Judge Read online

  © 2012 by R. J. Larson

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-6048-2

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Wes Youssi/M.80 Design

  Cover photography by Steve Gardner, PixelWorks Studio, Inc.

  To all adventurers

  who wish an epic destroyer would

  follow them home.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Character List

  Map

  1 2 3 4 5

  6 7 8 9 10

  11 12 13 14 15

  16 17 18 19 20

  21 22 23 24 25

  26 27 28 29 30

  31 32 33 34 35

  36 37

  Acknowledgments

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  An excerpt from King

  Back Ad

  Back Cover

  Character List

  Kien Lantec Kee-en Lan-tek Military judge-advocate for the Tracelands

  Ela Roeh El-ah Roe-eh Prophet of Parne

  Ara Lantec Are-ah Lan-tek Rade Lantec’s wife, Kien’s mother

  General Rol Rawl The Tracelands’ General of the Army

  Tamri Het Tam-ree Het Citizen of Munra, Siphra

  Tzana Roeh Tsaw-nah Roe-eh Ela’s sister

  Beka Thel Bek-ah Thell Jon Thel’s wife, Kien’s sister

  Jon Thel Jon Thell A Tracelands military commander, Beka’s husband

  Rade Lantec Raid Lan-tek Kien’s father, the Tracelands’ preeminent statesman

  Ruestock Roo-stock Exiled former Siphran ambassador to the Tracelands

  Tsir Aun Sir Awn Istgard’s prime minister, Tek Lara’s husband

  Bel-Tygeon Bell-Ty-jee-on King of Belaal

  Akabe Garric Ah-cabe Gair-rick Former Siphran rebel, the Infinite’s chosen king of Siphra

  Zade Chacen Zaid Chase-en Parne’s deposed chief priest

  Sius Chacen See-es Chase-en Elder son of Zade Chacen

  Za’af Chacen Zay-aff Chase-en Second son of Zade Chacen

  Dan Roeh Dan Roe-eh Ela’s father

  Kalme Roeh Call-may Roe-eh Ela’s mother

  Ninus Nine-es King of the island-city Adar-iyr

  Matron Prill prill Ela’s chaperone

  Ishvah Nesac Ish-vaw Ness-ak The Infinite’s chosen chief priest of Parne

  Siyrsun Seer-sun Belaal’s General of the Army

  1

  Kien Lantec lifted his chin, pressed his fingers against his wet skin, and then swept the razor up his throat—just as the Infinite’s voice resonated within his thoughts.

  You will go to ToronSea.

  “Ow!” Jolted by the voice, Kien gasped as the blade pierced his skin. He dropped the razor and leaped backward as it clattered on the tiled floor, threatening his bare toes. Hearing from one’s Creator evidently involved undreamed-of risks. Not to mention worrisome symptoms that included sweating, tremors, and an unnervingly rapid heart rate. Kien exhaled and thumped a clammy fist against his heart. Steady.

  ToronSea? Why? He’d just returned home on military leave. His first leave! And ToronSea was at the edge of nowhere, governed by a pack of argumentative antisocials who were supposed to be civilized Tracelanders. Controlling himself, Kien smudged some powdered balm against the bloodied nick beneath his jaw. “Go to ToronSea?”

  You will warn My faithful in ToronSea of My displeasure because they are beguiled by certain Siphran worshipers of Atea. Tell the one who speaks for them that he must be faithful to Me and seek My will. You must also speak to certain deceived ones who love Atea. Tell them only that I see their failings and seek their hearts. The wise will hear Me.

  Worshipers of Atea. Weren’t they given over to disturbing little quirks like divination through watching the death throes of victims in ritual strangulations? Kien hoped the oft-repeated stories were unfounded. He didn’t relish being the target of a divination ritual. “But, Infinite, I’m not a prophet. I’m a—”

  Are you My servant?

  Defeated before he’d begun. “Yes. I am your servant.” Kien meant every word of his pledge, but he didn’t have to feel comfortable about it, did he? He moistened his lips. “Am I no longer training to be a military judge?”

