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This was a bloody stupid idea, Jonaton Mill thought for the hundredth time. A moment later he smiled tightly. Too late to turn back now, is it?
Licking dry lips, he straightened his tunic and stepped into the reception chamber of the High Seat. Amidst the splendor and wealth around him, Jonaton was utterly lost. His features were attractive in the right light and his brown hair looked decent when it was not tousled by habitual finger-combing, but there was nothing striking about him. Beside the High Seat he looked about as noteworthy as a clod of dirt.
Barely in his thirties, Elador Illumata Imperion was the youngest to ever achieve such a lofty position. Some thought it the result of behind-the-scenes manipulation and a certain amount of influence from his noble Karfellan family, but now that Jonaton could see the man in person, he knew that that was not true. Tall and handsome, with distinguished features and intelligent eyes, the High Seat looked capable of spinning the world like a top.
Bloody ashes! Why did I let Jakob talk me into this? Why did I let me talk me into this?
"As the Creator hears your prayers, child, so does the High Seat receive your pleas." This was from the woman standing at Imperion's right hand – Gwaindlyn Helios, Lady of House Helios before her decision to join the Order. She was perhaps five years younger than the High Seat and unremarkable except for a certain sturdy prettiness in her features. "State your name and be received by the Mouth of the Light."
Jonaton bowed quickly and introduced himself. "I come from South Manthrin," he added quickly. "To plead for the life of my sister Elza."
"Yes. The one accused of heresy." Imperion's voice was calm and soothing, but it sent terrified shivers down Jonaton's spine. A wolf trying to hide himself with the sheep was still a wolf, and even if the High Seat's lineage had not helped him along, he must have possessed large ambition and great cunning. Some rumors said he was a philosopher; others said things Jonaton did not want to think about. "Gwaindlyn, if you would be so kind as to remind me of the charges." Those eyes never left Jonaton; the reminder was intended for him.
Helios bowed slightly and recited from her much-famed perfect memory. "Elza Mill, daughter of Kendric and Fara, sister of Jakob and Jonaton, was arrested on the charge of heresy in the month of Caiven, in the year of the Light 1013 – one year and three weeks ago to laymen. She accused the High Seat and the Order of rising above their own positions and of receiving no divine wisdom from the Creator. In addition, she has shown decided allegiance to the Children of the Light and to her brother, a member of the warlocks in the Black Tower and thus a Shadowed – "
"My brother is no Shadowed and my sister is no heretic!" Jonaton tried to snap his mouth shut, but the angry words poured out. "Light protect me, what proof do you have? She doesn't own any banned books, she prays and attends the sermons and confesses her dark thoughts like the rest of the world – more than some of your preachers – and she has never shown any interest in the Children of the Light!" He scrubbed angrily at stinging eyes. He would not cry in front of the High Seat.
Helios opened her mouth, pale face red with indignation, but the High Seat silenced her with a gesture. "Such devotion to your sister should be rewarded," he said softly. "But heretics know no boundaries, no more than the Shadowed do. They will deceive kin if they feel it is necessary. You would be best to continue your service to the Light and to hope your sister repents while there is still time." It was a warning again, no matter how kindly spoken.
Tears blurring his vision, Jonaton sketched a bow and turned to leave on shaky legs. There was nothing he could do here – no way to help Elza if he stayed and made a fool of himself with his bloody loose tongue.
Light help me. Creator and Illuminated help me. Let Elza bend for once and admit she was wrong. Please, Light. I can't lose her. His prayer echoed as he left the Manifest and the city of Diciara itself. Please, Light. I don't know how to help her.
***
Elza Mill had just seen her twentieth birthday, but she doubted she would reach her twenty-first. Not with the way things looked now. It did not take much imagination to realize she was going to die soon. To think otherwise was to delude herself. She had never done that before and she was not going to start now.
