[Lyra 05] - The Raven Ring

by Patricia C. Wrede - (ebook by Undead)

  “Take his offer,” Prill whispered in Eleret’s ear. “Daner’s good.”

  So it wasn’t an insult. Eleret looked at Daner and hesitated. She’d rather fight her own battles, no matter what Ciaronese custom was, but she didn’t want to return insult for an offer that had been kindly meant. She looked at Gorchastrin.

  “I apologize for the inconvenience,” Gorchastrin said in a strangled voice. “It was a mistake.”

  “Even so—” Daner began.

  “My lord, please consider,” the guard broke in. “The Grand Master is a foreigner, and unused to our ways.”

  “Well… if the lady is satisfied…?” Daner gave Eleret an inquiring look.

  “Since the Grand Master has admitted his mistake, I see no reason for you to fight him,” Eleret said carefully. And if he turns up a second time I’ll handle him myself, skirts or no skirts. He’ll never cry thief at a Cilhar again, once I’ve done with him.

  Daner lifted his hand from his sword-hilt. “Then I am content.”

  “If you wish to come to the corner guard post, Grand Master, I can continue investigating the theft of your bag,” the guard said.

  Gorchastrin transferred his glare to the guard. “I have no more time to spend on this petty matter. You may be sure, however, that your superiors will hear about the bungling treatment I have received.” He turned and swept off.

  “What was that about?” Prill said inquisitively. “And what are you doing with Freelady Salven, Lord Daner? Aren’t you supposed to be helping Nijole translate and classify those scrolls this morning? I don’t blame you for dodging her. Last time I saw her, she was in the room just off the library, swearing like a Kulseth fisherman with a knot in his line.”

  Daner clapped a hand to his forehead. “I forgot.”

  “That’s not going to chip any stone where Nijole’s concerned,” Prill said. “Now that you’re here…”

  “Yes, I understand.” Daner gave Eleret a significant glance. “But I had hoped—”

  “I would like to see Adept Climeral,” Eleret said. “Privately, if possible.”

  “I don’t think he has any appointments,” Prill said. “He was going over the reports from Napaura, and he hates that. He’ll be glad to be interrupted. Come on, I’ll take you. And you’d better get going, Lord Daner, or Nijole will really have something to say to you.”

  With a wry smile, Daner swept his hat off and bowed to Eleret. “I shall hope to have the pleasure of meeting you again, Freelady.”

  Eleret controlled the impulse to reply, Not if I can help it, and nodded awkwardly. Daner smiled, adjusted his hat, and strode off down the corridor, his scarlet cloak billowing behind him. Eleret rolled her eyes and turned to Prill, who was looking after Daner and shaking her head.

  “He’s really something, isn’t he?” Prill said, catching Eleret’s eye. “Climeral says he’s just a little spoiled and too sure of himself, and needs to be taken down a peg or two. How’d you meet him, anyway?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Oh? That’s unusual. Lord Daner’s got a reputation for moving fast.” Prill giggled. “On some things, anyway. Come on, you can tell me while we walk. Unless you’d rather not.”

  “He pushed into an argument that had nothing to do with him and then wouldn’t go away again,” Eleret said, falling into step beside Prill. She didn’t want to go into detail; she would have to explain too much. At least Prill’s reaction meant that Daner was probably not after Tamm’s kit.

  “Well, that doesn’t surprise me. Once he makes up his mind, he’s awfully persistent. You should have heard him pestering Nijole to teach him sorcery last year! She said some really terrible things to him, but he wouldn’t go away and he wouldn’t go away and finally she gave in.”

  “Thank you for letting me know,” Eleret said.

  Prill gave her a puzzled look.

  Suppressing a smile, Eleret explained solemnly, “If Lord Daner decides to pester me, I won’t try saying terrible things to him to make him go away, since you tell me that it won’t work. It will save a lot of time.”

  Prill laughed. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” She stopped and knocked at a door, then opened it and stuck her head inside before there was time for a response. “Adept? Eleret Salven’s back and wants to see you. I thought you’d want to know.”

  “You are an undisciplined minx, but unfortunately for discipline you are also quite right.” The amusement in Climeral’s voice was clear despite the muffling effect of the partly closed door. “Bring her in.”

  Eleret nodded her thanks to Prill and went in. Climeral was sitting behind a paper-strewn table that reminded Eleret of the one in Commander Weziral’s office. “Welcome, Freelady Salven,” he said as she sat down across from him. “I had not expected to see you again so soon.”

  “Didn’t you?” Eleret said.

  Climeral smiled. “Should I have?” Then the smile vanished and his eyes narrowed to slanted slits. “You think so. What is it that you believe I should have known and told you of on your first visit here?”

  “Someone has been trying to steal my mother’s things,” Eleret answered. “Didn’t Commander Weziral tell you?”

  “No,” Climeral said, frowning. “Is he certain?”

  “He may not be certain, but I am,” Eleret said. “I had some trouble on my way here.” Swiftly, she described Gorchastrin’s accusation and his attempt to have the kit bag turned over to him.

  “You seem to have handled the matter well,” Climeral said when she finished.

  “Thank you,” Eleret said. “But I’m not sure I would be so lucky another time. I don’t know enough about the way you do things in Ciaron.”

  “If you are wise enough to admit that, you will probably manage better than most.”

  “Probably doesn’t suit me. Especially if there’s a chance trouble is going to follow me all the way home.”

  “What is it you want, then?”

  “You said when I arrived that you could supply a guide for me, someone who knew his way around Ciaron. Could you find someone who has traveled a little between here and the Mountains of Morravik? Someone who’d be handy in a fight, and who can leave the city with me tonight or tomorrow? I’ll pay whatever is reasonable,” Eleret added, thinking of the money tied up in her sash.

  “An excellent idea.” Climeral thought for a moment, then began to smile. “Payment won’t be necessary. I know just whom to send, and if he agrees, paying him a fee would be like giving beer to a brewmaster. Tonight or tomorrow? I’ll send someone to the Broken Harp this evening, then. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Yes,” Eleret said. “I’m worried about my family. If someone’s after Ma’s things, he might be smart enough to light out for home ahead of me. Gralith said you’d gotten him word of Ma’s death without waiting for a messenger. Could you do that again, for a message from me? Just to tell them what’s happened, and that there might be trouble. I’d feel more comfortable if I knew that nobody was likely to catch Pa and Nilly and Jiv by surprise.”

  “Of course I can,” Climeral said. “I’ll ask Gralith to keep an eye on them, too, if you’d like. He has certain skills—”

  “Magic, you mean? No, I don’t think so. Pa doesn’t hold with mixing up magic in a fight.”

  “What if his opponents do not feel the same?” Climeral asked skeptically.

  “Oh, I’ll back Pa against a wizard any day,” Eleret said, smiling at the thought. “As long as he knows what he’s up against, anyway, which is why I asked about sending him a message. Besides, I wouldn’t want your folk to get mixed up in our trouble.”

  Climeral’s eyebrows rose. “I appreciate the consideration, but I hope you are not expecting too much of your family. Forgive me for asking, but have you or your father ever faced magic?”

  “Pa ran up against wizards a time or two during the Syaski wars,” Eleret replied. “He says they cause a bit more damage than ordinary people, tossing spells around, but a
n arrow in the right place kills them as dead as anyone else. He’ll manage.”

  Climeral shook his head in amazement. “You have a unique viewpoint. I wish I could in conscience persuade you to stay in Ciaron for a few more days so we could talk, but under the circumstances—”

  “I’d rather start back as soon as I can,” Eleret told him with real regret as she rose to leave. “But perhaps I can visit your island someday.”

  “I’ll hope so,” Climeral said. “Good fortune to you, and may the Third Moon light your path.”

