[Lyra 05] - The Raven Ring Read online

  “Interesting.” Weziral’s voice drew Eleret’s thoughts back to the dusty, paper-strewn office. “It almost looks like Kith Alunel work. You say it’s been in your family for a long time? I suppose you don’t know how long.”

  Eleret forced a smile. “Not precisely. Geleraise Vinlarrian, my multi-great-grandmother, brought it with her when she settled in the mountains, right after the Neira sank the Island of Varna. That would be a little over seven hundred years ago. It doesn’t go all the way back to the migration, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Pity.” Weziral gestured toward the kit bag. “Did you find anything else of interest?”

  “Not unless someone wants Ma’s whetstone and comb,” Eleret replied.

  “Doesn’t seem likely, does it? It must be either the ring or the knife they’re after, then.” The Commander turned the ring over in his fingers once more, then handed it to Eleret.

  Eleret thought for a moment, then slipped the ring on her right index finger. If anyone was after it, they’d have more trouble taking it from her hand than picking it out of her pocket. It was a little tight, but not uncomfortably so. She studied it, then turned the stone toward her palm, where it would be less noticeable.

  Next, she examined the knife, testing the edge against her thumb and tossing it in the air to check the balance. It was a good weapon, perhaps the equal of her own. She reached through her pocket and pulled out her dagger, then set Tamm’s in its place. It fit the sheath reasonably well, but she made sure she could draw it quickly before she packed her own dagger in the kit bag.

  “One more thing,” Weziral said as Eleret picked up the bag. He rummaged under the table once more and came up with two pouches made of heavy canvas. They clinked when he dropped them on the table. “Your mother’s regular wages, combat pay, bonuses for special work, and death fee. Feel free to count it, and you’re welcome to inspect the registers if you like. We like our people to be certain they’ve had fair dealing.”

  “You wouldn’t make the offer if this wasn’t fair,” Eleret said. The bags were heavier than she expected; she was probably holding more money than the whole village of Calmarten would normally see in a year, unless the Imperial Guard paid in copper bits instead of silver. She frowned, then unwrapped her sash and knotted it around the bags. They made an awkward lump when she rewrapped the sash, but it was better than leaving the money in her pockets or the kit bag. She would find a better way of carrying it when she got back to the inn.

  “I’ll detail someone to escort you back to your rooms, if you’d like,” Weziral offered. “It’s a lot of money, even in Ciaron.”

  “No, don’t do that,” Eleret said as he reached for a small bell on the corner of the table. “It would only draw attention to me, and you can’t very well give me an escort all the way back to the Mountains of Morravik.”

  “True.” Weziral’s brows contracted, then relaxed. “Very well, have it your way. But if you change your mind, or if you think of anything else you need, come back and see me.”

  “I will. Thank you very much for your help.”

  “It’s my job; there’s nothing to thank me for. You’re sure you don’t want someone with you?”

  “Quite sure.” Eleret picked up the kit bag and slung it over her right shoulder.

  “Stubborn Cilhar. At least tell me where you’re staying and for how long, so I can send you a message if I need to.”

  “Send it to the school the Island of the Moon runs,” Eleret replied, suddenly wary. “Adept Climeral knows how to find me. I only expect to be in Ciaron another few days.” She expected to leave as soon as she collected her belongings from the Broken Harp, and certainly no later than the following morning, but she wasn’t going to admit that to anyone. Not after what the Commander had said about the ambush and the attempted break-ins.

  “Cautious as well as stubborn.” Weziral shook his head. “Under the circumstances, I can hardly fault you for that, can I? Very well, very well. Good luck to you, Freelady Salven.”

  “It’s under the raven’s wings,” Eleret said with a shrug as she opened the door to leave. “But thank you for your good wishes.”

  The Commander nodded, and Eleret left. To her relief, only one man remained in the outer room, the silent one, and he did not even look up as she crossed to the other door and let herself out into the hallway. The boy who had brought her to the office had disappeared, but Eleret was not concerned. The building might be a maze to a Ciaronese used to straight lines and right angles, but the route had not seemed difficult to her.

