Daughter of Witches: A Lyra Novel (14 page)

“There are only two moons now,” Mist said. “But once there were three. One was destroyed, so long ago that we know nothing of the cause. There are pieces of it all over the world, but they are hard to find.” Unconsciously, the woman’s hand moved upward to close around a small white stone dangling from a chain around her neck. Ranira recognized the gesture; it was the same one Mist had used when she was healing Jaren, only then her veil had hidden the stone from Ranira’s eyes.

“Three moons?” Shandy said, wavering between disbelief and awe.

Mist nodded, and the boy blinked and lapsed into thoughtful silence. She looked at Ranira. “You have not answered my question. Do you know of the Temple?”

“No.” Ranira shook her head. “The Melyranne Sea is east, beyond the boundaries of the Empire of Chaldreth, but I have never heard of those other places.” Shandy started to speak, but Ranira frowned him into silence. She was not going to let him antagonize these people again, just when they might be ready to tell her something.

Mist sighed again. “I thought as much. Well, to make matters simple, there are more than thirty countries and independent cities on this side of the Melyranne Sea alone. The Temple of the Third Moon is on an island south of the sea, and it is older than all of them. Because we are small and have no interest in conquest, we have come to play the role of arbitrators and advisers among the countries that ring the Sea. We…”

“You said ‘we’! You’re a heretic!” Shandy interrupted. “Renra, did you hear?”

“What do you expect from a foreign witch?” Arelnath asked irritably. “She isn’t a priest of Chaldon!”

“But the Temple catches heretics,” Shandy said. “Just like they do if you think about magic too much. That’s how they caught Cilia, and Parlin.”

Jaren looked at Mist, a startled expression on his face. “Could the Temple of Chaldon really detect people who merely think about magic?”

“It is possible,” Mist said thoughtfully. “I had wondered how they found us at the inn so quickly. If they can locate people who do not think as the Temple wishes, they would have noticed us, for I was not shielding us then. But there is no need to fear now, Shandy. The Temple cannot find you while I am hiding us.”

“Huh,” Shandy replied skeptically, but he did not object again.

“I already know how Shandy feels about the Temple,” Ranira said crossly. “I want to know what you are doing in Drinn. If it is safe for Shandy to talk heresy about the Temple of Chaldon, it is safe for you to explain why you are here.”

“You are probably right.” Mist was silent for a moment, then looked up. “I am a… servant of the Temple of the Third Moon. We are trained in magic and healing, and as I have said, some of us are advisors to the countries that ring the Melyranne Sea. A little over two years ago, the Temple of the Third Moon was asked to judge a dispute between the Empire of Chaldreth and Basirth. We agreed, though we had never dealt with the Empire before. The delegation went to Basirth and returned safely, but shortly after that there were disturbances, sendings against the Island of the Moon.

“At first the spells were minor, irritations only, but lately they have grown more serious. It is no longer safe for ships to visit us because of the storms, and there are a hundred lesser things. We have been able to counter some of these magics, but for each spell we overcome, another two begin.

“When we realized what was happening, we tried to trace the spells, but they are subtle. It took us days to follow them even as far as the Empire of Chaldreth, and no one could learn more. The Assembly of the Temple chose to send me into the Empire to find out why the Empire is doing this and to stop it, if I can. Arelnath and Jaren are Cilhar mercenaries, hired by the Temple Speaker to help me. Do you understand now?”

Ranira started to nod, then frowned. “Why did you have to be in Drinn during the Festival in order to do this? If you had come just before or just after it, there would have been no reason for the Temple of Chaldon to arrest you. Foreigners are only banned during Festival.”

A fleeting grin crossed Jaren’s face, but Mist looked uncomfortable. “We have traveled through the Empire of Chaldreth for weeks,” she said. “I have learned little, but enough to know that the Temple of Chaldon is the real authority here. Drinn is the center of the Empire and the home of the main Temple, and Midwinter Festival is the greatest of your feasts. I could sense the power flowing from the Temple of Chaldon toward the Island, and I hoped to learn the answers to my questions here.”

“Did you?” Ranira asked.

Mist shook her head. “There is a darkness about the Temple of Chaldon that I cannot penetrate. Even in the House of Correction I could not discover the source of the Temple’s power, nor the reason it attacks us.”

