The Road to Hell

Chapter Forty-Four

April 27

“Specialist vos Hoven,” Commander of Twenty-Thousand Sogbourne said, peering intently at the prisoner in the witness box, “you were present, were you not, at the confrontation which has been dubbed ‘The Battle of Toppled Timber’ in the popular journals?”

“Yes, Sir, I was there.” The prisoner’s manner was very humble, very un-shakira-like. Helfron Dithrake mistrusted it-and vos Hoven-more every time the man spoke. He supposed it was possible for the close relative of two line-lords and a clan-lord to learn humility after spending several months in the brig. But he was more inclined to believe such a man would have spent his time brooding on the wrongs done to him and his exalted pedigree…unless a caste superior had shown him the error of his ways, so to speak.

Given the other Olderhan mess involving that yellow dragon and the deaths surrounding it, Helfron Dithrake was inclined to believe someone had either coached vos Hoven or had put the fear of eternity into him so effectively to permanently break his pride. Whether it had ensured his honesty remained to be seen.

“I understand you were transferred into Hundred Olderhan’s company at the same time as Fifty Garlath?”

“Yes, Sir, I was.”

“I understand, as well, that you’d served under Fifty Garlath for some time?”

“Yes, Sir. Several months, Sir.”

“What is your evaluation of Fifty Garlath’s ability as a commander?”

Bok vos Hoven pursed his lips and appeared to give the question serious consideration. “Well, Sir, I’d have to say Fifty Garlath wasn’t nearly as able a commander as Hundred Olderhan.”

“Really? What prompts that evaluation?”

“Well, Sir, under Hundred Olderhan’s direction, the Fifty was a lot more efficient than he’d ever been. And he followed book procedure a lot more closely. We certainly got things done a faster than we ever had, before.”

“I see. In your estimation, then, Garlath was a better officer under Hundred Olderhan’s direction than he was under his previous Commander of One Hundred?”

“Yes, Sir. Absolutely, Sir.”

“Very good. Now, then, how would you evaluate Fifty Garlath’s efficiency the morning your platoon trailed the Sharonians to their camp?”

“Well, Sir, I know this much. The Hundred kept the Fifty on a very short leash. He quoted book regulations repeatedly, in a very abrupt manner.”

“Then the Hundred’s temper was fraying?”

“Yes, Sir, I’d say that, Sir.”

“Due to?” Sogbourne invited speculation, curious to see how vos Hoven would respond.

“We were all under stress, Sir, wondering what had killed poor Osmuna, wondering what other terror weapons these people-or creatures-might possess, how far ahead of us they were, how many of them there might be. It was nerve wracking, Sir, for all of us, and the Hundred seemed affected more than the rest of us.”

“Are you saying,” Sogbourne asked in a curious tone that masked his intense disgust, “that the Hundred was overwhelmed by fear?”

“It certainly looked that way to me.”

“Why?”

Bok vos Hoven blinked. “Well, Sir, he was jumpy as a frog in a pond full of crocodrakes, for one thing.”

“Jumpy as a frog?” Ten Thousand Rinthrak echoed. “In what way?”

“He kept watching the trees, nervous-like. Kept barking at the Fifty to stay on point, to stop dawdling. I was worried we were going to run up their backsides before he was satisfied.”

“The general idea, when trailing an escaped killer,” Rinthrak said in a severe voice, “is to catch him.”

“Well, yes, Sir. That’s true. But there’s hasty prudence and there’s hasty folly, Sir, and I can tell you I wasn’t too happy about the way he was rushing us ahead, like that, with barely a moment’s pause to consider any nasty surprises they might’ve laid in our path.”

Sogbourne frowned. Given the charges this man faced and the source of those charges, he’d expected vos Hoven to characterize Jasak Olderhan’s actions in the worst possible light, and so far those expectations hadn’t been disappointed. Unfortunately, there was a serious dearth of eyewitnesses to question, let alone question closely about nuances like vos Hoven was trying to impart. Or, perhaps, insinuate.

He made a brief notation in his PC to question the few witnesses they did have on this subject, but even there, he anticipated trouble. While Bok vos Hoven could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be considered an impartial witness, neither could the other three witnesses available to him.

Trooper Sendahli could have been impartial immediately after Toppled Timber, but he was only in Portalis to be interviewed because of his status as a victim of Lance vos Hoven in a case against the shakira soldier that hinged heavily on Hundred Olderhan’s testimony. It was a mess.

Battalion Chief Sword Threbuch was almost even more of a mess, from a legal perspective. Sogbourne had no personal qualms at all about Threbuch’s honesty, but his ties to the Olderhan family went back decades. He’d served under Hundred Olderhan’s father, earning high commendations and an income for life for saving the life of the current Duke of Garth Showma. Threbuch was ordinarily an honest and impartial witness, with an unimpeachable record for scrupulous honesty and meticulous accuracy.

However…

The situation wasn’t much better with Magister Kelbryan. Just for starters, she wasn’t a soldier. In fact she wasn’t remotely close to a soldier! Not only was she a civilian, she was a Ransaran who didn’t understand military protocols, regulations, and duties or even the standard operating procedures of a platoon-let alone the emergency procedures necessary to deal with a serious crisis. Had she been Andaran, trained to understand military realities, he would have been more inclined to trust her assessment of the Hundred’s performance.

But the gods had seen fit to give him a Ransaran, and Ransarans were notorious for their total lack of understanding of all matters military. Ransaran scholars, in particular, were noted for their appalling lack of military savvy and their inordinate pride in that lack, as though willful ignorance was a virtue. Amongst Ransaran academicians, it was.

