Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (17 page)
But Regial was manacled and couldn’t come forward, so Akeela gestured to D’marak. “Give this to him,” he directed.
The Assistant Chancellor raised his eyebrows for a moment, then reached up to the bench to take the glass from Akeela. He handed it to Regial, who was barely able to bring the glass to his lips for the cuffs around his wrists. Sloppily, he drank the entire contents, then let D’marak take the glass away. The Assistant Chancellor put the glass down with some annoyance before continuing to read the charges in his book.
“As I said, my king, he has served two years of his eight year sentence. He’s here because he heard about Mercy Court and wouldn’t give his jailors any peace until he spoke to you.” D’marak scowled at Regial. “Well, you’re here now, thief. Speak your plea.”
Regial shuffled forward awkwardly. His jaundiced eyes looked up at the bench. “My king, I don’t know what to say. How do I plead for myself?”
Akeela replied, “This is Mercy Court. Tell me why you deserve mercy.”
“Because I’ve served two years in Borior,” said Regial. “That should be reason enough to free any man.”
“Your sentence is eight years,” D’marak reminded him. “Now stop wasting the king’s time.”
Regial became flustered. He held up his manacled hands. “My king, I am twenty-five years old. I stole some sheep and have regretted it every moment since. But I’m fit and I can work, and I shouldn’t be shut away like some leper.”
“You stole nineteen sheep, to be precise,” said D’marak. “From the Baron Glass’ own herd.”
“Ah well,” said Regial with a grin. “Not the smartest move, no.”
The courtroom laughed. So did Akeela.
“If Baron Glass found out you’d been freed, he’d demand payment for his stolen sheep,” he said.
“He got his bloody sheep back,” said Regial. “When I was caught.”
“Still, you’ve a debt to pay,” said Akeela. “You say you’re able-bodied, and you look fit enough to me. A little thin maybe, but nothing some food and sunlight couldn’t cure.”
Regial’s face brightened. “I’m free, then?”
“I see no reason for you to waste away in Borior,” said Akeela.
Assistant Chancellor D’marak cleared his throat loudly, shooting Akeela a cautioning glance. Akeela looked at him askance.
“Is something wrong, D’marak?”
“My king,” said D’marak, “this man is a felon, beyond redemption. He got eight years because he deserves it.” He tapped his book. “It’s all in the records. He made his livelihood as a thief. If you let him go he’ll just steal again.”
Akeela thought for a moment, leaning back in the big chair. Mercy Court wasn’t supposed to be a mockery, and releasing dangerous men was the last thing he wanted to do. But Regial didn’t look dangerous to Akeela. He looked dirty and that was all, the way Lukien had looked as a boy.
“Regial,” he said, “Mercy Court means a great deal to me, but it’s also important to all these others. If I release someone who then goes out and repeats the same crimes, it would ruin this court. I’d have to stop granting leniency and hearing petitions, and then everyone would lose. Do you take my meaning?”
The young man nodded quickly. “I do, my king.”
“So you won’t return to thieving?”
Regial crossed his heart. “I promise.”
“Promise,” sneered D’marak. “King Akeela, please . . .”
Akeela held up his hand. “It’s done. Release him and take him to Lionkeep.” He glowered at Regial. “We’re going to put you to work in the castle, fellow. I’m going to keep an eye on you. And I warn you—I know every stick of silverware in my home. If so much as a spoon goes missing, it’s back to Borior with you.”
Regial smiled, D’marak sighed, and the crowd of petitioners broke into murmurs, surprised by Akeela’s trust.
“Thank you, my king,” said Regial, bowing. “I won’t disappoint you, you’ll see.”
“See that you don’t,” said Akeela. He was pleased with himself, pleased with the respect he saw reflected at him from the crowd.
For the rest of the afternoon, the petitioners were ordinary. Two more prisoners were brought in from Borior, but neither of them had stolen from a baron and that made them less appealing to the crowd. D’marak, still stung by Akeela’s refusal of his advice, remained quiet throughout the proceedings, simply reading charges and answering Akeela’s inquiries. Akeela could sense D’marak’s disquietude.
