Judge by R.J. Larson Page A

“the Istgardians who dared to massacre your people are also dead. They paid for their crimes with their lives.”
    “Speaking of crimes,” another council member intoned, her straight dark hair and long face as solemn as her voice, “do you intend to leave us with the care—the expensive care—of ten blind prisoners?”
    Ruestock’s men. If they were blind for the remainder of their lives, they’d rob no more. And yet . . . An impulse of pity made Ela sigh. “Have them brought here. We’ll see if the Infinite is merciful to the undeserving.”
    The prisoners soon arrived in a straggling line, bound together by ropes at their waists. Leading the miserable parade, Ruestock threw Ela a surly glance. His men stumbled after him, seeming exhausted, untidy, and drained of hope.
    Ela bowed her head, praying, “Infinite, open the eyes of these men.”
    The branch sent a burst of light through the blinded prisoners. They gasped and lifted their bound hands to their eyes. Several uttered choked sobs. The eldest councilman stood and looked from the prisoners to Ela. Recovering, he asked, “What must we do with them? Kill them?”
    Her voice monotonously flat, the dark-haired councilwoman said, “It’s too expensive to feed and shelter so many prisoners.”
    The eleven prisoners sucked in their breaths. Ruestock darted a silent plea at Ela.
    Ela frowned. For all their promises of peace, were the Ytarians still consumed by thoughts of spilling blood for revenge? Even if the blood wasn’t Istgard’s?
    As the council members began to argue, Ela said, “Send them home. If you’d captured these men in war with your own weapons, wouldn’t you spare them for the sake of your own honor? Don’t tempt the Infinite’s anger. Be sure these men leave the Tracelands. Safely.”
    Ruestock gave Ela a smile she couldn’t quite decipher. “There’sour charming, tenderhearted prophet. Ela, my dear, you are a jewel.”
    Minding her temper, Ela said, “I am not your dear.”
    “You break my heart.”
    Did he have a heart to be broken? Ela wasn’t about to ask the question aloud. Duty done, she left the council chamber. Surely she would never see Ruestock again.
    Parne would consume her instead.

    Travel-wearied, Ela stopped Pet and dismounted before Parne’s single iron-shielded, stone-edged gate. Why was the city closed in full daylight? Were the Parnians already aware of their dire situation? She helped Tzana off, checked that Jon and Beka had also dismounted, and then waved to the watchman above. “Let us in, please!”
    He shouted down, “I’ve orders to never admit you, Prophet!”
    Oh? She’d been named an enemy? Very well. Ela removed the branch from Pet’s war collar and glared up at the guard. The branch blazed in fiery blue-white warning—and the Infinite’s wrath. “The Infinite’s orders surpass yours, sir! Will you open the gate?”
    Silent, the guard crossed his arms over his chest and didn’t budge.
    “So be it!” Ela marched up to the gate and touched it with the branch. Deep metallic squeals answered. The gate lifted into darkness.
    By now, Jon was beside her. He leaned forward to peer into the gate tunnel’s blackness. “You’re not serious. We’re going in there?”
    “You don’t have to go with me.”
    “Of course I do. I’m under orders. But my concern is for the destroyers. Will they fit?”
    “Certainly.” Ela hesitated. “As long as they can navigate the turns.”
    “An unlit tunnel—with turns—for a city’s gate?” Jon shook his head. “That’s preposterous! What an ordeal for traders.”
    Despite her own nerves, Ela couldn’t resist tormenting Kien’s brother-in-law just a bit more. “Yes. And those turns are why traders call this the Murder Maze. It’s agony to get through. But this gate was built over generations by a people who cared little for outsiders.” By a people once glad to be separated from others for the Infinite’s sake. No more.