[Lyra 03] - Shadow Magic Read online

  Shadow Magic

  Lyra - 03

  Patricia C. Wrede

  CHAPTER ONE

  The caravan wound slowly through the woods along the riverbank and broke at last into the fields surrounding the city. Except for a few wooden shelters near the gates, the city itself was invisible behind massive walls. Not even the roof of a tower showed above the smooth grey stone.

  Though they were now within sight of their goal, the dust-covered guards continued to ride restlessly up and down the long chain of wagons, watching field and forest narrowly for any sign of unusual activity. Travel here, at the western border of Alkyra, was relatively safe, but the Traders generally preferred not to take chances.

  When the last of the wagons had entered the city, the guards relaxed at last. Their far-flung riding pattern contracted into small eddies of motion between the lumbering wagons. The iron-rimmed wagon-wheels were noisy, and conversation was minimal. The horses seemed to find the stone pavement, rough as it was, an improvement over the deeply rutted dirt road outside the city, and it was not long before the caravan had reached the wide courtyard of the inn.

  The hypnotic rumble of the wagons gave way to a cheerful bustle of securing goods and stabling horses. Everyone took part, from the most exalted of the Master Traders to the lowliest apprentices. As each finished his appointed task, he went in search of friends or pleasure, depending on his inclination, and soon the courtyard began to empty.

  Among those remaining was a tall, black-haired man in the utilitarian leather of a caravan guard, his skin tanned by the sun and wind of the trails to a deep bronze under its coating of grime. The uniform suited him well, and he carried himself with an easy confidence that proclaimed him a veteran despite his relative youth. He was checking the ropes securing one of the wagons when another man hailed him. “Maurin!”

  The dark-haired man at the wagon rope looked up. “Greetings, Har. I thought you would be away home by now.”

  Har made a rude noise and looked at his friend with disfavor. The two were of a height, but Har’s slight build, accentuated by the leather uniform, made him appear smaller and younger than he was. An unruly shock of sandy brown hair added to the effect, and made the straight black brows and slightly tilted grey-green eyes more startling.

  “I’ve been hunting all over for you,” Har said when Maurin made no response. “I invited you to visit when we got to Brenn; did you think I would forget? Haven’t you finished with that yet?”

  “I’m just checking the knots,” Maurin replied. “Last stop we nearly lost three white fox pelts when the wind blew the canvas off, remember?”

  Har grinned unrepentantly. “This is Brenn, remember?” he mimicked. “That can’t happen in town, and anyway the light stuff has all been unpacked. So won’t you come on?”

  “A journeyman can’t leave the caravan without the permission of one of the Master Traders. You know that,” Maurin answered.

  “So let’s get it! They won’t deny it; there’s nothing more to do here.” As Maurin still hesitated, Har frowned. “I’m beginning to think you don’t want to come. I tell you, Maurin, you work too hard. Take the whole week and stay with us and relax for a change. Or isn’t the Noble House of Brenn up to your standards?”

  “I don’t want Master Goldar to think I’m trying to curry favor,” Maurin admitted. “And what will your family think? It’s all right for nobles and journeymen to brush cloaks on a caravan trip, but even the Master Traders don’t visit lords in town unless they’re invited.”

  “Well, I invited you, didn’t I?” Har said. “You don’t have to worry about my family; Mother won’t mind, and if she doesn’t, no one else will, either.”

  “There’s still Master Goldar.”

  “Fear not, my friend,” Har said, striking a theatrical pose. “We shall yet win for you the freedom of the city, overcoming all objections of…” His speech was abruptly stifled by a heavy wool horse-blanket, thrown accurately over his head by the friend he was addressing. Har emerged a moment later, grinning broadly.

  “At least there’s one good thing about being heir to a Noble House,” Har said as the two set off in search of the Master Trader. “I know more about protocol and persuasion than just about anybody. We won’t have any trouble with Master Goldar; you’ll see.”

