to assist their masters as needed.
This is barbaric and foolish, insisted the part of Dari’s mind still rooted in her own culture, where crime was rare and murder almost nonexistent. Stregans dispatched murderers immediately, or rather her cousin Platt did, as was his duty as king. This business of reading charges, of giving the accused an opportunity for a second judgment from the gods and goddesses—that was laughable to Platt, to all of her people. A sign of Fae weakness. Dari herself had believed this without question, until she came to Triune.
Now she saw that the process had a certain elegance. A fairness to it. The Judged were at a disadvantage, in that they were pitted against trained assassins who would fight them to the death, or hunt them to the same ends. To Dari, this was as it should be. Those who murdered or raped or pillaged at weapon point deserved no level battlefield. Yet the Judged did have a chance. If fate chose to shield them, or give them good fortune, if somehow they deserved some second opportunity at right living, granted by whatever deity they claimed as their own, they might receive it.
But today Stormbreaker faces combat with a vicious rapist, a desert rat who’s probably killed more people than any Stone Brother. If that rat receives his second chance at Stormbreaker’s expense, how then will I feel about these customs?
Dari rubbed her palm against her chest as she edged through the crowd inside the arena gates, slipping behind the small fence separating the arena’s dirt surface from the stone and wood benches built in tiers into the arena walls. She moved closer to the small gate and ready rooms, until she spotted Aron taking his position on the bench right next to Zed, as she expected. She checked the color of his essence, pleased to find it was still a dull, disinteresting shade of blue. By Aron’s posture, he was still calm, but focused on his day’s duties, which gave her some measure of relief. Galvin Herder sat on the far end of Aron’s bench, but to Dari’s relief, his attention appeared to be completely diverted by the day’s demands.
Perhaps he’ll stay too interested or too busy to make more trouble today. Dari picked at her thumbnail with her teeth. Not far away on her right, Lord Altar and his traveling party took their seats in one of the six partially enclosed areas reserved for dynast nobles. The walls encasing them on either side bore the steel and copper colors of Altar, and the back panel had been decorated with sword crossed with arrow, clutched in the talons of a great white Roc—just like the tattoos on Lord Altar’s neck.
Dari couldn’t help noticing how out of place Lord Altar seemed, despite his fierce, angry countenance and the way he glared at the gate where the Judged would enter. From what Lord Baldric had told her, it wasn’t unusual for members of a noble line to attend Judgment Day, but exceedingly rare in these days for a dynast lord to be present himself. The arena crowd, comprised of the sheltered and people from nearby towns who found this process amusing, milled in slow groups, staring up at Lord Altar and his retinue.
Meanwhile, handfuls of goodfolk in travelers’ clothing filed into the seats nearest the arena floor, and Dari knew these were the family and friends of the murdered, raped, or grievously injured, come to see justice done. Many of these would have ridden for days or even weeks to arrive, and there were no smiles amongst this sad, tired group.
Dari’s heart went out to those poor souls who had been so wronged. She settled herself on a strip of wood where she had an easy view of both Aron and Lord Altar, but her attention kept returning to the travelers.
“What’s he doing here, y’think?”
The voice startled Dari so badly she almost bit the tip of her thumb clean off.
When she looked at the seat beside her to see who spoke, she realized it was Raaf Thunderheart. Like Aron, Raaf had gotten older, seemingly when she wasn’t looking. He had fewer freckles, more pounds and muscles, and his red hair was shoulder length now. She tried to make herself smile at the boy, but the gleam in his eyes, obviously from anticipation of the day’s events, made her want to sigh. Every day, Raaf grew more caught up in the life of Triune, in being Aron’s little tagalong,