[Lyra 04] - Caught in Crystal Read online

  Caught in

  Crystal

  Lyra - 04

  Patricia C. Wrede

  (An Undead Scan v1.7)

  PROLOGUE

  After the Wars of Binding ended, the Four Races of Lyra—the catlike, furred Wyrds, the shimmering, sea-dwelling Neira, the proud, pale Shee and the quarrelsome, energetic humans went their separate ways. For a long time, they were concerned primarily with survival, for the War had permanently altered the face of Lyra. The center of the main continent sank, creating an inland sea; the coastline moved miles inland in other areas; mountains rose and fell; the island of the Kulseth seafarers sank, taking with it one of the Talismans of Noron’ri and leaving an entire nation homeless.

  The climate, too, had altered. Ice crept down from the north, threatening to destroy what little the wars with the Shadow-born had left untouched. Only the sorcery of the wizards of the isle of Varna kept the cold confined to the northern lands.

  Slowly, civilizations began to emerge from the rubble. Rathane expanded south in search of more temperate weather, sowing the seeds of an empire that eventually encompassed most of the lands west of the new inland sea. The eastern countries recovered more slowly. It was not until 577 a.w.b. (After the Wars of Binding) that Kith Alunel signed the first of the trading treaties which eventually grew into the Estarren Alliance.

  The people left homeless by the sinking of the central part of the continent were less fortunate. A few found homes on the islands of the newly created Melyranne Sea, while others merged with the peoples already living on either side. Most, however, remained in the north. As the climate cooled and the land became less hospitable, these folk took up a nomadic life. They called themselves the Thar, and they supplemented their hunting with occasional raids on the northernmost towns and villages of the more settled lands.

  All four races mingled at least occasionally throughout the sprawling trading empire, and relations among them were generally cordial.

  By 950 a.w.b. the northern ice was beginning its retreat, and the Varnan wizards could spare the time to look at the societies developing around them. They suffered a rude shock. The Estarren Alliance, with Kith Alunel at its center, had grown to dominate the East.

  The Varnans saw the Estarren Alliance as a threat to their own position. In 1003 a.w.b. they invaded the mainland on the flimsiest of pretexts, intending to teach the upstarts their place. But the Varnans were badly outnumbered, despite their magic, and the war dragged on for over twenty years before finally spluttering out.

  The Wizard’s War, as the Varnan-Alliance conflict came to be called, reawakened the mainlanders to the possibilities inherent in the magic they had lost during the years of struggle for survival. Wizardry became an obsession, particularly in the southeastern lands which had borne the brunt of the Varnan invasion. As the interest in magic intensified, the non-human races became more and more unpopular. They were looked upon with suspicion because they had not employed their presumed magical arts in the War. Relations between humans and the other races deteriorated, culminating in the murder of hundreds of Shee, Neira, and Wyrds at Darkwater in 1183 a.w.b.

  The Estarren Alliance began to disintegrate. One after another, outlying countries and principalities recalled their representatives from the Senate in Kith Alunel. The few Wyrds and Shee remaining in such places either quietly left or were systematically persecuted in hopes of learning their supposed secrets. By the time of the Half-Day War between Varna and the Neira in 1517 a.w.b., the Estarren Alliance had collapsed completely into independent, squabbling countries.

  Virtually all of the nonhumans had left the southern lands or gone into permanent hiding.

  The sinking of Varna by the Neira as the culmination of the Half-Day War added a new and unwelcome set of refugees to the population of the mainland. The Varnans had been feared and resented ever since the Wizard’s War, and their casual assumption of superiority had done nothing to improve their popularity in the years since. No village, city or country was willing to welcome them, and the refugees were forced steadily northward. In 1533 a.w.b. they reached the mouth of the River Selyr and settled there, the first human inhabitants of the lands which eventually became Alkyra.

  —From the introduction to A History of Alkyra, by Flindaran Kensal Sterren, Journeyman Historian of the Ciaron Minstrel’s Guildhall. Presented to Alethia Tel’anh Atuval in 3030 a.w.b. on the thirtieth anniversary of her coronation as Queen of Alkyra.