  “My thanks,” Eleret said, wondering briefly how a nonexistent moon could light anything at all. She nodded and went out. She found Prill waiting to escort her back to the main door, and persuaded her to take her to a different exit, in case Gorchastrin was still watching the front entrance. In a few moments she was on the street once more. She kept a sharp watch all the way back to the inn, but this time no one followed her or attempted to stop her, and she reached her room without incident.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  No one occupied the front room at the Broken Harp when Eleret came through it on her way to her quarters. Inside, she inspected the chamber quickly but thoroughly, then barred the door. As she dropped the kit bag on the bed, she breathed a sigh of relief. After all that had happened, she had been half afraid she would find someone waiting in her room.

  Eleret shook her head. She had thought that once she collected her mother’s things everything would be simple; instead, matters seemed to grow more complicated by the minute. Who was Gorchastrin? Was he working with the unpleasant and overeager Maggen, or did they each have a different reason for wanting Tamm’s kit? Was either of them behind the attempts to break into Commander Weziral’s office, or was that the work of yet another person? And what, exactly, were all of them after?

  Frowning, she opened the kit and dumped its contents on the straw-stuffed pallet. Perhaps if she took a closer look, she would find some clue. She had not had time at Weziral’s office to examine everything as carefully as she would have liked.

  She began with the kit itself. It was the same one Tamm always carried whenever she left the mountains. The leather was a little more faded and one of the thongs had been replaced, but that was all. It even had the same smell, a blend of trail dust and old leather and the slightly rancid oil Tamm had insisted on using to keep it supple.

  The outline of the bag blurred, and Eleret had to pause and blink the tears from her eyes. Stop that, she told herself fiercely. You have a task to finish. She raised her eyes to the corner of the ceiling and kept them there, forcing herself to think about Maggen and Gorchastrin, until the burning ache of unshed tears subsided. Then she took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and returned doggedly to her work.

  An oblong whetstone seemed a safe enough item to examine next; one couldn’t get too sentimental over a stone. It looked perfectly ordinary, and Eleret began to feel more composed. There was a depression down the center, where years of metal stroking along it had worn the stone away. Years… Eleret remembered her mother sitting before the fire, knives and arrowheads laid ready to hand, telling the story of the duel between Morravik and the Varnan wizard Ilarna del Bifromar, with the hiss of steel against stone as a steady accompaniment. She dropped the stone as if it had turned red-hot in her hand, and reached blindly for something else.

  Her hand closed on a wad of wool stockings knotted around something hard. Slowly, she unwound them and found a wooden spoon, short and thick and square, made for eating from rather than for stirring the pot. Her father had carved it to replace the last one Tamm had broken, just before she left. Eleret remembered the two of them laughing about it, and her father’s warning to Tamm to take better care of this one. Apparently, Tamm had tried. Eleret stared at the spoon, and suddenly her tears welled up and spilled over.

  This time, control was impossible. Wrenching sobs shook her until she could breathe only in harsh gasps. Tears burned her eyes and cheeks. Her mind seemed to split in two, half of it swept away by the unexpected wave of grief, the other half coldly calculating how loudly she could cry without being heard outside the room. She stuffed a fist into her mouth to muffle the sound and rocked back and forth where she sat, while the grieving half of her mind chanted, Never again, you’ll never laugh with her again, she’ll never tell stories again, never give you advice you don’t want, never, never again…

  A long time later, Eleret stopped crying. Her eyes were sore, and the room seemed too bright and sharp to look on comfortably. Her lips tasted of salt, her nose was too stuffed up to breathe through, and her face felt hot and prickly. She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands, wondering with a kind of desperation how much time was left before the mid-afternoon meal. If she looked as ravaged as she felt, it might be hours before she could be sure that her face no longer revealed too much.

  Eleret swallowed, blinked, and looked down. She caught a glimpse of the scattered belongings on the bed and in an instant was halfway to tears once more. Hastily, she averted her eyes, rising as she turned away. She had to find something else to do, something to occupy her mind for a few minutes while she regained her composure. She reached for the pitcher and washbasin on the table beside the window.

