At the recollection of Dorfal’s glum agreement, Kharl smiled momentarily. Then he lengthened his stride and crossed the square. The Silver Horse stood out from the brick-fronted buildings on either side, neither of which bore signs identifying them, because its front was of dark timbers framing white plaster. The door was of time-blackened oak. Kharl opened it and stepped inside, closing it behind him.
A muscular woman in nondescript blue, with a gray apron, hurried up to Kharl, then slowed as she took in the black jacket, trousers, and tunic. “Ah ... ser ...”
“I’m looking for a meal and a good lager,” Kharl offered cheerfully. “I’m told you have both.”
The woman smiled. “Yes, ser. Plain fare, but good. No ale any better.” She looked over her shoulder. “Early enough we got a corner table.” She turned.
Kharl followed her, then sat in the corner chair against the wall, the one from which he could see most of the crowd. “A lager or a light ale, if you have it. What do you suggest for fare?”
“Light ale’s better, ser. Tonight, ser, the burhka’s pretty good. Hot but not too hot.” Kharl hadn’t had burhka in seasons. “That sounds fine. Dark bread?”
“Yes, ser. Five for the fare and bread. Three for the ale. When you please, ser.” She hurried off.
She hadn’t gotten more than a few cubits away, when another serving- woman, gray-haired, stopped her. “Who’s that? Some advocate .. . ?”
“... think it might be Lord Ghrant’s mage ... you want to ask him?”
“... think not... don’t question mages. You keep serving him.”
Within moments, the first server returned with Kharl’s ale.
“Thank you.”
“Yes, ser.” She nodded and slipped away, glancing toward the other corner of the tavern.
Kharl’s eyes followed hers. Opposite him was a small group of men, young but fairly well dressed. After a moment, he smiled. No wonder Jusof knew about the Silver Horse. Kharl could recognize the faces of several of the student advocates, not that he knew any of their names.
One of the advocates-to-be lifted a guitar and began to strum and sing. After a moment, the others joined in.
Kharl concentrated on the words.
“Our brave Lord Ghrant, he ran away, came back to fight another day.
His found mage fought wizards and even more, whupped ‘em all in the age’s shortest war.
“Our brave Lord Ghrant, he loved his land, ran and showed it but his left hand. His brother lost his mages and his head, and Lord Ghrant came back from the almost dead.
“Our brave Lord Ghrant, he knows so well when to fight and when to run and tell. But better a lord who knows where to flee than his brother who’d slaughter you and me!”
Several of those at the tables in the tavern laughed, heartily, but Kharl could only shake his head. Humorous as the song was, the point applied to him, and, like Lord Ghrant, it was more than clear that his running days were done, and that he needed to return to Brysta before Egen became yet another Ilteron-and before something happened to Warrl.
He paused, thinking. Just how likely was it that such a song could have been sung in Brysta about either Egen or Lord West? He doubted that the singers, wellborn students or not, could have sung such words about the ruler of the West Quadrant of Nordla-not without ending up either in gaol or suffering some other form of Egen’s displeasure. In that sense, Austra was much to be preferred to Nordla.
Yet... even without his debts to Ghrant and Hagen, Kharl knew he would have had to return to Nordla. Was it just because of Warrl? Or because he needed to see Brysta with fresh eyes? Or because he worried that he had not done enough for Sanyle and Jekaespecially Jeka?
“Your burhka, ser.” With the burhka came a small loaf of dark bread in a basket, still warm.
“Oh ... thank you.” Kharl slipped the server a silver and a copper.
“Thank you, ser.” With a pleased smile, she gave the slightest of bows before leaving Kharl to his evening meal.
Across the tavern, the students were singing another song.
“Oh, clerks and justicers, justicers and clerks,
all that they love are their cases and their perks ...
With their ink-stained noses as black as a rook’s,
their only pleasures lie in their files and their books ...”
Kharl smiled again and began to enjoy the ale and the burhka.
