Caught in Crystal: A Lyra Novel (13 page)

“Who else could they be?” Glyndon said.

“I don’t know. Mercenaries, perhaps, or some new idea of King Valda. You realize that if they aren’t Magicseekers I’m going to miss out on at least thirty coppers for their lodging tonight? Not to mention the wine they’d have drunk.”

“You’d have had to leave soon anyway,” Glyndon said uncertainly. “That, or—” He broke off and his eyes dropped.

“If the men your son’s friend saw are not members of the Circle of Silence, I will make good your loss, innkeeper,” Corrana said smoothly.

Kayl stared at her for a moment, feeling her anger rise. The woman’s satisfaction was evident, and it took only a moment’s thought to guess the reason. Magicseekers or not, the soldiers’ arrival had persuaded Kayl to leave the inn at last, however reluctantly. “Thank you, Your Virtue,” Kayl said coldly. “But that will not be necessary.”

Corrana inclined her head. “As you wish.”

Kayl nodded without speaking. There was a moment’s silence, then Glyndon said, “Kayl, do you suppose your friend would object if we sat down?”

“Of course not,” Kayl said. As Glyndon seated himself on the bench in the corner, Kayl realized that she was still holding both Dara’s basket and her own, as well as the oilcloth bundle from the secret hiding place beneath the inn’s hearth. She crossed to the table and set her burdens down beside the basket Mark had left there. Then she unloaded the baskets and began repacking their contents into three compact bundles.

She worked steadily, and at first she was grateful that neither Glyndon nor Corrana tried to talk to her. Then her fears for Mark and Dara resurfaced, and Kayl began to wish for something to distract her. She finished the second bundle and paused, her hands hovering over the oilcloth. If the soldiers
were
Magicseekers…

With sudden decision, she picked up her basket and the oilcloth bundle and rose. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, and was through the kitchen door before either Glyndon or Corrana could reply.

As the door closed behind her, she set the basket on the floor and began rummaging through it. The package she wanted was in the bottom, one of the first things she had seized during the hasty flight from the inn. She opened it quickly, half afraid that if she hesitated she would change her mind.

The soft leather over-tunic and leggings were still supple. Kayl stripped off her loose outer garments and pulled the leathers on quickly. They had an awkward, half strange, half familiar feel, like meeting a childhood friend after years of separation and discovering little in common save the past. Lacing the top of the leggings was difficult; three pregnancies and fourteen years of sampling the inn’s stew as it cooked had added more to her hips than she would have believed.

In the end, she left the lacing loose, thanking the stars that the over-tunic was long and full. The belt that went with the tunic had vanished, worn out or lost years before. Kayl had to make do with the doubled cord she wore every day. Then she knelt and gently laid back the folds of the oilcloth bundle.

The star-gem in the hilt of the sword winked at her as she picked the weapon up. The scabbard had never been intended to hang from a belt of cord; it took awhile to fasten it so that the sword’s hilt was properly positioned. Kayl wanted to test the ease of the weapon’s draw, but Jirod’s kitchen was too small for her to get a true feel for it. She settled for grabbing the hilt and half drawing the weapon several times. It seemed good enough, but she made a mental note to test it more fully later, somewhere where there was more room.

As Kayl folded her usual clothes and packed them in the basket, doubt struck her. She must look like a fool in these leathers, a middle-aged woman trying to recapture something of her lost youth. Yes, she could move more freely without the folds of her linen robe hampering her legs, but what did it matter? She could not successfully fight six or seven Magicseekers after so many years without practice; even at the height of her abilities, she would have been lucky to avoid death or capture. And if they fled Copeham altogether, her normal clothes would attract far less attention than these.

Yet the weight of the sword against her hip was comforting, and the leather warrior’s garb gave her confidence. “Trust your instincts, Kayl Larrinar,” Kayl muttered, and bent to pick up the oilcloth and Kevran’s rod.

The dark wood of the rod shone even in the dim light from the kitchen window. Kayl was suddenly reluctant to muffle it in the folds of oilcloth once more. Perhaps Glyndon would want to see it. After all, it had been the focus of Kevran’s magic, and it was the only thing of Kevran’s she had left. She lifted the rod, and memory struck her like a blow.

“This is not going to work,” Barthelmy said decidedly.

“It’s too soon to say that,” Kayl replied. “We’ve only been on the road two days.”

