The Raven Ring (39 page)

It occurred to her that she had never translated the shapeshifter’s Cilhar “password” for Daner, so, as they crossed the broad avenue toward the area where the inn was located, she did so.

Daner’s expression went grim. “I wondered what that was about, but when you tapped the ring…”

“You thought I knew it was the shapeshifter because the ring had warned me?” Eleret shrugged. “It was a reasonable guess. And it really doesn’t matter; the important thing, then, was that you were sure it wasn’t Karvonen.”

“I wish I knew how Karvonen persuaded him to say something he didn’t understand,” Daner said. Then he closed his mouth abruptly and his expression changed from grim to bleak. “I was going to ask if you were sure you didn’t want to wait for the Commander’s men,” he said after a moment, “but now I don’t think
I
want to wait for them.”

“Wait? Why?”

“That shapeshifter—Mobrellan or whatever his name really is—had a tendency to get other people to do his dirty work for him. If he’s left someone at the inn—”

“Then we’ll deal with them.”

They turned the last corner, and Eleret saw the splintered harp above the inn’s door. Her stride lengthened further, even as her stomach clenched. She found herself almost hoping Mobrellan
had
left someone on guard. With Daner half a step behind her, she pushed open the door of the inn.

The transition from the near-noon light of the street to the smoky gloom of the public room blinded Eleret to detail for a moment, but she heard a startled exclamation as she entered, and then a muttered “
Hoy
!
Oransk voyi Cilhar,
” and the scraping of benches being shoved back from tables.

“Syaski!” Eleret called the warning to Daner, then drew her knife and moved left, out of the light spilling through the open door.
I should have let Daner come in first,
she thought.
It
w
ould have given us another second or two; they couldn’t have identified
him
as a Cilhar from looking at his clothes.

Steel rang against leather as Daner drew his sword. Five figures converged on them, their expressions indistinct but their intentions clear. Near the back of the room, the proprietor of the inn pushed his wife into the kitchen, then discreetly followed her out of harm’s way.

Eleret flipped a raven’s-foot at the nearest Syask, expecting him to dodge. He did, but not far or fast enough. Clutching his left eye, he tripped over a bench and temporarily disappeared from sight.

One out, four to finish.
Eleret dropped into a crouch as the first man came at her. His movements lacked edge—
he’s probably been drinking. Stupid thing to do, if you’re expecting a fight
—and she closed with him, ducking under his descending sword to slide her knife between his ribs.
Two out.
As she pulled her knife free, she shoved, hard. The man fell backward into his compatriots, entangling their swords and slowing their advance.

Backing away, Eleret circled sunwise. Off to her right, she heard the clash of sword against sword.
Daner has one. Two left for me.
The nearer man turned to face her and found her knife waiting.
One for me, one for Daner.

The last man was ready for her. His sword licked out, and she jumped backward, barely avoiding it. The Syask smiled and lunged again. Eleret took the cut across the fleshy part of her right arm—not deep enough to cut muscle, but painful. Ignoring the pain, she caught at his wrist and pulled him toward her, bringing his throat within reach of the knife in her left hand.

As she jumped back to avoid the spurt of blood, she heard a strangled cry to her right, and the sound of a body falling.
That’s all of them.
Automatically, she bent to wipe her knife.

“Eleret! You—” Daner stopped.

Looking up, she found him staring at her with an astounded expression. “What is it?”

“You killed one of them?”

“No. Two. That one will probably live.” She pointed her knife at the man she had sliced between the ribs. “And the one over there is sure to survive.” She gestured in the direction of the man she had blinded with her raven’s-foot.

Daner shook his head. “You’re amazing.”

“Not really. The innkeeper’s in the kitchen; go ask him which room is Jonystra’s. If I ask, he’ll want explanations, but if you do it—”

“He’ll be happy to tell Lord Daner Vallaniri whatever he wants to know.” Daner was heading for the kitchen door before he was quite through speaking.

Eleret finished cleaning her knife and sheathed it, then pressed her hand against the sword cut for a moment to reduce the bleeding. By the time she had retrieved her raven’s-foot, Daner was back. “First door on the left, upstairs,” he said, then, “You’re hurt!”

“Not enough to matter.” The cut was messy and needed bandaging, but though it continued to ooze, the bleeding was not bad enough to worry about weakness or blood loss. A few more minutes would make little difference in its eventual healing.

“I begin to understand Karvonen’s attitude toward Cilhar,” Daner muttered. “A few minutes won’t—”

“—make enough difference to be worth the time,” Eleret said from the far door. “Be quiet. There may be more of them upstairs.”

“I think they already know we’re here,” Daner said, glancing pointedly back at the overturned bench, the two injured Syaski, and the three bodies.

“Probably, but they don’t need to know to the second when we’re coming through the door.”

Without waiting to see whether Daner was following, she started up the stairs. She moved quickly and quietly, as she did when she hunted in the forests at home, her ears straining to catch any whisper of sound that might betray the presence of enemies above. In the hall by Jonystra’s room she paused, suddenly reluctant to face whatever waited inside. Her slight hesitation allowed Daner to catch up with her. At his inquiring look, she whispered, “Spells?” and gestured at the door.

Daner’s eyes narrowed and he muttered something indistinct. Then he shook his head. Eleret took a deep breath, nodded once, and pushed open the door.

No Syaski burst out to attack them. What she could see of the room was empty, save for a wash table very like the one in the room she had had downstairs. Eleret frowned; then, dagger ready, she leaped through the open door and whirled, scanning the room. No one crouched against a wall or lurked behind the door. Satisfied, she sheathed her dagger and looked around more carefully.

Two wooden trunks sat against the wall beside the door, each closed with an iron lock. The bed was in complete disarray; the blankets had been pulled off and dumped in a heap on the floor beside it, leaving the straw pallet bare. No, not pulled off, dragged. And even half-blocked by the pile of blankets, there was something odd about the shadow under the bed… Stepping forward, Eleret jerked the straw pallet off the bed, and found herself staring through the rope webbing into Karvonen’s terrified eyes.

Relief made her dizzy. “It’s all right,” she said in Cilhar. “It’s really me.” Switching to Ciaronese, she called to Daner, “I’ve found him.”

“Is he all right?”

Only then did the swellings and the lacework of fine cuts on Karvonen’s face register. “No,” Eleret said. “Give me a hand with this frame, so we can get at him.”

Karvonen’s eyes closed, and his head dropped back to the floor with a thud. He did not move as Daner and Eleret lifted the wooden bedframe and moved it aside. With the frame out of the way, it was easy to see the marks of a thorough beating on his naked body, as well as the threads of dried blood that marked the path of a knife. His hands and feet were bound tightly enough that his fingers were blue and swollen, but he had not been gagged. Daner made a sickened noise and turned away. The thief neither moved nor spoke.

Frightened by Karvonen’s stillness, Eleret knelt beside him and reached for the pulse point at his throat. Her fingers tingled as she touched him, and she pulled away. “Daner, I think there’s a spell on him.”

Daner was beside her in an instant, muttering incomprehensible words as his hands hovered over Karvonen’s chest. “You’re right; it’s a silencing spell. No wonder nobody heard him while they were… Never mind. This will take a minute.” He frowned in concentration and began murmuring once more, his hands making odd plucking gestures in the air above Karvonen. “
Halkana wilinin sala; valyra wilme sal,
” he said at last, and sat back.

An instant later, Karvonen gasped, coughed, and said in a raw, hoarse whisper, “E-Eleret?”

“It’s me,” Eleret said in Cilhar.

“Did—did—shape—” Karvonen broke off, coughing painfully.

“I got your message,” Eleret said. “The shapeshifter is dead.”

“Thoroughly dead,” Daner put in. “And if I’d known he’d done this, I’d have twisted the sword as it went in.”

Karvonen’s cracked and puffy lips curved very slightly. “Good.”

“Don’t talk.” Eleret studied Karvonen’s bonds for a moment, wincing in sympathy, then drew her dagger. “And try not to move. I’m going to cut the thongs around your wrists, and I don’t want to slip.”

“You…won’t.”

“Quiet.” Carefully, Eleret stroked the knife point across the taut leather. She counted under her breath, two, three, four times, each stroke slicing a fraction farther, until the thong parted at last. Working as gently as she could, she unwound the leather from the swollen flesh. Karvonen sighed as his hands came free at last, then shivered.

