Daughter of Witches: A Lyra Novel (11 page)

The drug was still distorting her perceptions; and she was not prepared for the wrenching drop from sitting atop the wall to hanging from her hands. She grabbed in panic as she realized her mistake. Her hands slid along the brick, scraping the skin painfully. She missed the hold she was reaching for and slipped from the top of the wall to land in a crumpled heap on the other side.

Shandy was beside her immediately, wanting to know if she was all right. Ranira shifted and started to respond, but a stabbing pain in her right leg made her bite back a scream and shake her head instead. Shandy stood over her, frowning.

“Can’t you walk, Renra? If you rest for a while? The Templemen don’t know about this place, but if they really start hunting…” The boy’s voice trailed off.

Even drugged, Ranira knew what a full Temple search would mean. Again, she tried to move, and almost fainted. “No,” she whispered, biting her lip. “I can’t. You have to find Mist, Shandy. She can heal. She could do something.”

“That witch you were talking about?” Shandy shook his head. “But the Temple will catch us right away if we use magic! And it’ll take all day just to find her. Those foreigners may not even have gotten away. And there are too many places to look. Are you sure you can’t walk?”

“I can hardly move my leg at all,” Ranira said hazily. “Try, Shandy. You know where to look; you can find them. They got away. They’re hiding over by the old market. You
have
to find them.”

“All
right,
Renra. I’ll go look,” Shandy said. “But I don’t like it.”

Ranira sank back, relieved. She wanted to say more, to explain, but she had no energy left to do so. As she watched Shandy climb the wall once more, a wave of dizziness pulled her, unresisting, into darkness.

S
HE WOKE ALONE AND
miserably uncomfortable. Her head ached, and her injured leg throbbed painfully. The ragged black gown, still damp with river water, clung with unpleasant coldness to her back and legs. The effects of the drug lingered on; she felt slow and stupid. She found herself staring intently at a broken piece of brick and could not remember why. Irritated, she forced herself to look around.

She lay where she had fallen, at one side of a small, rectangular courtyard, barely a few feet wide. There were no exits; the two short ends of her shelter were blocked by the blank stone walls of buildings, and two brick walls ran unbroken from side to side between them.

For a moment Ranira was puzzled. Then she laughed weakly. Years before, the Temple of Chaldon had decreed that all of the alleys in the city must be blocked at regular intervals so that fleeing thieves, witches, and other undesirables could not lose their pursuers in the narrow maze behind the buildings. Evidently someone at the Temple had made a mistake when the walls were positioned, and no one ever dared to question it. Erecting two walls in the same alley would be a small price to pay to escape the notice of the Eyes of Chaldon. Ranira wondered how many other such places there were in Drinn. Shandy would know, she was sure.

The shadows of the walls crept closer. She began to wonder where Shandy was, but with the drug in her system she could not stay worried long. There were other effects as well—she felt cold, and her mind began to alternate between a fuzzy semi-consciousness and nightmarish hallucinations. Only when she shifted, trying to escape her dream-pursuers, did the pain in her leg bring her back to herself for a moment or two.

Time ceased to have meaning. Ranira woke for perhaps the third or fourth time to find herself in darkness with her leg twisted painfully. A shadow moved beside her, and she stifled a scream. “It’s me, Renra,” came Shandy’s whisper. “And I found those foreigners.”

The note of disapproval in his voice was unmistakable, but Ranira ignored it. “Mist?” she said, straining to see into the darkness.

“No, little sister. Jaren,” another voice whispered. “I will take you to her. Can you stand?”

“No,” she said. “I think my leg is broken.”

“Then I will carry you.” Ranira felt arms around her, lifting. Then agony flared up her leg, and she fainted.

She awoke with cool water streaming down her face. She was outside the walls, and Jaren was bending over her. Silver-green moonlight poured into the alley—Elewyth had risen, and though it was five days from being full, its light was bright. In the greenish glow she could see Shandy next to Jaren, holding a dipper. She leaned against a brick wall next to a pair of stone water jars.

“I am sorry,” she said hazily. “Did I faint?”

“You did,” Jaren replied. “I will be gentler this time, but I am afraid it won’t be easy. We must move quickly. There are Watchmen about, and this place is too open to linger.”

As if to emphasize Jaren’s words, a robed figure appeared at the end of the alley, silhouetted in moonlight. Almost by reflex, Shandy melted into the shadows. Ranira shrank back, seeing her recent nightmares become reality. The Temple guard strode forward, peering into doorways and shadowed places. A hand caught Ranira, forcing her to remain motionless. It was Jaren, crouched tense and unmoving beside her.

The Templeman moved slowly in their direction, sword in hand. He had not yet seen them hiding behind the water jars, but he was sure to do so if he came much closer. She held her breath, willing him to turn away. The guard hesitated and she felt a sudden surge of hope; then the Templeman shook his head and started forward again.

When the guard reached the water jars, Jaren sprang. His leap carried him in one, graceful motion from his frozen crouch beside Ranira to a stance directly in front of the Templeman. The startled guard opened his mouth to cry out, but it was already too late. Jaren’s right hand locked around the guard’s neck; his left grabbed the man’s sword arm and held it motionless.

The guard’s left hand was still free, and he clawed at Jaren’s face. The foreigner twisted away without losing his hold. The Templeman tried again, but Jaren seemed to anticipate his every move. Finally, the guard abandoned his attempt to break the grip that was slowly strangling him. He reached instead for his dagger. Jaren’s knee came up as the weapon left its sheath, and the dagger went skittering across the stones. The battle continued in silence.

The guard’s dagger lay just beyond Ranira’s reach. She bit her lip and began inching carefully forward with the vague idea of helping Jaren if she could reach the dagger in time. Pain brought tears to her eyes with each movement of her leg, but as long as the movements were small, the pain was not unbearable. It seemed to take hours to cross the small stretch of alley. Finally her hands closed around the dagger’s hilt. She looked up.

The guard was still clawing at Jaren, but more weakly—he was evidently beginning to feel the lack of air. Ranira relaxed; Jaren needed no help from her. A scraping noise behind her made her jerk her head toward the mouth of the alley just as a new voice said, “What’s this?”

A second Templeman stood silhouetted briefly at the mouth of the alley, his attention focused on the combatants. Ranira’s hands closed around the dagger as he stepped swiftly forward. Jaren and his opponent were too intent on their own struggle to show any sign that they had noticed the new arrival, though they must have heard his voice. The newcomer drew his sword. Ranira caught her breath. He was too far away for her to reach him.

Suddenly the shadows behind the Temple guard shifted. