The Ships of Merior by Janny Wurts Page A

and threw him face-down before the dais.
    There he was held by two booted feet pressed solidly into his shoulderblades. The alderman cleared his throat, pushed a spidery set of spectacles up his nose, and recited the list of offences: disruption of the city peace; obstruction of the public thoroughfare; wilful damage to the mayor’s property; interference with commerce; negligent handling of horseflesh; and lastly, insolence to officers while in custody.
    ‘What do you plead?’ The judiciary peered over his spiked and scented beard at the accused crushed prone on the floor.
    His jaw jammed against cold granite, Dakar tugged a breath into compressed lungs and swore.
    ‘Impertinence while in court,’ the alderman droned. Like synchronized vultures, four near-sighted secretaries dipped quills and scribbled the addition to their documents.
    ‘Fiends and Dharkaron’s vengeance!’ Dakar pealed. ‘What wilful damage? You saw my horse. Did Faery-toes look at all like the sort to attack passing drays out of hand? Ath’s own patience, you’d kick something yourself, if some lout hauled off and rammed his fist in your ribs!’
    On the benches, the carter gritted sturdy teeth and restrained himself from springing to his feet to cry protest. Caught up in its rut of due process, the court continued with the prisoner.
    Insolence to superiors,’ said the alderman, displaying an unfortunate lisp, while the pens of the secretaries twitched and scratched.
    The mayor stifled a yawn and eased the silver-tipped laces on his waistcoat. ‘I never saw your beast.’ In tones of boredom marred by faint shortness of breath, he admitted, ‘My wife was the one out in the carriage. The moulding was cut to satisfy her whim. Its destruction has left her indisposed. As the horse’s owner, you are responsible for its unprovoked fit. Since the question of innocence does not arise on that charge, your punishment must recompense the lady’s losses.’
    The carter could no longer contain himself. ‘Does my team and dray count for nothing? Two of my horses are lame, and wheelwright’s services are dear!’
    ‘Be still.’ The judiciary looked up from adjusting his rings. ‘City justice must be satisfied before any appeal for compensation can be opened.’
    Hot and fuming in his town clothes, the carter sat down. Halliron looked deadpan, a sign of irritation; Medlir’s bemusement masked disgust.
    Pressed still to the floor, his face twisted sideways and his hair rucked up like a snarl of wind-twisted bracken, Dakar rolled his eyes at the crick that plagued his neck. Heartily tired of embracing clammy stone, he followed the proceedings with difficulty.
    An exchange between the city alderman and the prim-faced judiciary again roused the pens of the secretaries. Nibs scritched across parchment like the scurry of roaches, and a pageboy jangled the triangle to some unseen administrative cue.
    ‘Guilty on all counts.’ The judiciary produced a flannel handkerchief and honked to clear his nose. Then he adjusted his hat and tipped his undershot chin toward the alderman.
    ‘A fine and six months on the labour gang,’ that official pronounced, then followed with a sum a prince would be beggared to pay.
    ‘You already confiscated my saddle bags!’ Dakar yelped in outrage. ‘You’ll know I don’t carry any coin.’
    ‘You’re not lacking friends.’ The mayor swivelled porcine eyes toward the elegant figure of the Master-bard. ‘They may balance the debt for you, should they be so inclined. It is to them you must now beg for clemency.’
    They have nothing to do with me,’ Dakar insisted between frog-flop attempts to wiggle free.
    The Lord Mayor raised his eyebrows. ‘Then what brings them to Jaelot?’
    ‘You speak of Halliron Masterbard and his apprentice.’ Dakar stopped struggling, appalled to unwonted seriousness. ‘They ask nothing more than license to practise their art. There’s not a town anywhere that wouldn’t welcome their