  Waiting silence answered. Kien exhaled, retrieved his razor, and tried to ask an answerable question. “Should I depart today?”

  Yes.

  “Will I survive?”

  More Omnipotent silence. Survival, evidently, shouldn’t be his first consideration. “Fine. I’ll finish shaving, then organize a few details and gather my gear. Will one knapsack suffice?”

  He paused. Nothing. It seemed he must answer most of his own questions. And he had plenty to ask. For example, why wasn’t the Infinite sending His true prophet, Ela of Parne, to confront ToronSea? No, sending Ela into any situation where her life might be endangered was completely unacceptable. For Ela’s sake, Kien would go to ToronSea himself.

  Ela . . . Kien grinned into his polished metal mirror and finished shaving. He now had an ideal excuse to visit the most captivating person in East Guard. No doubt Ela would—

  “Kien?” His mother’s voice echoed up the stairwell steps to his tower room. “Keee-en!”

  He hurriedly wiped his face and smoothed his tunic before opening the door. Ara Lantec marched up the last few spiraling stone steps and stopped on the landing. Cool gray eyes narrowed, she folded her elegant arms and glared, her usually serene face a study of restrained maternal fury. “Your destroyer is eating my garden! My whole garden! Unless you can control that monster, your father will have him shot by archers, then butchered and stewed!”

  Kien saw six months of military wages vanish, consumed by a gargantuan warhorse’s gluttony. “Sorry. I’ll pay for the damages.”

  Ara seethed. “Paying for my garden won’t help me this evening. My reception is ruined!”

  He wasn’t about to offer advice for saving his mother’s reception—a gathering of the Tracelands’ most elite women. Wives of members of the Grand Assembly. And their daughters, whom Kien devoutly hoped to escape. No doubt his parents would be planning his wedding the instant he smiled at one of those spoiled girls. Kien kissed his mother’s perfectly arranged dark hair, hoping to soothe her. She scowled.

  Barefoot, he started down the stairs. “Don’t worry. You’ll be rid of me and the destroyer by midday. I’m leaving on an assignment.”

  “What? You’ve just returned after six months of duty.”

  “It’s an emergency.” And that emergency looked positively inviting compared to his mother’s wrath—not to mention her reception. Several steps down, he hesitated and looked up. “Anyway, I thought you wanted me gone.”

  “No, I simply want you to kill that destroyer!”
/>   “Oh, sure.” Kien hoped she hadn’t caught his sarcasm. Chaining the beast, not killing it, would have to suffice. Kien rushed down the spiraling stone steps and charged through the stairwell’s open doorway, into the adjoining hall. “Scythe!”

  He found the black monster-horse in Mother’s formal garden, dwarfing a crimson stand of miniature spice trees, crunching down leaf after expensive leaf. The massive creature turned his rump toward Kien and flicked his long black tail.

  Kien growled. “I know you heard me. Don’t you dare turn away!”

  Scythe swung his big head around, irritable, still chewing. Kien glared and grabbed his halter. “Not another bite! Your morning meal is finished. Move. Now. Obey.”

  At least destroyers heeded obey—though the command never improved their attitudes. The oversized brute grumbled as Kien led him toward the stable. To gain his cooperation, Kien said, “Let me make myself presentable, then we’ll visit General Rol. And Ela.”

  Scythe’s big ears perked. “Ela,” Kien repeated, knowing she was this beast’s greatest weakness. Kien’s as well. “I’m sure she has six months’ worth of shrubs for you to devour.”

  He continued to talk of Ela as he reluctantly chained Scythe to an iron ring embedded in stone within the stable yard. “Wait. I’ll return.” He’d won this round. With the destroyer at least.

  His mother and the Infinite were different matters entirely.

  Visions of ToronSea’s Ateans and their brutal divination rituals overtook his thoughts.

  Kien hoped he would survive.

  Seated on a woven mat near the ancient stone ruins of the Infinite’s temple, Ela Roeh, prophet of Parne, shifted in place and studied her scholars.