Finally, near sundown, D’marak called the last number for the day.
“Forty-three.”
A man stood up from the crowd, his wooden number tag in hand. He was well dressed and groomed, with shining jet black hair combed carefully to one side and a well tailored jacket around his slim frame. He stepped forward, bowing first to D’marak then to Akeela. He presented himself with an earnest smile and a whiff of nervousness.
“Thank you for hearing my petition, my king,” he said. “My name is Gorlon, from Koth.”
“Welcome, Gorlon,” said Akeela. It was late in the day now and he was weary, but he was determined to give this last case his full attention. “You look afraid. Don’t be. This is Mercy Court, after all.” He glanced at D’marak. “Assistant Chancellor, what are the particulars?”
D’marak paged through his book until he came to number forty-three. Half-laughing, he said, “Adultery, my lord.”
Akeela’s smile waned. “Adultery? Is that true, Gorlon?”
Gorlon swallowed. “I’m sorry to say so, my lord.”
In Liiria, adultery wasn’t a crime like rape or thievery, but it was a transgression for which a man could expect restitution. He could put his wife away for it, or demand that damages be paid as compensation for his broken home, if not his broken heart. So far in Mercy Court Akeela had dealt with thieves and whores and even a rapist, but this was his first adulterer. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he disliked the man.
“I don’t think we should waste your time with this, my king,” said D’marak. “I’m sure Gorlon here is sorry.” He turned to the young man. “My ledger says the offended wants twenty sovereigns for damages. You can pay half that, yes?”
Gorlon nodded. “Yes, gladly.”
D’marak made a mark in his book. “Fine. Then we’re done here, I think. My king, if you’d—”
“Stop,” said Akeela. He looked at D’marak acidly. “We’re not done here,
Assistant Chancellor.”
Assistant Chancellor.”
D’marak blanched, and Gorlon, who hadn’t expected the king’s tone, stepped back a pace.
“Explain yourself, Gorlon,” Akeela ordered. He leaned forward, gazing down at the man. “I want to hear about your crime.”
“My king, there’s really nothing to explain,” stammered Gorlon. “I loved a woman who was married. That’s all. It was my foolishness that brought me to this place.”
“And your lust,” added Akeela.
“Aye, and that,” agreed Gorlon. “But I did the lady no harm. She was with me willingly, and has even told her husband so.”
“No harm?” said Akeela. “You believe that?”
Gorlon nodded. “Yes, my lord. But I don’t have the twenty sovereigns to pay the man I’ve wronged. If ten is agreed . . .”
“It is not agreed, sir,” said Akeela. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples against a rising headache. The way this arrogant Gorlon pranced into court . . .
“My king,” said D’marak. “Why not let him pay the ten sovereigns and be done with it? It’s late, after all. And it’s only adultery.”
“Only adultery?” Akeela erupted. He stood up suddenly, forcing a gasp from the courtroom. “Adultery is a crime in Liiria.”
D’marak chuckled. “It’s hardly the same as murder, King Akeela.”
Akeela turned to Gorlon. “What is marriage?”
“My lord?”
“Come on, man, tell me. What is marriage?”
“It’s . . .” Gorlon searched for an answer. “It’s a union, my lord.”
“What kind of union?” snapped Akeela.
Gorlon was lost. “My lord?”
“It’s a legal union! It’s two people committing themselves to each other before the Court of Liiria. Before
me
. And it isn’t something that can be broken just because a man feels an urge or a woman agrees to spread her legs.”
me
. And it isn’t something that can be broken just because a man feels an urge or a woman agrees to spread her legs.”
“My lord, I never . . .”
“Quiet.” Akeela turned to D’marak. “What is the husband asking for? Twenty sovereigns?”
“Yes,” said D’marak. “Quite a bit, actually.”