Once more Mist’s hand closed around the white stone she wore. Suddenly she looked very tired. “I will try again to read them, but not until we are at the river. I am sure the priests will notice at once, so we must be able to leave quickly when I have finished.”

“Is that necessary?” Arelnath said, scowling. “We have already learned a great deal. If the priests of Chaldon notice your spells quickly enough to guess what we are doing, they may catch us, and the Island will learn nothing.”

Mist hesitated; then her mouth set in a determined line. “The Temple of Chaldon is the key to the Empire. Yes, we have learned much, but we still do not know why they would destroy us. I must find out why, and how, and this is the only way left.”

“They fear your magic and your influence among their neighbors,” Arelnath said. “A Temple that freely teaches the use of magic is not likely to be popular with those who burn witches.”

“Perhaps that is part of their plan, but I am sure it is not the whole,” Mist said. “I must try to find out what other motives they have. Only once more. That is all I ask.”

“If you insist,” Jaren said. “I am not magician enough to stop you. But will you have enough strength to deal with the snakes if you make this attempt?”

“I will do what I must,” Mist replied. “Do not worry. The charm against snakes is a simple one. Unless I am dead or unconscious, I will be able to warn them away. It takes very little strength.”

The blond man did not look completely reassured, but all he said was, “Since we are leaving tomorrow, I suggest we try to sleep now. We may not get so good a chance again for a while.”

“Sleep?” Ranira said incredulously.

“Of course,” Arelnath said. “You will feel much better after you have rested, and so will Mist. Match straws for first watch, Jaren?”

The blond man nodded, and a few moments later Arelnath sighed. “You always were luckier than I. Dream of home.”

She crawled over him to the exit hole and vanished.

Mist leaned forward and pinched out the candle stub. “The Moon watch you,” her disembodied voice said in the darkness. Ranira heard a low chuckle from Jaren, but her eyes were already closing of their own weight. A moment later, she was asleep.

“R
ANIRA, WAKE UP.”

Someone was shaking her shoulder. With a groan, Ranira lifted her head and opened her eyes. Her muscles were stiff and sore. The uneven, rocky surface on which she lay seemed to have bruised her everywhere. Jaren was crouching over her, holding a small bundle. She blinked at him, then realized that someone had lit the candle stub once more.

“Here,” Jaren said, tossing the bundle at her. “Put this on. It’s probably more comfortable than what you’re wearing, and it’s certainly less noticeable.”

Ranira automatically caught the soft, awkward mass—a brown pilgrim’s robe. She held it for a moment, then pulled it over her head without removing any of her other garments. She tried to belt it in place, but gave up after a brief struggle. There simply was not enough space. The belt would have to wait until she was outside in the alley again. An icy finger traced a line down the middle of her back as she thought of going out to dodge the Templemen once more. She shook her head, checked her borrowed veil, and looked up.

Jaren was watching her, an amused expression on his face, but all he said was, “Here. Breakfast. Don’t look too closely, just eat it. You’ll need the energy by the end of the night.”

He handed her a crumbling lump of bread and a hard squarish object which proved to be cheese—the standard fare of the poor in Drinn. In the flickering candlelight she could not see the food clearly, but she had certainly eaten far more dubious-looking meals. She realized suddenly that the last time she remembered eating was nearly two days in the past. If the Temple had fed her after Gadrath had made her drink his drugged wine, she had no memory of it. She bit eagerly into the bread.

There was not enough to satisfy her, but she was no longer painfully hungry when she finished. She licked the crumbs from her fingers and looked up. Except for Shandy, the others were still eating; evidently, the unappetizing appearance of the food affected the foreigners more than it did the two Chalders. Ranira noticed several more lumpish bundles lying beside Jaren. “Where did you get all this?” she asked, waving at both the robes and the food.

“Shandy and I stole them while you were asleep,” he replied with a grin. “We got a firebox, too, and some cord. Nobody watches pilgrims closely; after the first robe it was easy. We can walk right to the river without being noticed in these.”

“We might be able to,” Arelnath put in, “but we aren’t going to try. We don’t know enough of the customs of Drinn to fake being pilgrims; I’ll wager it’s more complicated than it looks. You’re crazy to even suggest it. Haven’t your harebrained ideas gotten us into enough trouble?”