So Sogbourne patiently took vos Hoven through the entire chase Olderhan had conducted through that distant forest, on the trail of unknown killers with weapons that struck horror into the very souls of the men doing that trailing, and tried to sift truth from skillful, vindictive manipulation of fact. Either vos Hoven was a great deal smarter than his personnel scores indicated or he’d received some highly skilled coaching from someone, because he managed to paint an ever blacker, damning picture of a rattled commander jumping at shadows, without quite crossing the line into outright fabrication and triggering the courtroom’s verifying spellware.

When they reached the fateful moment of arrival at the wind-toppled pile of twisted timber, Sogbourne asked vos Hoven to describe exactly what had transpired.

“Well, Sir, as nearly as I can recall, Hundred Olderhan ordered Fifty Garlath’s squad to search the clearing for concealed enemy personnel. Fifty Garlath had already lodged a strong protest over the advisability of pursuit, given the potential for a large number of the enemy to overwhelm our platoon. The Hundred told him that falling back to wait for reinforcements was out of the question. Magister Gadrial actually accused Fifty Garlath of cowardice, which was a dirty lie. The Fifty was only concerned for the safety of his men, and it turned out he was right to be. We were overwhelmed by enemy firepower and damn near lost the entire platoon as a result of the Hundred’s hasty actions.”

The lie-detection light might have flickered just slightly, but Sogbourne couldn’t be sure. Anger or hatred could be used to partially beat the truth spells if the speaker had enough boiling emotion to convince himself of a false reality, and vos Hoven had more than enough rage towards Jasak Olderhan to attempt it. For that matter, he probably had enough to achieve it completely spontaneously!

Sogbourne narrowed his eyes, but decided against pursuing the line of questioning that pile of dragon manure warranted. Not yet. Instead, he said, “The Hundred ordered the clearing searched. What was Fifty Garlath’s response?”

“Why, he complied, of course. It was plain suicide, sending men into the open, like that, but the Fifty did his duty, did it bravely, I’ll tell you!”

This time lie-detection light behind the witness did flash. But before Sogbourne could react, vos Hoven continued his embroidered-for-effect tirade.

“The Fifty obeyed the Hundred’s orders and he died for it, Sir! I know what you’re thinking of me, standing here in chains, but I’m telling you plainly, the Hundred sent the Fifty out there to die. Hundred Olderhan conceived a hatred of the Fifty almost from the moment he arrived in the Hundred’s company. I’m convinced the Hundred deliberately sent Fifty Garlath out to be killed, to rid himself of the problem his own prejudice had created!”

The light behind vos Hoven flashed again.

“Really?” Sogbourne murmured. “That’s an interesting theory, Specialist vos Hoven. Perhaps you’d care to explain to this Court why you’ve lied twice in the past ninety seconds?”

Vos Hoven’s face went totally blank, then collapsed into a sick expression as he realized what he’d done in his zeal to convict his nemesis. He started to jerk around to look at the lie-detection light behind him, then controlled that instinctive reaction and got himself turned around again, facing the officers of the court. Before he could say anything further, Commander of Five Hundred Anshair Kolthar, vos Hoven’s assigned defense counsel, was on his feet.

“Sir, counsel for the defense respectfully requests that all mention of the lie-detection alarm be stricken from the record.”

“On what grounds?” Sogbourne asked coldly.

“On the grounds that a lie-detection spell cannot be used to penalize a witness expressing opinion, rather than fact. Specialist vos Hoven was expressing his personal opinion that Hundred Olderhan bore a grudge against Fifty Garlath, a grudge moreover that was strong enough to send an inferior officer into harm’s way to rid him of a troublesome problem. While that opinion may be unpleasant to the majority of listeners, it’s still merely an opinion and cannot be used to the detriment of the witness expressing it. Again, counsel for the defense requests that all mention of the lie-detection spell’s alarm be stricken from the record.”

“An interesting request, Five Hundred.” Ten Thousand Rinthrak’s tone was cold enough to freeze fire. “An outright accusation of murder is not an expression of opinion, however. It constitutes libel, false witness, and a violation of the military code of conduct while under oath before a court-martial.

“Furthermore, the lie-detection spell didn’t register because the witness stated an opinion. It registered because the witness uttered a false opinion. If the accusation Specialist vos Hoven leveled at Hundred Olderhan had been vos Hoven’s true opinion, his statement wouldn’t have triggered the alarm.

“This court is left with the inescapable conclusion that Specialist vos Hoven lied about his ‘opinion’ as part of a pre-meditated attempt to destroy his commander’s career. His action is contemptible and your protest, Five Hundred, does not even merit a hearing, let alone being sustained.

“Be warned that you’re treading on extremely thin ice even raising such an objection when you know the mechanics of lie-detection spells and the regulations regarding them as well as you know your own name. If you don’t know them, you have absolutely no business being entrusted with the defense of anyone, not even someone who stands self-convicted of lying under oath about his superior officer. Do I make the court’s displeasure sufficiently clear, Sir?”

Sweat had popped out along Kolthar’s brow. “You do, Sir,” he said in a flat monotone.

“Very good. Sit down, Sir, and save your protests for legitimate points of statutory merit.”

He sat.

Bok vos Hoven swallowed hard under the court’s stony stares, and Sogbourne pinned him with a glare that had reduced grown men to gibbering shakes more than once.

“Need I remind you, vos Hoven, that you already face serious-indeed, perhaps capital-charges? If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t utter so much as one syllable that might be misconstrued as additional deliberate falsehood. Be advised that your false accusation of attempted murder against Hundred Olderhan will be added to the charges you already face.”

