“Yes, we do, Lady,” Salthan replied. “In fact, it’s in rather more readable condition than Kellos’ grant. Let me get it for you.”
“If you would,” she requested, and leafed through her other notes for the sections of the war maid charter relevant to the other points in dispute between Trisu and his neighbors that she’d copied in Kalatha.
Salthan opened the proper case and unrolled a second scroll, just as carefully as he’d unrolled the first one. He was right; this document was much more legible than the Kalatha land grant, and Kaeritha bent over it, eyes searching for the sections she needed.
She read through them one by one, comparing the language before her to that she had copied in Kalatha, and despite all of her formidable self-control, her frown grew more and more intense as she worked her way through them. Then she sat back and rubbed the tip of her nose, wondering if she looked as perplexed as she thought she did.
Well, she thought, it just may be that I’m beginning to understand yet another reason He sent me to deal with this instead of Bahzell or Vaijon. He does have a way of choosing His tools to fit the problem … even when we poor tools don’t have a clue why it has to be us. Or exactly where we’re supposed to go next.
“I appreciate your assistance, Sir Salthan,” she said after a moment. “And I think I may be beginning to understand why your and your lord’s interpretation of the documents is so fundamentally different from that of Mayor Yalith. There does seem to be a degree of … discrepancy now that I’ve had a chance to lay my notes side-by-side with your copy. I don’t pretend to understand where it came from, but it’s obvious that until it’s resolved, it will be impossible for anyone to rule definitively in this case.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Milady,” Salthan said soberly. Trisu’s magistrate was sitting across the table from her now, his blue-gray eyes intent … and troubled. “Unlike you, I haven’t had the opportunity to compare the documents to one another, but I know these copies have been here in this library from the day they were first penned. Under the circumstances, I think My Lord and I have no alternative but to believe they’re accurate, and, unlike his late father, Lord Trisu is not the sort of man to tolerate the infringement of his rights or prerogatives. Which is why, after he’d asked me to research the language and had seen the relevant passages for himself, he began to press Kalatha over these matters.”
“No doubt you’re right,” Kaeritha said. “On the other hand, Sir Salthan, I can’t quite escape the suspicion that he’s a little more irritated over the apparent violation of his rights or prerogatives when the suspected violators are war maids.”
“Probably—no, certainly—you’re right, Dame Kaeritha. And he’s not alone in that regard, either. We’ve had other disputes with Kalatha over the years. Indeed, when Lord Trisu’s Uncle Saeth—his father’s younger brother; Lord Triahm’s father—was killed in a hunting accident some ten years ago, there were those who claimed to have evidence that it was no accident at all. That the war maids arranged it because of his outspoken condemnation of their chosen way of life. I personally always found that a bit hard to swallow, but the fact that it could gain such wide credence clearly suggests that Lord Trisu is far from alone in his dislike for them. Yet even if he were, would that truly have any bearing on whether or not our interpretation is correct in the eyes of the law?”
“No,” she said, although she was guiltily aware that part of her wished it did. On the other hand, champions of Tomanak were still mere mortals. They had their prejudices and opinions, just like anyone else. But they also had a unique responsibility to recognize that they did and to set those prejudices aside rather than allow them to influence their decisions or actions.
“Are you familiar, Sir Salthan,” she continued after a moment, “with the sorts of abilities Tomanak bestows upon His champions when he accepts Sword Oath from them?”
“I beg your pardon?” Salthan blinked, clearly surprised by the apparent non sequitur. Then he shrugged.
“I’m scarcely ’familiar’ with them, Milady. I doubt very many people are, really. I’ve done some reading, of course. And to be honest, I did a little more research when Lord Trisu told me a champion had come to visit us. Our library, unfortunately, isn’t especially well stocked with the references I needed. The best anything I had could do was to tell me that Tomanak is less … consistent from champion to champion than many of the other Gods of Light are.”
“ ’Less consistent,’ “ Kaeritha murmured, and smiled. “That may be as concisely as I’ve ever heard it put, Sir Salthan. There are times when I wish He was more like, oh, Toragan or Torframos. Or Lillinara, for that matter. Their champions all seem to get approximately the same abilities, in greater or lesser measure. But Tomanak prefers to gift each of His champions with individual abilities. For the most part, they seem to mesh with abilities or talents we already had before we heard His call, but sometimes no one has any idea why a particular champion received a specific ability. Until, of course, the day comes when he—or she—needs that ability.”
“And is this such an occasion, Milady?” Salthan asked, his eyes more intent than ever.
“Yes and no.” Kaeritha shrugged. “I’ve had the need for almost all of the abilities He’s granted me at one time or another already. But I have to admit that I should have begun to suspect there was a specific reason He’d sent me to deal with this problem. Especially when Lord Trisu reminded me that the controlling language itself is in dispute.”
“I wish I’d had the opportunity to examine the Kalathan originals,” Salthan said a bit wistfully. “It’s been obvious from the beginning that there’s a fundamental contradiction between what I was reading here and the language Mayor Yalith and her magistrates have been citing. But without the chance to see the originals for myself, there was no way for me to judge how accurate—or, for that matter, honest—their citations were.”
“Well, I have had the opportunity to examine them,” Kaeritha told him. As she spoke, she stood and crossed to another table, under the library window, where she’d placed her sheathed swords when she and Salthan entered. No champion of Tomanak ever left the sword—or swords—which was the emblem of her authority behind when engaged upon official duties. Now she unbuttoned the retaining strap on the sword she normally wore at her left hip and drew the glittering, two-foot blade.
Salthan raised an eyebrow in surprise as she drew steel, and then she smiled, despite the gravity of the moment, as his other eyebrow rose to match it when her sword suddenly began to glow with a blue nimbus bright enough to be clearly visible even in the well-lit library.
“As I say,” she continued in a deliberately blase tone, “I have had the opportunity to examine them. Unfortunately, it didn’t occur to me then just how thoroughly I should have ’examined’ them.”
She sat back down, facing him over the original table once more, and laid the sword flat before her, its glittering blade across both the scrolls Salthan had located for her.
“And now, Sir Salthan,” she said in a far more formal voice, “I have a request to make of you as champion of the Keeper of the Scales.”
“Of course, Milady,” the Sothoii said quickly, and Kaeritha noted his tone and manner carefully. She was gratified by his prompt acquiescence, but she was even more gratified when she was unable to detect any sign of hesitation or indecision. Clearly he felt no more reservations about accepting her authority than he would have felt accepting the authority of any male champion.
“This is primarily for the record,” she told him, “because you are the primary custodian of these documents.” She turned her sword slightly, angling the hilt in his direction. “Please place your hand on the hilt of my sword.”