The Black Prism

Blackguards? How’d Corvan get Blackguards to obey a “fetch me that prisoner” order? “Any hurt?”

“No, Lord Prism.”

“He’s here?” Gavin asked. He needed to get out of here. His entourage was blocking Corvan’s people from coming and going through the street as they needed to, and they were blocking access to the docks as well. But this he wouldn’t dodge. It was better to handle these things in a way that reinforced the solemnity of the law, but it was best to handle them quickly before others disobeyed the same law and you ended up having to kill more. When the sands were running out of the glass, delayed justice was as bad as injustice. “Bring the sailors too, and whatever cargo he was taking,” Gavin told Corvan quietly.

Governor Crassos was, indeed, barely ten paces away. He’d just been surrounded by guards much taller than he was, blocking him from sight. His hands were bound behind his back and one eye was swelling. A motley collection of smugglers were brought forward with him, scruffy, hard-edged men who’d taken on the job knowing the risks.

Gavin raised both hands over his head, throwing out a small fan of sparks. Anyone who hadn’t been looking before was now. “I hereby convene this adjudication in the light of Orholam’s eye. Let justice be done.”

Heads bobbed all around the docks in acknowledgment of the sudden prayer. The accused were pushed roughly to their knees. Humility before justice.

If I’m going to block the docks, I might as well accomplish something while I’m here.

“Governor, you’re accused of hiring a ship to flee the city, against the orders of the general in charge. Is this true?”

“General? I’m the governor of this shithole! No one tells me what to do!”

“Not even I?” Gavin asked. “The general was acting in my name, given explicit authority to do so. Did you hire this crew to leave the city?”

“You’ve got fifty witnesses who’ll tell you I did. So what? We helped you. My family stood by you in the war. You wouldn’t be here without us!” Governor Crassos’s voice trailed to a whine. “You’re going to put these peasants in front of me?”

“Captain,” Gavin said, turning away from the governor, “you acknowledge your attempt to flee?”

The captain looked around, defiant, unbroken, but not quite daring to meet the Prism’s eye. Apparently everyone on the docks had seen the attempt. He had the air of a man who knew he was going to die and wanted to die well. He was holding his courage in a tight grip. “Yessir. The guvnor hired us last night. I already wanted out.” Of course he did. Every man with a ship wanted out, and wanted out yesterday.

“It is an old tradition,” Gavin said loudly, for the assembled crowd, “to grant one pardon on Sun Day. As Orholam is merciful, so should we be merciful.”

“Oh, thank Orholam and his Prism among us,” Governor Crassos said, struggling to his feet. “You won’t regret this, Lord Prism.”

Gavin drafted superviolet for its invisibility and smacked it across the back of Crassos’s knees, never even looking at him. The man dropped. Gavin addressed the captain. “Captain, by rights I should lock you in a cell and leave you there to whatever fate might find you. Instead, I’m going to release you, and I’m going to give you my ship—the ship you forfeited—and your crew. I’ll be watching you, Captain. Serve well.”

The captain looked poleaxed. Then, embarrassingly, his eyes welled with sudden tears.

“What?!” Crassos demanded.

“Governor Crassos, you have disobeyed my order and demeaned your office. A governor is to bear up his people, not weigh them down. You have stolen from the people Orholam gave you the duty to lead. You are a thief and a coward. I hereby strip you of your governorship. You wanted to take your riches and leave? So be it.”

Gavin selected a trunk from among those Crassos had taken with him. It was full of rich clothing, large, and so heavy that one man would have trouble holding it. He shot large holes in the top, bottom, and sides. He gave orders and guards put the trunk in Crassos’s arms and then bound it to him with ropes.

“You can’t do this,” Crassos said.

“It’s done,” Gavin said. “Your only choice now is how you face it.”

“My family will hear of this!” Crassos said.

“Then let them hear you died like a man,” Gavin said.

It was like Gavin had slapped the man across the face. His family obviously meant everything to him.

Gavin drafted a blue platform out into the water. “You wanted to flee, Lord Crassos? Go.”

Without hesitation, Lord Crassos walked down the steps of blue luxin and out onto the water, carrying his trunk. He got out about fifteen paces before the luxin cracked and he fell into the water. In moments, he was kicking to keep the buoyant chest from bobbing over his head and drowning him.

The tide was just turning, so he merely sloshed back and forth, neither pushed in closer to shore nor washed out toward the other piers or toward the Guardian and the open sea.

A thousand pairs of eyes watched him, silently. In a minute, he wasn’t having to kick so hard to keep the trunk from pushing him under—because the trunk wasn’t floating as high in the water. He was trying to stare defiantly toward the dock, toward Gavin, but his wet hair was falling in front of his eyes, and he couldn’t seem to shake his head enough to get it out of them.

He screamed something right before he went under. Gavin couldn’t understand him. More death. He hadn’t liked Crassos, hated his attitude, hated the type of noble he represented, who took and took and never thought to give a crumb back. But he’d just killed a man, made enemies of his family—and this in the midst of a war that would have done the job for him.

Gavin watched for the bubbles and didn’t see any. Crassos had floated too far out. Gavin raised his hands, and then brought them in. “Orholam have mercy,” he announced, bringing the adjudication to a close. He’d already spent too much time here. He turned.

Behind him in the bay, a shark’s fin cut the water like an arrow headed for its target.

Chapter 78

At sunset, Gavin had finished the most public of the rituals of the day. It was a big show, and he did his best to make each one special. It was one part of the day he could feel good about. He always performed nearly naked. Colors bloomed and raced through his body, out of his body, and gave the appearance of going back into him.

It hurt a little to use so much magic after yesterday’s fight, but it was one thing he wouldn’t compromise.

All too soon, however, it was over, and people were retiring to their parties. The parties would go all night. Sun Day lasted until the next dawn. The parties of those to be Freed would begin at full dark. He was sitting in a little chapel in the fortress. He had a few minutes, supposedly to pray.

There was a time when he had used it to pray. No more. If Orholam was real, he was busy, he was asleep, he didn’t care, he was taking a shit. Time was different to Orholam, they said. That would explain why he’d been doing it for Gavin’s entire life.

Gavin’s chest felt tight. He was having trouble breathing. The chapel seemed too small, too dark. He was sweating, cold, clammy sweat. He closed his eyes.

Get some balls, Gavin. You can do this. You’ve done it before. This is for them.