Under the Vale and Other Tales of Valdemar (38 page)

Perran nodded. What Levron told him matched information he’d received before he had agreed to judge this case. However, a new twist had arisen when Levron had gone out earlier and Haivel had come looking for him, information Perran wasn’t yet ready to share. Let Levron find out himself, unprepared for what he would hear. Not being forewarned, his reaction would be unlikely to arouse suspicion of prior knowledge. This, in itself, could aid his observations later.
If
he could find Haivel.

And the way events had transpired so far, Perran was certain Levron would do just that.

It didn’t take long for Levron to locate Haivel. The inn sported a few tables and chairs to the side of the building where, when weather permitted, people could sit and drink or share a dinner. Agreeing with Perran, Levron was surprised Haivel had missed his recent arrival. He drew a calming breath as he approached another person from his past.

“Levron!” Haivel smiled and nodded his greeting. “Sit, sit. It’s been a long time.”

“That it has,” Levron acknowledged. “So how has life been treating you?”

“I’ve done well. You know I’m a scribe. There’s a good life to be made writing for folk who don’t have the skill.”

“I can only imagine.”

“So you’re assistant to Judge Perran, are you? You obviously made something of yourself when you left Streamwood for Sunhame.”

“I did, and I’ve never regretted it.”

“You know I’m going to trial tomorrow.” Once the polite pleasantries had passed, Haivel jumped straight to the point.

Levron briefly closed his eyes. “And I won’t give you any advice if you ask for it. I can’t.”

Haivel drew back slightly in his chair, his handsome face darkened. “And why is that?”

Fresh memories of his conversation with Barro surfaced, but he refused to let Haivel know the two of them had spoken a short time before.

“I’m slightly aware of the case, but,” Levron repeated, “I don’t know the law, and I can’t offer any advice save to tell the truth.”

Haivel snorted. “Well, let me tell you, if Barro thinks he’s going to have a judgment entered against me, I’m countering him with my own accusation.”

“Oh?” Levron blinked in surprise. “And what did Barro do that you’re going after him in court?”

“He came into my shop one afternoon, in broad daylight mind you, and took a knife to an entire shipment of paper sitting on the counter before I could stop him. Cut it into pieces! Do you have any idea how much paper costs?”

Or what the going price is for a bolt of fine cloth?
Levron shook his head in disbelief. “I couldn’t guess, but it probably wouldn’t be cheap.”

“It’s not! I don’t have any idea what possessed him! He’s been acting strange ever since . . .”

Levron waited, refusing to lead Haivel to further explanation.

“Here’s the problem,” Haivel said, spreading his hands. “You know Trika?”

“I
knew
her,” Levron admitted. “Years ago.”

“I was courting her, seriously courting her. Her father evidently thought well of me. And then, for some reason, she dropped me like a hot rock and started seeing Barro.”

“And?”

“Someone vandalized cloth in Barro’s shop. He swears it was me and reported the crime to the authorities. But I have a witness I wasn’t near his shop. And, days later, he came into
my
shop and destroyed my paper.”

“That’s odd. In broad daylight, too. Do you have a witness?”

“Only my own two eyes. I can’t let him get away with this.” Haivel drew a deep breath. “Are you certain you can’t—”

“I can’t offer any advice except what I’ve already told you,” Levron said. “Speak the truth. Judge Perran will be able to tell who’s lying and who’s not.”

Haivel shrugged. “I understand, though I hoped you might be able to help a friend, for old time’s sake.”

Old friend again. Do the two of them truly believe we were friends?

“I’ve explained why I can’t. All I can do is wish you the best of luck. One word of caution, however . . . don’t dismiss Judge Perran as just another traveling judge. What I can tell you is this: he’s one of the best, and anyone who thinks otherwise makes a huge mistake.”

The transformation that turned Perran from traveling companion to circuit judge never ceased to amaze Levron, though he’d witnessed it many times. Seated a few paces away from the table Perran sat behind, Levron could see why people could become awed. Clad in his dark robes, the heavy gold chain of his office glittering on his chest, Perran exemplified the authority of the justiciary and, as every citizen of Karse knew, stood as the legal hand of the Son of the Sun.

