brothers or sisters, no extended family in Streamwood. That’s one of the reasons I left for Sunhame, thinking I could make something of myself in the capital.”
“And so you have. Assistant to a circuit judge is a respected position.”
The two guards following behind, fully armed and appearing quite able to handle any situation that grew out of control, laughed at some joke passed between them. Levron closed his eyes briefly. The road hadn’t changed since the last time he passed over it, only then riding in the opposite direction. The scents of the fields on either side were the same, the fall of the sunlight on those fields. A fleeting memory surfaced, taking him back to the days he lived in this region of Karse, of a childhood and young adulthood spent coming and going in the area. Despite his effort to remain unaffected, he admitted this would be no easy homecoming. His parents lay buried on the hill behind the chapel. The friends he left behind would not be the same. And he had changed as well.
Someone long ago said you could never go home again. Less than a candlemark’s ride ahead lay possible confirmation of that saying. He wasn’t certain what he would find, or even what he expected. If nothing else, his return to Streamwood would prove interesting, to say the least.
Perran stood in the center of the room he and Levron had been granted at the inn. It was obviously one of the best, reserved for those who could afford the price. Naturally, he would not be charged during his stay, which he hoped would not be lengthy. His two guards occupied the room next door, smaller but still more than accommodating. The citizens of Streamwood had gone out of the way to make his visit a pleasant one.
He settled in one of the chairs by the open windows, watching Levron unpack their belongings. Levron was trying his best to appear unconcerned, but Perran knew better. This journey wore on him more than he would admit. Not that Perran could ignore the significance of Levron’s return. Though he thought he would be of no help since he was known in town, Perran considered the benefits of having him as a companion.
“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Did you see anyone you know?”
Levron paused, shaking the folds from Perran’s formal robes. “A few,” he admitted.
“I thought so. I noticed several people look twice in your direction as we rode by.”
“When is the trial to begin?”
“Tomorrow, midmorning. Here is what I want you to do.”
Levron’s face went blank. “But I won’t be able to disappear into the woodwork; too many people know me.”
“That’s my hope. We have the rest of the afternoon and evening. Since it would only seem natural, I’d like you to go out and wander around a while. See what you can find. Surely, there are a few people you might want to contact since some time has passed since you left Streamwood. I don’t think anyone would find that out of place.”
An uncomfortable expression tightened Levron’s eyes. “I suppose. But they’ll all be aware I ride with you. That fact alone won’t loosen their tongues.”
Perran laughed quietly. “On the contrary. I think they’ll be interested in asking what you’ve been doing since you left and how you ended up in my company. Once you start talking, I’ll wager they’ll lower whatever guard they’ve erected out of sheer curiosity.”
And so it was that Levron entered a tavern he’d frequented before he left Streamwood. True to Perran’s supposition, several people nodded to him as he took his place at a table situated toward the rear of the room. He requested a cup of ale and sat quietly, nursing his drink. A few former associates stopped by, exchanged brief greetings, and questioned him as to his new station in life. But for the most part, he was left alone. It was apparent no one was overly interested in a former resident of the town, though he was certain word of his arrival with Perran had begun to spread.
“Levron!”
The familiar but strangely unfamiliar voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked up from his cup into the face of a tall man who stood by the table, a smile on his narrow face. For a moment, the features of the newcomer wavered between that of years past and that of the present; the man’s name, however, was all too familiar.
“Barro.” Levron indicated an empty chair. Memories flashed through his mind, not all of which were particularly pleasant.
“I couldn’t believe it when I saw you,” Barro said, waving to the barmaid for a cup of ale. “You’ve come up in the world.”
Levron made a dismissing gesture. “Perhaps. Assistant to a traveling judge is hardly an exalted position.”
“So you say.” Barro took a long sip of his drink. “You know I’m to go to trial tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“And do you know why?”
“Not really. Only in the broadest sense.”
“Well, let me give you the details. Perhaps you can offer some advice.”
“That,” Levron said, keeping his voice expressionless, “is the last thing I can do. I’m only a judge’s assistant. I don’t know the law.”
Barro’s eyes narrowed. “Not even for an old friend?”
“Not even for an old friend. As I said, I don’t know the law. I’d hate to give you advice that wouldn’t help and might harm.”
“Then hear me out and maybe you’ll change your mind. You know Trika?”
Know Trika? Levron managed a shrug. “Of course.”
“Here’s what happened. I’ve been half in love with her for years.”
“You and the rest of Streamwood,” Levron observed, uncomfortably aware he could count himself in that crowd.
“Hunh. I own a fabric shop and haven’t done badly for myself. I thought I might be of standing enough to court Trika.” His face darkened. “But she was already being courted.”
“Let me guess,” Levron interrupted, unable to stay disinterested. “Haivel.”
“Haivel. That coddled papa’s boy!” Barro swallowed the rest of his ale, his eyes gone hard. “He was always around her, pestering her father for more and more access to her company.”
“And you?”
“I kept my distance, making it obvious I was interested as well. In fact, I went out of my way to give her father discounts on any fabric his wife wanted to purchase. I was never overt in my actions and, as they say, patience pays off. After spending most of her time with Haivel, Trika decided she preferred to see me.”
Levron could tell where this was going. He knew all three individuals involved: Barro, the man who worked tirelessly to better himself; Haivel, whose parents had given him a small shop where he had set himself up as a scribe; and, of course, Trika, the beauty of Streamwood. Trika the Tease. Trika, the woman who, adhering to the customs of Karse, had been allowed to be courted by men her father deemed worthy.
“You know Haivel,” Barro continued, lifting his empty cup in the barmaid’s direction. “He didn’t take this well at all. The more time Trika spent with me, the more upset Haivel grew. I think he was eaten up with jealousy. And finally, he couldn’t accept the way things were and damaged my latest shipment of cloth.”
“Oh? And you saw this?”
“I did. He came around just before dark. I was finishing the last of my orders. I’d gone to the rear of the shop when I heard the door open. I came back to the front in time to see Haivel throw a bucket of paint over the latest bolt of fine cloth I’d ordered from Sunhame! You have no idea how much that cloth cost. It was ruined. Haivel laughed at me—laughed at me—and ran out of the shop.”
Levron leaned back in his chair. “I’m surprised. I didn’t think Haivel was that sort.”
“Well, he is. You haven’t been in town for years and haven’t seen the change in him. I immediately went to the authorities and made my report.”
“Did they arrest Haivel?”
Barro’s face darkened. “They talked to him. He denied everything. He said he had a witness who would swear he was nowhere near my shop that night.”
“And his father took his side?”
“Of course. Dear Haivel, beloved only son, who couldn’t have done anything so dishonest.”
“So you’re taking the case to court.”
Barro squared his shoulders. “I am. Now, old friend, any advice?”
