The Raven Ring

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “Thank you,” Weziral said. “Now, Lord Daner, I believe Hara interrupted you. If you would finish your story…?”

  Judging from the look on Daner’s face, he would have preferred not to, but courtesy compelled him to resume his tale. The Commander insisted on a far more detailed account than he had asked of Eleret. He was especially interested in the Syaski style of swordplay, and made Daner give a blow-by-blow description of each thrust and countermove.

  After a few minutes, Eleret stopped listening. The sword was not her best weapon, and normally she would have paid close attention in hopes of learning, but the terms the Ciaronese used were unfamiliar. She found it impossible to follow the conversation without interrupting constantly for explanations—what was the Pirate’s Parry?—and she did not want to break Weziral’s chain of thought. So she let the Ciaronese talk, and considered what she should do next.

  Returning to the Broken Harp seemed like a bad idea, even if Jonystra was the only one of Eleret’s pursuers who knew of her presence there. With Tamm’s wages and death fee under her belt, she could afford a room somewhere else, but she didn’t like that idea much, either. Inns were a bad place for a defense if it came to real trouble, and if someone had told other Syaski about her, real trouble was sure to come. Perhaps she could spend the night at Adept Climeral’s school. Safety was more important than a comfortable bed; she could sleep on the floor in the hallway if there was no other room.

  Weziral finished with Daner and went on to Charis and Sunnar. Their story took less time than Daner’s, and Weziral seemed less interested in quizzing them about the details. When they were done, he smiled and said, “Thank you both. I won’t keep you from your duties any longer. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you not to mention what you’ve learned here.”

  “Then why did you?” Sunnar asked.

  Charis jabbed an elbow at his ribs. “Sunnar! Don’t be difficult. We understand, Commander. We’ll have to put some of it in our report, of course, but I’ll see that it goes through the, um, longest possible official channels.”

  “Right,” Sunnar said, nodding. “It’ll be weeks before anyone bothers to look at it.”

  There was a choking sound from the corner as Hara tried to swallow a laugh. Weziral’s lips twitched.

  “Very good,” he said. “Hara, see them to the gate, would you? And make sure you mark them down for a special commendation and bonus.”

  Hara paused. “Yes, Commander. Ah, Imperial bonuses for City Guards are normally handled through the City Liaison’s office.”

  “Not this time.” Weziral gave his aide a long look. “Handle it yourself.”

  “Yes, Commander. This way, please.”

  As the three left the room, Weziral turned to Eleret. “Freelady Salven, after what has happened today, it seems unwise for you to go back to whatever inn you have been living in, but I’ll be happy to help you make other arrangements. I wish I could offer you a cot in the barracks, but they’re full right now. Recruits, just before heading out to reinforce the western border.”

  “I understand,” Eleret assured him. “I’ll stay at Adept Climeral’s school, if they’ll let me.”

  “Nonsense,” Daner broke in with great firmness. “You’re coming home with me.”

  Weziral’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Is she now, Lord Daner?”

  Daner’s cheeks reddened slightly. “To my family’s home. My mother and sisters will be happy to have her, and it’s one of the safest places in Ciaron if Lord Ovrunelli has his nets out.”

  “Ah, yes.” Weziral looked suddenly pensive. “That hadn’t occurred to me. You’re quite right. But—forgive me for asking, Lord Daner—why are you willing to do this?”

  To Eleret’s surprise, Daner glanced at her and hesitated. “I promised Climeral I’d do my best to see that El—that Freelady Salven stayed safe.”

  “I see. We’ll leave it there.” Weziral looked at Eleret and smiled as if his thoughts amused him. “I’ll send word tomorrow morning when we’ve gotten hold of Maggen. Would you care for an escort as far as the west castle road, my lord? No, I thought not. Well, you shouldn’t have any more difficulties if you stick to the main streets. Give you good day, my lord, Freelady.”