Sogbourne hadn’t thought it possible for a man to look more thoroughly terrified than vos Hoven already did, but that admonition did the trick. For a moment, he feared the shakira would slide to the floor and grovel on his belly. He got himself under control, however, and nodded in a movement made jerky by muscles locked tight against bone.

“Very well, I suggest you reconsider your testimony about the events leading to Fifty Garlath’s demise. Do you wish to re-phrase your account of them?”

Another jerky nod.

“Then proceed,” Sogbourne said coldly.

Whatever the lying bastard said, it ought to be interesting.

* * *

Commander of One Thousand Arnith Janvers, Count Tisbane, was-like most Andarans, when viewed from a more normal Ransaran height-tall enough to scrape the sky with his hair. Gadrial had begun to feel so small and so intimidated by the towering male bodies surrounding her everywhere she went that her temper had begun to simmer. Not that her temper needed much excuse, given the unholy circus which had enveloped people about whom she’d come to care deeply. The information Duke Garth Showma had shared with all of them was enough to fill anyone with fury; adding the stress of Jasak’s court-martial to it only made things worse, and the way in which so much hatred focused on Shaylar and Jathmar-the only two true innocents caught up in the entire rolling disaster-was sickening. It had taken her considerable self-control to refrain from incinerating some of the people behind that hatred-like that loathsome slime toad Minister vos Durgazon-on the spot. Just one well-placed levin bolt would’ve done it. There was, she thought darkly, a reason Magisters of the Hood took such binding oaths to use their Gifts for nothing but humankind’s good.

Eliminating vos Durgazon would serve humankind’s good, the back of her brain whispered to the front. Temptation was a terrible thing. At the moment, however, she faced a very different challenge. Count Tisbane was one of the finest attorneys money could buy. He was also a senior officer in the Judiciary General’s office who carried a reputation as a scrupulously honest man who was ruthless to adversaries and fiendishly intelligent.

If Tisbane had been assigned to this case as prosecutor, rather than Jasak’s defense attorney, Gadrial would have tasted despair. Instead, she took her seat in the witness’ box with a fair appearance of equanimity, folded her hands in her lap, swore the required oath of truthfulness, and waited for him to speak.

“Magister Gadrial,” he said in a soft, cultured voice that could have charmed bees into handing over honeycombs and dragons into rolling over to have their belly-plates scratched, “there are two main questions this court must resolve: was Hundred Olderhan derelict in his duty and did he perform his duties with good judgment.

“As a civilian, you won’t be able to assist the court in determining whether or not he was derelict in his duty, as that determination is made under a complex set of criteria embedded in Andaran military code and the Articles of War.”

She nodded, having already been briefed on that point.

“What you can do, Magister Gadrial, is assist the court in determining precisely what happened that day and whether or not Hundred Olderhan used good judgment in the performance of his duties as an officer, before the crisis, during the crisis, and after the crisis.

“You were present, either within view or within earshot, of all the main events this court must consider. As Hundred Olderhan’s defense attorney, I’ll ask a number of questions related to the issues the court must resolve. After I’ve questioned you, the Prosecutor will cross-examine you on many of those same points and, potentially, on issues I haven’t raised during my initial examination. If that’s the case, I’ll then be given a chance to discuss those new points with you, to clarify your testimony on behalf of my client’s defense. Is that clear and is that acceptable, Magister Gadrial?”

She drew a deep, silent breath and nodded. “Yes, it is.”

“Very well, let’s begin. How well did you know Hundred Olderhan when he took out the platoon that escorted you in the search for Halathyn vos Dulainah’s Class Seven Portal?”

She answered gravely. “We’d barely met, Defensor.” From the corner of her eye, she caught several surprised expressions from the officers of the court. They hadn’t expected a Ransaran to know the proper title of the defense counsel in a military courtroom. Well, that was fine with her. She intended to surprise them again, before this was done.

“What was the extent of your interaction with him?”

“Sir Jasak departed on the same transport ship I’d arrived on, when I joined Magister Halathyn in the field. We spoke briefly on deck, where he wished me a pleasant and productive research mission, and I left the ship after wishing him a safe and speedy journey. I wasn’t even aware, at that time, where he was headed. I knew only that he wasn’t expected to return for some time, which I learned when one of the ship’s officers mentioned it while welcoming him aboard.”

“So you spoke briefly when he departed, leaving Fifty Garlath in acting command of the company until Hundred Thalmayr’s arrival?”

“That’s what I was told, yes, Defensor. Hadrign Thalmayr was due to arrive at any time, aboard a special courier dragon, since his connecting transport had been delayed, causing him to miss the ship’s scheduled departure. Fifty Ulthar’s platoon was at the coast, on R amp;R, which left Shevan Garlath in charge of the camp at the Swamp Portal.”

“And what was your assessment of Fifty Garlath’s capabilities?”

“He was an arrogant, lazy, shiftless, ill-mannered, power-mad, incompetent twit.”

Gadrial heard a stifled squeak from someone on the bench that sounded suspiciously like laughter stuffed down before it could burst loose.

“Ah, yes, that is a very clearly stated opinion,” Count Tisbane said. Despite the serious mien of his long, square face, Tisbane’s eyes twinkled with carefully restrained mirth. “Could you enlighten this court with specific details that would illustrate this somewhat remarkable opinion?”

“I’d be delighted to, Sir.”

And she did. For the next eleven minutes. Without even reaching, yet, any description of the events surrounding their departure on the ill-fated search for Halathyn’s portal.

“Please, Magister,” Count Sogbourne finally pleaded. “You’ve made your point. Eloquently and convincingly. Shevan Garlath will be entered into the court records as a-what did you call him?”