  PART I

  Hearth and Sword

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  The travel-chariot was black and so were the horses that drew it. It came down the road silently, like a moving shadow or the fingers of death. Kayl pushed her brown hair out of her face with the back of one hand and made herself continue sweeping the stone step. Some Prefect with a macabre sense of humor, no doubt, or perhaps a wealthy merchant. Horses were rare in Mindaria; only a noble or an exceptionally wealthy tradesman would hire… Kayl’s thoughts froze as she realized that the travel-chariot was turning onto the hard-packed area that served as a courtyard for the inn.

  The rasping of the cicadas was suddenly loud in her ears. She forced herself to breathe. “It’s a customer,” she said under her breath. “Just a customer.”

  The customer’s chariot halted just in front of her in a cloud of dust. Kayl knew immediately that this was no aristocrat’s whim; she could feel power emanating from the chariot, pulling at the old bond—She cut the thought off as she realized where it might take her, and waited.

  The driver jumped down from his seat and pulled back the curtains that hid the interior of the chariot. With a rustle of movement, a tall woman emerged. Her robes were black, her hair was black, and her eyes were the color of midnight. On her right hand she wore a ruby ring the color of blood, on her left an emerald green as poison, and in the hollow of her throat, suspended from a chain as thin as a spider’s web, hung a tiny silver skull with diamond eyes.

  “You have a room,” the visitor said, and her voice was dark music.

  Kayl moistened lips that had gone suddenly dry, but her voice was steady. “Five pence the night, lady. Seven if you want an evening meal.” Then she remembered the driver. “That’s each.”

  The woman raised a perfect eyebrow. “The last three innkeepers charged nothing at all.”

  “They don’t have Prefect Islorran’s tax to pay, lady.”

  “You mistake my meaning.” The woman studied Kayl for a moment more, and slowly her lips widened into a smile. “I shall take a room. One week, at the price you named. After that, we shall see.” Without waiting for Kayl’s response, she turned and gave an order to her driver. He nodded and sprang back up to his seat; a moment later, the travel-chariot drove back the way it had come.

  The woman turned and held out a hand. Automatically, Kayl extended her own, and seven thin copper coins dropped into it, one after the other. Kayl stared at them, then slowly closed her fingers around them. “This way, lady,” she said, and went into the inn. She did not have to turn her head to see whether her unwelcome guest was following. Though she heard no sound but her own footsteps, she could feel the woman’s presence like the heat of a fire on her back.

  Inside, Kayl’s rope sandals made a hissing noise against the stone floor as she circled the hearth in the center of the room. She crossed between the tables to the foot of the stairs. As she started up, she heard the woman’s musical voice once again. “And do you wish no name to put on your board?”

  Kayl turned and met the woman’s gaze. “Whatever name you wish to give, lady,” she said with a touch of sarcasm.

  “I am Rialynn, called Corrana of the Sussewild.” A smile flick
ered over her face and was gone. “Corrana will do, I think, for your guest record.”

  Shaken, Kayl nodded and turned away. The woman had given her true name; Kayl had felt the pull of it, and she was certain. Corrana—or Rialynn—was a sorceress. And she had studied magic with the Silver Sisters, though she did not seem to be one of them. No other wizards placed such dangerous power in their names. But why would such a one trust a mere innkeeper? Especially if she knew that Kayl…

  “This is your room, lady,” Kayl said, deliberately flinging open the first door in an attempt to interrupt her train of thought. “You’ve paid for an evening meal; it’s served at the seventh hour, downstairs in the main room.”

  The woman called Corrana smiled and moved inside. “I will be there,” she said, and closed the door behind her.

  Kayl stood staring stupidly at the wooden planks, then turned and started down the stairs. The routine tasks of running the inn would be a comforting distraction from fruitless wondering about her enigmatic customer. She hoped.

  The door banged below. A boy’s voice, breathless with running, called, “Mother? Mother!”