  She started down the hall and turned right at the second intersection, almost without thinking. The strap of the kit bag felt heavy and strange on her shoulder; the raven seal-ring was an awkward, constricting lump against her fingers; the knife lay large and unfamiliar against her thigh. Carrying Tamm’s things somehow made her absence, her death, seem less real instead of more.

  “Lady Salven!”

  Startled, Eleret whirled and stepped back a pace while her hand went automatically to the raven’s-feet in her pocket. The door to one of the side rooms was open, and the man called Maggen stood just inside, beckoning.

  Eleret took hold of one of her throwing weapons but did not bring it out into view. “What do you want?”

  “Just a chat,” Maggen said. “Come in, please; you’ll be more comfortable.”

  “I’m comfortable where I am.”

  “Look, I said I was sorry about that business earlier.” Maggen smiled. “But I understand. If you want to stay there where anyone can overhear, go ahead.”

  “Why should I worry about someone overhearing?” Eleret asked. “Just what is it you want, anyway?”

  “I thought that since I, ah, made a bad impression at the beginning, I ought to do something to make up for it,” Maggen said.

  “Such as?” Eleret doubted that she would be interested in anything Maggen was likely to suggest, but his odd behavior made her curious.

  “You, ah, came a long way to get that,” Maggen said, gesturing at the kit bag. “It’ll be awkward and heavy to carry all the way back, maybe dangerous, even.”

  Eleret almost laughed. Awkward and heavy? The kit weighed barely as much as a brace of pheasants. “So?”

  “So I’ll buy it from you.” Maggen leaned forward. “The whole thing. I’ve got a… friend who needs outfitting; this way I can get him fixed up and do you a favor at the same time. Money’s easy to carry.”

  “All that’s in this is a whetstone and comb.”

  Maggen’s ingratiating smile returned. “Well, I’ll pay you three stars. That’s more than it’s worth.”

  “It belonged to my mother. It has sentimental value.”

  “All right, four stars. You can buy a lot of sentiment for four stars.”

  You could buy a lot of other things, too, even at Ciaron’s prices, thought Eleret. Maggen was a fool, and whatever he wanted must be valuable indeed. “I’m still not interested.”

  “Five, then!”

  “Not for five stars nor for twenty-five stars,” Eleret replied. “I’m not selling Ma’s things.” In three quick steps she was past the door; by the time Maggen stepped out into the hallway she was well out of reach. He wasn’t likely to try anything in the heart of the headquarters of the Imperial Guard, especially in a hall where someone might come by at the wrong time.

  “You’ll be sorry you didn’t sell it to me!” Maggen called after her. “Wait and see. You’ll be sorry.”

  “I doubt it,” Eleret said over her shoulder, and kept walking. Maggen did not try to follow, and a few minutes later Eleret reached the building’s entrance. She nodded to the woman on guard, glanced back one last time to make certain Maggen was nowhere in sight, and stepped out to join the flow of traffic on the street.

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  Three streets down and two over from the offices of the Imperial Guard, Eleret stepped into a doorway and paused to consider. If she kept to the main streets, she was in
little danger of direct attack, but among all these people it was impossible to tell whether she was being followed. Having slipped up once already, Eleret did not want to lead any more people back to the inn where she was staying. She might, however, lead them somewhere neutral, somewhere less crowded, where she would have a better chance of spotting them. Eleret smiled and stepped back into the street. At the next corner, she made the turn that would take her to the Islanders’ school.

  The press of people and wagons lessened as Eleret drew away from the main thoroughfares, and she quickened her step. Each time she turned a corner she managed to glance back along the street, and on her fourth turn she spotted a tall, narrow-faced man whom she was sure she had seen before. He was still behind her when she turned again. Eleret was considering whether or not to let him know she had seen him when a voice behind her called loudly, “That’s her! Stop, thief!”

  Startled, Eleret looked back. The narrow-faced man had been joined by a woman in the indigo-and-maroon uniform of the City Guard, and the two were heading purposefully in Eleret’s direction. Eleret glanced around, unable to quite believe she was the person they wanted. A young man in a scarlet cloak had paused, frowning, on the opposite side of the street; everyone else seemed to have melted into alleys and doorways.