She smiled sweetly. “An arrogant, lazy, shiftless, ill-mannered, power-mad, incompetent twit.”

“Ah, yes, that was it. Let it be noted that the court designates Commander of Fifty Shevan Garlath as, ah, seriously deficient in the criteria which define a competent officer of the Union of Arcana.”

Gadrial smiled, but her heart seethed with hatred of that arrogant, lazy, shiftless, ill-mannered, power-mad, incompetent bastard. If he hadn’t shot an unarmed man through the throat…

They wouldn’t all be sitting here in judgment of the man she loved.

“Magister Gadrial,” Count Tisbane’s voice jolted her attention back to the courtroom, “your powers of observation and recall are clearly substantial and-to judge from comparison with other witness’ testimony-accurate.

“What was your overall impression of Hundred Olderhan’s command judgment during the preparations for your journey into what proved to be the contact universe?”

“Hundred Olderhan told Fifty Garlath to have the platoon ready to march within the hour,” she said flatly. “Fifty Garlath was incapable of complying with that order. In the two weeks Fifty Garlath spent in charge of the camp, he managed to reduce his command to a state of total chaos. His platoon was physically incapable of re-organizing and re-packing its equipment, supplies, and even personal gear, which Fifty Garlath had insisted the troops lay out in constant ‘surprise inspections’ that he sprang without warning every other day or so.”

Her lip curled in remembered disgust.

“Those inspections were apparently designed to show his favorite cronies which troopers had the gear most worth stealing. A number of troopers complained viciously within my earshot that someone had stolen various items after each surprise inspection.”

“They complained of stolen gear?” Tisbane asked softly as every officer on the court-martial board went rigid with anger. “What kind of gear, Magister?”

“Yes, Defensor, they most certainly did. One soldier complained about losing a spell-powered canteen that purified water in one pass. Another had deluxe nav-gear stolen from his pack-gear he’d paid for with personal savings. I heard a number of similar mutters over the course of those two weeks, ranging from the theft of expensive equipment to the filching of specialty cross-bow quarrels and popular snacks sent by family members. They’d just arrived in the mail sacks that were delivered from the ship I sailed on, traveling to meet Halathyn. That was bad enough.

“But one night I overheard one of Fifty Garlath’s cronies whispering to another of his favorites that he had enough gear stashed away to earn several thousand in profits when he went on leave.

“When I brought that conversation to the Fifty’s attention, he told me civilians had no business butting into military affairs and warned me that civilians who did so invariably had their noses bloodied. He gave me breezy assurances the troopers would be questioned and their gear would be searched, but those assurances were as worthless as the rest of him. They were never questioned, never searched, and certainly never censured.

“That was the reason the platoon was in such wild disarray when Hundred Olderhan gave the order to march. Garlath had ordered a major inspection that morning, to include a full layout of field loads. Not just personal gear, but field dragons, the spell accumulators to power them, medical equipment, you name it. They’d only put away half of it when Hundred Olderhan returned to camp.”

Gadrial shrugged. “I would have taken it up with the Hundred at an opportune moment, but both men involved in the stolen gear incidents were killed in the fighting at Toppled Timber. So was Fifty Garlath. We were far too swamped after that battle, just trying to keep the wounded alive while Hundred Olderhan sent men ahead to verify the portal and pulled the rest of us back to the Swamp Portal, to bother reporting it. Truth to tell, I’d completely forgotten about it until I sat down to prepare for this testimony.”

All eyes had darted to the truth detection light as she spoke. It never so much as flickered, and now the entire panel of officers stared at her in white-lipped rage. Sogbourne leaned forward with a furious demand.

“Were you aware of any other illegal dealings by Shevan Garlath or his ‘favorites’ among the platoon?”

“Not that I could prove, Sir. Fifty Garlath and Specialist vos Hoven were very tight, having apparently served together in another platoon. But I heard and saw nothing that could serve as evidence that would hold up in court, either military or civilian.

“By the time Hundred Olderhan arrived, I was so disgusted with Shevan Garlath and his nasty little games-including constant belittling of men he or his cronies disliked-I would have turned him in to Hundred Olderhan in a heartbeat if I’d had sufficient evidence. Shevan Garlath was the most repulsive man I ever met, including the shakira faculty and students at the Mythal Falls Academy.”

Sogbourne actually winced.

Solvar Rinthrak and the other officers scowled like gorgons.

Count Tisbane took Gadrial carefully through the events of that terrible day, from the moment of their departure to the first, fateful rifle shot in the distance. She described Jasak’s efforts to rehabilitate the officer, forcing Garlath to do his job to at least minimally acceptable standards. She described Garlath’s insubordinate behavior and language and Jasak’s attempts to protect the safety of his command as well as her interpretation of his decision to leave Garlath in command of the platoon despite his patent inadequacies.

“I’m not a soldier,” Gadrial said carefully, “but I’ve worked with military men on a number of occasions during my tenure as assistant director of NAITHMA. The academy’s housed on a military base, after all, and derives a high percentage of its funding from military sources. During the early years, almost all its funding came from the military, in fact, and I was responsible for meeting with a wide variety of officers to secure and administer those funds. I’ve seen any number of officers interacting with subordinates, whether they were visiting my lab or I was visiting their offices on one military base or another.”

Tisbane nodded. “Understood. Please continue, Magister.”

“When trooper Osmuna was found dead and no one could even make a guess as to what had killed him, let alone who, the troopers were visibly rattled. Some of them were terrified. For that matter, so was I. Everyone was jumping at shadows for those first few minutes.