  Kayl’s ears caught the undercurrent of fear being sternly suppressed by eight-year-old pride. Habit and instinct combined to set her personal worries aside at once. “I’m here, Mark,” she said, taking the last few steps two at a time. “What is it?”

  Mark stood by the outer door, holding a bronze-bladed dagger in his right hand. His thin chest heaved in panting breaths, and his blue-gray eyes darted around the serving room. Kayl’s gaze followed his, but she saw no signs of danger. Mark straightened from his fighter’s crouch when he saw Kayl, but his eyes remained wary. “Mother! You’re all right?”

  “Of course I’m all right,” Kayl said. “Why shouldn’t I be? And how many times have I told you not to come banging through the door like that? You’ll scare away what few guests we have.”

  The familiar scolding was even more reassuring than Kayl’s presence. The last traces of tension left Mark’s shoulders, and he shoved the dagger into a sheath at his belt. “I was in a hurry,” he said defensively.

  “And why was that?”

  “Tully said he saw the death-coach drive right up to the inn! I thought—” Mark stopped and eyed his mother warily.

  “You thought it was coming for your aged mother and you came running home to defend me, hmmm?”

  Mark looked down, and nodded. “I guess it wasn’t very smart,” he offered.

  Kayl snorted. “Not at all. Brave, perhaps a little, but not smart.”

  “Really?” Mark’s head came up. “You really think it was a brave thing to do?”

  “Were you scared?”

  “No!” Mark said indignantly. Kayl looked at him, and his eyes dropped. “Well, maybe a little.”

  “If you were afraid and you came in anyway, you did a brave thing,” Kayl said. “That’s what being brave means.”

  Mark considered. “But you said it was a stupid thing to do.”

  “Being brave doesn’t automatically make you smart,” Kayl said. “They’re two different things.”

  “You mean I have to be both? At the same time? That’s not fair!”

  Kayl laughed and rumpled Mark’s blond hair affectionately. “Lots of things aren’t fair. Enough talking; we’ve a new guest and there’s work to do.”

  “A new guest?”

  “Tully saw her arriving.”

  “In the black coach?” Mark cast a dubious look at the stairs, as if he expected a Wyrm to appear around the corner at any minute.

  “It was just a travel-chariot. Now, you go and—”

  “Where is she?”

  “Mark! Don’t interrupt. She’s in the room at the head of the stairs, and you’re going to take up water right away.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes, you have to. Go on!”

  Mark left, looking much put-upon. Kayl watched him until the rear door of the inn closed behind him—with a bang—and shook her head. Mark would never make an innkeeper. He might become a good fighting man, if he could only control his impulsiveness long enough to survive the learning. And if Kayl could find a way of training him. Dara, on the other hand…

  “Mother?”

  Kayl turned. Dara was peering around the edge of the front door, her brown eyes wide. “What’s the matter with you?” Kayl said crossly.

  Dara flushed and stepped inside. She tossed a long strand of dark, fine hair defiantly over one shoulder and said, “I saw a black chariot stop here, and, well…”

  “Not you, too.” Kayl rolled her eyes. “It was just a guest.”

  “Oh.” Dara studied Kayl. “You’re sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” Kayl said with what she hoped was sufficient firmness to discourage further questions. Dara was four years older than Mark, and far more perceptive.

  “Huh.” Dara scowled. “I thought that it might at least be somebody special.”

  “Special in what way?”

  “Oh, you know. One of Father’s friends, from before.”

  “I hardly think any of your father’s friends would come looking for him five years after his death,” Kayl said sharply. Dara was closer to the truth than she could suspect, though it was not her father’s past that was the problem.

  “Well, who is it then? Driving around in something like that and scaring everybody.”

  “She calls herself Corrana, she’s paid for an evening meal, and you’re going to run over to the market and get what we need to feed her decently. That’s all you need to know right now.”

  Dara groaned. “Errands? But, Mother, I went last time. Can’t Mark—”

  “Mark’s drawing water for the new guest. Do you want to trade chores with him?”

