Under the Vale and Other Tales of Valdemar (37 page)

“Cheese. With your pie?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, thanks.”

She cut a large piece off a round in the pantry.

“That’s a bit?” he asked, bemused when she set it down in front of him with an equally large piece of pie.

“You look as if you could use it. You look tired. Again.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a rough few days.”

“So I hear. They say the Lightning finally made an appearance last night.”

He started. “You heard . . . ?”

“I did. You didn’t see him?” she asked pointedly.

“Uh . . . why would I?”

She turned, hands on hips. “I know you stood night watch last night, Hektor Dann, so don’t try to deny it. I told you, there are no secrets in Haven especially in the Watch. So.” She folded her arms in a businesslike gesture. “Are you all through with this Watchman’s Ball foolishness for another year?”

Lifting a piece of pie to his mouth, he stared at it for a long time before looking up.

“Yeah,” he said. “For another year.”

Judgment Day

Nancy Asire

“So, Levron, are you looking forward to returning home?”

Levron glanced at the man who rode at his side. Perran was a traveling judge, representative of the justiciary of Karse, its eyes, ears, and judgment passed by one who rightfully upheld the laws of the Son of the Sun and, more importantly, the laws of Vkandis Sun Lord. Perran was all that Levron was not: tall, with dark, hawkish features molded from the classic Karsite version of male beauty that would stand out in any crowd, even if he did not wear the dark robes of a judge. Levron could only contrast his own looks with that of his companion. At best, he would become lost in the same crowd. He had no memorable features, though he was hardly ill to look upon. And this was his strength. He could move among people and leave no lasting impression.

He was, he freely admitted, a friend of sorts to Perran, and he had served the judge many times by riding ahead to the scene of a trial and losing himself in the town or village. From this vantage point, he had been able to gather information about the accusers and accused that might have become lost in a formal trial. The insights he gathered he passed to Perran, and, in many cases, that knowledge had swayed a decision that otherwise might have been erroneous.

“It’s been a while,” he admitted, flicking his reins at a fly determined to light on his horse’s neck. “But this time, I’ll be of no use to you at the trial. There’s a good chance some people in Streamwood will remember me.”

“Ah, well,” Perran said. “This case doesn’t seem, on its face, to need your talents. You might, however, know the litigants involved.”

Levron snorted. “I
used
to know them. Everyone’s aware how time can change people.”

“Time deals differently with us all. I’ll still need your observations, Levron. You know, or
knew
, these people at one time. Maybe they haven’t changed as much as you think.”

“Possibly. The two men involved were acquaintances years back. The woman . . . she and I also knew each other. Her reputation was well-acknowledged around town.”

“A bit of a flirt, if I have my facts straight.”

“Oh, yes.” Levron nodded his head. “From her earliest days.”

“So the two of you weren’t close, then.”

“At one time I fancied I could become more than merely a passing friend.” He laughed, though the laughter sounded a bit hollow to his own ears. “She came from a family far more important than mine. And she never let me, or anyone else, forget her status.”

“Well,” Perran said, “we’ll find out exactly how she fits into this case. I still think you might be of more use to me than you imagine. You say people in town will remember you, though, by your own admission, it’s been quite some time since you’ve returned home”

Levron briefly bowed his head. “As you know, both my parents have been dead for years, and I had no brothers or sisters, no extended family in Streamwood. That’s one of the reasons I left for Sunhame, thinking I could make something of myself in the capital.”

“And so you have. Assistant to a circuit judge is a respected position.”

The two guards following behind, fully armed and appearing quite able to handle any situation that grew out of control, laughed at some joke passed between them. Levron closed his eyes briefly. The road hadn’t changed since the last time he passed over it, only then riding in the opposite direction. The scents of the fields on either side were the same, the fall of the sunlight on those fields. A fleeting memory surfaced, taking him back to the days he lived in this region of Karse, of a childhood and young adulthood spent coming and going in the area. Despite his effort to remain unaffected, he admitted this would be no easy homecoming. His parents lay buried on the hill behind the chapel. The friends he left behind would not be the same. And he had changed as well.

