Ravs Are Rarely Wrong: The Kinowenn Chronicles Vol III

by Rachel Ronning

  “Do you want to take any chances?” asked Justin. “What if using magic in the mountains attracts whatever the Shadow Weaver sent after us? If it can’t find anything using magic, perhaps it’ll return to its master. Do you want to meet whatever Ora had us run away from?”

  “Not particularly,” agreed Lucy with grimace.

  They walked a bit more before climbing again. Once at the top, they stopped for lunch. They sat down for a rest and finished the rabbit from last night, some travel bread, cheese, and avila slices. Lucy was glad for the break. Her muscles were sore. She was in decent shape, but climbing used entirely different muscles. Lunch was over all too soon, and they were up and moving again. Lucy wondered how long the journey underground would last, but at the same time, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. It would last as long as it had to.

  The air tasted stale. Lucy kept following Wisp. They wound back and forth in a narrow crevice, hiked up a steep incline, and came to a dead end. Lucy looked suspiciously at Wisp. Wisp gave her a wry smile and pointed down and to the side. Then, Lucy saw it. A hole about three feet high and three feet wide greeted her.

  “It gets bigger soon. Right?” asked Lucy.

  “No.” The brief, and matter-of-fact answer from Wisp made Lucy’s stomach drop. “It gets smaller first.”

  It definitely wasn’t what Lucy wanted to hear, but at least it was the truth.

  “You should be able to crawl most of the way. The guys will have to crouch lower, and Gavin will barely fit. Once we get through that part, it will be better,” explained Wisp.

  Lucy followed Wisp into the opening. It wasn’t too bad, but Lucy wasn’t looking forward to it getting worse. They crawled downhill for a bit, into an area that twisted and turned, and then reached a rocky area that shot up sharply. That part was more like climbing than crawling. Lucy was sweating and breathing hard. Just at the point everyone wanted more air, the hole became even smaller. The walls were literally closing in and Lucy felt like she couldn’t get a full breath. It was stuffy, oppressive, and quiet. The only sounds were the breathing and shuffling noises of her companions. She kept crawling and banged her head on the ceiling, hard. Blood dripped into her eyes, but she kept moving. What else could she do? She reminded herself the guys had it worse, but that didn’t help. She started to breathe faster.

  “Don’t panic. Keep crawling. It’ll be better soon,” Wisp’s soft voice carried back to her.

  Obviously Wisp had a different idea of what soon meant than Lucy did. Soon was about seventeen minutes ago. She tried to concentrate on slowing her breathing and not stopping. She wiped blood and sweat out of her eyes and kept moving. The walls narrowed again. Lucy was still crawling, but scrunched down, using her elbows instead of her palms and trying to keep her butt low. About the time when she couldn’t take much more, things got a little better. The ceiling was still pressing down uncomfortably close, but the walls widened, giving the illusion of space.

  “We’re though the worst of it. Not much farther and it will open up. We can stop there for the night,” said Wisp.

  Lucy kept crawling. Her leggings had holes in both knees, and Lucy was pretty sure her left knee was bleeding. At least she had more clothes in her pack. She could change when they stopped and magically mend these when they reached the other side. Too bad Justin couldn’t heal her knees until they passed through the mountains. The ceiling lifted enough for Wisp to walk bent over. Lucy wasn’t sure if that would be better than crawling but stood up anyway. At least it would use different muscles and wouldn’t damage her knees further. Soon, she was able to walk upright. After a mile or so more, they reached another spacious cavern. This was connected to the outside world somewhere because fresh air blew across Lucy’s face. She breathed it in gratefully, set down her pack, and stretched out her body. Wisp lit a fire, and everyone took the opportunity to clean out and bandage cuts and to change into non-ripped clothing.

  “We will sleep here, tonight,” Wisp told them in between bites of cheese.

  “Then what?” asked Taran.

  “There is a hole to the outside in the next cave. We will travel in the open for a few miles and then back into the caves.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to travel under the cover of darkness?” asked Gavin.

