The Raven Ring (4 page)

Baffled, Maurin shook his head. He would never understand the way stonebound folk managed their affairs. A Route Master who ignored the requests of even one of his Caravan Masters would not keep his position for another month.

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

Bracor straightened. “Lord Armin of Lacsmer and First Lord Gahlon of Meridel will
be coming
arrive
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
against the Lithmern
, even if the Conclave of First Lords does not act.”

“I do not know either of them,” Har said. “Do you think they will accept your proposal?”

Maurin shifted slightly, uncertain whether to speak his doubts or not. The noble families of Alkyra were notorious for both their independence and their irritability. Though Maurin knew nothing of the two men Bracor had named, he did not think the chances of an alliance were good.

“First Lord Gahlon is young, but he is
dependable
reasonable,” Bracor went on. “
Armin has something of a temper, but things should go well if I can show him how great the danger really is.”
Bracor
He paused and
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 did not grow bored; on the contrary, she listened intently and occasionally made a comment of her own.
Alethia’s comments were more intelligent and informed than his small experience with noble ladies had led him to expect. She spoke and acted more like a tradeswoman than like one of the stonebound, and he began to wonder whether his stay with Har’s family might not be more enjoyable than he had expected.

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.
Once I have considered, we can—”

A perfunctory rap at the door interrupted him. A moment later, a tall woman with silver-white hair entered the room. She wore a simple gown of gray, trimmed with silver, and she moved like mist on the water. “Bracor, have you seen Tatia? She’s escaped from her nurse again.”

Bracor shook his head. “We’ve been in here for the past hour.”

“Then I won’t keep you longer from your business.”

“We’re done,” Har said. “Hello, Mother.”

“Welcome home, dear,” the white-haired woman said. “It is good to have you safe. But who is the friend you have brought with you?”

“Forgive me; I should have introduced you earlier,” Bracor said. “Isme, may I present Maurin Atuval of the Traders?”

“I am pleased to meet a friend of Har’s,” Isme said in her musical voice. Her tilted green eyes studied him for a moment, but the scrutiny was neither unfriendly nor unpleasant.

Perhaps Har had been right about his family’s reaction after all, Maurin thought as he made a courteous bow to the Lady Isme. Certainly none of them had shown even a hint of annoyance at the unexpected guest Har had foisted on them. Idly, he wondered where Isme’s native land was. He had never seen the combination of white-blond hair and tilted green eyes before, though after his time with the caravans he knew most of the peoples of Lyra.

“Journeyman Atuval is staying for a week or so, until the caravan leaves,” Alethia said. “I thought the big room in the south tower would be best for him, since those other lords are arriving at the end of the week.”

Isme nodded approvingly. “Very good. Now, if you and Har are finished with your father, perhaps you would help me hunt for Tatia while Har shows his friend to the room.”

Alethia made a face, but nodded and rose to her feet. One by one, the group followed Isme out.

In the first edition, there was one small scene after this, of Alethia coming down to dinner, but I deleted the whole thing and substituted the above interruption. I kept a few descriptive bits but as you can see, I rewrote most of the end of the chapter.

The rest of the book wasn’t edited quite as strenuously as this chapter, though there are certainly a number of scenes that were seriously reworked. The plot didn’t change at all but, as I’ve shown in this chapter, I reshaped quite a bit of dialogue and descriptions, often phrase by phrase.

—Patricia C. Wrede

PROLOGUE

S
PRING IN THE MOUNTAINS
of Morravik was about as predictable as a tired two-years child in a house of wonders, or so it seemed to Gralith as he picked his way between patches of half-melted snow. Today the sun was warm and bright, and he could hear birds singing and water rushing over rock; tomorrow might bring a sky as gray as the stone beneath him, and snow on a bitter wind. He paused to look around, then turned toward a clump of firs on the mountain’s shoulder.

As he climbed, his steps grew slower. Not because of the slope; after two years in the mountains, he had become used to long walks and steep ascents. The duty waiting at the end of his journey was the burden that held him back.

He had never met the Salven family, but he had seen other Cilhar receive similar news, and he could predict their reaction. No tears, no horrified denials, no wails of grief; only a short silence and a white look about the lips of the husband or wife or child who offered ale and perhaps a little fruit to the bearer of the unwelcome message. Gralith found that look harder to bear than weeping.

On the far side of the firs, he stopped again, peering about for the next landmark and hoping he would recognize it for what it was when he saw it. He ought to be glad the Cilhar finally trusted him enough to tell him the locations of their homes and the hidden routes to their doors, but he wished they could be persuaded to write things down. A map would make visits such as this one so much easier! But the only maps the Cilhar kept were large-scale ones, fine for tracing a route from Kith Alunel to Ciaron or locating Morlang Isle, but useless for short local trips. He saw a boulder that fit the description he had been given, and started toward it with a long-suffering sigh.

Ten minutes and two landmarks later, he came on the house at last. He saw it suddenly, almost as if it had materialized by magic out of the mountainside while he was not attending. The cliff that sheltered it curved around two sides, blending smoothly into the weathered gray boards. The Salvens probably had a storeroom or two carved into the rock, Gralith thought. Then he blinked and looked at the house more carefully, and his heart sank. The building stood on a stone ledge. Half a flight of wooden steps led up to the door; there was no porch. The windows were narrow slits, and from where he stood to the foot of the steps he could see no stone nor tree nor shrub large enough to provide shelter for a man. This family kept to the old ways; his task was going to be worse than he had thought.

Gralith sighed. There was no point in putting it off. His boots made solid thudding noises against the weathered boards of the steps as he climbed up to the door, and his knock echoed them.

