The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [108]
“I most certainly did. He was my mother’s brother, and he became somewhat of a merchant, which is why the clan disowned him.” Ridvar turned to Oth. “Ye gods, pull yourself together, man!”
The scribe handed an ink-stained rag to the councillor, who wiped his face and blew his nose. Oth slumped in his seat and crushed the rag into a soggy lump with one hand.
“Very well, Lord Oth,” Voran said. “What happened to Lady Solla’s inheritance?”
Oth slumped down a little farther and spoke to the table. “I purloined it,” he whispered. “I was so heavily in debt. The gambling, and the cursed Mountain Folk—they threatened to go to the gwerbret— his grace’s brother, that was—I had to pay up, and I had to pay them within the fortnight.”
“What?” It was Ridvar’s turn for anger. “You told me my sister was lying because she’d not gotten anything. You told me she was jealous, and—”
Voran held up one hand and cut him off. “Let’s let Oth finish, Your Grace, if you’d not mind.”
With a gulp for breath Oth rose from his chair. Gerran was expecting the old man to kneel, but he remained standing. With an angry grunt, he threw the damp rag hard onto the table.
“My thanks, Justiciar,” Oth began. “It gladdens my heart that someone’s willing to let me speak. No doubt I’ll be turned out of the dun with my hand cut off and end up a maimed beggar on the roads, but I’ll have my say first.” He paused, gulping for breath. “Ye gods, do you realize, does anyone realize, what my life’s been like? Although I’m noble-born, I come from a land-poor clan, so I was reduced to bowing and scraping to one great lord or another to earn my meat and mead. And the worst of all was this arrogant child, this wretched lad who’s run me ragged for years.” He spun around and glared at Ridvar. “You little swine! It’s been my lot to hurry this way and that at your beck, smoothing over your lapses of courtesy, placating the men you’ve angered with mincing flatteries, and never getting a word of thanks, much less any sort of decent reward. My one pleasure was the dice, and then they betrayed me.”
Ridvar gaped at him. No one in the chamber moved or spoke or even gasped in surprise. We’re as stunned as cows at slaughter, Gerran thought.
“I meant to repay it,” Oth went on, “but how could I, with only a coin thrown my way now and again as if I were some beggar at the gates? You never offered me the slightest bit of praise or profit, Your Grace, no matter how many times your judgment failed the dun and the rhan, and I had to work like a madman to repair the lapse.”
Still Ridvar did nothing but stare.
“Besides—” Oth’s voice caught in his throat. He wept again, swaying from side to side as he sobbed.
“Sit down.” Voran rose from his chair. “Sit down, for the love of the gods!”
Oth crumpled into the chair behind him and went on weeping. Ridvar’s mouth still hung open. Gerran felt like screaming at the gwerbret to shut it and look away. Instead he turned to Voran.
“Your Highness,” Gerran said. “If I didn’t need that coin to build my dun, I’d wipe out this debt here and now.”
“The thought becomes you, Lord Gerran.” Voran sat down again. “But the defense of the border’s a grave matter. Gwerbret Ridvar, your sworn servitor has stolen the monies, and it falls to you to make restitution if Oth cannot.”
Ridvar did shut his mouth at that. Automatically he turned toward Oth as if to ask his advice, remembered the circumstances, and flushed red, his eyes darting this way and that.
“A hundred silver pieces is a large sum,” Voran went on, “but I trust that you can repay it with due speed. After all, you just received some money from Tieryn Cadryc.”
“I don’t see why I should—” Ridvar began, then caught himself. “As the justiciar rules, then. What about Oth?”
“By rights I should order one of his hands cut off, as he himself just stated,” Voran said.
“Your Highness?” Salamander got to his feet. “Will you forgive me if I ask for mercy for this man? Do you remember the matter of the various Alshandra worshipers in the dun, and how Oth moved His