  Whether because of Har’s vaunted diplomatic talents or for some reason of his own, the caravan master not only released the journeyman for the week, but went so far as to give him the freedom of the town for the entire month of the caravan’s stay in Brenn. The two guards set off, with Har making much of his own skill in achieving such a desirable result. Maurin pointedly ignored him until he changed the subject. By that time, the two had reached the wide avenue that led straight from the western gate of Brenn to the large stone building in the center of town. They turned away from the gates, and Har darted a sharp look at his friend.

  “Now what are you shaking your head about?” he asked.

  “That,” Maurin said, waving toward the building in front of them. Even from this distance, Styr Tel loomed above the jumble of homes and shops and inns. It bore little resemblance to the ornate palaces and castles of Alkyran nobles in other cities.

  “What’s wrong with it?” Har demanded. “Hurry up; I don’t want them to find out the caravan’s in before I get there.” Har started toward Styr Tel. Finding no adequate reply, Maurin followed.

  The street was full of the cheerfully miscellaneous crowd of a trade city. Peasants, guildsmen, merchants and Traders jostled visitors and townsfolk alike. A man from Rathane in gaudy robes walked past the deadly, black-clad figure of an assassin from beyond the Mountains of Morravik. Three dark-skinned desert people bargained in loud voices with a man who spoke with the accent of Ciaron. And everywhere there were men in soldiers” dress. Some, like Har and Maurin, wore the leather of caravan guards, but many were dressed in the colors of the city. Several times Har and Maurin had to stop and wait while a band of soldiers marched by.

  During the third such incident, Maurin looked at Har and said, “I have never understood why Brenn has so many more soldiers than the other trade towns. It isn’t that much more dangerous to be right on the border.”

  Har laughed. “As well ask why a fortress has so many caravans passing through!”

  Maurin frowned in puzzlement. Har looked at him. “You really don’t know?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t ask.”

  “Unless you had some other reason,” Har grinned. “But I’ll tell you anyway. Brenn is both fortress and trade town, but it is a fortress first. My great-grandfather founded it about two hundred and fifty years ago, right after the Lithmern invasion was stopped at Eirith. The idea was to prevent the Lithmern from ever overrunning Alkyra again; Brenn sits right in the gap between the Kathkari Mountains,” he waved to the north, “and the Snake Mountains.” Har waved toward the south. “Nobody can get into Alkyra from the west without passing Brenn, so of course it became a trade town too. But it is still the first line of defense for northern and western Alkyra.”

  Maurin found it easy to believe Styr Tel had once been a fortress. It was surrounded by a high stone wall, set back from the houses of Brenn as if to prevent an attack from the upper stories of the homes and shops. Above the wall, two tall black towers rose to command a view of the entire city; from this angle, they were all of the Styr that could be seen.

  Time and custom had made a marketplace of the open area between the low buildings of the town and the walls of Styr Tel. Maurin and Har wove through the merchants and townspeople to the gates, ignoring the persuasive calls of the dealers. The guards recognized Har at once, and let him and Maurin through the gate without challe
nge. As they entered the courtyard, Maurin got his first close view of Styr Tel.

  Black stone, polished smooth, filled his eyes. Styr Tel was made of it. The place was enormous; Maurin’s head bent back as he tried to see it all. He could easily imagine a company of troops vanishing inside without disrupting any of the gentler pursuits of the nobles who lived there. The lines of the building were clean and practical, but the dark stone gave it a dignity lacking in the airy palaces Maurin had seen in other cities. This was a strong place, an armored place, a home for a soldier. Maurin found himself admiring the man who had built it.

  A long whistle from Har brought Maurin’s eyes down, and he blinked. The Styr courtyard was full of activity. Servants were bustling about with buckets, rods, stacks of cloth, brooms and articles of furniture. Everywhere people were cleaning, polishing, and scrubbing; the atmosphere fairly reeked of soap, and the strong scent of Mindaran wood-wax.

  “Looks like we’ve arrived in time for spring cleaning,” Maurin observed as they threaded their way through the crowd.