Eleret looked dubiously at the rough blankets, but there was nothing else to use. As she reached for the top blanket, Daner undid the clasp on his cloak and swung it away from his shoulders. Leaning forward, he draped it over Karvonen’s recumbent form. Karvonen tried to raise an eyebrow, winced, and took a deep breath.

“I told you to be quiet,” Eleret said before he could speak. “You can tell Daner ‘thank you’ later.”

“What makes you think he was going to thank me?” Daner’s tone was bantering, but his expression was concerned. “It’s more likely he was planning another insult.”

“Whichever it is, it is going to wait,” Eleret said firmly. She threw a grateful smile at Daner, and slid down to undo Karvonen’s feet.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs outside drifted through the door. Eleret shifted to face the entrance, and Daner readied his sword. An instant later, they both relaxed as the innkeeper’s worried face appeared. “My lord? Lord Daner? I— Death storm on the open sea! What
happened
here?”

Eleret turned back to her task, leaving the explanations to Daner. He gave the innkeeper a succinct and considerably edited story focusing mainly on Karvonen’s rescue and leaving the distinct impression that it had all involved a plot against the Emperor. The innkeeper, while impressed, seemed far more interested in who was to pay for various damages and what he was to tell the City Guards when they arrived.

The last thong parted, and Eleret looked up. “Daner, settle this outside. Karvonen needs a healer; failing that, he needs quiet.”

“I’m…not—”

“
Quiet
!” Eleret said. “Daner, go away. And when you come back, bring a healer.”

“An unnecessary stipulation,” said a new voice. “Livarti! Double time; you’re needed.” And a stocky man in the uniform of the Imperial Guard stepped through the door. Bowing to Daner, he said, “I’m Captain Sheverin, at your service by Commander Weziral’s order and with his compliments, my lord, Freelady. Some of my men are cleaning up downstairs; do you require any additional assistance?”

“Not at the moment, Captain,” Daner said. “Your arrival is very timely.”

Another uniformed man appeared in the doorway. “Captain, I hope you’ve got a good reason for dragging me up here. There are two men downstairs who need my attention.”

“The man up here not only needs it, he deserves it,” Daner said. “That is, if you’re the healer Captain Sheverin called for a minute ago.”

“I’m Livarti.” The man eyed Daner suspiciously. “You’re not injured.”

“Over here,” Eleret said. “Daner…”

“Perhaps we should continue our discussion in the hall,” Daner said to the innkeeper. “I’m sure Captain Sheverin will want to join us.”

“Indubitably.” The Captain bowed, Daner bowed, and between them they shepherded the awed innkeeper out of the room.

The healer was already shaking his head over Karvonen’s condition. “Close your eyes and try to hold still,” he told the thief. “This shouldn’t hurt, but it may feel a little strange. If it
does
hurt, tell me immediately.”

“Yes,” Karvonen rasped, and Eleret had to repress another automatic command for him to be still. Karvonen must have realized what she was thinking, because he caught her eyes and winked very deliberately before following the rest of the healer’s instructions.

Livarti folded Daner’s cloak back, then began muttering rapidly, while his hands wove through the air above Karvonen’s body. Blue light sprang up and faded almost at once, first around Karvonen’s head, then his chest, then each arm and leg in turn. Eleret watched in worried fascination. She hadn’t realized how different a practiced healer’s work would be from the tests Gralith had run on her father the day before she had left the mountains.

At last the healer paused. “A cracked collarbone, two broken ribs, and a damaged kidney, plus an amazing assortment of bruises, sprains, and cuts. What happened?”

“I…was—”

“Tcha,” said Livarti. “A moment, please.” He laid his right hand against Karvonen’s throat and made a series of strange gestures with his left. Orange light bloomed around his hand. Frowning, the healer made another complicated gesture and began muttering under his breath once more. Slowly the light changed color, fading from angry orange to clear yellow and then to white.

Finally, Livarti stopped muttering and let the light die. When the last glimmer was gone, he lifted his hand from Karvonen’s throat and flexed the fingers. “How’s that?”

“It’s…much better.” Karvonen’s voice was still slightly hoarse, but he no longer sounded as if every word were painful.

“If you didn’t have so much else wrong with you, I’d have pushed a little further, but under the circumstances it wouldn’t have been wise. You’re going to need the rest of your energy for more important repairs.”