  TEN

  ONCE THEY WERE ON the street again, Daner shook off his preoccupation and led her west, toward Castle Hill. The Emperor’s palace was a blurry patch of black against the shifting glow of the setting sun, and the people who filled the streets moved less briskly but with more purpose than they had earlier in the day. The salt-scented breeze off the Melyranne Sea had diminished, allowing the strong odors of cooking fish and warm horse dung to take over the city air. Eleret wrinkled her nose, wondering once again how the Ciaronese stood it.

  “You get used to it after a while,” Daner said, and for a moment Eleret was afraid she had spoken aloud without realizing it. Then Daner smiled and added, “I always notice the smell when I come back from a trip, but after a day or two I’m not even aware of it anymore.”

  “It would take me more time than that, and I don’t plan to stay so long.”

  “After the way things have been going today, I can’t blame you.” He gave her a sidelong glance that she could not interpret. “I wasn’t lying to Commander Weziral, you know. My mother really does enjoy having visitors.”

  Daner seemed to expect some sort of reply, but Eleret had no idea what. She nodded without speaking, hoping he would interpret the gesture as the right response.

  “No, really,” Daner said. “And I’m sure my sisters will like you.”

  Still confused, Eleret nodded again. Daner sighed. “Look, it won’t be that bad! Father doesn’t like formality, so you won’t have court manners to deal with. Toricar and Uncle Panasci are with the Emperor’s delegation to Brydden, so you won’t even meet them. And my mother and my sisters will be happy to have you.”

  Eleret looked away to hide her smile. Daner thought she was worried about meeting his family! She could not resist saying in a mournful tone, “I’m sure they will.”

  “It’s only for one night!”

  “I know.”

  “Maybe you’d feel more comfortable if you went back to that inn you were staying at,” Daner said in tones that made it clear how much he doubted it, “but it isn’t safe. You must see that.”

  “Of course I see that,” Eleret said, frowning. “What I don’t see is why you’re sure your family’s home will be so much safer than the Imperial Guard barracks or the school of the Island of the Third Moon.”

  “It’s politics,” Daner said, as if that was all the explanation she would want or need.

  “That’s plain enough,” Eleret told him. “What I want is a detail or two.”

  “Oh. Right. Well, it’s because of Lord Ovrunelli…”

  Daner’s explanation took nearly the whole of the walk, and Eleret had to keep prompting him with questions whenever his summary became too general. What it amounted to was that Lord Ovrunelli couldn’t or wouldn’t interfere directly with another noble household unless he went through a complicated procedure that sounded as if it would take weeks. The Imperial barracks had no such immunity, and, since it was run by foreigners, neither did the Islanders’ school. It all reminded Eleret of the sword-sanctuary customs in the mountains, except that those made sense.

  As they drew nearer to the palace, the street grew wider and less crowded, and Eleret breathed a little easier. Litters went by several times, all of them with drawn curtains. There were more men in brightly colored cloaks and hats with long feathers, more women in shin-length silk dresses and finely tooled leather boots. Twice, Daner paused to make invisible adjustments to his cloak, though the few disapproving looks Eleret noticed seemed directed more at her than him.

  Finally Daner stopped in front of an oak door banded with iron. He rapped once, and immediately a small panel opened at eye level. Eleret caught a glimpse of dark eyes surrounded by deep wrinkles, and then she heard a sharp intake of breath. The pan
el snapped shut, something scraped loudly along the inside of the door, and then the door swung open.

  The weather-worn man holding the door bowed. “Welcome home, my lord. We weren’t expecting you.”

  “I know, Bresc,” Daner said, stepping into the small entry room. “It’s nothing. This is Freelady Salven; she’ll be staying the night. She’s to be given full guest courtesy. Pass the word, will you?”

  “Very good, my lord,” the man said. As Eleret entered, he gave her a look that took in not only the two kit bags but also the places where her skirt hung oddly over her raven’s-feet and her unsheathed dagger. Eleret’s opinion of him rose.

  Then he bowed again and closed the door behind them, and they went on inside.

  A narrow, crooked corridor led away from the entry room to another door. Beyond was a stone flight of spiral stairs, dimly lit by the overflow from some stronger light high above. Daner went first, climbing with the unthinking ease of long practice. He did not even scrape his sword against the outer wall as he moved around and around the tight, steep turns.