  A shout from the doorway ahead spared Har from responding to this obvious comment. A tall girl with pale gold braids hanging down nearly to her knees ran forward to throw her arms around the young noble. “Har, you’re back!” she exclaimed.

  “Just barely,” laughed Har, swinging her off her feet in a wide circle. “We came straight here as soon as the caravan got in.” He set her gently back on her feet and turned. “Maurin, this is my sister, Alethia.”

  “I am charmed,” Maurin said, bending low over Alethia’s hand. Privately he thought that the introduction was nearly unnecessary; there was no mistaking those tilted green eyes and straight black eyebrows. Alethia was clearly Har’s sister.

  Alethia returned his courtesy absently, and linked arms with her brother as they started for the house. “I’m so glad you got back in time for my party,” she said as they mounted the stairs. “But you could have sent some kind of warning, couldn’t you?”

  “Party?” Har said blankly.

  Alethia laughed. “You don’t even remember! I’m twenty tomorrow; it is my birth eve.”

  “Well, I didn’t forget entirely,” Har said. “I got something at our last stop in Karlen Gale. I’ll give it to you tonight, after I’ve unpacked.”

  “Thank you in advance—I think!” Alethia replied. Then, turning to Maurin she added, “You will come to the party too, won’t you? It won’t be more than dinner and songs, really; the Lords Armih and Gahlon are coming at the end of the week to talk to Father, and it would be hard to have two large feasts so close together.”

  “Lord Armin and First Lord Gahlon, here? Together?” Har exclaimed. “What do they want to talk to Father for?”

  His sister smiled mischievously. “I’m not supposed to know, so you’d better ask him. The Lithmern raids, I think,” she added innocently.

  “But the raids have practically stopped!” Har said.

  “I know,” said Alethia, and grinned again.

  “You must tell me all about it after he explains to you.”

  “What makes you think he will?” Har countered.

  “Well, aside from being his son and heir, you’ve just come back from three months with the caravans, haven’t you? And your last stop was Karlen Gale, which is the only Free City anywhere near Lithra. So if Father wants to know about the Lithmern, who else would he talk to?”

  “Who indeed?” said a deep voice behind them, and Alethia jumped. The three turned to find a tall, dark-haired man of middle years looking at them with a smile. “Father!” said Alethia and Har together.

  The man’s smile deepened. “Welcome home,” he said to his son, and there was no mistaking the deep affection in his tone. For a moment they stood silent, then Har shook himself and turned to introduce Maurin.

  “I am honored; I have heard a good deal of you, Lord Bracor,” Maurin said when the formalities were finished.

  “Nothing too intimidating, I hope,” Bracor responded. “Come into my study where we can talk.” He turned toward Alethia and studied her for a moment. “I don’t suppose you would like to go on and tell your mother that Har has returned?”

  “Mother probably already knows,” Alethia said, and smiled.

  “And you would rather join us,” Bracor finished with an answering smile. “I don’t quite see why; you probably know all about it already.”

  “I know just enough to be interested, that’s all,” Alethia said. “Of course, I can find out from Har later, but it would be easier if you’d just let me stay.

  Har leaves things out sometimes.”

  Har’s face reddened, and Bracor shook his head in mock resignation. “Very well, then, since you are so determined.” He stood aside and let the others walk past him into the room, then entered and closed the door behind him.

  “I suppose that Alethia has already guessed that I wanted to talk to you about the Lithmern,” Bracor said when they were all seated inside.

  “Well, she did say something about Lithmern raids,” Har said, glancing at his sister. “But I don’t see the point; they’ve practically stopped.”

  “The Conclave of First Lords feels the same way, I’m afraid,” the Lord of Brenn replied tiredly. “But raids are not the only thing to fear from Lithmern.”

  Har looked puzzled; Bracor continued. “Do you know that the Lithmern now control, either by outright conquest or by more subtle means, most of the countries to the north and west of Alkyra? They are far stronger than you may think.”

