His questions remained unanswered for the moment. But he did, gradually, begin to see the shape of what was called “justice” in Valdemar. When a grievance was between a rich person and a poor one, it was settled in the favor of the poor one as often as not. In the villages of Karse, rich men had influence. No one wanted to get on their bad side, for the most part. They might be cordially loathed, but no one dared to offend them. At least, no one dared except the Sunpriests—but even they tended not to upset the best source of their golden tithes. So justice tended, especially in small matters, to weigh in on the side of the fellow with the most coin. And in the cities of Karse, “justice” was for open sale, as often as not.

But here, to his bemusement, justice was simply that.

But the poor man didn’t always win. Not when the poor man was in the wrong.

There was a case of a shabby, shifty-eyed fellow claiming that a merchant’s horse had trampled him and broken his leg, and the merchant’s coachman had agreed that, yes, that was what had happened—when the shifty fellow had thrown himself deliberately under the horse’s hooves.

That was when Mirilin glanced over at the Princess. “Truth Spell, please, Selenay,” he murmured.

:Watch this, Chosen,: Kantor said instantly. :This is important.:

Selenay nodded and closed her eyes, a tiny frown of concentration on her face. And slowly, a faint blue glow began to gather over the heads of both parties, growing stronger and stronger, until it stood out clearly even in the well-lit courtroom. Alberich kept his face expressionless, but he felt the hair standing up on the back of his neck. When anyone in Karse used magic—well, the only people who did were Sunpriests, and the very few times they ever did so outside of the inner sanctum of a temple, someone usually died…

“Now,” said Mirilin to the coachman. “Tell me again what happened, precisely.”

The coachman, an earnest old gentleman who kept his gaze fastened on Mirilin the entire time, repeated his story, virtually word-for-word, while the light about him glowed steadily. He didn’t even seem aware of it, although those in the courtroom who were paying attention to this case murmured with satisfaction.

“And now, sir, would you tell me what happened again?” Mirilin continued, with a courteous nod to the shabby fellow.

“Nah, lookit me leg!” the fellow bleated indignantly, gesturing at the limb in question, which was splinted and bound with clean rags—the only things that were clean about him. “Any’un with ’af an eye kin tell what’s what!”