The Dragon Revenant - Katharine Kerr [16]
Arriano came promptly when the temple bells were chiming out the sunset watch. Brindemo met him at the door himself, then ushered him into the main hall, a long room with a blue-and-white tiled floor and dark-green walls. At one end was a low dais, strewn with many-colored cushions arranged around a brass table. After they settled themselves on the cushions, Taliaesyn passed the wine cups around, then perched respectfully on the edge of the dais. Arriano, a wizened little man who hid his baldness under a white linen skullcap, looked him over with a small, not unfriendly, smile.
“So, Taliaesyn,” he said. “Our Brindemo here says you come from Pyrdon.”
“So I’ve been told, master.”
One of Arriano’s bushy eyebrows shot up.
“Talk to me in Deverrian. Oh, what … ah, I know. Describe this room.”
As Taliaesyn, somewhat puzzled, obligingly gave him a catalogue of the furniture and colors in the room, Arriano listened with his head cocked to one side. Then he cut the list short with a wave of his hand.
“Pyrdon? Hah! You come from Eldidd, lad. I’d wager good coin on it—the Eldidd seacoast, at that.” He turned to Brindemo and spoke in Bardekian. “They have a very distincrive way of speaking there. As you might have expected, Baruma was lying like a scorpion.”
“May the feet of the gods crush him!” Brindemo felt sweat run down his back. “I don’t suppose you recognize this supposed slave?”
“Not as to give you his real name, no. From the way he moves and all, I’d say he was a member of their aristocracy.”
“What? I was thinking of him as a knife-fighter or boxer or some other performer like that.”
“You forget, my dear old friend, that in Deverry, the aristocrats are all warriors. They start training for it when they’re little children.”
Brindemo groaned, a long rattle that gave him no relief. Taliaesyn was listening with an understandable intensity.
“One of the noble-born?” the slave said at last. “Here, this Baruma fellow said I was a merchant’s son.”
“Baruma lies as easily as the rain falls,” Arriano said. “If I were you, Brindemo, I’d stop babbling about zotars and get rid of this man as fast as you can—but to a decent master, mind. If his kin come storming through here with blood in their barbarian hearts …”
“I know, I know.” Brindemo could barely speak out of sheer frustrated greed. “But twenty-five zotars! Ai!”
“Will all the gold in the world sew your head back onto your shoulders if …”
“O shut up! Of course you’re right. Baruma wanted me to sell him to the mines or the galleys, but that’s out completely of the question if the man’s an aristocrat.”
“I should think so! May Baruma’s sphincter loosen and his manhood plug itself.”
“And may diseased monkeys feed someday upon his heart! Very well, then. I’ll sell him as soon as I can find the right sort of buyer. If you hear of someone, let me know—for a commission, of course.”
“Of course.” Arriano held out his hand. “More wine, Taliaesyn.”
Even though Taliaesyn served the wine exactly as he’d been taught with all the proper courtesies, the harsh, brooding look in his eyes made Brindemo profoundly uneasy. I’d best get him out of here soon for my own sake, he thought, but ai! twenty-five zotars!
Taliaesyn had been given a cubicle of his own to sleep in, because Brindemo was afraid to have him gossiping with the other slaves. If Baruma came back, neither the slave nor the slave merchant wanted him to know that they’d been trying to unravel his secret. Although the cubicle had room for nothing more than a straw pallet on the floor, and a tiny niche in the wall for an oil lamp, it was private. After he’d been locked in for the night, Taliaesyn sat on the pallet for a long while, considering what Arriano had told him. Even though the lamp was out of oil, he could see perfectly well in the moonlight that streamed in the uncurtained window. It occurred to him, then, that it was peculiar that he could see in the dark. Before he