Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [82]
“Very well. Oh, here, Salamander’s in Cerrmor. He’s staying at an inn called the Blue Parrot, a fitting enough name.”
“The Chattering Magpie would be even better. Ye gods, it’s hard to believe that the lad has the true dweomer.”
“Well, what do you expect from the son of an elven bard? But our Ebañy has his uses, wild lad or not.”
Nevyn’s image winked out. His hands clasped behind his back, Elaeno paced back and forth. If Nevyn was afraid of spies, the situation must be grave indeed. He felt angry, as he always did at the thought of the dark dweomer. It would be very satisfying to get his massive hands around the neck of a foul master one fine day, but of course, it was better to fight them with subtler weapons.
It was just three days later that Sarcyn was loitering outside a tavern just on the edge of the Bilge. With his aura wrapped tight around him, he leaned against the building and waited for the courier. He never told any of the various men who smuggled drugs and poisons into Deverry where he was actually staying in Cerrmor; they knew to find him here, and he would lead them to a safe place for their transaction. In some minutes he saw Dryn’s stout figure coming along the narrow street. Sarcyn was just about to release his aura and reveal himself when six city wardens appeared from an alley and surrounded the merchant.
“Hold!” one barked. “In the gwerbret’s name!”
“What’s all this, good warden?” Dryn tried to muster a smile.
“You’ll find out back in the wardroom.”
Sarcyn waited to hear no more. He slipped back around the tavern, then walked fast through the maze of the Bilge. Down alleyways, between buildings, in the front door of Gwenca’s and out the back, his route twisted and turned until at last he was through the Bilge on the north side and heading back to his inn. He had no doubt that Dryn would spill everything he knew in an attempt to save his own skin.
But long before the wardens had beaten Sarcyn’s name and description out of the merchant, Sarcyn was riding out the city gates and heading north to safety.
In his chamber of justice, Gwerbret Ladoic was holding full malover. At a polished ebony table he sat under the ship banner to his rhan, while the gold ceremonial sword lay in front of him. To either side sat priests of Bel. The witness stood to the right, Lord Merryn, three city wardens, Nevyn, and Elaeno. Before him knelt the accused, the spice merchant Dryn, and Edycl, captain of the merchantman Bright Star. The gwerbret leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin as he thought over the testimony that had been laid before him. At thirty, Ladoic was an imposing man, tall and muscled, with steely gray eyes and the high cheekbones common to southern men.
“The evidence is clear enough,” he said. “Dryn, you approached the herbman and offered to sell him some forbidden merchandise. Fortunately, Nevyn is an honorable man and consulted with Elaeno, who immediately contacted the chief customs officer.”
“I didn’t approach the cursed old man, Your Grace,” Dryn snarled. “He’s the one who made hints to me.”
“A likely tale, indeed, and it wouldn’t matter if it were true. Can you possibly deny that the city wardens found four different kinds of poison on your person when you were arrested?”
Dryn slumped and stared miserably at the floor.
“As for you, Edycl”—the gwerbret turned cold eyes his way—“it’s all very well to claim that Dryn shipped the foul herbs without your knowledge, but why did the customs men find a cache of opium in the walls of your personal cabin?”
Edycl trembled all over, and sweat broke out on his forehead.
“I’ll confess, Your Grace. You don’t need to put me to the torture, Your Grace. It was the coin. He offered me so much cursed coin, and the ship needed repairs, and I—”
“That’s enough.” Ladoic turned to the priest. “Your Holiness?”
The aged priest rose and cleared his throat, then stared into space as he recited from the laws.
“Poisons are an abomination to the gods. Why? Because they can only be used for murder, never