At the lowest level, justice was enforced by bailiffs. These were usually Riders of the Great Horde appointed for a specific purpose-to catch a notorious outlaw, or to investigate a murder in some remote corner of the realm. Tol had learned of trial by jury in Tarsis, where the procedure was common.
“I am the imperial governor, appointed by His Majesty Ackal V! All I have done, I have done in his name!”
“Make no mistake, Wornoth. You’re not being tried for being a vicious, petty tyrant, though you ought to be,” Tol said. “The principle charge against you is failing to defend the eastern provinces of the empire. By keeping your hordes in Caergoth, you allowed the nomads to ravage four provinces. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of imperial subjects perished, villages were sacked and property destroyed by your folly. That is your crime.”
Wornoth’s face grew even paler. He whispered, “I did what I thought best. You can’t condemn me for that!”
“It is not up to me to condemn you for anything. That’s why we’re having a trial. It begins at dawn.”
Tol turned to go. Wornoth sprang from his sleeping niche and grasped Tol’s knees. Egrin’s sword was out in a trice, but alarm quickly turned to revulsion.
Tears streaming down his cheeks, Wornoth gabbled wildly, “Please, gracious lord! Please, spare me! I made mistakes, yes, but I can rectify them! I can! Please! Please!”
“Get hold of yourself!” Tol said, trying to pry him loose. “For Corij’s sake, be a man!”
“But I don’t want to die! I did only what I thought my emperor wanted me to do! Please!”
Tol managed to shove him away. Wornoth fell backward and lay still, sobbing and pleading.
“You’re going to Daltigoth, aren’t you? I can be of use to you, great lord. I know much about the emperor’s doings. I can tell you things!”
Egrin asked, “Would you betray your sovereign?”
“Yes! Yes! To spare my life, yes!”
Thoroughly disgusted now, Tol said nothing. He went to the cell door.
“You are being used, my lord!” Wornoth cried. “The emperor’s hand has guided you to the very course you’re now on! If you go to Daltigoth, you shall be destroyed!”
Tol ignored this feeble gambit, but Egrin lingered.
“Why would the emperor want Lord Tolandruth to come to Daltigoth?” he asked.
An ember of hope lit the prisoner’s eyes. “Spare me, and I’ll tell you!”
“Tell us, and we may spare you,” Tol countered.
Wornoth got quickly to his feet. “You have something the emperor wants.” He glanced at Egrin, uncertain how much to reveal. “A certain item of great value, which protects you.”
Egrin looked blank, but the words rattled Tol. The nullstone. How could Ackal V have learned of it?
The worry on his captor’s face warmed Wornoth like a draft of strong wine. He dried his face on his sleeve and fingered the long hair back from his forehead.
“The empress hired a tracker to find you, my lord. A half-breed woman. To ensure her loyalty, I was ordered to hold her father.”
“I know. She’s dead,” Tol said flatly. “And so is her father.”
Wornoth shrugged. “No matter. You’re on your way to Daltigoth, unwittingly delivering the very prize the emperor covets.” He leered at the warriors. “He dangles tasty bait before you, I know. The empress-”
Tol crossed the distance between them in three strides and seized the front of Wornoth’s robe. Hauling the shorter man to his tiptoes, he snarled, “Your information is worthless! Baited or not, I am going to Daltigoth to see justice done!”
“Justice for whom?” Wornoth rasped. “You-or the empire?”
“Enough!” Tol shoved him away. “Your trial takes place tomorrow.”
Wornoth had one last hand to play. From the folds of his robe, he produced a small iron key. He tossed it toward the doorway, where it landed at Tol’s feet.
“A gift, my lord! That key opens my private archive. Learn for yourself how the emperor draws you to him like a fly into a spider’s web.” Wornoth managed a smile. “What does this buy me?”
Tol’s dagger thudded into the straw by Wornoth’s feet.
“If I were you, Wornoth, I would not wait for a trial. Hanging is tricky business. If not done right, the condemned strangles slowly.” With visible relish, Tol said, “Count five ribs down on your left side. That’s where your heart is-that’s where it is on a normal man, anyway.”
High-born Ergothians had a horror of being hanged like a common criminal. Mockingly, Tol added, “I doubt you have the will to cheat the hangman, but I give you the chance.”
He and Egrin went out, and the sound of the bolt being thrown echoed in the cell.
When the warder arrived a short time later with the prisoner’s supper, he found Wornoth dead. A war dagger protruded from his left side.
His heart was in the right place after all.
At the head of her private army, Syndic Hanira awaited Lord Tolandruth’s review. She’d found a magnificent horse in Caergoth, a night-black steed. Mounted on its back, Hanira, in cloth-of-gold raiment, her own black hair streaming loose to her waist, cut a dazzling figure. Dusk was an unusual time to begin a journey, but it was the time Hanira had chosen.
Most of the warlords still mistrusted the Tarsans, regarding them as foreigners and enemies, not valuable allies. None had turned out for her departure. Egrin had taken Wornoth’s key and gone in search of his papers, so only the Dom-shu sisters and Tol were present. Tol was mounted, the sisters on foot.
“Give my regards to Lord Regobart,” Tol said, naming the commander of the imperial outpost near Tarsis.
“I will convey your greetings.” Smiling slightly she added, “I seldom see him, you know. I make him nervous.”
“Small wonder,” Kiya muttered.
Hanira urged her horse forward a few paces, until she was close alongside Tol. Her smooth expression altered for a moment. “Beware, my lord,” she murmured. “You are galloping hard to a precipice. Daltigoth is a maelstrom from which you may not emerge alive.”
She was the second person this evening to tell him that. Shrugging, he said, “I’ve managed to escape death there before.”
Hanira clasped his arm, warrior-fashion. “Live, my lord. The world needs you.”
At Captain Anovenax’s order, the Tarsans wheeled left and trotted away. Hanira turned her ebony steed smartly on its hind legs and cantered after them.
The Dom-shu were not impressed, muttering aloud that the Tarsan syndic was a “conniving wench,” among other things.
“She seeks some advantage,” Miya insisted. She knew the art of dealing better than anyone. “If you succeed, her position as your friend and ally is stronger than ever.”
“But what does she want?” Kiya mused. “Not Husband as mate, I’d wager.”
Miya shook her head. “She wants to rule Tarsis, that’s what I think. With Husband’s help, she could get rid of all the princes and syndics, and reign as queen of Tarsis.”
“You two are so wise!” Tol snapped. “Hanira didn’t have to come to our aid. She paid for her good deed with her own child’s life!”
Chastened, the Dom-shu sisters apologized and left him. He had given them the task of organizing supplies for the ride to Daltigoth.
As the dust kicked up by the Tarsan cavalry settled, Tol stared southwest-the route they’d taken along the banks of the Caer. In the distance, lightning shimmered across the deep purple sky.
The sisters had unknowingly touched a sore spot. Tol wasn’t certain they were wrong about Hanira. But at that moment, he felt she had as much chance of becoming Queen of the Red Moon as Queen of Tarsis.