A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [107]
Down in the center of Aberwyn stood the hall of the merchant guild, an imposing fat tower with glass in the downstairs windows and a stout slate roof. Their official money changer held court in a bare stone room with a hearth, two chairs, and a long table, where Nevyn found a stout and gray-haired man sitting behind a litter of Bardek-style scrolls. Behind him, at the entrance to another room, an armed guard slouched against the wall.
“I’m just back from Bardek,” Nevyn said to the money changer.
“You’ve hit the rate of exchange at a good time, good sir. Sit down, sit down.”
As Nevyn pulled up the rickety three-legged chair, he noticed the guard watching with the interest of the longtime bored, a young man of about twenty, tall and well muscled, with blond hair, blue eyes, and the beginnings of a mustache blotching his upper lip. Nevyn wouldn’t have given him a second thought if it weren’t for the silver dagger at his belt. As it was, he took a good look at the lad’s face and then nearly swore aloud, because the soul behind his eyes struck him as familiar and friendly both. Before he could observe more, the money changer’s voice claimed his attention.
“We’ve been giving thirty Deverry silvers for each Bardek zotar of full weight.”
“Indeed? That certainly is generous! Are things troubled in Eldidd?”
“Have you been away for some time?”
“Years, actually.”
“Hum.” The money changer reflected upon something before he spoke again. “I hope to every god in the Other-lands that these rumors are only rumors, but they say the gwerbrets are still pining for the days when they were princes. The High King’s a long way away, my friend.”
“Just so. Rebellion?”
“Let us merely say that Bardek merchants have never gotten rich by allowing themselves to be caught in the middle of trouble. They’re not bringing as much sound coinage in as they once did.”
The money changer counted out Nevyn’s zotars, marked the tally on a bit of parchment, which Nevyn signed, then went back through the doorway to his vault to change the coins. Nevyn turned to the young guard and gave him a pleasant smile.
“What’s your name, lad? It looks like this duty wearies you.”
“Maer, my lord. But I won’t be guarding this fellow’s stores much longer. He just hired me to fill in, like. His regular man broke his wrist in a fall, you see, but thanks be to the gods, the splints are off now.”
When Nevyn risked opening up a quick bit of the dweomer sight with the sigils that controlled memory, the silver dagger’s face blurred and changed. For a moment Nevyn seemed to look into the weary eyes of Maddyn the bard. Nevyn was so glad to see him that he wanted to jump up and embrace him, but of course, since Maer would have no conscious memory left of his last life, he did nothing of the sort.
“And what will you do next?” Nevyn said. “If these rumors of trouble are true, there’ll be plenty of work for silver daggers in Eldidd.”
“Oh, it’s all a lot of horseshit if you ask me, my lord. The gwerbrets can mutter over their ale easy enough, but getting the coin to outfit an army’s a bit harder. I’ll go west, I suppose. I’ve never ridden that way before.”
It was perhaps an omen of sorts. Nevyn had no real idea of where to settle down while he performed the dweomer work on the opal, but on the western coast lay a quiet little village that held pleasant memories for him.
“I’m heading west myself,” Nevyn said. “How would your captain feel if I rode with your troop a ways?”
“Captain? Troop?” Maer paused for a laugh. “The silver daggers haven’t ridden together as a troop in fifty years, good sir. It was that royal decree, you know. We can only ride together one or two at time, no more.”
“Indeed?” Nevyn was honestly shocked. I’ve stayed away far too long, he told himself. “Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s the king’s law and so it’s good enough for me. But I’m for hire, sure enough, if you need a guard.”
“Feel like riding to Cannobaen?”
“Gladly.