath. Wendra could not make it out, but the tone was one of approval.

“Regent Storalaith, I invite you to look past the dictate of this Court of Judicature and appeal to your privilege as regent.” Vendanj lowered his voice a note. “Set these men free. There could be no greater injustice than to uphold this ruling.”

“Sheason,” the regent said, “I still do honor what your emblem represents. I have championed the seat of your order at my table. But this council is just. I will not allow it to be subverted in the performance of its calling.”

“My Lady,” Vendanj persisted. “Is it not possible that after all the words are spoken we have not yet arrived at the truth? Or that what is lawful is yet not the proper course?”

“I’ll not argue philosophy with you, Sheason.” The regent spared a look at the table of counselors and the challenger over Vendanj’s shoulders. “But if you ask me to rule according to my conscience and ignore the mandate of this Chamber, you’d not like my conclusion. I am unconvinced. I would spare you the humiliation of requesting my privilege only to have me send you away twice denied.”

Vendanj did not immediately reply, seeming to consider alternatives. He half turned and looked at Wendra and Penit, then Braethen. The flinty look in his eyes and press of his lips unsettled Wendra, the brief hesitation. Why? Then he turned to the regent and spoke in an even tone.

“Will you follow us to his cell,” Vendanj pointed toward the challenger. “Look upon the accused once before closing the ledger on this matter?”

The regent lowered her chin. She held Vendanj’s eyes, seeming to search for his motivation in such a desire. Abruptly, she raised her chin again.

“No.” She summoned the recorder, who rushed to her side with his tome and his graphite. As the book was placed in her lap, she pointed her cane at the counselor’s table. “You are dismissed.” She then looked up at the ascending circular rows of the assembly. “You have seen the work of justice and reason. Now go into your homes and keep yourselves clean of any offense that might bring you here.” Her voice rang like iron from a clear throat, though the skin of her neck hung loose.

The hall began to empty. Vendanj did not move. The council folded robed arms and passed back through the doors by which they’d entered. Wendra and the others stood and flattened themselves against the entrance walls to allow the attendees to exit. In moments, the great round chamber had been vacated. Wendra rushed to Braethen and, of a sudden, found tears in her eyes. Penit stuck out a hand and greeted the sodalist in formal fashion. Braethen smiled and shook the boy’s outstretched hand.

“You are well,” Mira commented, surveying first Wendra and then Penit.

“Fine,” Wendra said.

“Very fine,” Penit added.

Braethen held onto Wendra’s hands. “There is so much to tell you.”

“We’ve stories of our own,” Wendra said, rolling her eyes in exhaustion.

“Enough time for that later,” Mira cut in, turning as Vendanj and the regent crossed toward them.

Seanbea then hugged Wendra and promised to see her later before taking his leave. Wendra returned the embrace, wondering if it would be so.

Helaina called the door guard to her. “Escort the girl home,” she said, indicating the witness. “See that she is not troubled for her testimony here today.” The witness bowed and followed two soldiers out of the chamber. Then Helaina turned to the challenger. “I can’t believe it is you, Denolan. You’ve not aged.”

“I am Grant, Regent,” the challenger said coldly. “And you’ve not changed any more than I.” He looked upon the empty council chamber to emphasize his meaning. Wendra suddenly had the thought that the two had met together in this place before.

“Belay your insults,” the regent said icily. “I have adjourned the council because it will not do to meet the demands of strangers in our highest assembly of law. But I will accompany you to look upon this archer in deference to the order that serves me still.” She glanced at Artixan, who stood a few paces off, then back at Grant. “Vendanj requests that you accompany me into the prisoner’s cell. I will allow it. But do not think that your years of exile have earned you a place in my ears for bitter accusations and angry words. I won’t hear it.” She did not raise her voice, but no room remained for disagreement. “Follow close,” she said to the recorder, who held his book across his chest as though it might fly away. “Artixan,” the regent said, motioning the old Sheason close, “Dwayne will take the Child’s Voice at my table. Watch over him until I can speak with him privately.”

Artixan gave a smile and returned to Dwayne and his father, ushering them from the room.

“Now … Grant,” the regent said, “take my arm and assist me to this stranger you care so much about. And if fortune favors you, I will not remind my council that your return here warrants execution.”

Reluctantly, the challenger extended his arm. The regent linked her arm over his elbow and together they started out. Wendra took Penit’s hand as they followed Vendanj. A joyful anxiety grew inside her. It had to be Tahn they were going to see. He was alive!

*   *   *

Mira led the witness back to her mother before she joined the others. The girl’s small hand in Mira’s own was cold and trembling. Through a narrow hallway they went to a dimly lit room beneath the raised court gallery. The weight of expectation hung heavy on the air as they entered.

The woman stood, and her daughter ran to her. The two fell into a close embrace as Mira stood just inside the door.

Then the woman looked at Mira, a question in her eyes. Mira looked down at Leia, expecting her to relate the judgment. The girl had been so frightened that it seemed she either hadn’t heard or hadn’t understood the regent’s ruling. Her eyes, too, looked up at Mira, waiting, hoping.

The silence enveloped them.

Then Mira steeled herself. “I’m sorry. The regent would not overturn the ruling. The dissent failed.”

“Papa,” the child cried. “Papa.” And she buried herself in her mother’s side.

The woman tried to hold strength in her face and deny her tears. But the suffering and finality of it all overwhelmed her and her tears came. She fell to her knees, unable to support herself against her grief, and took her little girl in her arms. Together they wept anew for the loss of Leia’s father, wept for the failure of the girl’s honesty and bravery to convince the court that this was a mistake.

They wept and held each other, now left without a husband and father.

As Mira watched them grieve, she thought about what future this family might have without the support of this innocent leagueman. If they had no other family or means, women in a city had few options to make their way. And what they had to sell would be taken roughly by men with liquor on their breath.

The accumulated loss and sorrow of it swirled in Mira’s head as she stood witness to this private scene of heartache and hopelessness.

Not this time.

Mira crossed the floor and dropped to one knee in front of the mother and daughter. She again took up the girl’s hand and drew her attention. “Leia, listen to me, and mark what I say. You take heart and give your mother the strength you showed today in the Court of Judicature. Can you do that?”

With just a small bit of hesitation, the girl nodded. “Yes, I can.” She looked at her mother. “I will help you, Mama.” Then she looked back at Mira. “What are you going to do?”

Determination filled Mira as she looked down at the child. “I am going to free your father.”

The girl stared at Mira with large tears still upon her cheeks. “Can you really do it? Can you save Papa?”

From the distant past, Mira heard her own questions about the loss of her parents. And she thought about what she was preparing to do now to keep her promise to this young girl. There were high costs. But the right costs. And Mira would not let doubt enter in.