The Three Lands Omnibus Part 8

I had only a moment to think. Then I flung the dagger from my hand, and with a sob escaping from my throat, I turned and tried to climb the mountain wall.

I was no more than an arm's length up the wall when I felt my collar seized, and I was flung onto the ground, back-first. My head hit the rock, and for a moment I lay stunned. Only one whistle-code echoed through the air now, one that sounded familiar. With my head still sick with dizziness, I tried to rise, but something sharp against my chest held me back. I opened my eyes and saw the lieutenant, calmly pressing his sword against my heart.

The hunt was ended; the hunted was captured alive.

CHAPTER NINE.

The eighteenth day of October in the 940th year a.g.l. (entry continued) I lay very still. My hands were still raised above my head, the way they had been when I tried to climb, and I felt my wrists and ankles being pinned to the ground by unseen guards. I didn't resist them. I was afraid that if I moved in the slightest, the lieutenant's sword would miss the spot he was aiming for, and I would die a more painful death than already awaited me.

There was a pause while a soft shuffle of footsteps gathered round me. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that there were more than six guards here; I had been right in thinking that the full unit was after me. My gaze, though, was on the lieutenant, staring down at me with dark hatred in his eyes, and my one thought, outside of terror, was my growing concern as to how long he was going to make me wait like this before he finished his deed.

Softly he said, "Search him."

Instantly, on both sides of me, I felt hands touching my body, swiftly and firmly. I resisted an impulse to flinch away, mainly because I was uncertain as to what they were doing. What did it matter to them whether I had another weapon? I'd have no chance to use it. The hands ceased to touch me on my front, and then I was rolled over onto my stomach, and I could feel myself being touched again. Still I did not move, for now I could feel the lieutenant's blade against my spine.

G.o.d of Mercy, I thought. Is he really going to kill me in the back? For the first time I felt the impulse to speak a not to plead for my life, which was clearly forfeit, but to ask the lieutenant to give me an honorable death. Then I stifled the impulse. What did I know of Emorian honor? Perhaps in Emor there was no shame attached to being stabbed in the back, as a fleeing man might be killed.

"He is naked," said one of the guards, meaning of course that I was unarmed. There was another pause, and my shoulder-blades began to draw toward each other, bracing for the moment.

Then the lieutenant said, "All right, get him up. And bind his eyes too; we take no chances with this one."

My momentary bewilderment was ended by sharp pain as one of the guards jerked down my upraised hands down and began to bind them behind my back with a leather strap. Another guard was tying a cloth over my eyes. Then I was pulled to my feet.

This was worse than I had expected; I was not even going to be granted the quick death I had dreaded. They were going to take me some place where they could give me a slow, painful death a perhaps they would torture me for days. I felt myself begin to shiver once more, and this time I knew that it wasn't from the wind.

Given the fact that I had been travelling in near darkness, I ought not to have had any trouble travelling eye-bound, but there is a great difference between walking forward in the darkness on your own feet and being propelled forward without having a chance to feel the ground beneath you. I never fell; the hands holding me on either side wrenched me upward each time I stumbled. After a few minutes of this, I discovered to my fury that moisture was forming at the edge of my eyes. Death I could accept, pain I would endure somehow, but this march of humiliation seemed calculated to break my spirit.

Presently the hands released me, and someone pushed me sideways, then forward. On either side of me I could feel rocks brushing against my arms; from the hollowness of the footsteps before me and behind me, I could tell that we were in the tunnel leading to the hut. The patrol guards must have marched me over the wooden plank across the pit, for the echoes of my footsteps ceased. I felt gra.s.s under my feet for a while, then the hands took hold of me again, and I travelled through open air for a short s.p.a.ce before being suddenly thrust forward. I stumbled and fell to my knees, just saving myself from falling entirely to the floor. The ground beneath me was dirt, the air felt warm, and there were low voices speaking around me that had a hollow tone to them. I must be in some sort of enclosure again.

I heard the lieutenant saying something soft to his men. I was raised to my feet, less harshly than I had been thrown forward, and the cloth was removed from my eyes.

