“I am the Prenn Ysran of Dirge Arsuid.” The voice echoed hollowly; it took a moment for Danny to identify who spoke; it was the man in the center seat. If Prenn Ysran meant what he thought, this was the high judge of all Arsuid. He wasn’t happy with the identification; it told him he was in more trouble than he liked to think about. The man spoke again, “State your name, felon.”
Danny thought that over before he answered; Daniel prodded him to demand an explanation; Ahzurdan wanted him to be meekly courteous. “My name is Lazul,” he said. “Why am I here?”
“You lie. Your name is Ahzurdan.”
“No. Ahzurdan is dead.”
“You are a sorceror. You are addicted to dreamdust and come seeking it here. The sale of dreamdust is illegal here. To attempt to buy it is to break the laws of Dirge Arsuid.”
“I am who I say I am. If I’m a sorceror, that’s my business, unless you passed a law against them. Have you? Not only am I not addicted to the dust, I’d put a knife through anyone who tried to force it on me. Who says I court such idiocy? Who says I importuned him to sell me anything? Bring him. Show him to me so I can call him the liar he is.”
“The deed is not required, only the intent.”
“Intent? You reading people’s hearts now?”
“It is not necessary. You are here. Your habits are known. You are guilty. Do you repent?”
“How can I repent what I’ve neither done nor thought? How can I repent another man’s sins?”
“He is contumaceous, brothers; he is intent on his illegal purposes. I say there is no point to further deliberation. How say you?”
“Guilty,” intoned the figure to the far left: “Guilty.”
“Guilty.”
“Guilty.” The lesser judges condemned him in whispers, squeaks and muted bellows.
“So say I. D’wab-ser, dissolve the cage and bring the man before us.”
Danny Blue prepared himself, ready to move when he felt the eventflow shift. He watched the cowled sorceror change his grip on his staff, saw the silver lines inlaid in the wood come to life, running like moonwater from tip to butt. He saw a shifting of shadow under the hood as the man’s lips moved, though he couldn’t hear words. The cage melted away around him. He stood up.
Free hand twisting through complex, awkward gestures, D’wab-ser Braspa Pawbool came down the stairs.
Danny waited, ready to counter if he could figure out how, waited for the moment when the man broke through the pentacle, expecting the attack then. Ready to attack the stone beneath. Pawbool, the air around him, ready…
No attack.
Braspa Pawbool simply reached across the lines, cancelling them. “Come,” he said. “Don’t be foolish. Come.” He took hold of Danny’s arm near the wrist, tugged at him. “Face your sentencing like a man not a child.”
Startled, Danny took a step toward him. Pawbool’s grip shifted. The Ahzurdan phasma screamed, *Pull away, pull…*
He was too late. Danny Blue felt the pricks from the twin fangs of the ring on Pawbool’s center finger. His wrist burned. He started to jerk his arm away, Pawbool tapped the point of his shoulder with the staff; his arm went limp. “What… what are you…”
“Nothing to worry you. It’s just to keep you quiet. Come with me.”
Pawbool took his hand away. The fangs withdrew, the burning cooled until Danny couldn’t feel it. Slowly, slowly the strength began returning to his arm. He followed Pawbool. The Sorceror stopped him with a touch of the staff when he was in front of the Prenn Ysran. Danny stood there rubbing at his wrist; he could feel the drug beginning to work in him. A pleasant euphoria spread through his body; he felt lethargic, didn’t want to move or think.
The Prenn Ysran waited until Braspa Pawbool climbed the stairs and resumed his place beside the last chair on the right, then he leaned forward until his nose and chin were visible as the light from one of the three lamps edged under his cowl. “The D’wab-ser lied,” he said. “You have your death inside you, but you need not die.” He spoke quickly, nervously; his heavily gloved hands tightened on the arms of his chair. ‘There is a way of atoning for your guilt, felon. There is an antidote. You can earn it. It will save you if you get it within the next four months. After that you die.” He cleared his throat, his hood swayed as he turned his head slightly side to side as if he watched for something he feared to see. “What say you?”
“What do I have to do?”
“Say the words, felon. Say you accept the task.” Again that twitch of his head, the shimmy of the hood.
Danny thought it over; he didn’t like anything about this business, he also didn’t have much choice. “If I can do it, I accept the task.”
There was an odd creaking sound, a plopping like bubbles breaking in hot mush. Startled, Danny looked around.
A large head had pushed up through the stone, dark and shifty, quivering as if it were sculpted from gelatinous mud; on hair like seagrass it wore dripping, leathery leaves in a limp off-center wreath. Large dull eyes stared at them all, passing along the line of judges, dropping, stopping at Danny Blue. They fixed on him, gray and filmy fisheyes.
Danny Blue began to understand more of this. The god was behind what was happening. Arfon. Dwalluparfon. Mixed up somehow with the Chained God and his convoluted plots. The Daniel phasma sniggered. *Traded to a bush league, that’s you, old Dan. Traded like a broke-down offwing.*
*Be quiet,* Danny snarled at his half-sire, *I need to pay attention here.*
The Prenn Ysran settled back in his chair, his relief palpable. “There is in the city Hennkensikee one of the Great talismans, Klukesharna. You are a sorceror, you must know of Kluke.shama.”
“Sorceror or not, I know of Klukesharna.”
“Do you know what it looks like?”
“It’s star-iron, shaped like a key about the length of my palm.”
“Good. Bring us Klukesharna and we will give you the antidote.”
“In four months? Impossible.”
“We will underwrite your expenses and provide useful companions.”
“Why me? The Peroraglassi passes through Lake Patinkaya; if his Riverine Sanctity over there wants the talisman, why doesn’t he reach out and take it?”
“It is not for us to question the tasks the Great One sets us, felon; even more is it unseemly for you to intrude yourself.”
“Hmh! Fancy language for blackmailers.”
“Watch your tongue, felon, or your back will suffer for your insolence.”
“Oh really?”
“We can find another easily enough.”
“That I believe. However…” He yawned, patted the yawn, hooked thumbs into loops on his vest. “Dead is not what I want out of life, so let’s talk about this underwriting business. I need a reason to visit Hennkensikee. What do you suggest?”
The Prenn Ysran stood. “This is nothing to do with the Ystaffel. Make your arrangements with the D’wab-ser; he has our authority to proceed.” He walked along the dais, skimming past the knees of the sitting judges and vanished behind an ancient dark arras that shifted slowly in the many drafts wandering about the chamber; after he was gone, Danny Blue deciphered the image embroidered there, it was a repeat of the Head silently watching the business, the river god protruding from the floor. Silently the other four judges rose and marched out, leaving Braspa Pawbool alone with the prisoner and the god.