Call of the Colossus: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles Book 2) (31 page)

“You were expressly forbidden to investigate the matter, and yet here you are, disobeying the king himself. You might as well have ripped up that pardon. Your head will roll. A pity, considering how much you could help your country instead of working against it.”

“I came to find out why you tried to have me killed. You’re the one who brought up the godfruit smuggling. If I’m going to die, I’d at least like an explanation.”

“You don’t know what you don’t know. As a woman, you couldn’t be expected to understand the delicate balance of warfare.”

“Even the playing field and let the war rage on until both sides run out of men? A mighty stupid strategy, if you ask me.”

Kyear chuckled as he picked up his pen and wiped the ink from it with a soiled rag. “As I said, you don’t know what you don’t know.”

She studied him, letting the silence draw out a moment to see if it made him nervous. He merely watched her in return, his gaze calm and steady.

“Did you know we’re related?” she asked.

His eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

“My father’s name was Dyre Kyear, a cousin of yours. He’s dead now, killed by your men.”

“I see. My condolences on his untimely death. As a Truth Sayer and the Gatekeeper, you must know I had nothing to do with that. In fact, I argued against the strategy, but Elder Sonnis took matters into his own hands. He sensed something in you, said you were too valuable to eliminate. Ironic, isn’t it? That he fought so hard to save you, and you murdered him.”

“I didn’t…” She refused to argue the point with him. “Explain it to me then. Explain why you continue this war rather than make peace and sell godfruit to anyone who wants it?”

“Because, young lady, that’s not how war works. Enemies don’t suddenly decide to stop caring about the central conflict. Let’s assume for a moment we did as you suggest. We pull our soldiers off the Isle, send them home to their families, and erect a fence around the Tree, then sit at the opening and take payment for every crateful of godfruit someone carries out.”

Jora nodded. Though she didn’t envision it working quite like that, it was the general idea.

“Now imagine the Mangendans or Arynd Banners showing up in force, slaying our merchants–”

She opened her mouth to interject that they would leave behind men to guard the merchants and the Tree.

“–and the paltry guard we left behind,” he added quickly, “and seizing not only control of the Tree but stealing whatever money we’d taken in, too. Their soldiers now have the advantage of two deaths to our one. They attack Serocia. They attack Jolver, driving right up through the city in force. With our Legion forces dismissed to return home—scattered across the country—we couldn’t mount a defense fast enough.”

“There’s no reason you have to abandon the Isle that way,” she argued. “These things don’t happen in one day. You take it one step at a time.”

Kyear leaned back in his chair with a haughty look on his grizzled face. “Oh? Enlighten me, o wise Gatekeeper. Impart the wisdom you’ve accumulated over your nineteen years of life.”

“Twenty-three, and there’s no need to be snide. You’re being difficult for the sake of argument. First step is stop supplying the enemy with godfruit. Their soldiers will die and stay dead, and they’ll be weakened.”

“What you fail to consider is that without the income from the so-called smuggling, I wouldn’t be able to afford to feed my men.”

She gaped at him. “What?” She’d assumed greed was behind it.
The smuggling is funding the war?
She felt light headed. Without the smuggling, Serocia would fall, and with it, they were locked in an unending war. The revelation was entirely unexpected and almost as disturbing as the smuggling itself.

“Ahh,” Kyear said. “She begins to understand.”

“If it’s money you need, establishing trade agreements would bring in much more without killing our husbands, brothers, and sons.”

“Which, as you pointed out, takes time to develop. In the meantime, our men go hungry. They haven’t the strength to fight, and they die or they desert. Our enemies take the Tree by force and begin making their way farther inland.”

“No, you start by selling it to friendly nations. You’re already selling it to enemy nations illegally. Why not turn the smuggling into legal trade and offer discounted prices if they cease hostilities?”

“Why pay for it if they can steal it? Boatloads of godfruit being shipped up the strait would be vulnerable to attack. We lose our ship, our men, our cargo, and the Mangendans would have it anyway. ‘What about shipping it by land?’ you would ask. Godfruit stays ripe for about two weeks. Assuming we can hitch up fresh horses every twenty miles, it’ll take at least half that time just to get it to the Noossmor border. By the time it reaches the market in the cities, it’ll be inedible. Yes, we’ve thought of that too. At least this way, they supply the shipping and we take no risks.”

“Except that we’re still losing our fathers and sons and brothers,” she said.

Kyear shrugged. “Such is the cost of war.”

We
’
ve been fighting so long, we
’
ve forgotten any other way of life.
There had to be an answer to this. There had to be some way to break the cycle. “Then why don’t you attack them and end the war? Storm their beaches and take their cities. Why let them continue to bite and sting with neither side declaring victory?”

“What’s the advantage to defeating the enemy? There’s none. Our economy is balanced, and our culture has adjusted to this way of life. Our advantage is in keeping the war constant. That’s what you must try to understand. Now,” he said, standing, “if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” He pointed to the door. “You can see yourself out.”

No
, Jora thought. She couldn’t simply leave and let him carry on as if nothing had happened. She couldn’t let him report this conversation to the Justice Bureau. The money was going to be delivered soon, and despite what Arc said, she had to do something. She had to stop it.

“Po Teng, stop him.”

Captain Kyear’s body, his hair, his clothes and boots turned white as he froze in place, one arm raised and index finger pointing at the door.

She needed a minute to think. She paced the width of the room, rubbing her bald scalp with one hand and snapping her fingers with the other, hoping an idea would come to her.
How far away is the sergeant?
she wondered. Opening the Mindstream, she was surprised to find that Kyear had no thread to follow. She’d never noticed that the men she’d statuized weren’t Observable, which was not necessarily a disadvantage. As long as he was statuized, no one could Observe her actions through him.