I found I was standing in a small room a this must be the hut I had seen in the hollow. Immediately in front of me was an open hearth-fire that was the sole source of light in the room. Beyond it, most of the soldiers were crowded around a dark, open doorway. Then they stepped back, and from the room beyond the main chamber stepped the sublieutenant.

He took no notice of me. He went over to the lieutenant, who was standing near me, and pulled his sword from his sheath. For a moment, he held the blade flat against his face; then he sheathed his weapon once more.

"How is he?" asked the lieutenant in Emorian.

"He will live." The sublieutenant's gaze wandered over toward me for the first time, and his brows dived low. "He caught Fowler's side a the wound is bad, but his life's blood has not spilled without measure. Gamaliel says that he should be taken back to the city. He doubts that Fowler will recover before the snows fall."

The door in the back was closing, and the other soldiers had begun to turn my way. The lieutenant was looking at me now as well; his expression had not grown any lighter since he first captured me. I felt my lungs being squeezed short at the same moment that my breath quickened. Now, I thought, they will begin.

"Very well, sir," said the lieutenant to me in Common Koretian. "You obviously wanted badly to cross the border. You may as well tell us why."

I must have gaped a at least, that was what I was feeling inside. But perhaps my expression came across as defiance, for the next thing I knew the lieutenant had me pinned by both shoulders against the wall. "Listen, Koretian," he said, his voice still even and cool, though his hands were pressed hard against me, "you just wounded one of my best men. I am not in a mood to be patient. You will answer the questions I ask you."

My voice came out in a feeble sort of tremble. "You won't believe me."

"You have nothing to lose by telling me the truth," said the lieutenant, still very cool. "You have a great deal to lose by not speaking."

Blocked from my view by the lieutenant, the sublieutenant said, "He is probably going to say that his G.o.ds made him do it. That is what Koretians always say when they break the law."

The one, small part of me that was still functioning rationally put out an urgent message that I must not mention the G.o.ds in my reply. This created a difficulty a I had never before tried to censor all reference to the G.o.ds in my speech a but the lieutenant was clearly not prepared to wait long, so I switched over to Emorian, which gave me an excuse to stumble slowly through my speech. "I wanted to be Emorian," I said. "I knew that you wouldn't let me into your land without a letter of pa.s.sage, but I wanted to become one of you. I wanted-" I hesitated before remembering what Fenton had said about the law. This was how I could find a subst.i.tute for speaking of the G.o.ds. "I wanted to take a vow of service to the Chara."

There was a good deal of murmuring going on between the soldiers now, but the lieutenant didn't move his gaze. He still had me pinned to the wall, and his face was but a hand's span from mine. "I see," he said. "Is there any particular reason you were so eager to do this?"

"My family is in a blood feud."

The side of the lieutenant's mouth quirked up, though his eyes remained angry. "You fled to Emor so that you would not be murdered?"

"No. So that I wouldn't have to murder."

The lieutenant made no reply; he still hadn't released me. I thought wildly to myself that I would never be able to explain. He must have heard of blood feuds, but he couldn't understand what it was like to take part in one. I wouldn't have understood if it hadn't happened to me. I might as well remain quiet and let them do whatever it was that they planned to do to me.

But I found myself saying, "I wanted to live in a land where there are no blood feuds. I heard about the Chara's law a about how murderers in Emor are brought to judgment, and no one has to kill out of blood-l.u.s.t. I wanted to find out more about this law. It seemed to me that it must be more worthy of honor than-" I faltered, then concluded, "Than the G.o.ds."

The murmuring in the room had died out. The lieutenant straightened his elbows so that, while he was still holding me, he was further back from me now. "Carle," he said.

The sublieutenant's head appeared over the lieutenant's shoulder. "Sir?"

"Is he telling the truth?"

The sublieutenant looked into my eyes, peering as closely at me as I used to look at Emorian writings I was trying to translate. Sublieutenant Carle said slowly, "Yes, sir, I believe he is."

The lieutenant released my shoulders with a suddenness that startled me. "So you like the idea of Emorian law, do you?"

I nodded mutely.

"Do you think what you did just now was lawful?" asked the lieutenant softly.

I swallowed; my throat was so tightly closed that even that was painful. "I don't know, sir," I said. "I don't know any Emorian law."

"Let me try another question. Do you think that what you did was just? Do you think that it was right?"

