Free Sunset Mantle by Alter S. Reiss

second man sins, the fault is in the second man,” said the law. “Follow not where you are led, unless the law be with you.” Well enough, but Lemist brought in another law—the law of a man who leads a congregation astray. Such a man is a public menace, akin to a wolf or hyena that has come within the walls of a city. He shall be put to death by the axe, and also his family shall bear the sin.
    “But what,” asked Lemist, “is a congregation? The Ayarith school teaches that it is ten men, and the ancient school of Baern says seven. But among the Irimin school there is a tradition that even three men, if they are drawn in together into the same act, by the same person, that is a congregation, and a man who has led three men into the same wicked act shall be put to death by the axe, and also his family shall bear the sin.”
    All the crowd in the church was silent. Perhaps there were some who did not know against whom this study of law was aimed, but they knew better than to ask questions, when they saw the frozen faces of those who heard what was being said. Cete looked back to Radan Termith, and for the first time, he saw that his enemy was afraid.
    Lemist went on, explaining that according to the law, the “family” of a man who bore a clan name included the elders of the clan. Not that they were to be put to death by the headsman’s axe, but bearing the sin meant living as outcasts for three years. And that while there might be disagreement among the schools as to the precise definition, all the schools would uphold the ruling of a properly appointed judge, even if the ruling went contrary to what their school taught.
    Cete blinked, as the world spun around him. Lemist could not have risen so high in the Irimin if she was inclined to speak rashly. Tradition held that the schools would not involve themselves in clan feuds unless the law was too flagrantly violated, and it seemed that Radan had crossed that line. Lemist Irimin was old, and she was a woman; most schools did not allow women to wear the mantle of scholar-priests. It was easy to see how Radan would not have expected attack from this line. Cete watched the scholar-priest expounding the law, as though discussing a fine point of the construction of prayer altars, or of which crops are obligated in the tithes to the poor and which are not.
    Each word was a hammer. By forcing Lemist to declare a man outcast, to participate in what was intended to be a judicial murder, Radan had made an enemy. Sending assassins after a man who could no longer rely on the protection of the Reach had caused a rage as deadly as any madding. For all that Lemist Irimin was old, and for all that she was a woman, she was a properly appointed judge; Radan had taken his case to her for judgment. There was no school that would fail to uphold her ruling, should she give it.
    One slip, one more push, and Radan Termith could destroy the Termith clan with far greater ease than he could the Antach. If the men who had sent him out heard any of this, they would shit themselves in fear, and bury Radan so deep that he’d attend resurrection baked like an apple by the heat of the underworld.
    This was not what Cete had intended. He thought that by pushing the edges of the law, he would once again be brought before the judges. The crime would have been a minor one, and after Radan had sat in judgment and agreed to a punishment, he would not have been able to pursue further vengeance without showing his contempt for the court. But it seemed that Radan’s failure to account for the scholar-priest of the Reach Antach had already done the work required.
    Cete rose mechanically for the closing prayers, as the sounds of the hymn were all but drowned out in the low hum of conversation. A weapon like this could change the whole situation. If the Irimin school were to come in on the side of the Antach—but no; they had not committed themselves. There was no talk of bringing Radan before the judges.