  Five young ladies sat before her, decorously clad in pastel tunics and soft mantles. Wielding reed pens over their wax writing tablets, they bowed their fashionable curl-crowned heads in the early-autumn sunlight and wrote this morning’s lesson.

  How troublesome to realize her students were all near her own age. In spirit, Ela felt older than eighteen. But surely not older than her dear eightyish chaperone. Ela slid a glance toward Tamri Het, a Siphran who’d followed Ela to the Tracelands after Siphra’s revolution seven months past. Seated nearby on a cushion, Tamri looked utterly harmless with her veiled silver hair-braids and embroidery. Who would ever believe this great-grandmother was a mob-inciting revolutionary who’d helped to topple Siphra’s previous king from his throne? Particularly now, as she hummed like a girl, her veils fluttering in the light breeze . . .

  Hmm. Perhaps, in spirit, Ela was older than Tamri. Not that it mattered.

  Old-spirited or not, all prophets of Parne died young. Ela chewed her lower lip. Surely her death would serve the Infinite’s purpose. But when?

  Tzana, Ela’s fragile little sister, crept onto the mat, her small, prematurely aged face wrinkled both with concern and with her incurable condition. “You look sad,” Tzana whispered.

  Bending, Ela returned the whisper. “I’m not.” However, she was restless. Ela tucked back one of Tzana’s sparse curls and willed herself to relax. Tzana huddled beneath Ela’s arm and shivered until Ela snuggled her close. The little girl disliked the cooler autumn air. Ela couldn’t blame her. Tzana was accustomed to Parne’s warmer climate, which was more soothing to her arthritis than these damp ocean-borne breezes. Tonight, Ela decided, she must prepare more ointment to ease Tzana’s aching joints.

  Another whisper lifted—this time from among her students.

  “Finished!” Beka Thel, Kien’s sister, set down her pen and tablet with a delicate click. Beka was as clever as her brother. And equally charming. Warm brown eyes sparkling, Beka threw Ela a mischievous smile so like Kien’s that Ela sighed. Kien . . .

  She returned Beka’s smile. But as they waited for the other four girls to finish their work, Ela scolded herself inwardly. She mustn’t think of Kien. Why torment herself? Yet she thought of him constantly. Not proper musings for a prophet. It was better to consider the Infinite.

  Ela closed her eyes and offered silent worship to her beloved Creator. Until agitation permeated her thoughts. Dark, unsteadying fear. Why?

  Infinite?

  Silence. Yet she perceived His Spirit hovering near. Determined, Ela closed her eyes, focused on her prayer, and on the Infinite. He might not answer whenever it pleased her, but He did answer. She simply needed to persist, then accept His decisions.

  Infinite, what is Your will?

  Before Ela could gasp, a vision swept over her like a cloak and sucked her spirit into a whirlwind. Ela trembled as she recognized her surroundings. She was home in the city-state of Parne, standing atop the guard’s stone lookout shelter on Parne’s soaring city wall. Too high! Dizzied, she fixed her thoughts on breathing and enduring the vision’s torment. Infinite!

  Child of dust, the Infinite murmured, what do you see?

  Scared to look down, Ela fixed her gaze on the western horizon. On a terrifyingly huge mirage-like image, spreading from north to south. Barely able to squeak out the words, Ela whispered, “I see a giant cauldron in the sky . . . pouring boiling liquid toward Parne.”

  Home. About to be destroyed.

  As Ela tried to gather her wits, her Creator said, My people, whom I love, have forsaken me! They burn incense to other gods, and they worship idols made by their own hands.

  “No. . . .”

  They seek other souls to lead into eternal torment! Therefore disaster is about to overtake Parne and all who live there.

  “No!” All who live there? Father. Mother. Ela’s baby brother. Where was Tzana? Ela’s arms and legs felt weighted now, as if turned to stone. Impossible to reach Tzana. Though she heard her sister calling her from a distance. Nightmarish images came to life behind her eyelids and within her thoughts. The vision expanded with such force, such an inundation of faces, whisperings, and terrors, that Ela screamed. Falling from the lookout—

  Darkness, thicker than she’d ever known, drew her soul beneath the ground, entombing her alive. As she clawed at dank walls within her vision and inhaled the stomach-churning stench of death, the Infinite said, Prepare yourself.