After speaking with Haivel, Levron had related their conversation to Perran in exacting detail, his expected duty as Perran’s assistant. He had watched Perran’s face go still as all the legal ramifications of the two stories swirled about in his mind. And now, today, those thoughts would be turned into action.

Barro and Haivel had taken chairs before the judge’s table, neither meeting the other man’s eyes. From his vantage point at the front of the room, Levron had a good view of the people who had come to watch the trial. A few latecomers had arrived and, much to Levron’s dismay, Trika had entered the room accompanied by her father.

The years had been kind to her. She still possessed a breathtaking beauty, but Levron sensed something else immediately. The hint of coldness lurked in her eyes, a calculating expression she tried to hide by keeping her gaze modestly lowered. Ah, yes . . . Trika the Tease. Levron could imagine what had driven Barro and Haivel to their crimes. Trika was the source of those misdeeds. He was certain of it.

Perran rapped the table three times, and the room grew silent.

“This court is now in session,” Perran said, his face solemn. “What is said before me is seen and heard by myself as representative of the Son of the Sun
and
Vkandis Sun Lord. Every word spoken to me is given under oath. State falsehood at your peril.”

Unwillingly, Levron turned his attention to Trika again. Though she maintained her modest demeanor, she looked first to Haivel and then to Barro. In a flash, he knew what motivated her and felt a little sickened by the knowledge. His faith in Perran’s abilities as a judge was absolute: the truth behind Barro and Haivel’s quarrel would be brought to light.

And not a moment too soon, for the sake of everyone involved.

Perran studied the two men seated before him. Neither looked away, both seemingly assured their testimony would win the day. That, in itself, spoke volumes. He cleared his throat.

“I’ll question you first, Barro, since you brought the original accusation against Haivel. From what you’ve told the authorities of Streamwood, Haivel ruined a bolt of expensive cloth by dumping a bucket of paint on it. Now, tell me what you think could have caused a productive and respected citizen of Streamwood to do such a thing.”

Barro stood, bowed his head briefly in Perran’s direction.

“Jealousy, your lordship,” he said.

Perran leaned back in his chair, steepled his hands, and listened to Barro’s account of the vandalism of his fabric and the perceived reason for Haivel’s jealousy. He glanced once at Levron, lifted an eyebrow, to be rewarded by Levron’s nod toward a beautiful woman seated next to an older man, most likely her father. So that was Trika. The source of the trouble that had escalated to vandalism. He continued to listen to Barro’s tale, but he kept watching Trika as the man spoke. He could see how her eyes sparkled, how her face grew animated as Barro set forth his case against Haivel.

“And you saw Haivel throw the paint on your bolt of cloth?” Perran asked.

“Yes, your lordship.”

“Was there anyone else in the shop that night?”

“No, your lordship.”

“Did he say anything after ruining your fabric?”

“No, your lordship. He merely laughed and ran out of the shop.”

“I see.” Perran looked down at a piece of paper on the table. “You’ve tendered the court a receipt setting out the value of the cloth. It bears the stamp of Tabot House of Sunhame. Is this the merchant you deal with?”

“Yes, your lordship.”

“And the value of the bolt of cloth is set out here at ten silver soleri. And you say it’s ruined.”

“It is. The paint soaked through it since it’s an intricate weave.”

Perran motioned Barro to sit, then turned his attention to Haivel.

“And you, Haivel.” Perran motioned for the man to stand. “You’ve brought a claim against Barro for destruction of a shipment of paper to be used in your profession as scribe, is that correct?”

“It is, your lordship.”

“Now explain to me why you think Barro would do such a thing.”

Haivel shrugged. “I don’t know. I can only guess it’s revenge for what he thinks I did to his cloth. But I have a witness who will testify I couldn’t have been to his shop that night.”

“But he claims he saw you, and you laughed in his face.”

“Impossible, your lordship.”

“And where is this witness who can give proof you weren’t at Barro’s shop that night?”

For the first time, Haivel’s eyes wandered. “I’m not sure.”

Perran leaned back in his chair and lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean, you’re not sure?”

“He left town shortly after the incident, your lordship.”

“Then why do you claim you have a witness who can assure me you weren’t at Barro’s shop?”

“Because it’s true! I wasn’t! And my witness would testify to that!”

