"Then hear my judgment," the Duke said. "I find Duran innocent of all charges of dealing in the dark arts. I find Ladirno and Wellhyrn guilty of bringing unfounded charges against him. As for the priest, Vadami, I suspect him of being overzealous."
The two alchemists stiffened in their finery, their faces gone pale and still.
"Duran Ancahar."
Duran stepped closer to the dais.
"I urge you to keep your dealings with the Sabirn to a minimum. They are not well-liked in Targheiden, and are—rightly or wrongly—suspect of nefarious dealings. I pass no judgment with present associations, but beware new relationships. Do you hear me?"
"I do hear you, Your Grace."
"Wellhyrn. Ladirno.—I assume you thought you had reason. But consider: bringing accusations against another citizen without adequate cause can be slander. By holy Scripture, slander is perilous to one's soul. Both of you are banned from attending court for the next ten days, during which time you may meditate on this. Do you hear me?"
"We hear you, Your Grace," Ladirno said faintly.
"Good," Hajun said. "You have my leave, gentlemen."
Duran's knees were shaking again, only this time from relief. His two colleagues bowed to the Duke, turned, and stalked off down the hall, neither of them affording Duran so much as a glance.
Duran stood his ground and caught Hajun's eyes.
"Duran?" the Duke said, lifting one eyebrow. "You have something else to say?"
"Yes, Your Grace. It's good to see that Ancar justice has not died with the past. My thanks, Your Grace."
With which he bowed deeply, and turned away.
"That gods-be-damned, no-good, lying bastard!"
Ladirno sank back in one of the chairs in his apartment and let Wellhyrn rage, pacing up and down the room, his face livid with anger.
"Do you realize what he's done to us?" Wellhyrn howled, turning to face Ladirno. "He's disgraced us in the Duke's eyes, that's what he's done! We've been banned from attending court for ten days, Ladir! Ten days!"
"He certainly has," Ladirno said acidly. "Thank the gods it's nothing worse."
"I'll see Duran Ancahar damned before he gets away with this! I'm twenty times the alchemist he is! If he thinks Ancar blood can ingratiate him into the Duke's favor by disgracing us, he's got horseshit for brains!"
Ladirno gazed out the window at an overcast sky, some -disconnected portion of his brain marveling that all Targheiden had not begun to flood yet.
"Dammit, Ladir! Pay attention to me!" Wellhyrn stopped in front of Ladirno. "If I hadn't listened to you about taking our suspicions to the Duke—"
"Now you wait just a damned moment," Ladirno snapped, rising. "Don't you try laying the blame on me. It was your idea!"
Wellhyrn glared.
"Thank Hladyr's mercy our banishment wasn't permanent," Ladirno said, doggedly keeping his tone mild. "The Duke's not known for his sweet temper—no more than his father was."
"How did we know we'd get ourselves involved in some kind of damned Ancar trial?" Wellhyrn raged, pacing again, periodically slamming a fist into his open hand. "And Duran . . . can you believe it? He talked his way out of everything!—sweet as one of the Duke's own courtiers!"
"You forget," Ladirno said, still in the same mild tone, "that Duran's father used to be the Duke's companion and, as such, he was Ancar of the Ancar. What do you think that name means? Ancahar. That's aristocracy, man—blue-blood, to the utmost."
Wellhyrn's face grew red, and Ladirno allowed himself a small smile. He had always suspected that Wellhyrn hated Duran for once having thrown aside what he would give his soul to be—an Ancar lord of the highest degree. Title aside—Torhyn were Torhyn—and Duran had been born a noble.
Wellhyrn seized a book from Ladirno's table and threw it against the wall. Ladirno winced, but kept silent, afraid of Wellhyrn's violence.
Wellhyrn spun around and faced Ladirno, his eyes narrowed to slits. "I'm not going to take this lying down," he snarled. "I'll get that son of a dog for this. I swear it!"
"And what are you going to do?" Ladirno asked, watching Wellhyrn pace.
"There's got to be a way we can get back at him without anyone knowing. And, by all the gods, I'll come up with one." Wellhyrn halted abruptly. "I've got it! By all that's holy! We'll set our wizards at him!"
Ladirno sighed heavily. "Would you get control of yourself, Hyrn? Stop raging and think! We can't afford to set our wizards at him. We have enough enemies of our own; diverting our wizards from them could be disastrous!"
"No more disastrous than letting Duran get away with what he's done!"
"He's done no more than defend himself," Ladirno said, "as you or I would have in like circumstances. He accused us of nothing more than inaccuracy—"
"Which could have gotten us banished for good! What's the matter with you? How can you speak in his defense."
"I'm trying to get through to you. Now . . . sit down!"
Ladirno had seldom used that particular tone of voice with Wellhyrn: in shock, the younger man drew a deep breath, then sat down in the matching chair.
"I don't mind hiring someone to set on Duran," Ladirno said, most reasonably, he thought. "But our resources are limited. And if ours are—his certainly are."
"Maybe you're right." Wellhyrn brightened. "He couldn't afford it. Gods, he couldn't hire a junior apprentice—and if we bought even an hour from a second-rate wizard—"
"Now you're thinking."
The old, malicious smile was back on Wellhyrn's face. "Then let's do it," he said, leaning forward in his chair. "Tomorrow morning." He laughed coldly. "We'll ill-wish that bastard. If Duran is treating the heir for the pox, maybe we'll get lucky and he'll fumble the treatment."
"Dammit, Hyrn! I don't care what you do to Duran, but don't even think of misfortune on the Duke's son! I won't stand for that."
"Take a joke, Ladir!"
Ladirno held Wellhyrn's gaze until Wellhyrn looked away. "Do you want to contact the wizards, or shall I?"
"You do it." Wellhyrn's eyes glittered coldly in the lamplight. "I'll think of other ways we can get to this problem of ours. And believe me, I'll think of something!"
CHAPTER TEN
"Duran."
Duran turned from his shelves to Kekoja, who was already spreading out the coppers he had earned on the countertop.
"Good day?" Duran asked.
"Oh, aye." The Sabirn boy grinned widely. "You hear about that warehouse fire, next block over? Boom!"
"I heard. So waterlogged it wouldn't burn, thank the gods. Rain's to some advantage. . . . Well!" Duran counted up the coppers and shook his head in wonder. Thirty-one coins lay on his counter.
"Best yet," Kekoja said pridefully
"Here, lad." He gave the boy his percentage, and deposited the rest in his belt pouch. "You did a damned fine job."
"Guess so.—Had many people in here today?"
"No." He knocked into a pot, grabbed after it before it went off the edge. "Damn! I've been so clumsy today!" He gestured at the waste-bin. "Two pots, two! I've broken."
Kekoja lifted an eyebrow. "Not like you," he said, not smiling in response to Duran's tale.
Duran looked at him with a sudden, cold thought.
Kekoja dropped his pay into his belt pouch. "You be careful," the boy said, wiping the dark hair back from his eyes. "Don't you do anything risky for a while. Nothing with the furnace—"