David Dalglish - Dawn of Swords

With that he dipped his hand into the bucket and withdrew another tomato.

“One of these, though,” he said, “I can lift just fine. You lying, eternal whore!”

The man reared back and hurled the tomato at her. Soleh easily stepped out of the way, but that didn’t stop Pulo and Roddalin from rushing forward and grabbing the old man by the arms. He struggled, his teeth clenched, and called out for help from those around him. No one dared come to his aid-not when Jonn walked among them with his sword drawn. Pulo and Roddalin lugged the man before the pulpit. The kneelers, who were watching the proceedings in horror, quickly made room as the guards threw the man face down in the grass.

Soleh stepped off the platform and approached him. Inwardly she shivered, while outwardly she was a wall of iron. This was a test of her wisdom and her ability to convey the hard truths she knew. Eyes were upon her, and whatever they witnessed would spread throughout the city like wildfire. Soleh stood before the elderly man as he raised his head. His jaw swished from side to side, gathering spittle. Pulo stopped him before he could act on his disgrace, planting a booted foot on the man’s back.

“You may insult me all you wish,” Soleh said, “for I am not perfect. But Karak is divine. Karak is the reason, the Order in a universe of chaos. He is to be praised, not torn down. Will you praise him?”

“Fuck you,” the man muttered. “And fuck Karak.”

“Very well,” said Soleh. She faced the crowd again. Beyond the kneelers she saw that a crowd of nearly a hundred had gathered, watching. Soleh addressed her words to the faithful, but they weren’t the ones she was truly addressing. They weren’t the ones who needed her message most.

“Karak is mighty, but he is also forgiving. If you have turned your back to him in pride, then kneel. Show your appreciation to your creator.”

The distant men and women were watching, and only a small handful stepped forward to join the others in prayer. Soleh sighed, wanting to give up but knowing Karak wouldn’t have given her such a task if he had not thought her equal to it. Hard truths, she told herself. They must all learn the hard truths. She turned back to the man her guards held bound.

“You must know that despite Karak’s forgiveness, he is merciless before disrespect. If no forgiveness is requested, none shall be received. Turning your back on your creator forever will result in the damnation of your eternal soul. You will be punished for an eternity in the fires in the Abyss below Afram.”

The crowd began to murmur, and Soleh knew she had their attention at last.

“However,” she cried, “this kind of damnation is a last resort. It is a sad fate that I would not wish on anyone, even this sad, disrespectful mongrel before me. No, it is up to us, the faithful, to spare the weak from the punishing fire. If you do not sacrifice your pride willingly, you will have another sacrifice taken from you by force!”

She nodded to Jonn, who sheathed his sword and withdrew a wicked-looking dagger. Pulo and Roddalin knelt on the dissenter’s back, staying him, while Jonn circled around and caught his flailing hand in a firm grip. The old man shrieked as he struggled beneath the guard’s weight. Jonn held the dagger’s cutting edge over the man’s wrist and glanced up at Soleh.

“A hand for your soul,” she said, her voice knifing through the stunned crowd. “That is not a lot to ask.”

Jonn gritted his teeth and hacked down with the dagger. As the blade pierced flesh, the guard’s breastplate was spattered with blood. The old man shrieked even louder as Jonn brought the dagger down again, this time splitting through a few bones-still, the hand remained attached. It took a third swing to finally sever the appendage. Blood poured from the stump, the frayed skin glistening, the jagged bone looking sharp and dangerous. Still the man screamed, now crying out in supplication.

“I’m sorry!” he shouted. “I repent! Give my soul to Karak! He can have it, it’s his!”

Soleh gestured for Jonn to switch sides, which he did, grabbing the man’s other hand and holding the dagger to his flesh.

Hard truths, she told herself.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her expression hard as granite. “Or do we need to take another sacrifice?”

“No, dammit!” the man squealed. He was sobbing fully now, shock robbing him of his will to do anything but raise his voice. “Praise be to the Divinity! He who created me deserves my love and respect!”

Soleh let the moment linger, let her silence stretch over the crowd. She passed her eyes over them, let them imagine themselves standing before judgment, a knife raised over their own sinful lives.

“I believe you,” she said.

She beckoned to the palace servants who had been observing the event and told them to help mend the man’s wounds. Then, loudly enough for everyone watching to hear, she spoke: “This man is truly repentant and now stands in Karak’s favor. Make sure he is given the best healers at our disposal, and instruct the minister of agriculture to find him a position. Make certain he has a place to rest his head at night and money to keep him fed. That is all.”

“Thank you, Minister,” the man groveled as the servants led him away, doing their best to staunch the blood still pouring from the stump of his right wrist. “You are merciful, you are great. Praise Karak, praise Karak, praise Karak.…”

This continued until the servants brought the man through the entrance to Tower Servitude. Soleh turned around, filled with pride that she had saved the man’s soul, and that pride doubled when she saw what awaited her. The rest of those gathered in the courtyard-merchants, commoners, and vagrants alike-were all on bended knee.

A smile, perhaps the largest ever to cross her face, appeared on her lips as she joined them.

“Let us pray.”

Court in Tower Justice dragged on and on that day. Thankfully, the docket was empty of the more heinous offenses, but the sheer number of minor crimes Soleh needed to preside over was mind numbing. To make matters worse, for some unknown reason King Vaelor had decided he would sit in on the day’s session. The king’s bodyguard, Karl Dogon, set up a makeshift throne on the far side of the room, where the king sat through the proceedings, looking bored. It wouldn’t have been that much of a bother if not for the way every convict brought before Soleh spent more time staring in his direction than hers. Few commoners seemed to understand that it was Soleh who ruled in the courtroom. When it came to power in Neldar, he was the face, she was the fist, and Karak was the heart.

But finally the day was over. The king returned to his chambers in Tower Honor, and Soleh looked forward to nothing more than getting back home, eating whatever Ibis had prepared for the evening meal, and then falling into a comfortable sleep before she had to do it all over again. Pulo met her in Tower Justice’s circular anteroom, helped her remove her cloak, and then held open the door.

“Will you be walking today, Minister?” he asked.

“Not today,” she replied. “If you could please find me a carriage, it would be appreciated. My feet are sore.”

“Yes, Minister,” he said and turned away with a bow.

“Oh, and Pulo-” she called out after him.

He turned around to face her.

“You did well today. All three of you did. I’m proud of you all.”

Pulo bowed again and then went along his way, leaving Soleh alone on the pathway outside the tower. She gazed up at the stars on this clear autumn night, lost in thoughts of her home and her god. She felt a stirring in her loins and decided that if she felt up to it, she would throw Ibis down later tonight and remind him why she’d created him.