  Water sloshed over the lip of the pitcher as Eleret began to pour; the innkeeper’s wife had filled it too full. Eleret ignored the puddle on the tabletop and the dampness dribbling down the front of her skirt. When the washbasin was half-full, she set the pitcher down, shut her eyes, and plunged her face into the tepid water. She held her position until her lungs ached for air, then straightened, gasping and spraying water in all directions. In her haste she inhaled a drop of water and began to cough.

  When she could breathe freely again, Eleret looked at the soggy mess on and around the table and gave a wavery chuckle. She couldn’t have done any worse if she’d dropped the pitcher or tipped the basin over. She brushed dripping tendrils of hair away from her face with one hand and reached for the towel with the other.

  Cleaning up the spill did not take long, but by the time she finished, Eleret’s skirt was nearly as wet as the towel. She took it off and spread it over the end of the bed, then frowned. The only other clothes she had were the ones she had brought from the mountains. Anyone familiar with Cilhar garb would recognize her full green leggings and soft knee-high boots, even if she pulled her shirt down into a sort of tunic that would cover the top. Eleret shrugged. She had no real choice. She would just have to stay inside, out of sight, until the skirt was dry.

  Eleret pulled her own kit out from beneath the bed and started to untie it, then stopped short. The knot was the same one she had used, but it was tied backward. The left-hand thong should have been looped, with the right crossing over and around; instead, the right thong was looped, with the left crossing over and around. Someone had opened the kit while she was out.

  Slowly, Eleret untied the thongs and unlaced the flap. The things inside lay just as she had left them, neatly folded and placed to fill the bag as efficiently as possible. One by one, she lifted them out, then shook the empty kit to make certain nothing had been hidden in the bottom. Nothing had. She packed everything up again, wondering whether she was imagining things, then reached for the thongs. No, she would never have tied them that way; it felt awkward and unnatural, and she had to think about every move. Someone else had tied that knot.

  Eleret sat back on her heels, fingering the hilt of her knife. Who could it have been? She considered briefly and then dismissed the possibility that the innkeeper or his wife had been snooping; the careful repacking of her kit was unlikely to be the result of casual curiosity. Climeral and Prill were the only people in Ciaron who knew where she was… except for the woman who had followed her from the school. What had she called herself? Jonystra, that was the name. And she had asked about small, old things, like seals and rings….

  With a muffled exclamation, Eleret opened her right hand and peered at the raven ring. She turned it on her finger s
o that the stone was outward, as it should be; then she sat staring. The silver gleamed, untarnished, but the black stone seemed to drink up whatever light fell on it, no matter how she turned it. She felt like a fool for taking so long to connect it with Jonystra’s cryptic remarks. She stroked the carved raven gently with her fingertip, as if by doing so she could learn what made the ring so important to Jonystra and perhaps others.

  What had Tamm told her about the ring? The raven was for protection, she remembered that much, and the black stone was for night and shadow. The silver setting meant something, too, but try as she would she could not remember what. It had been handed down from mother to daughter or granddaughter ever since Geleraise Vinlarrian had come to the Mountains of Morravik seven hundred and some-odd years ago, to settle among the Cilhar. “Our good-luck charm,” Tamm had called it, though the luck it had brought her seemed to Eleret to have been of the other variety.

  Once more, Eleret turned her hand to catch light on the raven ring; then she shrugged and twisted the ring so that the seal rested against her palm. She wasn’t learning anything by looking at it, and she doubted that Jonystra would be willing to explain her interest. Perhaps Climeral would know something about it—no, she was being foolish. She couldn’t expect Climeral to have all the answers she needed just because he was a Shee and a magician. Eleret sighed. Her curiosity would simply have to go unsatisfied.

  Feeling as if she had settled something, however temporarily, Eleret put on her leggings and boots. She was surprised at how much better she felt in her normal dress. She thought for a moment, then went over to the bed and picked up Tamm’s embroidered knife-sheath. With a little work, she could adapt it to wear on her right leg, and she was beginning to think that the more weapons she had handy, the better.