The Dragon Revenant - Katharine Kerr [18]
“Very polished manners, sir, a merchant’s son and very well-spoken, but alas, he had a terrible taste for gambling, and fell in among bad company over in Mangorio, and …”
“Are you good with horses?” The customer broke in, speaking straight to Taliaesyn. “Most Deverry men are.”
“I am. I’ve been riding all my life.” As he spoke, he remembered another scrap of his earlier life: a sleek black pony that he’d loved as a child. The memory was so vivid, so precious that he missed what the customer said next while he groped and struggled to remember the little beast’s name.
All at once the customer swung at him, a clean hard punch straight at his face. Without thinking Taliaesyn parried with his left wrist and began to swing back. Brindemo’s horrified scream brought him to his senses. He could be beaten bloody for swinging on a free man, but the customer only laughed and gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder.
“I think you’ll do. I’m leading a caravan into the mountains. One of my muleteers fell ill, and I’ve no time to hire a free man to take his place.”
“What, honored sir?” Brindemo’s jowls were shaking in indignation. “A valuable barbarian, used as a muleteer?”
“Only for a while. I’m quite sure I can resell him at a profit later on. Arriano told me that he needed to disappear, for your sake and his, and I can manage that.”
“He told you what?” The trader’s voice rose to a wail.
“You can trust me. Eight zotars.”
“You have larceny in your heart! You wish to drive me out of business!”
The haggling was on in earnest. For a good long time they insulted each other’s motives and ancestry at the top of their lungs until at last they settled upon sixteen zotars. Out came the original bill of sale, which Taliaesyn’s new master read over quickly with a bitter twist to his mouth, as if he were amazed at the clumsiness of the forgery.
“I’ll make out a new bill, of course,” Brindemo said.
“Of course. My name is Zandar of Danmara.”
When Brindemo waddled off inside the house to write out the new bill, Zandar crossed his arms over his chest and considered Taliaesyn carefully and coolly.
“You deal honestly with me, boy, and I’ll do the same with you. When your relatives catch up with us, I’ll sell you back for little more than I paid—provided you work hard and cause me no trouble. Is it a bargain?”
“Yes. I don’t suppose free men shake hands with slaves here, or I’d offer you mine.”
“No one shakes hands the way you do in your country, so don’t take it as an insult. Unsanitary custom, it always seemed to me, rubbing palms with someone you barely know. You’ll have a quarterstaff like the other men. Will you swear to me you won’t turn it against me?”
“On the gods of my people.”
“All right, then. We won’t mention it again.”
In spite of himself Taliaesyn felt a grudging respect for the man. He would have liked him, he decided, if they’d met in other circumstances. Zandar went on with his slow scrutiny.
“Silver dagger,” he said abruptly. “That mean anything to you, boy?”
Taliaesyn felt his head jerk up like a startled stag’s.
“I thought it might. You look the type. It would fit what little I’ve been told about your mysterious circumstances.”
“So it does. Oh by every god!” He spun around on his heel and began to pace back and forth in sheer excitement as memories crowded at the edge of his mind. He could feel the weight in his hand, the perfect balance of the dagger, see the pommel with the three silver knobs, the device graved on the blade, a striking falcon. All at once tears sprang to his eyes, as he saw another picture in his