L
Kharl made his way through the double doors of the Hall of Justice. He hoped to spend some time reading through the next-to-last section of Aus-tran Justicer Cases, suggested strongly by Jusof because Jusof had wanted him to finish those cases before they observed the day’s proceedings in the Hall of Justice. The mage used his sight shield to slip by the open chamber door of the lord justicer’s chief clerk because he really didn’t feel like another long lecture by Jusof on the law as a tool. Kharl had understood that the first time, and he doubted that he could keep from showing some impatience. Kharl knew Jusof was trying to help him, but sometimes what Jusof said lasted a full glass. Kharl suspected that was because Jusof was lonely, and because the older man knew that Kharl was honestly trying to understand the law for itself and not as a way to wealth or fame or both. He released the sight shield as he neared the corner table, hoping that none of the student advocates happened to be looking his way.
“... see that?” whispered one of the young men. “See what?”
“That’s him ... the mage ... just appeared out of nowhere ...”
“How’d you know? You were dreaming about Juhlya. Besides, if he’s a mage, what does it matter? They do things like that.”
“... say he’s studying the law with Jusof ...”
“A mage . .. studying law?”
“Maybe he figures he needs to, now that he’s a lord ...”
“... don’t know that a mage needs the law ...”
“... big fellow, for all the fine clothes ...”
“... carried Lord Ghrant three kays on his shoulders .. . killed two wizards and that scum Ilteron .. . gave him a small estate ... then turned a whole mountain into glass ...”
Kharl winced at the exaggerations. In the fight in Dykaru, which had brought him Cantyl, he’d been fortunate rather than skillful, and glad enough to have survived. As for the so-called glass mountain, the powers of the two white wizards had been the reason why part of one small hill was glassy. He pushed aside the whispered words, settled himself at the table, and opened volume nine of Austran Justicer Cases.
He’d actually read through two of the cases before he sensed Jusof walking into the library and heading toward him.
He closed the volume and rose, then walked past the young advocates toward Jusof.
“You must have been here early, Lord Kharl. I didn’t see you come in.” Jusof carried a large case under his left arm.
“Not that early. You looked rather intent when I passed.”
Jusof sighed. “That must have been when I was copying out Lord Justicer Priost’s decision on the rendering case .. . rather involuted, if impeccable logic.” The clerk turned toward the narrow staircase leading down to the main floor. “Are you ready to observe?”
“I am.” Kharl followed the clerk. “Do you agree with most of the lord justicer’s decisions?”
“It is not a clerk’s place to agree or not to agree. I would say that I would rather serve under Lord Justicer Priost than any others in recent years.”
“Austra doesn’t have that many justicers-just one here and one in Bruel. There are that many just in Brysta.”
“There are town magistrates and two subjusticers as well, in Vizyn and Dykaru. The decisions of the subjusticers have the same standing as those of the lord justicers, except that their decisions, in cases involving death, must be reviewed by Lord Justicer Priost. Some excellent decisions have been set forth by Subjusticer Dhorast. Those are in the library as well. As you well know, the powers of lords and magistrates are limited to low justice.”
&
nbsp; At the base of the steps, Jusof turned and crossed the lower foyer toward the double doors.
The bailiff opened the left-hand door to the hall as the two men approached. “Good morning, ser Jusof, Lord Kharl.”
“Good morning, Henolt,” said Jusof.
“Good morning,” added Kharl.
Beyond the double doors was a long and narrow chamber, far more stark than the corresponding hall in Brysta-and smaller. The width was about twenty cubits, the length no more than forty, and the ceiling height but seven or eight. At the south end of the chamber was a single dais, raised but half a cubit. On it rose a podium desk of dark wood, possibly walnut, thought Kharl. The desk was empty. There was no podium for the lord, as there was in Nordla.