"He has no understanding of justice, sir," said Carle with disgust. "He does whatever his G.o.ds tell him to do."

I could feel myself growing dizzy with bewilderment again. Was it right for me to have attacked a man who had been keeping me from doing what I wanted? The question would never have occurred to me. If I were in my village- No, that wouldn't do; if I were in my village, I would either be dead or undergoing torture by now. There must be some reason that the lieutenant was asking me these questions. Well, in the old days, would I have thought that the G.o.ds would approve of what I did? Despite Carle's statement, it seemed to me that that was closer to what the lieutenant was asking me, but I was still unsure of an answer.

"I don't know, sir," I said. "Perhaps it wasn't."

In the silence that followed, I could hear the crackle of the fire and the moan of the wounded man in the next room, but nothing more. Then the lieutenant said, "I will give you a choice, then. You can return to Koretia now and start your life over again. Or you can undergo judgment by Emorian law for what you did. The maximum penalty for your crime is death."

It wasn't clear to me what he was offering. On the one hand, he seemed to be offering to let me go, as long as I went back to Koretia ... and that was a fate that I was not prepared to contemplate. On the other hand, he was asking me to accept certain death a or was it certain?

"Did you say *maximum penalty,' sir?" I asked.

"Yes. You could be given a lesser sentence." Then, seeing my blank look, he added, "A lesser punishment. But I cannot promise that; you might be sentenced to death."

"The question is not which penalty is worse," said Carle. "By the law-structure, lieutenant, is it not clear that this boy has no understanding? He is just trying to find the easiest way out. He cares nothing about what he has done."

Somehow, Carle's words made it clear to me what I was being offered. I felt a burst of joy and said, "Will you do that? Will you show me how the law works?"

"It would not be a game," said the lieutenant. "You would be on trial for your life."

"That doesn't matter," I said impatiently. "I'd rather die than go back to Koretia. But if I could just know first what the law is-" I stopped, thought back to the words I had heard Carle speak at the fireside, and added, "It would be worth dying, to know what the law is and to be obedient to its consequences, even for a short time."

The soldiers' murmuring returned once more; I heard one of them mutter, "Heart of Mercy," but I did not hear the rest of this mysterious oath. The lieutenant was exchanging looks with Carle. After a moment he said, "Very well. What is your name?"

"Adrian son of Berenger," I replied.

"Adrian, since you are in the black border mountains, you are under my care and therefore under my judgment; I will be the judge for your trial. Carle, who is the witness?"

"Myself, sir."

"Devin, you are the herald, Payne is the clerk, and Sewell is the summoner; we may as well do this properly for the benefit of the prisoner's education. As for a guide- Adrian."

"Yes, sir?"

"Since you know little of the law, you are ent.i.tled to a guide to answer your questions during the trial and explain to you what is happening. Sublieutenant Carle is appearing as a witness against you, but he also happens to be the man in this unit who knows the most about Emorian law. Are you willing to accept him as your guide, or would you prefer that I appoint someone else?"

I looked over at the sublieutenant uncertainly. He no longer looked angry, but I couldn't read his look; it was as if a mask had appeared over his face. "He would be fine, sir," I said, "if a if he wishes to be my guide."

The lieutenant raised his eyebrows toward Carle in query. Carle said, with phrasing that appeared deliberate, "I would be glad to undertake this duty, sir. I want him to have a fair trial."

"Let me know when you are ready, then. I will be in the storeroom in the meantime." And the lieutenant, without looking my way again, walked over to the room in the back.

I looked around uncertainly. Most of the guards had withdrawn to the other side of the hut and were standing there, talking in low voices amongst themselves, but two guards came forward to join Carle and me. One, who appeared to be struggling to keep anger from his face, barely glanced at me as he pulled off his back-sling and rummaged in it. From it he took a pen, an inkwell, and a small wooden board that had paper pinned to it.

He knelt down onto the ground to open the ink, but my attention was distracted by the other guard who had come over to stand by us. His face was white, whiter even than Carle's, and his hair was the color of sun-bleached cloth. Even his eyelashes were blond, as though all bodily color had been stolen from him. He said, with an accent I could barely understand, "What is your pleasure, sublieutenant?"