  “Stop, thief!” the narrow-faced man called again, and this time it was plain even to Eleret that she was the one he meant.

  Mildly puzzled by the man’s behavior, Eleret stopped. A flash of irritation crossed the man’s face, as if he had neither expected nor wanted her to wait for him. Eleret’s puzzlement increased. Theft was a grave charge in the mountains, but Tamm had said once that the Ciaronese did not treat it as severely as Cilhar. She had also said that a false accusation was an even more serious matter in Ciaron than among the Cilhar. Why would the man risk an honor-challenge when he must know that Eleret had stolen nothing?

  “Is there some problem?” Eleret asked the guard as the two reached her.

  “This man claims you stole that bag from him,” the guard answered, gesturing at the kit hanging from Eleret’s shoulder.

  “It’s mine, all right,” the man said. He made a snatching motion, and Eleret sidestepped to avoid it. “Watch out! She’s trying to get away.”

  “You’ve made a mistake,” Eleret said to the narrow-faced man, her temper beginning to rise. “This is my bag, and I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

  “Ha! You snatched it from me not half an hour ago on the Northwest Castle Road.” The man’s eyes blazed with excitement. “It’s mine, I tell you!”

  “Please, Grand Master Gorchastrin, control yourself,” the guardswoman said. “This is my job, not yours.”

  “Then do it!” the narrow-faced man retorted. “Surely it’s not difficult, even for you. There’s the bag; take it from her and give it to me.”

  The guardswoman stiffened. “She is a subject of the Emperor, and there are certain procedures—”

  “And as a Grand Master of the Order of Tsantilar of Rathane, I have certain privileges!” Gorchastrin snapped back. “Privileges, may I remind you, that hold even in Ciaron. Now, I want my bag!”

  Eleret frowned. Gorchastrin’s strategy was clear now; he expected the guardswoman to seize Eleret’s kit and give it to him, on his word alone. The guard didn’t look strong enough or quick enough to take the kit without Eleret’s cooperation, but Eleret didn’t want to start a fight in the middle of the street, particularly not with an official. Fortunately, it wasn’t a matter of her word against Gorchastrin’s; Commander Weziral could confirm that the bag was hers. Provided, of course, that she could convince the guard and the privileged foreigner to walk back across the city to Weziral’s office.

  “Perhaps I can be of some assistance, my lady guard?” said a new voice. Eleret turned her head. The young man in the scarlet cloak had come up unnoticed during the discussion. As everyone looked at him, he doffed a black cap with a plume dyed to match his cloak and swept a bow. “Lord Daner Vallaniri, at your service and the Emperor’s.”

  “It is a minor matter only, my lord,” the guard said, bowing deeply in return. “Grand Master Gorchastrin’s bag was stolen, and he says this woman was the thief.”

  “Unlikely,” the newcomer said in a dismissive tone, adjusting his cap carefully over his wavy blond hair. He smiled warmly at Eleret. “So lovely a woman would never be a thief. Her face is too memorable for such a profession.”

  “Exactly!” Gorchastrin said, but Eleret thought he did not seem as sure of himself as he had a moment previously. “I remember her perfectly.”

  “I regret that I cannot return the compliment,” Eleret said politely. She shifted the kit unobtrusively as far away from him as she could manage, and slipped her left hand into her slit skirt pocket, just in case. “But as I have said, I have never seen the Grand Master before. The bag is mine; it was given to me this morning by Commander Weziral of the Imperial Guard. I’m sure that he will tell you so himself, should you ask.”

  “Well, then,” the guardswoman said, clearly relieved. “That settles the matter, doesn’t it?”

  “I believe it should,” the young lord, Daner, said. Eleret barely kept herself from an irritated frown at the smug undertone in his voice. He hadn’t done anything to warrant such self-satisfaction. Then she did frown. Why had Daner come shoving his dagger in where it wasn’t wanted? Was he after Tamm’s kit, too? Or was she seeing shadows on noon snow?

  “Not so fast!” Gorchastrin said. “How do you know she’s telling the truth? How do you know she hasn’t bribed this Commander Weziral to say whatever she wants?”