“Which is at least a day and a half too long. We should have turned back as soon as that officious blonde started trying to take over.”

“Varevice and I have settled that.” For the time being, at least; Kayl wasn’t sure how long their agreement with Beshara al Allard would last if they ran into real trouble.

“Those slaves give me chills,” Barthelmy muttered. “And I don’t like Varnans.”

“If Evla can put up with them, surely you can.”

“Evla’s a Shee.”

“That’s what I mean.”

“Excuse me, but is there some problem I can help with?” a quiet voice broke in from behind Kayl.

Kayl turned to find Kevran ker Rondal, whom she privately considered the most sensible of the three Varnan wizards, studying her. “No,” she said.

“Yes,” Barthelmy said irritably. “You can go away!”

The Varna’s lips quirked. “I take it you are not fond of Varnans.”

“I don’t like any slave-keepers!”

“Barthelmy!” Kayl was appalled by her companion’s lack of manners, but fortunately Kevran did not take offense.

“Not all Varnans keep slaves, or even approve of the practice,” he said seriously. “Zylar’ri—”

“I’m sick of hearing about Zylar’ri!” Barthelmy said. “Every time someone wants to prove that Varnans aren’t all bad, they drag out Zylar’ri and hold him up as an example. Well, I don’t think one decent person in twelve hundred years is a particularly good record!”

“Barthelmy.” Kayl pitched her voice to the note of command her Star had learned to obey unhesitatingly. “Weren’t you going to speak to Evla?”

Barthelmy gave her an angry look, but she left. Kayl turned to Kevran. “I apologize for my friend’s rudeness. I hope you won’t hold it against her.”

“I was hoping she’d be more comfortable with me,” Kevran said, staring after Barthelmy. He glanced at Kayl and added apologetically, “Since I don’t look much like most people’s idea of a Varnan wizard.”

Kayl blinked, and realized it was true. Kevran was half a head shorter than she was, with fine, dark hair that was constantly falling in his eyes. He was young, too; he couldn’t be more than seven or eight years older than Kayl, at most. He looked more like a miller or a tailor than a wizard. “Barthelmy’s a little oversensitive on the subject of Varnans,” Kayl told him.

“She’s your demon-friend, isn’t she?” Kevran asked. Kayl nodded, and Kevran said thoughtfully, “And Beshara insisted on bringing Odevan. No wonder your friend is upset. It must be hard for her to see the way Beshara treats him.”

“If the Sisterhood had known one of the slaves you wanted to bring was a demon, we’d have insisted that you send someone else,” Kayl said, allowing some of her own anger to show.

“I wasn’t going to say what she thought,” Kevran said abruptly. His right hand was absentmindedly fingering a slender rod of dark wood that hung from his belt.

“What?”

“I wasn’t going to hold up Zylar’ri as a Varnan you mainlanders would approve of.”

“What
were
you going to say, then?”

“I was going to point out that he couldn’t have started his campaign to free the demons if there hadn’t been a lot of people on Varna who agreed with him.” Kevran gave her a sidelong look. “There still are, you know. Varnans who agree with Zylar’ri, I mean. You might mention that to your friend; it may make her feel a little more comfortable about this trip.”

Before Kayl could answer, the Varnan walked off. Kayl stared after him. She found herself wishing fervently that Kevran ker Rondal had been put in charge of the Varnan half of the group, and not Beshara al Allard. She suspected that it would have made the trip a great deal easier on everyone.

Kevran’s rod slid from Kayl’s fingers. She drew a deep breath, shaken by the vividness of the memory, and by its unexpectedness. She hadn’t realized how strong a reminder of Kevran the rod would be. Or was it a side effect of Varnan magic? She wondered suddenly whether Varnans had some special way of disposing of the things they used in their spells. Kevran had not had time to tell her, and there had been no one else to ask, until now. She would have to talk to Glyndon later, when Corrana was not around.

Kayl wrapped the rod in her robes and stuffed it under one arm. Then, swinging the oilcloth in her other hand, she went back into the front room of Jirod’s house.

G
LYNDON’S ONLY COMMENT WHEN
Kayl reappeared wearing leathers and the sword of the Sisterhood was, “So
that’s
what you had in that oilcloth!” Corrana said nothing, but her smile was smug. Kayl was glad she did not have to make conversation with the woman; she would have found it all but impossible to remain polite.

She returned to her original task, making up the last of the food and clothing into a bundle for herself. Just as she was finishing there was a tentative knock at the door. Kayl rose and swung around to face it.