Carle glared at him, as though the guard's light words were unfitting for the occasion. "I request a charge, Sewell," he said shortly. "I wish to charge Adrian son of Berenger, lesser free-man, with the murder of Fowler son of Serge, lesser free-man."

"Murder!" I exclaimed, taking a worried look at the door through which the lieutenant had left.

"Attempted murder," Carle amended. "It is the same charge, under the law."

"But-" I stopped to look at Sewell, who was watching the other guard scribble down some words as he rose to his feet, pen and paper in hand.

Sewell glanced over at me. "Do you wish to dispute the request?"

I looked uncertainly at Carle, who said, "He is not asking you whether you dispute the charge a whether you are innocent or guilty. He wants to know whether you think that he should charge you with a lesser crime. Sewell is the court summoner, and it is his job to decide whether you should be charged with a crime. The lieutenant, who is judge, can overrule Sewell's decision, but only if he justifies his actions to the higher courts."

"The higher courts?" I said in some bewilderment.

"There is only one court higher than the mountain patrol court," said Sewell, leaning over Payne's shoulder to see what he had written. "That is the Court of Judgment, the Chara's court. If the lieutenant overruled me, he would have to tell the Chara why he did that, so it is unlikely he will overrule me."

I stood where I had been this whole time, pressed against the wall, my hands bound behind me, and feeling increasingly foolish. My life depended on my saying the right words now, but I felt as though I had been asked to learn an entire language in just a few minutes. Sewell waited expectantly for me to reply, then raised his yellow-white eyebrows at Carle when I did not.

"Let us try it this way," said Carle. "Are you surprised that I would charge you with attempted murder? Is that the crime you were expecting to be charged with?"

"I wasn't trying to kill Fowler," I said in a small voice.

Around the hut, the mountain winds continued to whistle. One of the guards went to the door, which had been closed during this time, and opened it a crack before returning to where the other guards stood, murmuring together and occasionally glancing our way. The central fire painted leaping light upon Sewell's face as he said, "Sublieutenant, I am going to have to question the prisoner in private, since you are presenting testimony against him. You can give Payne your witness in the meantime."

Carle nodded, and I watched with concern as my guide and the pen-bearing guard went over into another corner. As they left, Sewell said softly, "Whatever you tell me won't be used in your trial. I just want to determine whether the right charge has been requested against you. What sort of charge did you expect the sublieutenant to make against you?"

"I wasn't trying to kill Fowler," I repeated. "I just wanted to get past him. I did wound him, but I tried not to hurt him badly."

Sewell nodded. "Then you believe that you should be tried under the charge of striking a free-man."

"Striking?" I said tentatively.

Sewell smiled suddenly. "It's a law term. It means any injury that isn't intended to kill."

I nodded wordlessly, and Sewell said, "Very well. You must be skilled with your blade to have breached Fowler's guard. If you didn't kill him, I'll a.s.sume that it was because you didn't intend to do so. In the name of the Chara, whose law I am sworn to serve, I charge you under the Law of a.s.sault. The sentence for such a crime is mercy or beating or branding."

I felt what remained of my supper curdling within my stomach. Branding a and not a brand I could hide, as Fenton had hidden his old slave-brand under his sleeve, but a brand on my cheek, to show everyone I met that I had committed a terrible crime. If Emorians were great law-lovers, as Fenton had said, what hope would I have of being accepted in this land when I was branded with the symbol of my lawbreaking? The patrol might as well send me back to Koretia.

I said, struggling to keep my breathing even, "How does the judge decide which sentence to give me?"

"Carle!" The sublieutenant, who had been speaking all this while to Payne as the latter scribed words on the paper, raised his head as Sewell called to him. Sewell said, "The prisoner has a question about his sentences. Are you through there?"

Carle nodded. As he came over to stand by us, Sewell added, "I am charging him under the Law of a.s.sault. Do you wish to appeal my decision to the lieutenant?"

Carle wordlessly shook his head. Then, to my dismay, he reached down to his thigh-pocket. I pressed myself further back against the wall, and a humorless smile flickered across the sublieutenant's face. "Be at peace," he said as he pulled out his thigh-dagger and turned it so that its hilt faced me. "You are not in Koretia a no one is going to murder you. I am releasing your hands. Prisoners are not bound unless they have been charged with a crime that carries a sentence of death. What is your question about the sentences?"