  Eleret stiffened at the implied insult, then saw that the guardswoman looked just as horrified as she felt. Before either of them could speak, Daner’s eyebrows rose in haughty disdain. “Bribe a Commander of the Imperial Guard of Ciaron? You forget yourself, Rathani.”

  Gorchastrin’s lips tightened. “I meant no insult to your people,” he said with effort. “I intended only to express my doubts about this woman.” He gestured at Eleret.

  So Gorchastrin would apologize for insulting the Ciaronese, but not for the affront to a Cilhar, would he? Eleret wished she could pull her knife and challenge him at once, but that would be poor tactics. Without proof, one way or another, the two Ciaronese might not support her. More important, it would be foolish to start a fight while she was wearing the Ciaronese-style skirt. The wretched thing was hard enough to walk in. “If it is a question of my word, perhaps Adept Climeral of the Island of the Third Moon will speak for me,” she said instead. “I was just on my way to the school to see him, and it’s only another block or two.”

  Even Daner looked startled by this announcement. The guard’s eyes narrowed. “In that case, I think this can be settled quickly. Unless Grand Master Gorchastrin chooses to question the integrity of the Islanders as well as that of Ciaron’s Imperial Guard.” Her tone made it clear that if he did he would lose what little cooperation she was still willing to give him.

  “I, ah, wouldn’t dream of it.” Gorchastrin’s voice was full of smothered fury.

  “Then we will proceed to the School of the Third Moon and accept the judgment of Adept Climeral,” the guard declared. She turned and bowed to Daner in respectful dismissal. “Thank you for your assistance, my lord.”

  “I believe I’ll accompany you to the school,” Daner said with a sidelong glance at Eleret. “I was heading in that direction anyway.”

  “Of course, my lord.” The guard bowed again, stiffly.

  The young nobleman returned the bow with casual grace, apparently unaware of her disapproval, and stepped to Eleret’s side.

  Eleret frowned and opened her mouth. Then she saw Gorchastrin’s expression, and closed it again without saying anything. Lord Daner Vallaniri might or might not be after the kit bag, but Grand Master Gorchastrin certainly was. Of the two, Daner was clearly the safer companion, however short the walk.

  “How is it that you are acquainted with Adept Climeral?”
Daner asked Eleret as the little group started down the street.

  “We met shortly after I arrived in Ciaron,” Eleret answered. “I’m sure he’ll confirm what I’ve said.”

  “Ah,” Daner said in a satisfied tone. “You aren’t from Ciaron. I was sure I couldn’t have overlooked such a jewel among women for long.” He gave Eleret an admiring smile.

  “Ciaron’s a big city,” Eleret said uncomfortably.

  “Not that big.”

  Eleret raised her eyebrows and said nothing. Fortunately, they had nearly reached the school, so Daner had no time for further pleasantries. The guardswoman pulled the knob while Gorchastrin shifted from one foot to another and eyed Eleret’s bag possessively.

  The door opened. “Welcome to our House,” said Prill. “What service may I—Freelady Salven! Welcome back. Do you want to see Climeral again?”

  “She does,” Daner said before Eleret could reply. “As do we all. Unless of course this is confirmation enough for the Grand Master?”

  “It is enough,” Gorchastrin said, glaring at Prill. “I… must have been mistaken.”

  “Perhaps you should apologize for the inconvenience you have caused Freelady Salven,” Daner said in a voice like silk just as Gorchastrin began to turn away. “And of course there’s the matter of a false charge.”

  “Mistakes happen,” the guardswoman said doubtfully.

  “And when they are discovered, they must be remedied.” Daner stepped back and bowed to Eleret, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. “My blade is at your disposal, Freelady.”

  Eleret stared at him, her temper rising as she realized he meant to take her fight on himself. She was neither wounded nor ill nor pregnant, so why was he insulting her with the implication that she could not fight? Her left hand dropped to where her knife should have been, and brushed the heavy wool of her skirt. She paused. Perhaps the man had not intended any insult. Anyone with eyes could see that she was not dressed for fighting; perhaps in Ciaron that was as important as actual fitness for battle.