“When one of the cartridge cases was found on a stream bank overlooking Osmuna’s body, alongside footprints that looked very much like human feet had made them, a lot of the fear dissipated, but the men were still shaken. Hundred Olderhan ordered me to stay back during the preliminary investigation of Osmuna’s body, with two troopers as bodyguards. When we finally joined the rest of the platoon, I overheard one of the soldiers say he was glad Hundred Olderhan was back, but he was just as glad the Hundred had left Garlath in command.”

“Why, Magister Gadrial?” Tisbane asked.

“I thought it was an awfully strange remark, until the soldier he was talking to said, ‘Yeah, me, too. With Garlath giving the orders, at least we’ll know what to expect. It’ll probably be the coward’s road, but we’ll know what he’s likely to do. Now the Hundred’s back, he’ll straighten the Fifty out if Garlath tells us to do something really stupid.’ And that’s exactly what Hundred Olderhan did, on several occasions. The men weren’t happy, Your Worship, but they settled down to perform their duties very effectively.”

She bit her lip, then. “The worst moment was when we reached that clearing and Hundred Olderhan ordered Garlath to search it.”

“He ordered Fifty Garlath to search it?” Tisbane asked sharply. “Not the point squad?”

“That’s correct, yes. He ordered Garlath and his point squad to search the clearing for enemy personnel. He believed our quarry might be hidden in all that timber blown down by the wind. I wasn’t close enough at that point to see what was happening, since he kept me back the same way he had before. He stationed me in a gully, out of the line of possible fire, with a pair of guards to watch over me if the enemy did spring an ambush. I couldn’t see, but I could hear what he and the other members of the platoon were saying, very clearly.”

“And what did you hear Hundred Olderhan and Fifty Garlath say?”

“Fifty Garlath didn’t say anything. I could hear men crunching through dead leaves and dried, brittle branches as they searched all that timber. I could hear someone curse under his breath for some reason, a miss-step, maybe. Then I heard Hundred Olderhan shout at Fifty Garlath.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Hold fire! Hold fire, Fifty Garlath! Damn it, I said hold-’ Then I heard the thwack and twang of an arbalest.”

“He ordered Fifty Garlath not to fire? You’re certain of that?” Trisbane pressed, and she nodded, her face like stone. The lawyer waited a breath or two, as if to let that settle into the court’s mind. Then he said, “Continue, please. What happened next?”

“Next?” She rubbed her arms, cold to the bone. “Next, I heard a hideous, meaty thump. And the most horrifying, choked scream I’d ever heard in my life.”

She shuddered in memory.

“Then it sounded like the gates of hell opened. The whole clearing erupted in thunder and horrible screams and more arbalest fire. I heard Fifty Garlath screaming, again and again. Much as I despised him, hearing him die like that…It was ghastly,” she whispered. “No one should die in that much terror and pain.”

Her fingers had tightened into fists in her lap.

“But it got worse. As Rahil is my witness, I will never, ever forget those terrible minutes. All I could do was lie there and listen while men I’d come to know and respect died just a few yards away.” She unclenched her fingers to wipe her face, which was wet. Her fingers shook. “They died because of one man. One screw-up of a man, an insubordinate, insolent idiot who disobeyed his commander’s direct orders. Disobeyed and shot down an unarmed man.

“I couldn’t believe he’d done it. Even having watched him for two weeks, I couldn’t believe he’d done it. That he’d disobeyed orders like that, orders that important. That critical. It was almost like he’d done it on purpose, to be deliberately defiant. As though he wanted to make Hundred Olderhan look incompetent or maybe to hog some kind of glory for himself. To be the man who caught Osmuna’s killers, so Hundred Olderhan wouldn’t get the credit.”

The officers ranged along the bench studied her with thoughtful frowns tugging at the corners of thinned lips, and Gadrial shook her head.

“I don’t know why he did it. But I do know he had to’ve heard that order. I was fifty yards away, down in a gully, and I heard every single word of it. I’ve called Garlath an idiot, but he wasn’t actually stupid. He had a brain, a decently agile one; he just didn’t use it very often.

“You could tell he was smart, but he was sly, playing mind games to get out of doing his job, instead of just doing it. To defy his superiors and find ways to make them look bad, to cover up the fact that he’d never done an honest day’s work in his life and had no intention of ever doing one.”

She bit her lip and wiped fresh tears.

“Even Magister Halathyn detested him.” She drew a ragged breath. “I will never, ever forgive Shevan Garlath for starting this war. For setting in motion the events that killed Halathyn vos Dulainah.” Her voice shook as she said that, shook with pain and grief. “He started a chain of events that destroyed Hundred Olderhan’s whole company. He caused the slaughter of innocent Sharonian civilians in that clearing. And thanks to what he did there, hundreds of more Sharonian civilians have died, needlessly, in an invasion we started.”

Absolute silence gripped the courtroom.

After a moment, Count Tisbane spoke quietly again, in his beautiful, cultured voice.

“Magister Gadrial, there’s not a man in this room who doesn’t bitterly regret the pain and suffering you’ve endured because of this war, because of this man you’ve testified started it.”

“He did start it,” she snarled, eyes flashing.

Tisbane lifted both hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Peace, Magister,” he murmured. “Believe me, Magister Gadrial, I understand your reasons for feeling the way you do. But at the moment, we’re speaking in legal terms, for the sake of this court-martial. Bearing that in mind, what more can you tell us about the events that transpired and Hundred Olderhan’s role in them, after Shevan Garlath shot down the Sharonian crew leader?”

Gadrial nodded and drew a long, steadying breath.

“All right, I’ll do that. Everything was really crazy for a couple of minutes, with people shouting and screaming and the crack and thunder of the Sharonian weapons sounding like a thunderstorm without rain. A lot of the shouts were from the Sharonians. They sounded…astonished. Furious. Terrified.