The door opened and Dara peered around the edge. “Mother?”

“Come inside, Dara, quickly!” The last thing they needed now was for someone to notice the unusual number of visitors Jirod was having.

Dara stepped inside and pushed the door shut behind her. “I saw Bryn, and she—” Dara stopped short, staring at Kayl. Her brown eyes widened even more as they fell on the sword of the Sisterhood hanging from Kayl’s belt. “Mother, what—”

“In a minute, Dara,” Kayl said hastily. “What did Bryn say?”

Dara swallowed. “She—she said she’d be here after dark. And that she appreciated your trust. Mother, what is going on?” The last words were almost a wail.

Kayl put a comforting arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “Come sit down and I’ll explain everything. Or at least, as much of it as I know.” She glanced at Glyndon as she spoke.

“It’s all right now,” the wizard said. “You’ve heard what I had to tell you.”

“All of it?” Kayl asked sharply, prompted by something in Glyndon’s tone of voice.

“All that matters,” the wizard replied wearily.

“Mother!” Dara begged. “You said you’d explain.”

“Yes, of course,” Kayl said. She hesitated, searching for the right words and the right place to begin. “A long time ago, I was a member of the Sisterhood of Stars.”

“You were?” Dara said incredulously. “Then… that’s
your
sword?”

“Yes. I was a warrior. My Star and I did a lot of different things for the Sisterhood; I’ll tell you about them some other time, perhaps. That was how I met your father.”

“And you fell in love, and left the Sisterhood for him!” Dara said excitedly.

“No,” Kayl said firmly. “Or rather, not quite. I had other reasons for leaving.”

“Oh,” Dara said, sounding disappointed. She paused, considering, then nodded at Corrana. “Is that why she came? Because you used to be a Sister?”

“Yes, child,” Corrana said. “That is why I came.”

Dara jumped at the sound of Corrana’s voice. Kayl gave her a reassuring hug and went on, “And Glyndon is a kind of Seer. He came to warn us about the Magicseekers’ coming.”

“Why?” Dara asked. She looked warily in Glyndon’s direction.

“I was a friend of your father’s,” Glyndon said simply.

“You knew Father?” Dara burst out. She looked indignantly at Kayl. “You didn’t tell us!”

“I asked your mother not to say anything to you until I could talk to her,” Glyndon said.

Dara flushed. “But—”

A loud thump just outside the door interrupted Dara in midsentence. The door swung open, letting in the sound of Mark’s indignant voice, “—not making it up!”

“I didn’t say you were,” Jirod said. “We’ll sort it out inside.” He came into the room as he spoke and stopped abruptly when he saw Corrana. His eyes darted over the rest of the room’s occupants, moving past Kayl without recognition. Then his look returned to her, and his eyes widened in disbelief and slowly deepening bewilderment. Kayl straightened and returned his gaze.

Mark pushed his way past Jirod and kicked the door shut behind him. “I
told
you,” he said with some satisfaction.

“Mark!” Kayl said automatically. “Where are your manners?”

“Well, I
did
tell—Mother! Where’d you get the leathers? And the sword? Can I see it?”

“Later, Mark. Apologize to Jirod, then sit down somewhere.”

Mark mumbled something that would pass for “I’m sorry” and crossed the room to where Kayl was standing. Dara, Glyndon and Corrana occupied all of the chairs, so he settled himself on the floor beside Kayl, where he could study her sword.

Kayl looked back at Jirod. He was still staring at her; he did not appear to have noticed Mark’s movement at all. “Hello, Jirod,” Kayl said, trying not to show the uncertainty she felt. “I’m afraid we’ve more or less taken over your house; I’m sorry.”

“Kayl, what is all this?” Jirod said at last. “Mark said something about you hiding from Magicseekers, but I don’t see why. And the way you’re dressed, and… I don’t understand.”

“It’s a long story, Jirod,” Kayl said. She leaned back against the table, stretching her legs. “But before I start, let me introduce you to my companions. This is the Elder Sister Corrana of the Sussewild, from the Sisterhood of Stars. And this is Glyndon shal Morag, an old friend of Kevran’s and mine.”

Jirod made a small, hostile bow in Corrana’s direction and nodded with noncommittal suspicion to Glyndon. “Friends of Kayl’s are welcome in my house,” he said, putting a shade too much emphasis on the first word.