  Wisp shook her head, “Most of the creatures we’d rather avoid are nocturnal. The best time to travel in the mountains is during the day. The pass I will take you through usually doesn’t have enough mist for Shillocks and other fairies. That still doesn’t make the area safe by any means, and there may still be something sent by the Shadow Weaver to find you. We will want to move quickly so get as much rest as you can.”

  Lucy did not think she would sleep well at all. She was sore, both her muscles and her cuts. Also, despite spending the last few weeks sleeping on the ground, this cave was more uncomfortable than the soft, mossy earth they had become used to. Despite all that, she slept deeply and awoke still sore, but ready to travel. The quicker they were out of the mountains, the sooner she could use magic and continue on to the next step of their journey. She shouldered her pack and followed Wisp.

  It was early. Their cave exited into a valley, sixteen feet above a river. The sun hadn’t risen high enough to be visible over the mountain peaks. Those peaks were snow tipped and Lucy was glad they were in a valley and not trudging through snow. Lucy savored the taste of fresh air. It felt exhilarating to be outside again without being surrounded by mist. They carefully climbed down to the river, filled their water-skins, and then walked east parallel to the river. Wisp led the way, surefooted. Gavin walked with her, talking. Lucy was beside Taran while Justin brought up the rear.

  “You play beautifully,” Lucy told Taran.

  “Thank you. I usually take a sleeping audience as a compliment to my ability to relax them rather than as an insult.”

  Lucy laughed, “I’m glad. Justin told me you learned while staying with the Elves.”

  “Yes. We learned many things from the Elves. We were able to explore and study individual interests from masters. I enjoyed the time.”

  “It sounds like Justin was bothered by the way other Elves treated you because you were half Elven. Did it bother you?”

  “Not as much. When your own wife rejects you for things you have no control over, the sneer or aloofness of a stranger, or even a distant relative, doesn’t leave as deep a mark. Justin never had that experience, so it hurt him more. He thought leaving was better than living as we were, even if we were learning a lot. So, we left.”

  “Do you go back often?” wondered Lucy.

  “Not often. Periodically is probably the better word for it. Justin goes more often than I do. As you know, we have a good relationship with Tish. There are others we are friends with. I’m sure we are going to have to head there next.”

  “Justin said as much.”

  “You sound apprehensive,” commented Taran.

  “I’m very interested in meeting the Elves. I’ll admit I’m a little concerned about their opinion of me. I might want to study there someday. Making a good first impression would help, but I feel I’m already starting with several strikes against me. I’m human, a potentially dangerous magic user, can’t speak Elven, can barely sing nursery rhymes, and am showing up with bad news. It does not look promising.”

  “No. Perhaps it doesn’t. I’m not sure if showing up with us will help or hurt your cause. However, there are more important things in life than the approval of Elves. Don’t let them make you think any differently. Besides, Tish likes you. So does Allar. You’ve already proven that you can make a good impression on Elves. If you’re going to worry about something, worry about the Shadow Weaver.”

  “I was going to say thanks, but that last bit was hardly reassuring,” accused Lucy.

  Lucy stopped worrying about the Elves. There was nothing she could do about it right now. She also didn’t worry about the Shadow Weaver, though. For some reason, even thinking too much about it seemed da
ngerous. She did focus on enjoying the fresh air without the oversaturation of moisture. She enjoyed the crunch of rocks interspersed with grass under her feet rather than mushy ground. She enjoyed the sound of running water, and birds singing. Mostly she enjoyed being able to see. Her eyes didn’t grow tired trying to focus on things like they did in the mists. She could see in one direction until mountain peaks blocked her view and their path. Their brief foray into fresh air ended all too soon. Wisp gestured towards an opening in the wall. Lucy did not want to go back into the caves. She did however trust Ora, so back into the caves it would be until they were through the mountains. She took a last deep breath of fresh air and entered the cave.