  The vision’s agony closed in tight, crushing her. Desperate to save her family, and Parne, Ela fought for consciousness and failed.

  2

  Scythe groused in deep-throated rumbles as Kien halted him before General Rol’s sprawling low-walled home. Ignoring his steed’s complaints, Kien descended and chained the twitching beast to the legally required destroyer restraint—a massive half-buried block of stone with two huge metal rings. Though he understood a chaining stone’s intended purpose, Kien was aggravated whenever he saw one.

  How kind of the Tracelands’ Grand Assembly, and Father, to legislate such expensive measures for the country’s newly acquired destroyers. Bound as they were by so many civil regulations, destroyers were now guaranteed to cost more than an ordinary landowner could afford. Worse, the chaining blocks did nothing to soothe the belligerent temperaments of the powerful beasts.

  Ironically, if a destroyer’s owner commanded his beast to wait, the creature would wait through eternity. Food or no food. No chaining block needed.

  Kien reached up and patted Scythe’s glossy black neck. “Wait. I won’t be long—the general needs to know why I’ll be gone. Don’t eat anything or anyone while I’m inside.”

  The destroyer’s eyes glinted, and he huffed. Suppressed rage? Thwarted appetite? Kien didn’t want to know. He entered the general’s residence, was recognized by a servant, welcomed, and shown to General Rol’s meeting chamber.

  “Lantec!” The general looked up from his seat behind a broad, cluttered table. His silver hair and his heavy tunic were rumpled, but his thin, stern face was death-serious. “I was about to send for you.” He cleared his throat and narrowed his piercing brown eyes. “Turn in your sword.”

  Involuntarily, Kien gripped his military sword’s hilt. “With respect, sir, what have I done to deserve . . . ?”

  T
he general cut off his question with an upraised hand. “You have failed to meet current regulations.” Rol motioned impatiently. “Your sword!”

  Kien complied, unbuckling his sword-belt and lifting the baldric off his shoulder. He was being thrown out of the military after his first tour of official service. How would he explain this to his parents? But even as he placed his sword and its matched scabbard on the table, Kien’s thoughts sped toward possible explanations and additional career options for his future. If the military had dropped him so swiftly and unfairly, then—

  General Rol opened a long wooden case, lifted a sword from it, and walked around the table to stare Kien in the eyes. “Now you meet current regulations.”

  Kien looked down at the newly issued sword and laughed. Apparently only his sword was being removed from service. This new Azurnite weapon, with its magnificent blue water-patterned blade, was well worth enduring the general’s prank. Only the wealthiest citizens in East Guard possessed these extraordinary weapons. Until now. “I’m not dishonorably cast out?”

  “No.” Rol grinned like a boy. “The first shipment of swords was delivered this morning. Had you duped, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, sir, you did.” Good thing he hadn’t unleashed a tirade upon the general.

  “Well, arm yourself, soldier! If I had the time, I’d challenge you to a bout.”

  “I regret your lack of time, sir.” Kien hid a smile as he angled the new black baldric over his shoulder, then swiftly doubled the long belt around his waist. Fortunately, Rol was too engrossed with the new weapons to notice Kien’s grin.

  “These swords, combined with our nearly exclusive possession of destroyers, makes the Tracelands the dominant force. No other country can match us! Not Istgard, not Siphra, nor Belaal.”

  “Undoubtedly, you’re right,” Kien agreed. But possessing the strongest military would guarantee problems, such as envy and conspiracies hatched by other countries. Kien shook away his concerns. “With respect, sir, please give me your word that you intend to ‘fail’ your other staff members as well.”

  “I intend to ‘fail’ my entire staff and all my commanders. One by one.” The general rubbed his hands together, scheming. “I forbid you to say anything to the others.”