Someone long ago said you could never go home again. Less than a candlemark’s ride ahead lay possible confirmation of that saying. He wasn’t certain what he would find, or even what he expected. If nothing else, his return to Streamwood would prove interesting, to say the least.

Perran stood in the center of the room he and Levron had been granted at the inn. It was obviously one of the best, reserved for those who could afford the price. Naturally, he would not be charged during his stay, which he hoped would not be lengthy. His two guards occupied the room next door, smaller but still more than accommodating. The citizens of Streamwood had gone out of the way to make his visit a pleasant one.

He settled in one of the chairs by the open windows, watching Levron unpack their belongings. Levron was trying his best to appear unconcerned, but Perran knew better. This journey wore on him more than he would admit. Not that Perran could ignore the significance of Levron’s return. Though he thought he would be of no help since he was known in town, Perran considered the benefits of having him as a companion.

“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Did you see anyone you know?”

Levron paused, shaking the folds from Perran’s formal robes. “A few,” he admitted.

“I thought so. I noticed several people look twice in your direction as we rode by.”

“When is the trial to begin?”

“Tomorrow, midmorning. Here is what I want you to do.”

Levron’s face went blank. “But I won’t be able to disappear into the woodwork; too many people know me.”

“That’s my hope. We have the rest of the afternoon and evening. Since it would only seem natural, I’d like you to go out and wander around a while. See what you can find. Surely, there are a few people you might want to contact since some time has passed since you left Streamwood. I don’t think anyone would find that out of place.”

An uncomfortable expression tightened Levron’s eyes. “I suppose. But they’ll all be aware I ride with you. That fact alone won’t loosen their tongues.”

Perran laughed quietly. “On the contrary. I think they’ll be interested in asking what you’ve been doing since you left and how you ended up in my company. Once you start talking, I’ll wager they’ll lower whatever guard they’ve erected out of sheer curiosity.”

And so it was that Levron entered a tavern he’d frequented before he left Streamwood. True to Perran’s supposition, several people nodded to him as he took his place at a table situated toward the rear of the room. He requested a cup of ale and sat quietly, nursing his drink. A few former associates stopped by, exchanged brief greetings, and questioned him as to his new station in life. But for the most part, he was left alone. It was apparent no one was overly interested in a former resident of the town, though he was certain word of his arrival with Perran had begun to spread.

“Levron!”

The familiar but strangely unfamiliar voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked up from his cup into the face of a tall man who stood by the table, a smile on his narrow face. For a moment, the features of the newcomer wavered between that of years past and that of the present; the man’s name, however, was all too familiar.

“Barro.” Levron indicated an empty chair. Memories flashed through his mind, not all of which were particularly pleasant.

“I couldn’t believe it when I saw you,” Barro said, waving to the barmaid for a cup of ale. “You’ve come up in the world.”

Levron made a dismissing gesture. “Perhaps. Assistant to a traveling judge is hardly an exalted position.”

“So you say.” Barro took a long sip of his drink. “You know I’m to go to trial tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“And do you know why?”

“Not really. Only in the broadest sense.”

“Well, let me give you the details. Perhaps you can offer some advice.”

“That,” Levron said, keeping his voice expressionless, “is the last thing I can do. I’m only a judge’s assistant. I don’t know the law.”

Barro’s eyes narrowed. “Not even for an old friend?”

“Not even for an old friend. As I said, I don’t know the law. I’d hate to give you advice that wouldn’t help and might harm.”

“Then hear me out and maybe you’ll change your mind. You know Trika?”

Know Trika?
Levron managed a shrug. “Of course.”

“Here’s what happened. I’ve been half in love with her for years.”

“You and the rest of Streamwood,” Levron observed, uncomfortably aware he could count himself in that crowd.

“Hunh. I own a fabric shop and haven’t done badly for myself. I thought I might be of standing enough to court Trika.” His face darkened. “But she was already being courted.”

“Let me guess,” Levron interrupted, unable to stay disinterested. “Haivel.”