“As you wish,” Jaren said with an unrepentant shrug. He rose and made his way to the entrance hole. “In any case, we had best be on our way.”

“Don’t forget your own disguise,” Arelnath said. She picked up one of the bundles and pitched it at Jaren. “It will be easy enough to spot you even with the robe; you’re too tall for a Chalder.”

Jaren caught the robe, then dropped on all fours and vanished into the small opening that led to the alley outside. Shandy followed immediately. The ease with which he negotiated the tunnel showed how often he had used it. Arelnath looked at Mist and sighed. “I’m next, I suppose. Mother of Mountains, but I’ll be glad to be out of this city! Crawling through holes isn’t much to my liking.” She scooped up the two remaining bundles, pushed them into the tunnel, and was gone.

Ranira slid over to the tunnel mouth and started inching her way uphill to the bend. The robe made crawling awkward, but she managed the trip without any major difficulty. When she reached the alley, Arelnath was waiting to help her to her feet and brush the dust from the robe.

The sun had set, but enough light remained for Ranira to see Arelnath and Jaren clearly. The two had donned the brown pilgrim’s robes. Ranira surveyed them critically. Their swords made odd bulges beneath the coarse brown cloth, but with luck no one would come near enough to notice. Far more serious was their manner. Even in the fading light, it was plain that neither had the bearing of a pilgrim.

“Can’t you look a bit more frightened?” Ranira asked. “No one will believe you’re pilgrims if you walk like that.”

“Ranira is right,” Mist said as she emerged from the tunnel and slid her own robe over her head. “Try to seem less sure of yourselves. We have no wish to attract attention.”

“Come then,” Jaren said softly. He turned, and to Ranira’s amazement, scuttled down the alley in perfect imitation of a frightened old man. The others followed more slowly. When they reached the mouth of the alley, Shandy took the lead, and again they began a twisting progress through the back streets of Drinn.

There were few people about. Once again Ranira wondered what had become of all the pilgrims. The few they saw were hurrying toward the center of the city, where the Temple of Chaldon loomed. Not even Templemen were in evidence. The city seemed more deserted as the darkness deepened, and she grew more and more uneasy as they drew nearer to the walls of Drinn.

At the end of a short, dirty side street, Shandy turned and wriggled through a crack where two buildings did not quite meet. The others followed with more difficulty and soon found themselves standing on a small stone ledge, about two paces wide. On one side rose the featureless wall of the building; on the other, the stone dropped toward the river, forming a low wall along the bank. Ahead, the walls of Drinn arched low over the dark waters, barely visible against the now completely darkened sky.

“Well, who is first?” Jaren asked, breaking the silence. He looked at Mist.

“Not yet,” Mist said. “I wish to try my strength against the Temple one last time, now that I will not be hampered by the need for secrecy. But be ready; we will have to leave quickly.”

“That is easy enough,” Jaren murmured, looking down at the river. “All that is necessary is to jump.” Mist seated herself on the wall above the river. She reached up and cupped the stone she wore in both her hands. The stone began to glow softly, and Mist’s face went still and remote in the reflected light. Ranira watched in fascination until she was distracted by a touch on her arm.

“The robe will hamper you dangerously in the water,” Arelnath was saying. “Leave it here, but be sure to take the knife.” She and Jaren had already discarded their pilgrim’s garb, and Jaren was making a bundle of the swords, the remains of the food, the firebox, and Shandy’s water bottle.

Ranira hesitated. She could not dispute the advice, but she was reluctant to part with the only decent clothes she had. Arelnath smiled slightly and said, “Add it to Jaren’s pack. It will not absorb much water, if it is tightly rolled and tied.”

Ranira complied, and after a moment’s thought, added the veil and her knife to the pile as well.

“Good,” Jaren said as he dropped his leather boots on top of the stack. He strapped the bundle together with the cords that had belted the pilgrims’ robes. It made a surprisingly compact parcel. Jaren looked up. “I think…”

He was cut off in mid-sentence by a bright silver light flashing from the riverbank where Mist was seated. Ranira heard the woman’s voice cry strange words, and she felt a tingle run down her spine. She heard Jaren say, “That’s done it. The river now, and quickly.” Ranira paused, blinking. Before she could gather her wits, a hand grabbed her and propelled her over the edge of the wall.