Perran allowed a smile to touch his lips. “A witness who isn’t here can’t help you. Do you know where this person is?”

“No. He’s another scribe who travels in the area, serving those who can’t read or write.” Haivel’s face reddened. “If I knew where he was, he’d be in court today.”

“You didn’t think to find him when you knew you were coming to court?”

“I tried, but he doesn’t always take the same route.”

Perran lifted another sheet of paper. “You’ve given this court a receipt for the paper you claim Barro ruined by slashing it with a knife.”

Haivel nodded. “It’s from a traveling paper merchant. I get a shipment from him whenever he passes through town.”

Perran studied the receipt. “It says here the amount you paid the merchant for the paper was ten silver soleri. Is that correct?”

“Yes, your lordship. It was a large order. I have to stock paper because I’m never sure when the merchant will be passing through town again.”

“You may be seated.” Perran studied the two men. They returned his stare, faces set in expressions of total belief in what they recounted. But somewhere, in Haivel’s recounting, he sensed a lie. He straightened. “This court will adjourn for two candlemarks while I review the cases. I want you both back here then.” He looked across the room, briefly focusing his attention on Trika. “Please bear in mind that everything you’ve said I have taken into consideration. And I am, as you well know, an enforcer of the laws of Karse. My judgment here today is final, and your cases cannot be tried again.”

Levron stood outside the inn, well aware his next duty to Perran might be one of the hardest he had ever performed. Nonetheless, any information he could find would aid Perran’s decision in this case. Glancing up at the passing clouds, he made an effort to appear relaxed and calm, one more man enjoying the springtime sun.

He heard his name called, turned, and saw Trika coming his way, accompanied by her father.

“Levron,” she said, her smile such that any man would immediately feel flattered to be addressed by her. “You remember my father?”

“I do. Good day to you, sir.”

Trika’s father wore a somewhat preoccupied expression and merely nodded.

“So, you’ve become assistant to the judge.” She smiled again; this time the smile was more than inviting.

“Yes.” Levron squared his shoulders. “A position I’m rather proud of.”

“And you should be,” she said, stepping close enough so he could smell the slight hint of her perfume. “I’m confused as to why Barro and Haivel are in court. Perhaps you can tell me what will happen if they’re found guilty.”

“That I can’t. I don’t make those decisions.”

“Oh.” She pouted prettily. “I thought you might have witnessed cases like this before.”

“And why should you care?” Levron asked, keeping his voice even.

Trika lifted her chain and glanced off for a brief moment. “I don’t, actually. I’m merely interested. They were both beginning to bore me.”

“Trika!” This from her father, who now stared at his daughter. “That’s not a kind thing to say.”

“But it’s true, Papa. First Haivel, then Barro.” She tossed a strand of night-black hair over her shoulder. “You’d think I was the only woman in town.”

Levron cleared his throat. Much as he wanted to keep his opinions hidden, the time had come to reveal them. “You haven’t changed, have you, Trika?”

She appeared startled for a few heartbeats. “What do you mean by that?”

“I remember all too well how things stood when I left Streamwood.” Levron met Trika’s father’s eyes. “Your pardon, sir, I don’t mean any disrespect.” He returned his attention to Trika. “You always seemed to enjoy setting boys, and then men, at each other, simply to see how they would react. Isn’t that what you’ve done to Barro and Haivel?”

Trika’s eyes turned to black ice. “That’s unfair. I thought you and I were friends!”

Friends again. Why do they think we were ever friends?
“Not so I noticed. You never paid me any attention at all.”

“I can see why I didn’t,” Trika said, her eyes narrowed now. “You’re nothing more than a—-”

“Trika!” This time, her father put a hand on her shoulder. “Be still!”

“I will not!” she fumed. “Why should I let Levron accuse me of—-”

“Because it’s true, and you know it,” her father interrupted. “I’ve ignored your behavior far too long. You’re aware of what they call you in town, aren’t you?”

For a brief moment, Trika’s haughty expression cracked. “Trika the Tease,” she said at last, her voice gone very quiet.

Levron bowed his head in Trika’s father’s direction. “I think it best I take my leave,” he said. “I’m fairly certain I won’t be back in Streamwood for a long time, if ever, so I wish the best of everything for you both.”