“And right in the middle of all that confusion, I heard Hundred Olderhan shouting orders to his men. Very clear orders. He shouted at them to encircle the clearing, to contain the enemy. To prevent their escape and stop anyone who tried to run for the portal with a message. He also ordered his best arbalest shots to try creeping forward under cover, to take out as many of the enemy shooters as possible, but their rifle fire was relentless. There was never a lull in the shooting, not once, not until every last Sharonian had been shot down.

“I heard Hundred Olderhan shouting to bring the field dragons up, which was the only thing that saved the platoon. I heard him order three separate firing lines. The artillery crews kept screaming in agony and Hundred Olderhan kept shouting for replacements, ordering specific men forward by name to man the dragons. I was cowering in terror on the ground, listening as he directed that fight. I couldn’t believe my ears, he was shouting orders with such clear-headed deliberation. I’d never heard anything like it.

“My bodyguards were swearing a blue streak. Not because they were angry. They were frustrated, mostly, because they were stuck babysitting me. But even that wasn’t the whole reason. I was curled up on the ground, shaking in my robes, while they stood over me with cocked and locked arbalests, and the most amazing thing was how they were swearing. They sounded the way my brothers did when their jarrca team made some great play. The kind of play that netted the point that propelled them into a championship game. It sounds crazy, probably, but that’s what it sounded like.”

“Thank you, Magister, for your testimony,” Tisbane said formally. “If there are no direct questions from the bench, I’ll turn the witness over to the prosecution.”

Gadrial steeled herself for the moment she had dreaded for weeks.

She watched Commander of Five Hundred Ghulshan Vreel, Jasak’s Accusator, closely as he rose and left the table where he’d sat since entering the chamber. Five Hundred Vreel wasn’t a typical Andaran. He was tall, certainly, but his uniform clothed a frame just shy of skeletal. His eyes were banked down coals, eyes that pierced to the quick, probing for the secrets one hid from the entire world, and Gadrial controlled a shiver by dint of sheer willpower as those eyes focused upon her.

“Magister Gadrial,” he said slowly, his voice as cadaverous as the rest of him, “your testimony’s been extremely complimentary to Sir Jasak Olderhan.”

Gadrial didn’t rise to the bait, whatever he was fishing for; she merely looked at him, waiting for him to make his next point.

“Your status as a theoretical magister is beyond reproach. And despite your relative youth, you’ve suffered great adversity, great emotional pain. Your professional and personal lives have been a source of both satisfaction and upheaval, none of it your fault.”

Again, she merely looked at him, not liking what he was doing, but unsure where he was going with it.

“I would say-as would most people-that you’ve earned a little joy, a little personal happiness.”

“What is your point, Sir?” she asked coolly.

“My point is merely this. Your name has been linked with Sir Jasak Olderhan’s in more than a professional capacity. There are rumors, Magister Gadrial, that a romantic liaison is part of your relationship. A woman who aspires to becoming Duchess of Garth Showma is likely to say a great many things in defense of the man destined to be the Duke of Garth Showma.”

Gadrial narrowed her eyes. His ploy was contemptible, but not entirely unanticipated. If he’d hoped to break her, he’d be waiting a long, long time.

“Whatever the status of my relationship with Hundred Olderhan may be, Accusator Vreel, these are the facts. I wasn’t in love with Sir Jasak Olderhan the day Shevan Garlath shot an unarmed Sharonian engineering professor through the throat and started a war. I didn’t ‘aspire’ to anything, that day, except survival. As to my testimony today, might I inquire whether or not the lie-detection alarm has gone off even once during my testimony?”

“That is beside the point, young woman-”

“I am a senior Magister of the Hood, Sir. I’ll thank you to remember that when you address me.”

“You’re an aspiring gold-digger angling for the Olderhan billions, an aristocratic title, and a secure social position for life, which throws suspicion on every syllable you’ve uttered! And as a Magister of the Hood, you’re more than skilled enough to short-circuit a simple lie-detection spell!”

Gadrial stared at him for several silent seconds while the officers of the court held their collective breaths, waiting for the explosion.

They weren’t prepared for what they got instead.

“A secure social position for life?” She laughed out loud and shook her head, her expression incredulous. “Rahil’s toenails, d’you think I want to be saddled, snared, and roped into a lifetime of impossible duties and obligations to a social code I find suffocating, medieval, and positively insane? You think I want to be trapped in a marriage where every move I make, every word I say, every garment I wear is dictated by a thousand years of protocol? Where any children I might bear would be treated like little automatons to be programmed like-like ants in a hill? My God, if Jasak Olderhan wanted to marry me, he’d have to go down on his knees and swear to me that my life would remain mine. That I’d live by Ransaran precepts unless I chose to honor that crazy hodge-podge of rules you Andarans call a society.

“And he’d have to put down in writing that my career and my family would be under my control, not some cabal of aristocrats with nothing better to do than sit around trying to figure out how to control one another’s lives every waking moment!”

She leaned back in her chair. “Sorry, Accusator, but the only people who think being part of the Andaran aristocracy is the most fabulous lifestyle in the world are other Andarans. And I am not, thank Rahil, an Andaran.”

The accusator stared down at her, eyes wide in his cadaverous face. Then he started to laugh.

“My dear,” he said, “you’re thoroughly and delightfully Ransaran. If Hundred Olderhan does ask you to marry him, do us all a favor and hold him to that set of demands. I believe you just might be a breath of fresh air.”

He smiled at her a moment longer, then glanced at the officers of the court.

“No further questions, gentlemen.”

