of defending her need to judge, she had found no time for self-doubt. Now finally on her own, consideration of her weaknesses came unbidden. She had only the experience of watching Martin when it came to justice. Her Gift of Sight would help her little here; it would take a Communication Gift to delve into the complications of situation and intention. Unlike Martin, Judaia could cast only the first half of the Truth Spell; she could tell when a subject lied but could not force honesty the way he and the more strongly Gifted could. She would have to rely only on the first stage and on her own instincts, and the price for a mistake might prove the breaking of family and the severing of a bond between mother and child.
Too quickly, the door swung open. Again, Judaia saw two women arguing heatedly, their screams drowning one another's words so that the Herald could understand only a few broken phrases. The one nearest the door looked robust, her brown hair neatly combed despite the turmoil of childbirth. The other had curly locks hacked short, a hint of russet amid the darker strands. A naked baby boy curled, asleep, in the straw, clearly the object of their dispute. It pleased Judaia that they had taken care not to let their blows go wild enough to squash or harm the child. Against the far wall, a third female, more girl than woman, cradled another infant. The two stillborn lay hi a corner near the door.
'Stop!' Judaia said. Though she did not shout, the authority in her voice silenced the women. She seized on the hush. 'My name is Herald Judaia, and I was sent to settle this dispute.'
'The boy is mine!' the curly-haired one shouted.
'Liar!' The other lunged toward her, fist cocked to strike.
Judaia snatched the descending wrist in midair, wrenching the woman around to face her. 'Rule one, no fighting.' She hurled the arm away, and the woman staggered several steps. All three fixed their gazes on Judaia, the would-be attacker glaring. 'Rule two, no one speaks unless questioned by me. You may call me Herald. Politeness has never displeased me.' Judaia studied the women, guessing she would get the most unbiased story from the satisfied observer. 'You there.' She faced the quiet woman against the wall.
'Me, ma'am?' The youngster shook back mousy looks, keeping a firm grip on the baby that supported its head. She rose.
'What's your name?'
'Lindra, ma'am. Thirdwife of Salaman.' She avoided Judaia's eyes, keeping her gaze low, at the level of the Herald's mouth.
'Is this your first baby?' Judaia hoped Lindra would answer in the affirmative. She seemed no older than fifteen, and Judaia hated to think the Holderkin stressed their women any younger.
'First live baby. Yes, ma'am.' Apparently Lindra finally absorbed Judaia's words, for she corrected. 'I mean, yes, Herald. I lost two others early.'
'And you gave birth to the baby you're holding?'
'Oh, yes, ma'am . . . Herald. I'm certain of it.'
The other two women fidgeted, obviously fighting the need to hold their tongues. Lindra's response bothered Judaia. The mention of certainty suggested exactly the opposite. A simple 'yes' seemed far more natural, so Judaia prodded for details. 'What do you remember?'
Now, Lindra met Judaia's gaze directly. When it came to defending her child, she could clearly gather the gumption and fire she otherwise lacked. 'I carried twins; Herald. The first came out easy, but he was dead.' She gestured the bodies in the corner, tears turning her muddy eyes moist. 'She had to push around for the other. The stress of the first, and the pain . . .' She winced. 'I fainted. I didn't actually see her take out my little girl, but I know she's mine, Herald. A mother can tell.' She hugged the child closer.
The nearby fight stole all veracity from the latter statement, but Judaia let the observation lie. She saw no need to use the Truth Spell here. She had more obvious subjects for it.
The curly-haired woman had picked up the baby boy, clutching it with all the fierce tenderness that Lindra showed the girl. The other woman balled her fists, obedient to Judaia's rules though she clearly wanted to reclaim the child by violence.
Judaia placed a hand, both comforting and warning, on the woman's empty arms. 'I speak for the Queen now. My decision here, no matter its end, will stand.
Who holds the baby while we speak will have no bearing on the judgment.'
Judaia's words seemed to soothe the angered woman. Her fingers uncurled, and her manner softened. Still, the took she turned her curly-haired neighbor held venom.
Though she released her grip, Judaia kept her attention on the empty-armed Hold woman. 'Speak your name.'
'I am Keefhar, Firstwife of Kailer.'
While the woman spoke, Judaia closed her eyes, focusing on the verse she would need to run through nine times. She pictured a fog with blue eyes, shaping the Truth Spell with a bent toward muting it. Gradually, a blue fog took shape about Keefhar's head and shoulders. As all subjects of the spell, she remained oblivious to it. Lindra seemed too fixated on the baby girl to notice. The third women squinted, rubbing her eyes, as if to blame the magical vapor on her own vision. Surely, none of them would have seen such a thing before nor known its purpose. 'Keefhar,' Judaia watched the blue fog closely. She had kept it sparse, which would make its comings and goings more difficult to evaluate. She relied upon her Sight to gauge the status of her spell. 'Which baby did you bear?'
'The boy, Herald.' Keefhar rolled her gaze to the infant nestled in the others' arms. The blue haze dispersed, indicating a lie. 'The stillborn was hers.' She jabbed a finger at the curly-haired woman. The fog returned, as bright as at its casting. About this, at least, she had spoken truth.
'She lies!' The woman indicated screamed.
Judaia dropped the Truth Spell, swiftly placing another on her only remaining witness. As weak as her power was, the double casting would cost her a nasty overuse headache, but she pressed aside consideration of consequences. She could tolerate pain as the price for a competent first judgment.
'The boy is mine!' the curly-haired woman shouted, the magical fog disappearing with her words. In her rage, the Hold woman discarded Judaia's rules as well as her request for manners. 'The dead one is hers.' Keeping one hand looped protectively around the boy, she used the other to gesture disdainfully at her accuser. The remnants of the Truth Spell did not return until after she finished speaking. Clearly, she had spoken all falsely.
Judaia imagined the crisp, blue eyes of the fog drawing closed, and the Truth Spell winked from existence. She kept her own eyes open and alert for movement, not trusting the women to remain at peace until she rendered her judgment. Her thoughts flew, bringing understanding of the cause of the argument and why the girl-child had been spared from the tug of war. The answer came with Martin's description: 'Those people have a different idea of justice and a woman's place.' Others had told her that the parents of girls paid dowries while a son's possessions and holdings remained his own. Since men married many times, a son brought wealth to a family, while daughters cost them dearly in wedding price.
The door opened, and Martin stepped inside. 'The midwife will live—'
Judaia waved him silent before he could continue. The three Holderkin looked noticeably relieved, though whether glad for the midwife's health or for escape from the punishment that would have come with a charge of murder, she did not know or try to guess. She reached for the baby boy, and the curly-haired woman relinquished him with obvious reluctance. Keefhar smiled.
Judaia spoke. 'In the name of the Queen, I make the following judgment: The baby girl shall remain with Lindra.'
The women nodded, all apparently satisfied. Martin stiffened, but true to his word, he said nothing.
Judaia continued. 'As to the baby boy . . .'
All eyes followed Judaia's every movement.
'... he was born to Lindra and will remain with her.' She handed the boy, too, to the youngest of the mothers.
Lindra smiled, cuddling the children, love making her dark eyes sparkle. 'But I thought . . .' she started.
Judaia did not let her finish. 'Many healthy babies are born floppy and blue.' With no further explanation, she left the birthing room to announce her decision to the elder whose slower pony should have arrived in the time it took to hear and judge. She left Martin to reinforce the finality of her decision. They would obey the word of a man in a way they never would a woman, even a Herald.
The ride from the Borderland Holding commenced in a silence far deeper than the previous one, but this time
