Call of the Colossus: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles Book 2) (13 page)

“What can I do for you in exchange for your help? What would make your life easier here at the Justice Bureau?”

While Jora would have leapt at the chance to skirt any punishment she was due for the insubordination, especially the bucking and gagging the dominee insisted upon, her first thought was for Korlan’s safety. “My friend Korlan Rastorfer is due to be executed for treason and desertion tomorrow. The king refused to pardon him as part of our original agreement, but perhaps you might speak to the sentencing elder on Korlan’s behalf?”

Rivva pursed her lips, and her gaze drifted away. “Hmmm. Remind me what he did wrong.”

“He brought up the smuggling of godfruit to his commander after he was told to drop it. That’s what they’re calling treason. Then, after I killed his commander, I offered him the chance to come with me to help me confront Elder Sonnis. That’s what they call desertion. If they hadn’t arrested him, he would never have come with me. They found him guilty of treason for expressing his concerns about the very issue you and King Yaphet want me to investigate. It’s not right.”

Rivva nodded. “You’re right. It isn’t. I’ll speak to the elder assigned to his sentencing. There’s no guarantee that he or she will see things our way.”

“I understand, but it’s worth a try.”

“While Korlan shouldn’t have been arrested in the first place, he still has at least a few years left on his commitment to serve Serocia, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, I think he’s only nineteen or twenty, so he probably has eight or nine years left to serve. Would the Legion want him back?”

“Doubtful. I’ll suggest he serve the remainder of his tour with the Justice Bureau as an enforcer. That should satisfy them.”

Jora smiled broadly. “That would be wonderful. I’d probably see him now and then, too.”

“Yes, but you mustn’t reveal anything of your task. Justice Captain Milad will undoubtedly watch him closely, particularly where you’re involved.”

“I understand,” Jora said. She couldn’t wait to Observe Korlan when they gave him the news that he wouldn’t be executed. If only she could be the one to tell him, but that was too much to ask.

“Do we have an agreement? You’ll investigate the godfruit smuggling completely in secret in exchange for my word that I’ll request reassignment for Korlan?”

Jora offered her hand eagerly, and Rivva shook it. “Agreed.”

Chapter 7

In the dim cell, Korlan Rastorfer knelt on the floor in front of the wooden bench they called a cot, a lead pen between his fingers. He had fewer than twenty-four hours left to write the letter that would accompany his body to Burnd. How did a man explain to his wife that he was being put to death for something he did that wasn’t actually a crime? He’d long given up arguing for his release or even his innocence in the crimes he was convicted of. The Legion would more than likely decide his letter didn’t match their accounting of events and burn it, then claim it must have blown away in a stiff wind.

He read over what he’d written so far.

Dearest Persha,

By the time you read this, I will be dead.

He tapped the unsharpened end against the paper. Rereading those few words did little to spark any ideas for what to write next. He had so much to say, so many regrets about not having met their daughter, Sira, or holding Persha in his arms one last time. He wanted to apologize to her, to his mother and half-siblings, his cousins and grandparents, his friends. Where did one begin such a letter?

The now-familiar creak of unoiled hinges down the corridor announced a visitor. A meal, maybe. In the dank underground jail, it was hard to keep track of time, and the constant grumble in his belly meant nothing. They hadn’t fed him more than half a meal per day since his arrest. One day, all he’d gotten was a stale biscuit and a chunk of moldy cheese.
What’s the point?
they’d asked when he complained.
It’ll go to waste on you.

Not one pair of bootsteps approached but two. Korlan grew restless. Worried. He’d wasted too much time trying to find the right words, and now they were coming to retrieve the letter. He couldn’t leave it like that. Persha would never forgive him.

Two voices in low conversation echoed off the stone walls of the jail, further obscuring their words. The footsteps stopped. A key rattled in the lock outside his door, and the door swung open with a groan, its bottom grating against the stone floor. A guard, tall and broad shouldered, stood in the doorway with a lamp in one hand and the keyring in the other. No food. Beside him was Justice Captain Milad.

“No, no,” Korlan said, his voice scratchy. He bent back over his letter, desperate for a burst of inspiration to flood him and pour out through the lead pen. “I’m not finished. I need more time.” He coughed, wincing at the pain in his parched throat.

“You won’t need more time,” Milad said.

“What?” Korlan croaked.

“Your conviction has been reversed.”

Korlan snorted sardonically. “Is that a jest?”

“No jest. See for yourself.” Milad offered a rolled parchment, and Korlan took it.

He unrolled it and scanned the neatly penned text, squinting in the dim glow of the corridor torches.

In light of the pardon of Jora Lanseri issued by King Yaphet, the actions of Korlan Rastorfer of Burnd pertaining to the events involving Boden Sayeg are not considered criminal in nature. I do hereby declare that the charge of treason against Korlan Rastorfer is dismissed and its sentence vacated. Furthermore, Korlan Rasterfor is excused for desertion of his duties within the Serocian Legion on the condition that he serves the remainder of his ten-year tour as an Enforcer within the Justice Bureau, with the option to reenlist.

Signed and witnessed this ninth day of Oktobar in the year
3514.

Isak Kyear

Captain of the Fourth Battalion

Serocian Legion

Korlan wiped his eyes and looked up at Milad. “Is this real?” Only then did he notice that neither of them wore mail atop their gray uniforms. They’d always worn mail before.

“It’s real. Get up. You’re one of us now, though you might wish you were dead in a month or two.” Milad laughed, a hollow sound.

Korlan climbed to his feet. Though he was weak from lack of sustenance, he wasn’t going to wait to be told a second time. Clutching the missive as if it were a lifeline to a drowning man, he followed the two enforcers out. As he mounted the stairs, the crumpled letter to his wife in one hand and the parchment in the other, his mind churned. The king had pardoned Jora. Had he also come to realize that the smuggling of godfruit was real? Korlan followed his former jailers through an open room and then outside to a waiting wagon.