A tall, stern woman with the light brown hair that marked all Southern Manthrinians, she could look her brother Jakob in the eye despite his five-year head start. All of her mother's height had gone to Jonaton, two years her younger; she barely reached his nose. She had been the unquestioned leader of her family after her parents died, especially after Jakob started to channel, and she had seen them through the death of two aunts, the desertion of three supposed relatives, a famine, and the war against the Tashiri. It was hard to make her do anything she did not want to.
It was even harder to get her to open her mouth when she decided shutting it was in her best interests.
"It would go better for you if you talked." That was from her guard, a grizzled older man named Per who, while loyal to the Order, seemed to disapprove of their methods. "If you've done something dark, admit it and you will be set free."
Elza laughed bitterly. "After I am branded." She touched her cheek. H for heretic or S for Shadowed, or perhaps both. Her brothers would be as good as dead then.
"Better branded than in the Dark One's grip." Per scratched at his salt-and-pepper beard, which was even more in need of a trim than usual. "You're young and you have a future. You could still make something of yourself with a brand. I know some who have."
"How?"
Per shifted uncomfortably. "There are ways. Not always honest, but they do no harm and the Order's soldiers are apt to turn a blind eye. If you know what I mean." His face was as red as a beet - what she could see of it under that shaggy growth, anyway.
Elza shook her head. She knew what Per was suggesting, but she had her pride. Perhaps that was all she had left, but she clung to it fiercely. "No. I won't. I'm no heretic and I'm certainly no Shadowed. If the Light is kind, I will be freed. If the Light is not..." She shrugged, her casual attitude belying the acid churning in her stomach. She wondered when they would decide to feed her. "Those who keep the words of the sermons will not be placed in the Dark One's grip. I can hope I'm with them."
"Hope won't keep you from the hangman's noose." The guard's voice was distant and gruff; Elza was not even sure if it was directed at her. "I've seen younger than you tortured for less than what they say you've done. Please consider, girl. Imperion's a good leader, but he's ruthless. He won't give you another chance."
"I won't confess to something I didn't do."
Per sighed and moved his face away from the barred window set in the cell's heavy wooden door. "Dangerous times are coming," came his rumbled warning. "We need people like you with the Light. Just you consider." When she did not answer, he sighed. "Stone-headed girl. Think about it."
Elza settled herself on her straw and rested her chin on her knees. She was thinking about it – about everything – just as hard as she could. The problem was that she could not see a way out of her mess. Opposing Imperion was like running headfirst into a brick wall, but maybe if she had a hard enough head, she could break through to the other side.
And maybe Rogeth the Eagle-Eyed and Brigette the Bowmaid will walk in and free me, she added, chuckling at her own bleak humor.
***
The strangers left the ruins in the morning, with the A'sh'man in the lead and his strange Guardian bringing up the rear. That strange, frightening woman scared the watcher; she moved like a shadow and hid in the darkness despite her snow-white skin and golden hair, and - worst of all - her eyes glowed yellow whenever the light struck them. The watcher had heard stories that the Guardians could speak to beasts and were part beast themselves, but he had never believed them. Not until now.
Moving soundlessly, he followed them as they made their way along the remnants of a path, using the underbrush to screen himself from view. No one in the Red Hand could track better than he could, not even the Captain. He would get a pip for this. Tracking an A'sh'man was no small feat, especially not one as cautious as this man.
For some reason, the watcher's eyes were drawn to the the girl with the golden tattoo and the gray dress - the one who kept staring at his hiding place. The watcher had to press his hands together to keep from reaching for his weapon. She was his age and female, which meant she had no combat training at all, but he knew that she could kill him more quickly than the A'sh'man.
The watcher smiled at his own unease. No one was going to kill him. He was Darris nin Ka'ton a'Tames l'Et'en, the youngest ever admitted into such high bands - and the only channeler ever given a position in the Red Hand. No mere girl could defeat him.
Best to keep his eyes on the A'sh'man.
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