“Haivel. That coddled papa’s boy!” Barro swallowed the rest of his ale, his eyes gone hard. “He was always around her, pestering her father for more and more access to her company.”

“And you?”

“I kept my distance, making it obvious I was interested as well. In fact, I went out of my way to give her father discounts on any fabric his wife wanted to purchase. I was never overt in my actions and, as they say, patience pays off. After spending most of her time with Haivel, Trika decided she preferred to see me.”

Levron could tell where this was going. He knew all three individuals involved: Barro, the man who worked tirelessly to better himself; Haivel, whose parents had given him a small shop where he had set himself up as a scribe; and, of course, Trika, the beauty of Streamwood. Trika the Tease. Trika, the woman who, adhering to the customs of Karse, had been allowed to be courted by men her father deemed worthy.

“You know Haivel,” Barro continued, lifting his empty cup in the barmaid’s direction. “He didn’t take this well at all. The more time Trika spent with me, the more upset Haivel grew. I think he was eaten up with jealousy. And finally, he couldn’t accept the way things were and damaged my latest shipment of cloth.”

“Oh? And you saw this?”

“I did. He came around just before dark. I was finishing the last of my orders. I’d gone to the rear of the shop when I heard the door open. I came back to the front in time to see Haivel throw a bucket of paint over the latest bolt of fine cloth I’d ordered from Sunhame! You have no idea how much that cloth cost. It was ruined. Haivel laughed at me—
laughed at me—
and ran out of the shop.”

Levron leaned back in his chair. “I’m surprised. I didn’t think Haivel was that sort.”

“Well, he is. You haven’t been in town for years and haven’t seen the change in him. I immediately went to the authorities and made my report.”

“Did they arrest Haivel?”

Barro’s face darkened. “They talked to him. He denied everything. He said he had a witness who would swear he was nowhere near my shop that night.”

“And his father took his side?”

“Of course. Dear Haivel, beloved only son, who couldn’t have done anything so dishonest.”

“So you’re taking the case to court.”

Barro squared his shoulders. “I am. Now, old friend, any advice?”

Old friend?
Levron all but laughed. Barro had never been a friend . . . an off-and-on comrade, but never a friend. In fact, when he and Barro had been young boys, Barro had been somewhat of a bully, with Levron taking most of the abuse when the two of them were together.

“No advice other than to tell the truth. Judge Perran is quite adept at knowing who’s lying and who’s not. As I’ve told you, I’m not a legalist. I
do
know a person who lies before him is in worse trouble than if he had not.”

“Some help you are,” Barro muttered. “I guess that’s all I can expect. After all,
you
aren’t the judge, your master is.”

Levron smiled, despite the veiled insult. “I wish you the best, Barro. Destruction of property is a crime and should be punished.”

“You’re damned right!” Barro shoved his chair away from the table, tossed down a copper coin, and stood. “I suppose I’ll see you again.” And with that, he turned and made his way toward the tavern’s door.

Levron’s shoulders slumped, and he relaxed somewhat, amazed that this meeting had made him so tense. Once again, he felt the pressure of memories from the past. Barro, Haivel, and Trika. He knew, or
thought
he knew, them all. And, he admitted, he was growing more than relieved he no longer lived in Streamwood.

Perran looked up when Levron entered the room they shared. From the expression on his assistant’s face, he had not spent a pleasant time out in the town.

“Well, did you see anyone you know?”

Levron frowned. “A few. No one I considered close. I did see one of the people you’re to judge tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

“Barro.”

“Ah, the fellow whose cloth was ruined, who reported it was done by Haivel.”

“Yes.”

“That’s interesting. A man by the name of Haivel came here looking for you. I can’t believe you didn’t pass him on your way in.” Perran watched Levron closely. “You might want to go out and see if he’s still around. What did Barro have to say?”

“What didn’t he have to say! He told me the whole story, how Haivel ruined a bolt of expensive cloth by dumping a bucket of paint on it. All out of jealousy . . . over, of course, Trika. The two of them are trying to court her. She’d spent all her time with Haivel and then started seeing Barro. He wanted advice, which I refused to give him. We didn’t part on the best of terms.”