  They climbed past a short, wide door and went on up. Daner opened the next door they came to and went through instead of continuing the ascent. Eleret gave a quiet sigh of relief. The shadows and the closeness of the walls around the stairs made her feel as if she were lost in a cave, with her torch running out and the mountains pressing down above her. She told herself not to be silly, and followed Daner out of the stairwell.

  The room beyond was a shocking contrast. Eleret squinted in the sudden light, taking in the tapestry-draped walls and the high ceiling. Bowls of fresh flowers and delicate porcelain statuettes stood on tables draped with lace and surrounded by thin-legged wooden chairs overflowing with embroidered silk pillows. Even the lamps looked fragile, with filigree bases and narrow necks. What an awful place for a fight, Eleret thought.

  As they stepped into the room, a group of women rose like startled quail from a cluster of chairs in front of the hearth, scattering pillows and bits of embroidery thread across the floor. Three of them, ranging in apparent age from seventeen to twenty-five, rushed forward with delighted cries and crowded around Daner. The remaining two—a short, plump, grim-faced matron and a taller and happier-looking woman of middle years—approached more slowly. All of the women wore floor-length tunics similar to the one Jonystra Nirandol had had on when Eleret had last seen her, but these were of finer materials more elaborately embroidered.

  “Girls, behave yourselves,” the tall woman said as she drew nearer. Her tunic was a soft blue-gray silk, and the embroidery around the square neckline glittered in the lamplight. “Daner, my love, what a pleasant surprise. And so unexpected.”

  “Hello, Mother,” Daner said, shedding eager young women in all directions as he bent to kiss her hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you I’d be home tonight, but I didn’t know myself until half an hour ago.”

  “Then you’re forgiven.” She looked past Daner, and her twinkling gray eyes met Eleret’s. “I don’t believe we’ve met, my dear. I’m—”

  “The unfortunate mother of an unmannerly lout,” Daner broke in. “Mother, this is Freelady Eleret Salven.”

  Morravik’s death! Eleret thought, I should have told him not to use that title. It was too late now, though, and from the various startled looks the ladies were giving her it was plain that every last one of them had identified her as a Cilhar on the strength of it.

  “Eleret, this is my mother, Lady Laurenzi tir Vallaniri,” Daner went on. “And my aunt, Lady Kistran Vallaniri; my sisters, Lady Laurinel Trantorino, Lady Raqueva, and Lady Metriss.”

  Eleret nodded in acknowledgment of each name. Lady Kistran was the grim-looking matron; her expression did not lighten in the least as she swept her eyes up and down Eleret like a group-captain looking for a betraying glint of metal before a night foray. As Daner finished his introduction, she sniffed and raised a hand to stroke a necklet of beaten gold that must have cost as much as six workhorses and a sword of Sadorthan steel.

  Lady Laurinel—or was it Lady Trantorino?—was a sweet-faced blonde in her mid-twenties who returned a smile for Eleret’s nod, then glanced uncertainly at her aunt.

  In contrast, Lady Raqueva eyed Eleret with the same open evaluation as Lady Kistran, but with less hostility. Her hair was darker than her elder sister’s, and she had a more determined set to her jaw. “Freelady? You’re a Cilhar, then?”

  “Yes, Lady Raqueva,” Eleret said, hoping she had gotten the designation right. From Daner’s behavior and their own, she could see that there was a hierarchy among these women as strict as the order of officers in a full assault call-up, but she could not puzzle out exactly how it worked. Why couldn’t Daner have told her something useful on the walk there, instead of jabbering on about how much they would like her? But that was unjust; after all, she hadn’t thought to ask about forms of address any more than he had thought to mention them.

  “How interesting,” said Lady Metriss, the seventeen-year-old. She carried herself as if someone had stuck a steel-clad arrow down her back, and her tone was one of polite boredom. “Is that what they’re wearing in the mountains this spring?”

  “Not now, Riss.” Lady tir Vallaniri cast a reproving glance at her youngest daughter, then turned to Eleret. “It’s a pleasure to have you with us, Freelady Salven. Will you be staying for dinner?”