A center aisle split eight rows of low-backed wooden benches, and there was a space of about two cubits between the stone walls and the end of the benches. Between the first row of benches and the dais was a space of perhaps a rod, but in that space on each side, set out from the walls about four cubits, were two thin narrow black tables, behind which were straight-backed chairs. The two tables and chairs were parallel to the sidewalls, so that those who sat at the tables would face each other, and not either the lord justicer at the podium desk or the audience in the benches.
Both side tables were empty, and Jusof walked to the narrow black table on the right side, where he seated himself in the chair closest to the dais. Kharl slipped into the wooden straight-backed chair beside Jusof, his eyes running across the narrow hall. No more than half a score of people sat in the benches, and none in the first two rows.
From his case, Jusof took out a portable inkpot, two pens, and several sheets of paper, laying them out before him. “The case at hand this morning concerns Tellark, a tanner accused of murdering a tariff farmer.”
Even as the bells from the tower above began to strike the glass, the rear door opened, and the bailiff stepped into the hall. At the south end of the chamber, a small side door opened, and the lord justicer stepped out onto the dais.
“All rise!” intoned the bailiff.
Kharl rose with Jusof, his eyes on the lord justicer.
Priost wore a robe over his own garb, and the robe was almost shapeless black, trimmed in green. From what Kharl could tell, the lord justicer was neither lean and angular, nor large and corpulent, but a man of moderate height with black hair tinged with gray. He walked briskly, but not hurriedly, to the podium desk, where he seated himself.
“You may be seated.”
After a moment of silence, Priost cleared his throat. “Before we begin, is there one who would take the Justicer’s Challenge?” He looked around, waited, then went on, “There being none, bailiff, bring forth the defendant.”
The rear door opened once more, and two armsmen in green and black escorted a thin, wiry man with lank red hair into the chamber.
“Tellark, the tanner, step forward!” called out the bailiff.
Kharl noted that the tanner wore a clean gray undertunic and trousers, boots, and that his hands were not tied or chained. He did not look to be bruised. Kharl could not sense any hints of chaos about the man, and there was no feel of injury. The mage waited as the tanner approached the dais, then halted several cubits short of the lord justicer.
“You are Tellark, the tanner, and your home and business are located at the intersection of Renderers Way and the Southwest Lane?” The justicer’s dry voice barely reached Kharl, although the mage was less than a rod from Priost.
“Yes, Lord Justicer.” The tanner’s response was hardly audible.
“You are charged with the murder of Yeson, the tariff farmer for the southwest quarter of Valmurl.” Priost waited several moments. “Did you kill Yeson?”
The wiry tanner looked down at the polished gray granite of the floor, then straight at Priost, but did not reply.
“The accused being mute, and without an advocate, the justicing enters a statement of denial.”
Kharl nodded to himself. He approved of the Austran practice of assuming a person charged was innocent until the evidence was provided. According to Jusof, that was supposed to be the code for both Austra and Nordla, but Kharl certainly hadn’t seen it in his own case. Nor had Charee.
He glanced to his right, where Jusof was writing quickly, but in a clear, if small, script.
Without a word, the armsmen escorted Tellark to the table opposite the one where Jusof and Kharl were seated and had the tanner sit in the middle chair. Both armsmen remained standing, their backs to the wall, a cubit from Tellark.
“The first witness,” ordered Priost.
The hall doors opened, and a large figure of a man, seemingly overflowing his maroon tunic, slouched inside.
“Bebarak, step forward!” commanded the bailiff.
The big man lumbered forward, and Kharl noted that the scabbard at his right side was empty, as was the knife sheath at his left. Bebarak halted short of the dais.
“You are Bebarak, chief guard to the tariff farmer Yeson?”
“Ah ... yes, your honorship. Well... I was.”
“Ser or lord justicer will suffice.”
Bebarak looked dumbly at Priost.
“Just call me ser.”
“Yes, ser.”
After several more questions establishing who Bebarak was and that he had seen the incident, Priost asked, “After you entered the tannery, what happened?”
