Medalon

down.

“Get up.”

R’shiel obeyed him slowly. His face was flushed with excitement rather than anger, his scar a fervid, pulsing gauge of his mood. She noticed the bulge in the front of his tight leather trousers and realized with disgust that her pain was arousing him. She backed away from him, inching her way along the wall.

“The only job you’ll be allowed is a court’esa, once they’ve finished with you,” he sneered in a low voice that wouldn’t carry to the guards outside. “I bet you’ll enjoy it, too.”

“You’d have to pay me, before I’d touch anything as pathetic as you,” she retorted. It was dangerous in the extreme to bait him like this.

“You smart-mouthed little bitch,” he snarled. “You’ll get what’s coming—”

“Captain!”

“What?”

“The clerk is here with the court list. He says you have to sign for it.”

Loclon looked at her and rubbed his groin. “Later, my Lady.”

R’shiel sank down on the pallet and let out her breath in a rush. She crossed her arms and laid her head on them. That way she couldn’t feel them shaking.

The fifth day of her confinement was Judgment Day. All the cases to be tried and judged were brought before the Sisters of the Blade. Rumor had it that Tarja was to be tried before the full court. Her own case would receive the attention of Sister Harith.

She was awakened at first light and marched from her cell to a tub of cold water on the table in the center of the guardroom. One of the guards handed her a rough towel and ordered her to clean up. Glancing around at the men, she began to wash her face as the other prisoners were assembled with the same instructions. Seven other prisoners were brought out. All men but for a small, chubby woman with a painted face which was tear-streaked and dirty. R’shiel glanced at her, recognizing the court’esa from the Blue Bull Tavern. For a moment, R’shiel thought she saw an aura flickering around her, an odd combination of light and shadows. She blinked the sight away impatiently.

“Sorry I dobbed you in,” the court’esa whispered as she leaned forward to splash her face. “They didn’t leave me any choice.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” R’shiel shrugged. She of all people knew how overwhelming Joyhinia could be.

“No talking,” Loclon ordered, grabbing the court’esa by her hair and pulling her head back painfully.

Suddenly another voice intruded. “Leave her alone.”

R’shiel glanced up and discovered Tarja standing behind Loclon, loosely flanked by two guards. He was unshaven and bruised, with one eye so puffy and purple it was almost shut.

“Friend of yours, is she, Tarja?” he asked, then plunged the court’esa face first into the tub of water. Tarja lunged forward but the guards held him back. The court’esa thrashed wildly in the water. Tarja leaned back into his captors and using them as support brought both legs up and kicked Loclon squarely in the lower back. The captain grunted with pain and released his victim, who fell coughing and choking to the floor. R’shiel grabbed her blouse and dragged her clear as Loclon turned on Tarja. Loclon clenched his hands together and drove them solidly into Tarja’s solar plexus. With a grunt, he collapsed in the arms of the guards who held him, as Loclon drew his fist back for another blow.

“That will be enough I think, Captain.”

Loclon stayed his hand at the sound of the new voice and turned to discover Garet Warner watching him with barely concealed contempt.

“The prisoner was attempting to escape, sir.”

“I’m sure he was,” Garet agreed unconvincingly.

R’shiel helped the court’esa to her feet, the movement catching the eye of the commandant. He turned to one of the Defenders who had accompanied him into the cells. “Take the women to the bathhouse and let them clean up, then escort them to the court.”

The Defender beckoned the women, neither of whom needed to be asked twice. As they followed him up the long, narrow corridor R’shiel glanced back at Tarja. His gaze met hers for an instant, and she saw the despair in his eyes, then she was out of sight of him.

The court to which R’shiel was arrayed was crowded with a long list of pagan cases in addition to the two women and four men brought up from the cells behind the Defenders’ Headquarters. The court’esa, whose unlikely name turned out to be Sunflower Hopechild, was called up first. She was accused of aiding the Defenders who had helped Tarja escape. Apparently, merely being in the Blue Bull with Davydd Tailorson the night before the escape was enough to convict her. Sister Harith gave the woman barely a glance before sentencing her to three years at the Grimfield. The court’esa seemed unconcerned as she was led back to her place next to R’shiel.

“The Grimfield. That’s supposed to be pretty bad isn’t it?” whispered one of the prisoners, a red-haired bondsman.

Sunny looked annoyed rather than distressed. “I’ll still be doing the same thing at the Grimfield as I’m doing here, friend. Just irks me to think they’d reckon I’d help any damned heathen escape.”

“R’shiel of Haven.”

As her name was called a Defender stepped up and beckoned her forward. She shrugged off his arm as she walked to the dock. R’shiel of Haven, Harith had called her. She no longer had the right to use the name Tenragan. I am truly free of Joyhinia.

“R’shiel of Haven is charged with theft of a silver mirror and two hundred rivets from the First Sister’s apartments and aiding the escape attempt by the deserter Tarjanian Tenragan,” the orderly announced. R’shiel was surprised, and a little relieved, that the charges had not included the Defender in Reddingdale she had killed.

“Do you stand ready for judgment?” Harith asked, not looking up from the sheaf of parchment in which she was engrossed.

Would it make a difference? R’shiel was tempted to ask. But she held her tongue. Harith was never a friend to Joyhinia. She might be lenient, simply to annoy the First Sister.

“Do you stand ready for judgment or do you call for trial?” Harith asked again.

“I stand ready,” R’shiel replied. Calling for trial would just mean weeks, maybe even months in the cells, waiting for her case to come up. Better to plead guilty. It was the faster road to an end to this nightmare.

“Then the court finds you, by your own admission, ready to stand judgment for your crimes. You stole from the First Sister. You aided a known traitor in an attempt to flee justice, and by doing so broke the laws of the Sisterhood. Your actions prove you unworthy. You were offered a place in the Sisterhood as a Probate, which is now withdrawn. You were offered sanctuary in the Citadel, which is now withdrawn. You were offered the comfort and fellowship of the Sisterhood, which is now withdrawn...”

R’shiel listened to the ritual words of banishment, with growing relief. She was being expelled. Thrown out completely.

“You defied the laws of the Sisterhood, and therefore the only fit punishment is the Grimfield. I sentence you to ten years.” Harith finally met her gaze. The Sister was savagely pleased at the effect of her decision.

“Next!” Sister Harith ordered.

Ten years in the Grimfield. Hanging would have been kinder.

The holding pens for the prisoners were outside the Citadel proper, located near the stockyards and smelling just as bad. Sunny latched onto R’shiel as they were herded like cattle, guiding the stunned girl through the pens to a place in what little patch of warmth there was in the cold afternoon sun. She made R’shiel sit down on the dusty ground and patted her hand comfortingly.

“You’ll be fine,” the court’esa promised her. “With that clear skin and nice long hair, you’ll be grabbed by one of the officers, first thing. Ten years will seem like nothing.”

R’shiel didn’t answer her. Ten years at the Grimfield. Ten years as a court’esa.