"'The Father gave to men the burdens of judgment, of labor, and of defense, and the bitter cup of violence that keeps the night from devouring the hearth. Woe to he who turns that cup upon the hearth itself.'
"You struck your wife, who carried your child, and killed the latter thereby," Odrem da'Falein continued, no longer quoting the Second Letter of Kamiéra the Firebrand to the Rallans now that the formal sentencing had begun. "You wounded your wife, who relied on you as a shield. You cost her and your children a life to love and nurture, and you did so by striking the weak. Death is the only possible end to your sentence, and it is given to me to decide how you shall find it."
Kamiéra had stood vigil as War enough times by now to know that his father was never bored when meting out justice from the House Seat, but also to know exactly when the Head of the House was most engaged, and it almost invariably involved women and children. Kamiéra was able to avoid weeping at the crimes of which Kemren of Lathing had been found guilty by closely watching Odrem's manner and posture, a trick he'd learned early in the Season.
Alartos, his younger brother and future Head of House, and Mekathis, the next boy down, were caught between sternly stoic faces, a clear desire to weep for the lost babe, and the sort of anger that sweeps over boys as they enter manhood. Alartos was in the Apse of the Seat because this duty would one day fall to him directly, and Mekathis because he would some day rule over his own cadet branch, dispensing justice subject only to Odrem's, and then Alartos's, final say.
Times of Judgment were for men and only men; save that War is a species of Judgment (Reckoning: 2:1-3) and so whosoever held War must stand in Judgment, to learn first the terrible and necessary cost of Judgment on one man so that the cost of Judgment on many could be truly understood.
"Before I pronounce your sentence, have you any remaining plea?"
Death clarifies the mind, especially when the Father's Judgment is surely not long behind the House's. It was grimly fascinating to watch Kemren, a man who looked a decade younger than his over one hundred twenty seasons, dig deep to find some reason he should be spared. "My children," he began, but Odrem spoke over him, the Flame silencing Kemren's words and boosting Odrem's.
"Will be cared for, as is my duty as the Head of the House who watches over them."
"My father's and mother's grave--"
"Will be tended by your own son."
"I can hold a sword--"
"And that you did so once honorably makes your crime the worse, and your crime a reason never to allow it again." A pause. "Have you anything left? No? Very well.
"On the morn, you will be taken to the Starmetal pits. There, you will harvest the metal that forms the blades of the Gifted. Starmetal not forged poisons the body and the mind, and so you will die over the next season, or perhaps the one after that. Your grave will mark that you gave your life in the defense of others, a mercy I grant to your heirs who did no wrong to be told otherwise."
Odrem nodded. The two very large men who had held up the condemned unceremoniously lifted the wretch and turned to take him from the Hall, their faces showing not the slightest interest in his pleas for mercy.
As the doors slammed shut, Odrem turned to his children. For a moment, Kamiéra would have sworn he looked dozens of seasons older; but just that quickly, he was looking at his two eldest sons with a stern but kind look. "Why," he began, "did I not simply have him beheaded?"
A pause. No one had told them there would be a philosophy class here. "To make him suffer for his crime?" Alartos volunteered.
"As a lesson to others?" Mekathis suggested.
Their father nodded, a satisfied look on his face. "Not quite, but not bad," he replied, and then turned to his eldest. "Kamiéra?"
Kamiéra had not enjoyed philosophy at the Academy and had very little head for it; but he did have years on his siblings. "My brothers are correct, but incomplete," he began, testing the answer as it formed. "He should suffer for sending his babe to the Garden," four heads briefly lowered, "and for nearly sending his wife there. He should be a lesson to all who would strike their wives and children, and the Starmetal pits are public.
"But you will have that on his grave marker, he gave his life in defense of others, and you do not lie. So," he took a breath as the thought cohered. "His death will give Starmetal for Gifted swords. We give our lives in service, in defense of the weak, in defense of the Empire that carries the Faith. The lesson is not just that the cost of striking the weak is great, but that even from evil, some good may come." Another breath. "Correct?"
Odrem chuckled gently as he rose, clapped Alartos on the shoulder, and began walking out the door to his next official duties for the day. "Pay attention at University, son," he said. "You may even sound as clever as your sister when you emerge."
