pamphleteer bowed again, elegant as any lord. "I call no man father and I call no man master. My only allegiance is to the truth, which I spread as far and wide as I possibly can. What can words do, you ask me? What can one rock slipping down a hillside do? Scant damage. But send another after it and then another? A landslide can change the course of a river. What do you say to that, apprentice?"
"I think your imagery still needs a little polishing," Gruit said dryly.
"What if every Lescari exile lent a hand to bringing change?" Reniack wasn't deterred. "I know your history, Master Gruit."
A brazen clangour interrupted him. Gleeful, Reniack spun around. "Your pardon, good sirs. I must make a note of every name and accusation. Every honest man in Vanam will buy my broadsheet to learn exactly who has been defrauding them."
As Reniack shoved through the crowd, Tathrin saw shivering men wearing no more than their shirts led out in front of Saedrin's temple. Each one's head had been roughly shaved, tufts of hair that the razor had missed clotted with blood from deeper scrapes. The yellow-robed priest had been joined by another in the blue and white colours of Raeponin, while a third in the dour black of Poldrion carried the pole that symbolised the ferryman of the dead.
The priest of Raeponin rang his handbell and an acolyte read out the charges in the silence that followed. "Histen Soway pays this penalty for unpaid debts in the amount of six hundred and thirty-two gold crowns. Those with a claim on his goods should present their case to the Saddlers' Guild at the close of festival."
A heavy-set man in blue and white livery forced the offender to his knees. Another placed a clapperless bell on his head and beat it with an oak club. The noise was deafening. Tathrin hated to think what it must be like to suffer such punishment. As the man with the club lifted the bell, which was still ringing faintly, the unfortunate fell forward to lie half-stunned on the cobbles, bleeding from his nose. Two shamefaced men scurried forward to drag him away.
Tathrin didn't want to see any more. "If you'll excuse me, Master Gruit, I want to buy a book of maps."
"I'll walk with you." The merchant thrust his hands in his tunic pockets again. "So, I've been thinking. This notion of cutting off the flow of silver to Lescar's dukes is still folly. But if you and Aremil could come up with a better idea, Lady Derenna and her husband could spread the word among the nobles in all the dukedoms who share their fascination with alchemy and mechanics and such. Scholars don't let trifles like the quarrels and alliances of their overlords interfere with the free exchange of ideas and discoveries."
Tathrin frowned. "If her husband's under house arrest, surely his letters are read by Duke Moncan's spies?"
"Not the ones I smuggle in with the shipments of wine that I send for her, or the ones that come out the same way." Gruit smiled. "Now Reniack, he can send a scandal east and west quicker than the Imperial Tormalin couriers. He'd be the man to spread some scheme among as many exiles as possible in Ensaimin, as well as explaining it to the ordinary folk of Lescar." He pursed his lips. "You should read his broadsheets. For every tale you can tell of greedy dukes and unjust levies and mercenary crimes, he can tell ten without pausing for breath and some will turn your stomach. He sees it as his duty to make sure those who've escaped Lescar's torments don't forget those they've left behind. But he won't be party to beggaring those who are already paupers," he warned, "so don't suggest this business of withholding coin to him."
"I see," Tathrin said uncertainly.
"Do you?" Gruit was sceptical. "Lescar's wars have been a weeping sore for generations. We won't come up with a cure. But if you and Aremil think you can concoct some salve, call on me. I'll see if I can make you think better of it. If I can't, we'll let Derenna and Reniack try their luck. If none of
"I think your imagery still needs a little polishing," Gruit said dryly.
"What if every Lescari exile lent a hand to bringing change?" Reniack wasn't deterred. "I know your history, Master Gruit."
A brazen clangour interrupted him. Gleeful, Reniack spun around. "Your pardon, good sirs. I must make a note of every name and accusation. Every honest man in Vanam will buy my broadsheet to learn exactly who has been defrauding them."
As Reniack shoved through the crowd, Tathrin saw shivering men wearing no more than their shirts led out in front of Saedrin's temple. Each one's head had been roughly shaved, tufts of hair that the razor had missed clotted with blood from deeper scrapes. The yellow-robed priest had been joined by another in the blue and white colours of Raeponin, while a third in the dour black of Poldrion carried the pole that symbolised the ferryman of the dead.
The priest of Raeponin rang his handbell and an acolyte read out the charges in the silence that followed. "Histen Soway pays this penalty for unpaid debts in the amount of six hundred and thirty-two gold crowns. Those with a claim on his goods should present their case to the Saddlers' Guild at the close of festival."
A heavy-set man in blue and white livery forced the offender to his knees. Another placed a clapperless bell on his head and beat it with an oak club. The noise was deafening. Tathrin hated to think what it must be like to suffer such punishment. As the man with the club lifted the bell, which was still ringing faintly, the unfortunate fell forward to lie half-stunned on the cobbles, bleeding from his nose. Two shamefaced men scurried forward to drag him away.
Tathrin didn't want to see any more. "If you'll excuse me, Master Gruit, I want to buy a book of maps."
"I'll walk with you." The merchant thrust his hands in his tunic pockets again. "So, I've been thinking. This notion of cutting off the flow of silver to Lescar's dukes is still folly. But if you and Aremil could come up with a better idea, Lady Derenna and her husband could spread the word among the nobles in all the dukedoms who share their fascination with alchemy and mechanics and such. Scholars don't let trifles like the quarrels and alliances of their overlords interfere with the free exchange of ideas and discoveries."
Tathrin frowned. "If her husband's under house arrest, surely his letters are read by Duke Moncan's spies?"
"Not the ones I smuggle in with the shipments of wine that I send for her, or the ones that come out the same way." Gruit smiled. "Now Reniack, he can send a scandal east and west quicker than the Imperial Tormalin couriers. He'd be the man to spread some scheme among as many exiles as possible in Ensaimin, as well as explaining it to the ordinary folk of Lescar." He pursed his lips. "You should read his broadsheets. For every tale you can tell of greedy dukes and unjust levies and mercenary crimes, he can tell ten without pausing for breath and some will turn your stomach. He sees it as his duty to make sure those who've escaped Lescar's torments don't forget those they've left behind. But he won't be party to beggaring those who are already paupers," he warned, "so don't suggest this business of withholding coin to him."
"I see," Tathrin said uncertainly.
"Do you?" Gruit was sceptical. "Lescar's wars have been a weeping sore for generations. We won't come up with a cure. But if you and Aremil think you can concoct some salve, call on me. I'll see if I can make you think better of it. If I can't, we'll let Derenna and Reniack try their luck. If none of
Similar Books