As he pulled me around and used the slender dagger-hilt to pry open the knot in the strap, I repeated my question. He replied, "The judge can find you innocent, or he can find you guilty to varying degrees. If you wounded Fowler willfully and with clear understanding a if you knew what you were doing and you had no excuse for doing it a then the lieutenant will sentence you to a branding. If you wounded Fowler without clear understanding a if you did not realize what you were doing when you committed the crime a then he will sentence you to a beating. If you wounded Fowler under provocation a if something or someone made you do it a then you will still be found guilty, but the judge will show mercy to you and will not sentence you to punishment. Is that clear? You have to decide how to plead your charge a whether or not to admit your guilt, and if you admit it, then to what degree you will say you are guilty."

I considered this as I rubbed my numb wrists. Finally I said, "Saying that something made me do it a what does that mean?"

Carle glanced over at Sewell, who had been murmuring to Payne as the other guard rapidly scribed words on the paper. Sewell looked Carle's way, raised his eyebrows again, and continued speaking to the guard who was acting as clerk.

"Well, you cannot blame your G.o.ds." Carle's voice, which had been neutral until now, took on a tinge of sarcasm. "Self-defense is considered provocation; if you thought that Fowler was going to attack you even if you surrendered yourself to him, you could use that as a way to defend yourself against the full charge. Or if you thought that the patrol was going to kill you unlawfully, that is a defense. For that matter, if you thought that you would be murdered in your blood feud if you returned to Koretia, you could use that as a defense." He would have spoken further, but I nodded quickly, and he said, "That is what you will plead? Guilty, but with provocation?"

"Yes," I said. "And then the lieutenant decides on my sentence?"

"After he has heard our witnesses. Devin, I think we are ready." He said this with raised voice to a guard standing next to the storeroom door, then added immediately, "No, wait. Listen, Adrian, we are informal in the patrol court; we use no more ceremony than a village court. But I know what informality means to you Koretians. You cannot just talk whenever you feel like it. You can ask me questions, and if you do not understand what I say, you can ask permission to speak to the judge. But otherwise, you only speak when the judge tells you to. Understand?" I nodded, and Carle said, "The prisoner is ready, Devin."

Devin opened the door a crack, murmured something across the gap, and then closed the door again and said in a booming voice, "All rise; the judge approaches."

Everyone was already standing, but I saw the other guards stiffen and fall silent as the storeroom door opened. The lieutenant looked different from when I had seen him last. He was wearing a cloak, though he had worn only a tunic a short time ago, and he was also wearing a gold chain that lay flat against his chest as he came over to stand against the far wall of the hut. But the greatest change was in his face, which was now drained of all anger and any other emotion. His eyes, cool and reserved, rested upon me briefly before settling upon Devin.

Devin, who had apparently been waiting for this signal, promptly proclaimed, "Let it be known that the Court of the Border Mountain Patrol in the Empire of Emor is now opened. This is the fifteenth day of October in the nine hundred and fortieth year after the giving of the law. The judge for the day is-" He hesitated, looked over at the lieutenant, and said quickly, "The Lieutenant of the Border Mountain Patrol is the judge. Let all who speak in this place do so with truth and with reverence for the law."

I waited for the lieutenant to speak then, to ask me why I had done what I did, but it was Payne who stepped forward and said, "Adrian son of Berenger, you have been brought here to answer a charge made against you by Carle, Sublieutenant of the Border Mountain Patrol. The charge is that you did willfully and with clear understanding strike a free-man, namely Fowler, Soldier of the Border Mountain Patrol. The witness in this charge is Sublieutenant Carle, and the sentence for such a crime is mercy or beating or branding. Do you-"

I had been trying for some time to interrupt; now I said rapidly, "Yes, I know all this. Soldier Sewell explained-"

I stopped; Carle had thrust his elbow into my ribs. I took a quick glance at his glowering face; then I looked over at Sewell, who had raised his eyes and was studiously watching the smoke disappear through a small hole in the ceiling. I bit my lip shut.