  “She’ll be staying the night, Mother,” Daner said before Eleret could reply. “I’m sorry to spring it on you like this, but it’s necessary.”

  All five women turned their heads to stare at Eleret with varying degrees of astonishment.

  “Necessary?” Lady Kistran invested the word with an amazing amount of skepticism. “And just why is it ‘necessary’?”

  “Politics, Aunt,” Daner said.

  Curiosity left all five faces like water running out of an overturned bucket. “Very well, Daner,” Lady tir Vallaniri said. “You can discuss it with your father after dinner.”

  “And with Baroja,” Lady Kistran put in swiftly. “I trust you will be able to satisfy them.”

  “Cousin Baroja is going to be here tonight?” Plainly, Daner was not much taken with the idea.

  “Yes, he and your aunt are staying to dinner,” his mother said. Eleret thought she heard a warning note below the casual tone, but she did not know Lady Laurenzi tir Vallaniri enough to be sure. Suddenly she felt as if she stood on rotten spring ice, where a solid-seeming trail might give way underfoot without warning, and she had no way to find the safe path.

  Daner’s mother turned her head toward her daughters and went on. “Lauri, will you show Freelady Salven to her room? The west corner upstairs, I think. She’ll want a few minutes to refresh herself before we eat.”

  Lady Laurinel, the eldest and friendliest-looking of the sisters, smiled. “Of course, Mother. Freelady?”

  A bit uncertainly, Eleret followed Laurinel down the length of the room to the far door. She would have preferred a few moments alone with Daner to get a fast report on the things she needed to know about his family, but that did not look possible. Getting away from the lot of them was the next best thing; she couldn’t misstep if she wasn’t there.

  As they reached the door, Laurinel scooped a small lamp from the table beside it. Holding it high, she led Eleret down a wide hall to another staircase. This one was made of broad oak boards and rose in three short, straight flights to the next floor.

  “It’s just around the corner,” Lady Laurinel said as she stepped into the upstairs hallway. “I’m sure you’ll—”

  “Mother!” Halfway down the hall, a door flew open. Automatically, Eleret reached for her dagger, then relaxed as a small blue-clad whirlwind rushed toward them. A belated cry of protest followed, and a moment later a tall, gaunt woman appeared in the doorway.

  “Drioren, come back here at once!” the woman called. Then she saw Laurinel, and sucked her breath in so strongly that even from where she stood Eleret could hear the soft hissing sound. “My
lady! I do beg your pardon, my lady. The young lord is a rare catch today, and no mistake.”

  “She wants me to take a nap,” the small person informed them. “I don’t want a nap. I want a story. Will you tell me a story, Mother?” He raised wide gray eyes and smiled winningly.

  “Not right now, Drioren,” Lady Laurinel said. “I have a duty. But you may come with me, if you like.”

  Drioren tilted his head, plainly suspicious. “What kind of duty?”

  “I must show your grandmother’s guest to her room, and see that she is comfortable.”

  “Oh, that’s all right, then.” Drioren smiled at his mother again. “Yes, please, I would like to come with you, Mother.”

  “My lady, you should not encourage him to disobey,” the gaunt woman said stiffly.

  “Should I not?” Lady Laurinel said in a soft, cool voice.

  The gaunt woman’s eyes dropped. “Beg pardon, my lady, I’m sure.”

  “Very good,” Laurinel said in the same soft tone. “Now, be so good as to fetch a washbasin to the west chamber for our guest. Drioren will be with us when you bring it.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Laurinel smiled. “You may go.” She took her son’s hand and started down the hall. As the gaunt woman turned away, a flash of anger, almost hatred, crossed her face. Once again, Eleret had the feeling of unfamiliar hazards lurking below a thin crust of polite formality. It was a good thing she was not going to be here long.

  As they walked down the hall, Drioren threw several curious looks over his shoulder at Eleret. Finally he tugged on his mother’s hand and asked in a clear, piercing whisper, “Mother, who’s she?”

  Laurinel paused, then turned. “Forgive me, Drioren, I should have presented you. Freelady Salven, this is my son, the young Lord Drioren Trantorino. Drioren, your greeting.”