  Returning into the closed off darkness was unnerving. In order to distract herself from the walls closing in and the lack of oxygen, she decided to try to find out more about Wisp. She figured it couldn’t hurt. Wisp wouldn’t tell Lucy anything she didn’t want to and it was better than counting how many steps it would take to get out of the caves.

  “How does one go about becoming an assassin?” Lucy asked.

  “You interested?” Wisp returned dryly.

  “Not even a little. I’m curious. Do you wake up one day and decide to kill people for money? Is it the kind of job that happens as an accident and continues for convenience?”

  “No. It’s the kind of profession that you fall into when life’s circumstances put you there.”

  “Do you mind telling me?” asked Lucy.

  She sensed more than saw Wisp’s shoulders shrug in the semi-darkness ahead of her.

  “I don’t suppose we will see each other often enough for it to matter either way, but your breathing indicates you could use a distraction so I’ll tell you some. Far to the east, beyond the plains, there is a desert. Many tribes live there. They migrate to follow the seasons, the animals, and the water. Most are peaceful. They understand how hard survival is and try not to infringe on other tribes’ ability to also survive. Each tribe is unique trading different goods, honing different skills, and discovering different secrets. To destroy a tribe is to destroy knowledge.

  “Other tribes are not so peaceful. There are war-bands that loot and kill rather than work. Our tribe was attacked one dawn. Most were killed, except the children. At the time I wondered why. We were captured, tied up, thrown over the backs of camels like packs, and taken deep into the desert. I was worried we would become slaves or sacrifices.”

  “I’m glad it wasn’t the latter,” commented Lucy. Then, she worried about interrupting.

  “Are you? I still haven’t decided if that might have been the better option,” Wisp mused, philosophically. “Deep in the desert, there is an oasis where a premier group of slave traders live. They call themselves Estarsa. They have outstanding deals with the war-bands. The Estarsians don’t simply collect and trade slaves, making a profit on the transaction. They prefer children. They break them, create them, train them, and sell them for an even greater profit. They have general categories including: gladiators, eunuchs, litter bearers, dancers, prostitutes, and assassins. From their wealthier clients, they will take specific orders.”

  “Why would you train a child to be an assassin?” asked Lucy confused.

  “Many reasons. As long as that child is trained to blend in, no one ever suspects them. A visiting ambassador is attended by an unobtrusive child slave. Suddenly, the heir to the throne is dead. No one suspects the child. People like to assume innocence of those they think should be innocent.”

  “That’s horrible,” said Lucy.

  “Yes, it is. Many horrible things happen every day. I was not considered pretty enough to be a dancer or a high-end prostitute. The beautiful ones are more profitable. It’s funny when you are thankful on a daily basis for being thought of as less attractive. I was placed with the assassins. We had training in weapons, combat, poisons, and disguise accompanied by lessons in languages, cultures, and decorum. They train you to be hard, a survivor. Your achievements are rewarded just enough to give you hope. Your failures are punished horribly. They find your weaknesses and fears. Their techniques either cure you of them or break you. A mentally broken, would-be assassin still has other options as a slave.

  “On your first assignment, they also give you a slow acting poison. You can complete your mission for your monetary reward and the antidote or die a painful death from poison and failure. You belong to them. They can rent you out to others to perform commissions or sell you. Eventually, I was able to buy my own freedom and now work freelance.”

  “Why continue?” wondered Lucy.

  “By the time I earned my freedom, I had a very specific skill set. After the horrors I’ve endured, killing someone else to maintain power isn’t as bad as it probably sounds.”

  “Power over others?”

  Wisp snorted. “Power over myself. Unless all power and choice are taken away from you, you can’t understand the power of choice. I have money. Money is freedom. I can dress how I choose, live how I choose, eat what I choose, take on contracts that I choose when I choose, travel where and how I choose, and disappear when I choose. There is a difference between being lonely and being alone. I find myself to be excellent company,” Wisp finished. Silence dropped around her like a shield. The conversation was over.