“Well, ser. .. Master Yeson, he walked up to him-the tanner over there-and he told him that his time was up. He said he’d best come up with the ten golds, or it’d be hard on him-“ “Did he say ‘ten golds’?”
“Yes, ser. He’d been saying that we needed the ten golds earlier- like, too. Anyway, Master Yeson told him his time was up, and the fellow said no he wouldn’t because Yeson was overcharging, and it wasn’t right, and that he’d been taking too much for years.” “Then what happened?”
“Well, ser ... Master Yeson, he laughed. He told the tanner to stop complaining, that everyone paid the tariff farmer.
He said he’d be paying like he did every year, and he told him to stop whining, and just like that the tanner bent down; then he straightened up, and he had this hammer. He hit Master Yeson upside his head, and Master Yeson fell over. He weren’t breathing, either, pretty soon.” “What did the tanner do?”
“He just stood there.”
Priost asked a number of other questions, but the guard’s story remained essentially the same-and truthful, Kharl noted. When the guard was finished, he was escorted from the hall. All through the process, Jusof kept writing.
The next witness was Keromont, Lord Ghrant’s tariff steward. Even as he stopped before the dais, his eyes darted from the lord justicer to Kharl and back to the lord justicer.
“Steward,” Priost said firmly, “so long as you tell what is so, I doubt you have much to fear from Lord Kharl. He is hear to learn how justice is done.”
“Yes, ser.”
“Now ... according to your records, what was the tariff assessed on Tellark the tanner?”
“Five golds, Lord Justicer.”
“Five.” Priost nodded. “Were you aware that Yeson was insisting on ten from Tellark?” “Ah ... sir. Not.. . precisely. Might I explain, ser?”
“Go ahead.”
“Tariff farmers collect tariffs for the Lord of Austra. They have been allowed to require somewhat more than the assessed tariff in order to cover their expenses. If a tariff farmer has to make many visits to someone, or cover the tariffs due themselves until they can collect, that excess can be larger. I did not know how much more than five golds that Yeson was charging, but it is always more.” “How much more?”
“Usually ... and this is only what is considered customary, Lord Jus-ticer, the excess is roughly one gold for every ten of tariff. That is, if large sums are not past due.”
“So you would not consider it unusual for Yeson to have charged Tel- lark, say five and a half golds, even six?”
“No, ser.” “Did you kn
ow if Tellark happened to be habitually late in paying his tariffs?”
“From what Yeson told me, it would have been unlikely. If what he said was true. He had said that he was fortunate in having no great delinquencies.”
“To your knowledge, had Yeson misled you in the past on this fact?”
“No, ser.”
Once more the questions went on, but Kharl didn’t see that they added that much.
After Keromont came a series of witnesses, including the tanner’s wife. She claimed she had not seen the murder, that her consort was a good man, that he would not have murdered any good person, and, in response to Priost’s questioning, that her consort had been aware that Yeson was overtariffing, but had not known what to do about it. Then came the other two guards of the tariff farmer and a neighbor who had summoned the Watch patrollers.
Jusof kept writing, scarcely looking up from the growing sheaf of paper that he had created.
Finally, some time near midday, the lord justicer called no more witnesses and instead looked to his right. “Tellark, rise and come forward.”
The tanner did not speak as the armsmen escorted him to a position in front of the dais.
“You have heard the evidence against you. Do you have anything to say that justicing should know? Have any of the witnesses said anything that is not true?”
Tellark remained silent.
“Master tanner, this is your last chance to say anything in your own defense.”
Kharl could sense Priost’s frustration. At least, he thought the thin miasma of order-bounded chaos around the lord justicer was frustration.
“Won’t change nothing, ser.”
“Let me be the judge of that. You stand accused of murder. All of the witnesses save your consort have testified that you committed this murder. If you have anything to say in defense of yourself, you should speak now.”
Tellark shuddered, but did not speak.
Priost waited, far longer than Kharl would have.
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