“You may step down, Magister Gadrial.”

She blinked in surprise. “That’s it?”

“For now, Magister.” Count Sogbourne smiled. “If we need to recall you, we’ll be in touch. Please be assured that your testimony’s been most helpful. And, ah, rather educational, as well. It’s always enlightening to see one’s self through the eyes of others.”

Her cheeks scalded. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, Sir.”

“Of course not. You’re Ransaran.”

She blinked. Then she realized that, in his stodgy Andaran way, he was teasing her, and she grinned.

“I could almost come to like an Andaran or two, now that you mention it,” she told him.

“That’s very flattering, Magister Gadrial. But now, much as it pains me, we must return to our very serious duties and you, I fear, must return to yours.”

She bit her lip; then drew a swift breath and nodded. “Yes, you do. And so do I. You know where and how to reach me. I’m not planning to go anywhere,” she added grimly.

She retrieved her business case, nodded to the officers of the court, the attorneys, and even the long-suffering clerk in the corner, whose eyes widened when she included him in her silent farewell. She dropped a solemn wink on the flustered young soldier, then squared her shoulders, marched out of the courtroom…

…and promptly dissolved into tears. She was desperately afraid for Jasak, for his future, and the life she hoped to somehow build with him, if these mad Andaran officers didn’t destroy him over their mad, medieval rules and if his mad Andaran pride didn’t stand in the way of asking her, if things went against him.

She scrubbed her eyes with a savage gesture, furious with herself for falling apart like this. She respected the men on that court-martial board. Under other circumstances, she might even have liked one or two of them. As it was…

She sucked down a deep, shaky breath. As it was, she had a job to do and a society to save from another group of people she respected, two members of whom she’d come to care for as very dear friends. For the first time in her life, the knee-jerk, automatic Ransaran dislike of war had a profoundly personal basis.

War was hell.

Particularly when it was your job to win it.

* * *

It had been hours.

More than a dozen hours.

Gadrial had paced the floor. Chewed her nails ragged. She’d destroyed her carefully arranged hair, redone the styling spell to rearrange it into a neat coif, then destroyed that, as well. At least twenty times, now. If word didn’t come soon, she was going to start tearing the draperies down from the walls and hurling breakables across the room.

Would they find Jasak guilty?

Or innocent?

She couldn’t bear the suspense much longer. The calm, very nearly serene poise of the duchess, seated beside her, drove Gadrial nearly mad. How could Sathmin just sit there, gazing down into the street?

Because, Gadrial’s conscience whispered, she’s a great deal stronger than you are. She bit her lip. Then made another frantic circuit around the room, nearly ready to climb the walls with a sticky-spell that would let her crawl out across the ceiling like a fly and scream from the center of the chandelier.

I can’t bear this! Not another moment!

The door opened.

Gadrial jerked around, heart beating so hard, she couldn’t breathe. For one long, stupefied moment, she simply stood there, staring at the figure in the doorway. It wasn’t the duke, with word about his son. It was Shaylar.

Gadrial hadn’t even seen the other woman since the terrible night Thankhar Olderhan had unflinchingly told all of them what he’d learned. The Voice had withdrawn to the apartment she shared with Jathmar to weep for her dead, to cope with the horrible knowledge she’d never wanted yet had needed to know. One or two of the Garth Showma staff had seemed irked by her refusal to leave her chambers, but they’d followed their employers’ example and left her to the privacy she so desperately needed.

And so had Gadrial. She’d longed to try to comfort Shaylar, but when she’d quietly suggested that to Jathmar, he’d shaken his head sadly.

“Not now, Gadrial,” he’d told her. “She…she just needs to be alone for now. It’s hard, especially for a Voice, to cope with all of this-” he’d waved vaguely at the townhouse around them in a gesture which took in everything beyond it, as well “-without knowing what’s happening in our own universes. And just now…just now she’s too raw and wounded to want to see anyone. Even you.”

His words had cut her like knives, but she’d understood. And now, as the door opened and she looked up, she froze. She wanted to run to her. Wanted to throw her arms around the other woman and beg her to forgive Gadrial for being on the wrong side in this awful war. She wanted-

She didn’t have to do anything.

Shaylar, tears streaming, crossed the room and embraced Gadrial. “I couldn’t bear it any longer,” Shaylar said softly. “Knowing how much this wait was hurting you.”

“But…”

Shaylar’s arms tightened down; then she stepped back.

“But you’re my friend, Gadrial. My only friend here. I need you, Gadrial,” she whispered. “And I think you need me?”

Gadrial hugged her again. “Gods, yes,” she said equally softly. “But I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to speak to an Arcanan again!” She felt her own eyes prickle. “After what the Duke’s found out so far, knowing there could be even worse to come, I-”

Shaylar drew a deep, ragged breath. “No, Gadrial. I never felt that. I needed to be…alone for a while. It’s been terribly hard for me. For Jathmar and me, both of us. But I never felt like I didn’t want to see you, ever again.”

Gadrial’s eyes filled with tears. “Shaylar, there’s nothing I can say that can tell you how horrified I was by that news. How horrified I still am. Nothing justifies that. Nothing.”

“Thank you, Gadrial. That…helps.”

Gadrial touched Shaylar’s hair, tucked a lock of it behind her ear. “Thank you, Shaylar. For still being my friend.”

Shaylar nodded.

“Jathmar?” Gadrial asked after a moment

“He’s…thinking it over,” Shaylar said softly, and Gadrial nodded. Of course he was.

“I hope he decides to join us, too,” the duchess said, rising to put her own arm around Shaylar and hug her tightly. “But in the meantime, my dears, why don’t we all have some tea and send for something to eat?”