  Chapter 17

  Meanwhile, back in Lerramorre, Dulcie sighed.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Maya. “Don’t you like the color?” Maya gestured to the dress that was being fitted.

  “No, it’s not that. The dress is lovely. Really beautiful. I’ve never had a new dress, always ones my older sisters wore first. I didn’t know a fitting took so long.”

  “A well-made dress takes time,” said Maya with a small smile.

  “I see that, but I thought I would be learning magic, not lessons in proper posture, movements, hairstyles, and which fork to use at dinner,” said Dulcie with a frown.

  “I think I understand. I will teach you what magic I can and my friends will teach you more. However, to be a royal mage, you need to know much more than magic. A mage can be a very important asset. The king wants you groomed to be as valuable as possible. He may want you at important meetings or dinners to truth read others. Dressing right, standing tall, and eating with the proper fork exudes confidence and competence and elevates the king’s status in others’ eyes. You can make an impression solely by the way you walk into a room. An unassuming trick, such as casually lighting a candle, will make everyone tread lightly around you. Teaching you to defend yourself with knives is merely common sense and an attempt to keep you alive long enough to teach you everything else. You have the potential to be very important and live a life of luxury. Take advantage of it,” explained Maya.

  “That does make sense, when I stop to think about it,” agreed Dulcie. She thought a minute, then asked, “I’m a woman though. I know you are from elsewhere and act differently, but here, it is the men who matter. Will anyone take me seriously?”

  “Absolutely,” said Maya. “All men understand power. Even though men usually expect to be the ones in power, they will listen to others who wield it. You may have to prove you are powerful more often than you’d like but they will listen. Things are already starting to change here. Women are being given the chance to be archers. The classes on healing will help give women more status as well. Besides, not every land Lerramorre deals with is patriarchal. The Salmatinians would rather deal with a woman mage then a male minister any day. When I am done with you, everyone will take you seriously. So, you need to hold up your end of the bargain, learn, and make sure you have something to say worth listening to,” Maya winked.

  Dulcie nodded. She hadn’t considered lands outside Lerramorre. She was thinking of the intimidating trade minister. She did not want to talk to him. However, perhaps a female ambassador from a land with more equality would treat her with respect if she showed herself worthy and capable. As Maya had said, men did understand power. If she could learn enough powerful magic, even they would
take her seriously.

  “There is nothing wrong with multi-tasking. Unless the seamstress minds, I suggest you work on silently changing the colors of the ribbons and lace on your dress. As long as you don’t forget what color they are supposed to be,” suggested Maya.

  Dulcie smiled and Maya watched as the ribbons changed color from green, to purple, to maroon, to yellow. It was good practice and something that kept her mind busy while she stood still. Maya reminded herself to discuss with Dulcie the importance of watching what you say in the presence of others. Dulcie was not used to that. The seamstress could be simply a good seamstress, or she could be a spy. Better to be careful to begin with, than sorry later. Her thoughts were interrupted by Joss’s entrance. Maya swept him a low bow and smiled mischievously.

  “Cut that out. Can we talk in there?” Joss asked pointing to Maya’s bedroom. He sounded agitated.

  “Of course,” Maya replied, and swept imperiously towards the room. He followed and closed the door behind them.

  “By and by, was that my mage out there?” Joss pointed in the direction of Dulcie.

  “Yes, I wasn’t sure you noticed.”

  Joss opened the door and called out, “You look lovely. I like the ribbons better green. Glad to see you are learning something. Keep practicing.” Joss shut the door and turned to look at Maya. “Have you seen this?” he asked, motioning to a scroll in his hand, obviously irritated.

  “No,” said Maya, calmly.

  “It’s a marriage contract!”

  “For who?” asked Maya curiously.

  “For me of course.”

  “I guessed that, based on your reaction. You draw them up for others it was only a matter of time before someone drew one up for you.”

  “Ha ha,” replied Joss without humor.

  “Who’s the lucky girl?”

  “Kithra Bathrallma.”

  “The Bathrallmas again, interesting.”