For right now, she focused on the most immediate danger: the approaching sergeant.

Chapter 21

Korlan checked the hallway then ran down the staircase and out the door to the courtyard. He knew enforcers weren’t supposed to use that exit, but he didn’t want to waste time running to the other end of the dormitory to use the other. Though he knew it would be fruitless, he checked the justice building. She wouldn’t have any reason to sneak over there, so she must have left the grounds.

He cursed himself for having let her get away. She might have gone to Arc’s shop, but when he checked there, it was empty. The two of them could have been anywhere, or Arc could have been out on his own, wandering the streets, and Jora was down by the Legion headquarters freeing more of the Colossus.
No
, he thought.
She wouldn
’
t do it during the day. She would wait until nighttime when no one would see her.

What about her flute? he wondered. Had she taken it with her? Korlan hurried through the tunnel toward the dormitory, his concern for Jora’s whereabouts momentarily distracting him from the narrowness of the passage. One of the other enforcers called his name, and his voice echoed ominously in the darkness. Korlan paused, turning. “Yah?”

It was Nob. The glow of the candle he was holding cast an eerie light onto his already frightening face.

“Milad wants to see you. He’s fuming, so you’d better run up there like your ass is on fire.”

The justice captain was standing at the window of his office, picking his teeth with a letter opener, when Korlan knocked on the open door. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Shut the door,” Milad said. “Where the hell is she?”

Korlan didn’t have to ask who he meant. It was his job to keep an eye on her, and he’d failed. “I’ve been trying to find her, sir. She snuck out.”

“Snuck out.” Milad’s tone dripped with disgust. “You need to piss, you take her to the damned privy with you. Do I need to shackle your wrists together?”

“No, sir,” Korlan said, though it wasn’t a bad idea.

“I had a visit from Captain Kyear earlier today. The same Captain Kyear who lost five soldiers and a march commander to this woman.”

“Is something wrong?” Korlan asked. His mind raced as he tried to think of reasons for Jora to take action against the man. As far as he knew, Kyear had argued against Elder Sonnis for wiping out Kaild, so she couldn’t have held that against him.

“One of the Colossus is missing.”

“The statue?”

Milad gave him an impatient look. “Of course the statue. Do you know of any living…” His brow furrowed. “Did she enliven a Colossus statue?”

Korlan swallowed. He’d considered telling Milad earlier, but he didn’t exactly know how to bring it up without getting into trouble. Freeing the statues from the stone wasn’t illegal, nor had Jora been instructed not to. That wasn’t a stipulation of her pardon, but he knew that somehow it would snake around to bite his ass.

“Did she enliven the damned Colossus?” Milad hollered, leaning across the desk toward Korlan.

“Yes, sir. One of them.”

Milad slammed his fist onto the desk and spewed a string of curses. “Why am I just hearing about this now?”

“As far as I know, she wasn’t forbidden from doing that.”

“And you didn’t think that acquiring her own army of giants wouldn’t be of interest to the Legion, the Justice Bureau, or the king?” Spittle flew from Milad’s mouth as he bellowed.

“It’s not an army, sir. It’s one man, and the Colossus can’t do anything to us that Jora couldn’t already do by herself. Her command of allies is far more dangerous–”

“Shut up, Rastorfer. Shut the hell up.” Milad paced for a minute, mouthing ideas to himself as he considered his options. “She had to have learned how to do it from the dolphin, so the only way to keep this woman under control is to keep her from talking to it again.”

“We’ll have to get her elder’s approval to restrict her from leaving the grounds.”

“Did I say anything about keeping her from leaving the grounds?” Milad stalked toward the door. On the wall beside it hung a crossbow.

Korlan felt himself go clammy as he watched the justice captain take the weapon from its hook and turn to him, his eyes alight with fury.

“Take this to the docks and handle it, but don’t do it in front of her. She doesn’t need to know why her pet dolphin quits showing up.”

Korlan made no move to take the offered crossbow. “You want me to… Sir, I can’t do that.”

“Oh, I think you can.” Milad went around his desk and flipped open a book. He used his finger to trace down a few lines and then across the width of a page. “Persha and Sira are counting on you. They’ve been arrested. Their fate is completely in your hands.”

“What?” Korlan asked, his voice screechy. “Sira’s a baby.”

“Baby or not, she spit on a justice officer. That’s a petty crime.”

“Spit?” Korlan asked, aghast. “Don’t you mean drooled? That’s what babies do.”

“It was definitely a spit. I Observed it myself.”

“That’s absurd. You can’t possibly be serious.”

“You do not want to test me, Rastorfer. Tell me what punishments are suitable for petty offenses.”

Korlan’s mouth went dry as he imagined his infant daughter, only eight months old, being punished like an adult.

Milad slapped his open palm on the desk. “Tell me.”

“Bucking and gagging,” Korlan said, his voice quiet. “Riding the sawbuck. Ballering. Sir, please. You can’t. She’s too young to walk yet.”

“At her age, she probably can’t balance on the sawhorse either, so it’ll have to be bucking and gagging.”

A sob burst from Korlan’s lips. The idea of an infant being subjected to such a painful, awful treatment was too atrocious to imagine. “No, please,” he whispered.

“Your wife’s crime is more serious than that. She resisted arrest and is charged with misdemeanor assault on a justice officer. Name the most common punishments for misdemeanors.”

Befingering, fimbling, and tarring and feathering.
“No,” Korlan wailed, his eyes burning. “Please, sir, you can’t.”

“If you carry out your assigned duties without argument, the enforcers in Burnd will ensure your wife and daughter stay together in the jail cell.” Again, Milad offered the crossbow. “And I’ll ask the sentencing elder to consider leniency this time.”

Reluctantly, Korlan took it.