Was it a lot, Akeela wondered? How much was a marriage worth? And how much should this scraper pay to repair one? Suddenly Akeela didn’t know himself. All the mercy blew out of him like a wind. He saw Gorlon standing before him, prideful and handsome, cocksure that he could come to Mercy Court and bargain a better deal, and Akeela remembered how awkward he had been as a youth. In his mind’s eye, it was all he could see.
“Right,” he said, nodding. “Gorlon, you will pay the husband you wronged forty sovereigns.”
“Forty?” Gorlon shrieked. “But my lord, he’s only asking for twenty!”
“Forty,” Akeela repeated. “And don’t raise your voice to me.”
Gorlon looked at D’marak for support, but the assistant only stared at the king, his mouth agape.
“You think I’m being cruel, don’t you?” Akeela asked the petitioner. “You’re lucky I don’t toss you into Borior.”
“King Akeela, please . . .”
“Look at you, standing there in your fine clothes with your perfect face. I’ve seen fellows like you all my life. You think that smile of yours lets you get away with anything.”
Stunned, Gorlon said nothing.
“Well, not this time.” Akeela rose from the bench. “D’marak, forty sovereigns. Not a penny less.”
He left the courtroom, suffering the shocked expressions of the crowd.
9
L
ieutenant Will Trager shook cold rain from his face, cursing his bad luck. The storms that had surged through the valley the past few days had turned the road to muck and swallowed the sun with clouds, and though he suspected it was very near noon, he could barely see the path past the blinding rain. He drew back the reins of his horse, bringing the beast to a stop. A canopy of sable hung overhead, windswept and miserable. Trager’s uniform clung limply to his body, soaked through with rain. Behind him, the muddy road snaked through the forest, back toward his company and the warm fires of camp. Ahead of him lay a fork in the road, both branches leading to darkness. The thick forest weaved a mesh of tangled limbs, warning him away.
ieutenant Will Trager shook cold rain from his face, cursing his bad luck. The storms that had surged through the valley the past few days had turned the road to muck and swallowed the sun with clouds, and though he suspected it was very near noon, he could barely see the path past the blinding rain. He drew back the reins of his horse, bringing the beast to a stop. A canopy of sable hung overhead, windswept and miserable. Trager’s uniform clung limply to his body, soaked through with rain. Behind him, the muddy road snaked through the forest, back toward his company and the warm fires of camp. Ahead of him lay a fork in the road, both branches leading to darkness. The thick forest weaved a mesh of tangled limbs, warning him away.
Trager shook his head, muttering to himself and hating Lukien for sending him scouting. The captain and the others were back at camp, enjoying food and the cover of pavilions, while he was out in the storm, enduring the cold and filth. For three days they had traveled, heading west toward Koth, and for three days it had rained, slowing them to a crawl. Worse, the swelling river Kryss had flooded the Novo Valley, forcing them to detour down unfamiliar roads. It had taken a lot of scouting to get this far, and Trager was sick of the duty. He was tired of the rain and the endless mud, but mostly he was tired of Lukien and his orders. Beads of rain fell into his eyes as he considered the forking road.
“Bloody hell, this figures. Which way now?”
Only the wind replied, lashing his face. He suddenly felt alone, and the murkiness unnerved him. Again he thought of his arrogant captain, and his patience snapped.
“God damn it, I’m a lieutenant! Why send me out in this swill?” Then he laughed bitterly, adding, “Because the captain is a bloody bastard, that’s why.”
He could turn back, he supposed, but then he would have failed in this simple task, and that would give Lukien pleasure. So he squinted through the rain, surveying the routes carefully. Both directions looked equally eerie; not at all hospitable, especially since they had the princess with them. And Lukien had told him to find the safest route. But Trager wasn’t even sure where they were. Somewhere lost in Reec, south of the Novo Valley.
“Left then,” he decided. It was more southerly and would probably lead them closer to Koth. He urged his mount forward again, his mind polluted with thoughts of Lukien.
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