“I think that sounds like a very good idea, Your Grace,” Shaylar replied, and if her smile was wan and just a bit watery, it was also real.

* * *

Three hours and seventeen minutes later, the drawing room door opened again. Everyone jerked around, and Gadrial’s heart shuddered to a halt when she saw Jasak standing in the doorway. For long moments, she was frozen to the chair in which she’d been sitting for the past two hours, too exhausted to continue her pacing. Her eyes met his and the blaze of fire in them left her pulse shuddering, wondering if that fire was the look of a man filling his eyes with the sight of her for the last time or the fire of a man out from under the cloud that had dogged his heels all the way from that pile of wind-wrecked trees. Not to mention the man and woman sitting beside her, whose capture had wrenched Gadrial’s life-and everyone else’s in this room-inside out and upside down.

Then Jasak spoke. He whispered hoarsely, “The verdict was not guilty, on all charges.”

Gadrial sobbed aloud once; tears filled her eyes. Someone else was weeping, as well, close by. But then Jasak spoke again, and she stared at him in shock.

“I…can’t stay in the army,” he said.

“I don’t understand!” she cried. “You’re innocent! They cleared you! Cleared your name, your reputation, completely! Why can’t you stay in the army? We’ll need good officers!” Even as she said it, a flutter of terror-and raw, selfish gratitude-tore through her. He won’t be going to war! Even though he needed to…and wanted to, being a mad Andaran. “I don’t understand,” she finished, miserable for failing to understand even this about the man she loved, and a strange little smile touched his lips.

“Yes, I was cleared, completely. But the Army needs someone to take the blame, even so. Someone besides Garlath, who’s been officially found responsible for starting the war, but who’s inconveniently dead and therefore not an ideal candidate. Much of the verdict hinged on his failure to obey my order to hold his fire, as we suspected it would. But that was a two-way sword. They determined that I was in command and that Garlath’s refusal to obey that order started the war. They also determined that my decision to leave him in place was reasonable and correct, given the circumstances surrounding his…attitudes and behavior. Your testimony tipped those particular scales very firmly in the direction of the final verdict, Gadrial.

“But because I was in command, ultimately the blame for the war rests in part on my shoulders. And however…fraught any decision of mine to summarily relieve him might have been, I didn’t do it. The fact that I obeyed regulations by leaving him in command clears me of legal responsibility, but a lot of people who weren’t there are going to be wise after the fact and second-guess my judgment. There’d probably be fewer Andarans like that than Ransarans or Mythlans, but there’d be more than enough of our own people. Any future military career for me would probably be a disaster, and if I tried to stay in uniform, every single one of Father’s political enemies would have a custom made club to beat him over the head with in Parliament and public opinion. So I’m resigning my commission to enter politics.”

Another strange smile curled around his lips.

“I’ve already been approached, in fact, after the verdict was read, the probable consequences to my career-and the war effort in general, given whose son I am-were discussed. Consequences which I brought up, in fact, when I tendered my resignation on the spot. After the dismissal of the court, Sogbourne approached me, privately.”

He shook his head. “He begged me to enter the political arena, suggesting I’d be an asset to the Commandery, not because of who my father is, but because of my voluntary resignation. If Father will have me,” he glanced over to meet the duke’s gaze, which hadn’t left his son’s face since he’d entered the drawing room, “I’ll work as an assistant or a page until the next election cycle.”

“Gladly,” the duke rumbled. “And Sogbourne’s right. We’ll get you qualified in a proper Andaran district and you’ll win that election, make no mistake about that.”

“Why are you so certain?” Shaylar asked, puzzled, and the duke grinned.

“Because an officer who voluntarily shoulders the punishment and the responsibility for a serious act he didn’t commit is seen-rightly so-as the most honorable of men. The sacrifice of an army career under those circumstances is the greatest one a man can make, other than to lay down his life. Oh, yes, Jasak will win that election. By a landslide.”

Gadrial shook her head.

“That’s nuts!” she protested, and Jasak chuckled.

“That’s Andaran,” he corrected. Then the mirth faded from his eyes and he crossed the room in three swift strides. Went down on his knees. Took both her hands in his.

“Gadrial, I’m pleading with you to consider becoming my wife. I swear by all that I hold sacred that you’ll be free to live your life by whatever precepts, whatever mores and beliefs you choose. Your career is the second-most important thing in my life.”

Her cold hands began to tremble in his.

“If you’ll agree to tolerate these crazy Andaran rules I live by, I’ll agree to let our children choose which world they want to live in. Yours or mine.”

Tears were coursing down her cheeks.

“You crazy, mad, adorable Andaran,” she whispered. “You were listening, weren’t you? To my testimony?”

His face went red. “Guilty as charged, Madam. It’s an accused man’s right, to hear the testimony for or against him. He just doesn’t sit in the room, because his presence might prejudice or intimidate the witness.”

“That makes sense, at least,” she said with some asperity. Then she slipped one hand free of his grip and ruffled his thick hair. “Our children, Jas Olderhan, will live in our world. Rahil alone knows what it’ll look like, but it will be ours.”

In the next moment, Gadrial was in his arms, and she discovered that the kiss he’d bestowed on her in the slider coming into Portalis had been little more than a peck on the lips. The kiss he’d delivered the day she’d gone tottering off to her lab on campus had been a simple buss on the way out the door. What Jasak Olderhan’s lips wrought here and now was probably illegal in every single town and village in Andara. Hah! Just let them try tossing us in jail, she thought in a muddle somewhere in the middle of that life-altering kiss.

Then she couldn’t think at all.

And that was just fine with her.