  “No.”

  “All right, then. Get greens and a little meat, if you can find any that’s not too dear. And we’ll want more bread; stop at Brazda’s on the way back and see if she has extra today.” Kayl handed Dara three of the copper pennies Corrana had given her. “Oh, and while you’re out, try to let a few people know that I haven’t been killed or cursed or carried off. One customer won’t even begin to pay Islorran’s tax, especially if she drives everyone else away.”

  Dara’s eyes narrowed in sudden thought. “That’s right, people will be worried. I’d better go right away.” She shoved the coins into her pocket and darted for the door.

  “Dara!” Kayl waited until Dara turned to face her. “You are not to go telling stories to Jirod to lure him out here tonight. Do you understand?”

  “I wasn’t going to do anything like that!” Dara said. Her tone was unconvincing, and her eyes slid away from Kayl’s face.

  “No?”

  “Well, all right, but what difference would it make? He’s bound to hear about it sooner or later.”

  “At least if someone else tells him, I won’t have your matchmaking to contend with.”

  Dara flushed. “Mother!”

  “If you want to be successful at that sort of thing, you need to learn a little subtlety,” Kayl went on relentlessly. “Did you really think I hadn’t noticed?”

  “You never said anything.”

  “I’d hoped you would think better of it. And I’m saying something now.”

  “Well, you ought to get married again,” Dara said defensively.

  “If I ever decide to remarry, I’ll choose my own partner, thank you.”

  “Jirod’s nice.”

  “Yes, he is. And he’s a good friend. But I’ve no interest in him as a husband, and I’d rather not have to tell him so to his face just because my daughter thinks we’d make a good match.”

  “But there isn’t anyone else in Copeham!”

  “Then I won’t marry. It’s my affair, after all.”

  Dara’s eyes fell. “I suppose so.”

  “Now, promise me you’ll stop this nonsense with Jirod once and for all.”

  “Well…” Dara sneaked a glance upward. “Oh, all right. I promise.”<
br />
  “Off with you, then.”

  Dara nodded, looking considerably subdued, and left. Kayl sighed as the door closed behind her daughter, feeling the familiar guilt rising inside her. Not having a father was hard for the children. Perhaps she should remarry, for their sakes. Jirod was a kind man, and he had made no secret of his admiration for Kayl. He was quiet and steady, too; he would be good for Mark. Yet, much as she liked the thoughtful farmer, she never seemed able to bring herself to encourage him. Or any of the other eligible and semi-eligible men of Copeham Village, for that matter.

  She chalked Corrana’s name on the slate by the stairs, then picked up the broom she had left by the door and went out to finish her sweeping. Perhaps the real problem was that she’d never met anyone else like Kevran. She smiled sadly, remembering the laughter in his face and the warmth of his touch. Five years had done much to dull the pain of his loss, but his memory was still clear in her mind. The time they’d had together had been worth the price they’d paid, and neither of them had regretted it.

  But she’d never found another man worth giving up… what she had given up for Kevran. And she could never be content with less, even now. Kayl scowled and gave the step one final brush with the broom, then went back inside. She hadn’t thought even obliquely of the days before her marriage in years. It was the fault of that woman, Rialynn, Corrana, whatever she called herself. She had no right to come here, stirring up things Kayl had no wish to remember.

  Kayl paused, turning that thought over in her mind. No wish to remember? They had been good times, despite their bitter ending, and Kevran had shared some of them with her. Why was she so afraid of them now? Absently, she set the broom in its corner. Mark had already brought the water in; she could tell by the irregular trail of drops he had left in his wake. She would have to remind him again to be more careful.

  She went into the kitchen to prepare for Dara’s return. The distorted image of herself in the bottom of a dented brass pot was oddly disturbing today, though she had seen it every afternoon for… how long had she had that pot? Kayl shook herself. She was trying to avoid thinking, she realized, and doing a pretty poor job of it. All right then, face the question and answer it. Why was she so disturbed by Corrana’s appearance?