To his surprise, the door opened almost at once. “You came! I didn’t think you’d get here until tomorrow or the day after, at the earliest—” The speaker, a beautiful red-haired woman of perhaps twenty, broke off when she saw Gralith. An eyeblink later a thick-bladed, sharp-looking knife appeared in her hand. “Who are you?”

“My name is Gralith. I’m from the Island of the Moon, now acting as a representative for the Emperor of Ciaron,” Gralith said, carefully keeping his hands motionless and in view.

The woman nodded, and the knife vanished. The worried expression on her face remained, and Gralith wondered whether she had some premonition of the reason for his coming. “I’ve seen you in Calmarten a time or two,” she said, motioning him to come inside. “Sorry for the fuss; I thought you were someone else.”

“I gathered,” Gralith said, entering. The interior of the house was cool and smelled of soap and lamp oil. A row of unstrung bows hung on the wall next to the door, with two empty quivers beneath them; the only furnishings were a table and two wooden stools, a copper pot hanging beside the hearth, and a bed in the far corner. A girl of around fourteen sat at the table, helping a boy a few years younger than herself fletch arrows.

“I have a message for the head of the Salven family,” Gralith said, remembering belatedly that among Cilhar it was the guest’s privilege to speak first. “Would that be you?”

The woman’s face went stiff. “A message?”

Gralith looked away from the fear in her eyes. “I’m afraid so. Are you the head of the family?”

“I’m Eleret Salven.” The woman glanced toward the bed in the corner, her worried expression deepening. “But I’m not the head of the family—”

“Not by a bowshot and a half!” said a weak voice from the bed. “I’m not dead yet.”

“I know, I know, but you will be if you don’t keep quiet long enough for Orimern to get here, Pa,” Eleret said.

“What’s wrong?” Gralith asked, glad of the excuse to put off his errand for an extra moment or two.

“Nothing catching,” Eleret assured him. “He got mixed up in a rock slide two days ago and broke a leg.”

“And?”

Eleret looked at him. Gralith smiled slightly. “Orimern’s the best healer around Calmarten village. You wouldn’t have sent for her if the leg were the only problem.”

“You’re right,” Eleret said with a sigh. “He was unconscious for a long time, even after we brought him home. Now every time he tries to move or sit up he gets sick to his stomach. I sent Jiv down to the next claiming yesterday to tell them we needed Orimern, but I expect it will be two or three days before she comes. We’re not close to any of her usual circuits.”

“I might be able to help,” Gralith offered, glad that for once he could do something positive to offset the news he brought. “The Island of the Moon—”

“Trains people as healers!” Eleret’s face brightened.

“Among other things. And we all know the basics, whatever we end up doing. So if you’re willing to let me look—”

“I don’t hold with takin’ charity,” the man in the corner grumbled.

“It isn’t charity, Freeman Salven,” Gralith said truthfully. “I would welcome an opportunity to put my knowledge to use.”

“Getting out of practice, are you?” the man said, but he let Gralith come nearer.

Gralith checked the leg first, because it was simplest. The splint looked well done; rather than unwrap it to examine the leg physically, he muttered the key phrase of a seeing spell and pointed. A cold blue light sprang up around the leg, and behind him the children gasped. He tried to ignore them while he concentrated. The light held steady all along the leg, which meant that the bone had been properly set. Good. Now for the head injury.

He pointed again, and the light swirled upward and settled around Freeman Salven’s head. Again it held steady, and Gralith suppressed a sigh of relief. He let the light die and went on to more ordinary tests: feeling the pulse, checking the pupils of the eyes, watching the man’s movements as he looked right and left or tried to touch the fingers of opposite hands together at arm’s length. Finally, he straightened and turned to the hovering red-haired girl.

“His brain’s been badly shaken, but he should recover in a few more days if he rests quietly in bed. If his stomach bothers him again, give him some isi-bark tea.”

“That’s all?” Eleret said, while behind her the two children exchanged relieved grins.

“Some things are best left to nature to heal,” Gralith said apologetically. “Bones and brains are two of them, unless one’s an adept-class healer, and I’m not.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” Eleret said hastily. “Really. It’s just—I was so worried—”

“Lot of fuss over nothin’,” her father said, but he, too, looked more relaxed.

Eleret glowered at her father. “It’s a good thing you broke your leg in the bargain, or we’d never keep you there long enough to heal right.”

“Don’t try to get up too soon,” Gralith warned. “It’ll slow down your brain’s recovery, and if you should have a dizzy spell and fall on that leg again, you could cripple yourself.”

The man snorted. “I’m not fool enough to chance that.”

“Not now you’ve been told.” Eleret looked at Gralith. “I’m glad you came; he wouldn’t have listened to me.” She hesitated, then raised her chin defiantly and said in a resolutely steady tone, “What brought you up here?”

“Bad news, I’m afraid.” There was no way to say it gently. “Tamm Salven died in the service of the Emperor three weeks ago. The word came to me from Ciaron this morning. I’m sorry.”

The man on the bed turned his face toward the wall. No one else moved or spoke, not even the children. The silence was every bit as bad as Gralith had expected it to be. After a moment he could not stand it, and to break it he said, “The Imperial Guard will send her wages on to you in a month or two, when the passes are clear enough for caravans.”

“What happened?” Eleret’s father said in a gruff voice.

“There was a skirmish on the western border near Kesandir,” Gralith said. “Freelady Salven was wounded in the battle, and died a few days later. I’m sorry I don’t have any more details.”

“Damn it, I told her to duck!” He turned his head away once more, and Gralith heard him whisper, “Ah,
mihaya,
” to the shadows beside the wall.