“Trond here will show you to your room. After you bathe, he’ll take you to the dining hall.”

Korlan’s rumbling stomach agreed, his appetite now fully restored. “You don’t feed prisoners enough, you know.”

Milad looked at him as if he’d announced that the sun rose in the east.

When they arrived at the Justice Bureau and clambered out of the wagon, he followed Milad and Trond up the steps. Still in his prison blacks, the Truth Sayers they passed in the grand halls stared at him with a cagey look in their eyes, probably wondering why he wasn’t in chains.

“What’s happened to Jora since she was pardoned?”

“She has returned to her duties as a novice,” Milad said. “For now.”

Korlan exhaled in relief. “What do you mean ‘for now?’”

“Her pardon is conditional, but I doubt she’ll honor the terms. We were instructed by Elder Tornal to keep an eye on her if she leaves the grounds. As soon as we have proof she’s meddling in forbidden affairs...” Milad made a rough cutting sound in the back of his throat as he pulled one finger across his neck.

He opened a door at the end of one long corridor and stepped onto the top landing of a brick staircase. The only light was a candle flickering in a sconce. The stairs disappeared into darkness. The justice captain lit another candle, one of several hanging in a basket below the sconce, and started down the stairs. The walls were no longer smooth wood and plaster but rough stone. They walked through an underground tunnel, hard stone beneath their boots and above their heads. Such a narrow walkway, lit only by the flickering candlelight, made Korlan’s heart thump harder and faster. If the way ahead hadn’t been pitch dark, he might have run ahead to reach the end of the tunnel more quickly. He felt the sweat drip down his temples and under his arms, and his hands began to tremble. Milad was talking, but his voice bounced off the stone walls again and again, warping his words into alien sounds that Korlan couldn’t understand. The tunnel seemed to narrow with every step. The ceiling pressed down harder and heavier. It pressed on his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. He couldn’t breathe, and he began to gulp at the air, unable to get his fill. At last, a dim glow ahead signaled the end of his torment. They passed a dark recess where it seemed another tunnel converged, and Korlan was grateful they kept going straight, toward the light. His legs quivered as if they would break into a run of their own volition.

He expected another staircase, but instead there was a door at the end of the tunnel. Though there was a basket of unlit candles, Milad kept the one he had. He opened the door and ushered Korlan through, into another hallway. This one was different. The walls were wood and painted plaster, the floors wooden. Not as beautiful as the justice building, but certainly better than the tunnel between them. His heartbeat began to slow, and the crushing weight rolled off his chest. He took a few deep, steadying breaths.

“This is the dormitory,” Milad said as he proceeded down the hallway, seemingly oblivious to the danger they’d just survived. “Elders reside on the first floor, adepts on the second, and so on. The fourth floor has both disciples and novices, but the fifth and sixth floors have only novices. The dining hall is on the ground floor. Elders and adepts eat at the first bell. Disciples and novices eat at the second bell. Enforcers eat at the third bell. Don’t try to enter the dining hall before the third bell, or you’ll answer to me.”

“Enforcers enter and leave only from the tunnel,” Trond said. “Try to stay out of the Sayers’ way as much as possible.”

Challenger’s fists
, Korlan thought. He’d already planned to find another way between the buildings. If he had to brave the tunnel by himself, at least he could run.

Milad stopped at a door with the number sixteen painted on it in black, flicked the latch, and pushed it open. “Your room.” He used the candle to light a pair of oil lamps affixed in sconces.

Without windows, the room was dim and stark inside but many times more pleasant than the jail cell or even the tent he’d lived in on the Isle of Shess. Four beds, stacked two high, were dressed neatly in white, a folded gray blanket at the foot of each. Atop the blanket of the upper bunk on the left was a bundle of folded gray cloth. On the far wall was dressing table with a mirror and a metal basin. A stool sat beneath the table.

“You share with Ferth, Minton, and Taster,” Trond said.

“Taster? Is that his name?”

“Naw, we call him that ’cause he likes to taste the blood of the condemned.”

Korlan’s lip curled.

“Get him oriented, dressed, and fed,” Milad said, “then come see me in my office.”

“Yes, sir,” Trond said. He snapped a salute. Milad looked at Korlan expectantly. When Korlan raised his hand to his brow, the justice captain returned the salute, spun on his heel, and left.

“Bathing room is down the hall to the left, last door on the left. If there’s no one there, pull the bell cord. Hot water is delivered to your door at six o’clock every morning and evening. Linens are washed on the fifteenth of the month. Miss it and you sleep on dirty bedclothes for another month. The dining hall is on the ground floor. Third bell, remember. You’ll have some time to bathe and dress. If the uniform doesn’t fit, let me know.” Trond looked down at Korlan’s feet. “Give me one of your boots. I’ll take it to the supply manager to match it while you’re bathing.”

Korlan balanced on one foot and tugged his boot off the other, then handed it to Trond. “Can’t I wear my own boots?”

“No.” Trond turned to leave but then paused. “One more thing. The staff members here dress in white. If you need something, ask one of them, but they’re not whores, in case you were wondering.”

I wasn’t
, he thought.

“In other words, keep your hands to yourself. You’ll have two nights free to visit the brothel.”

“I understand.”

After Trond left, Korlan tugged off his other boot, grabbed the uniform, and headed down the hall to the bathing room. It was empty but for an elderly woman arranging stacks of towels in a cupboard.

She turned when he entered, and her eyes went round. She took a step backwards, her hand shooting to her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Just got here and need a bath.”

“But the blacks...” she said, her voice warbling.