  “Then why aren’t they raiding more instead of less?” Har said stubbornly. “If they thought they could get away with it, the Lithmern would be attacking every caravan that takes the northern trails!”

  “ISIot every one,” his father said. “Only a few that they can loot completely. Your Trader friend knows what I mean.” Maurin looked at Bracor in surprise as Har and Alethia turned their heads.

  “You must have excellent sources to have uncovered that, my Lord,” Maurin said with new respect.

  Har made a frustrated gesture. “What are you talking about?”

  “Three caravans have disappeared completely in the past six months,” Maurin said.

  “Disappeared?” Har asked skeptically. “How can fifteen or more wagons and sixty men just vanish?”

  Maurin shrugged. “They are certainly gone. No trace of men, horses, goods, or wagons has been found, not even the Traders” family gear. And all of them were passing near Lithra. At least, that’s where we think they were.”

  “You don’t know?” Alethia asked.

  “Caravan masters can be very secretive about routes and destinations, especially if they think someone else wants to cut in on their profits,” Maurin explained.

  “But how could the Lithmern do it?” Har puzzled. “And why would they take everything that way?”

  “How, I do not know,” Bracor said. “Why, I can guess. They wish to keep us in doubt of their numbers and their intentions. Until now they have been afraid of Alkyra; they remember their defeat at Eirith too clearly to take chances with us. Now I think their fear is passing; they have been preparing carefully for years, growing stronger while we bickered among ourselves.”

  “Then you think the Lithmern are planning to attack Alkyra!” Alethia said.

  “I do,” her father replied. “I have tried to tell the Conclave that, but they will not listen, and the Regent has too little real power to compel the lords, much less the Nine Families. We have kept them safe too long. Oh, there are a few who suspect, who build their own forces, but Alkyra has no unity.”

  “Can’t the Regent do anything?” Maurin asked.

  “He never does,” Alethia said. “I think he’s afraid to offend the First Lords, because they might decide to replace him if he tried to make them do anything.”

  “Alethia is right,” Bracor said. “The Regent’s power depends on the good will of the Nine Families, and he knows it too well. The last regent, of course, was not a strong ruler, and he all
owed his authority to be eroded by the nobles.”

  “Then what are you going to do?” asked Har.

  Bracor straightened. “Lord Armin of Lacsmer and First Lord Gahlon of Meridel will be coming here in three days on a courtesy visit.” He smiled wryly. “Protocol has its uses, after all. They are actually coming to discuss an alliance among us to meet the threat of the Lithmern. If we can come to an agreement, Brenn will have some support, even if the Conclave of First Lords does not act.”

  “I do not know either of them,” Har said. “But the Nine Families have always been independent. Do you think they will agree to work together?”

  “First Lord Gahlon is young, but he is reasonable. Armin has something of a temper, but things should go well if I can show him how great the danger really is.” Bracor looked sharply at Maurin and Har. “That is why I wish to talk to you; your caravan is the only one in the city which has taken the trade route just south of Lithra in the past month. So tell me about your journey.”

  For the next hour, Har and Maurin talked, describing the cities and towns they had passed through. Bracor had many questions, from how many men-at-arms they had seen in the streets of Sormak to what welcome the Traders had received from the people in Karlen Gale. To Maurin’s surprise, Alethia’s comments were more intelligent and informed than his small experience with noble ladies had led him to expect.

  Finally, Bracor sat back. “That is enough for today, I think. I need some time to consider what you have told me before we continue; we can talk more tomorrow.” He rose and nodded as the two younger men stood and followed Alethia out.

  It was over an hour later that Alethia descended the stairs to the great dining hall. Bracor was there before her, standing at the foot of the stairway talking with Maurin. As she came down, the men looked up. Bracor stepped forward with an exclamation. “Alethia! You look lovely; you could be your mother twenty years ago.”

  Alethia laughed. “Mother doesn’t look any older now than she did then. Where is she?”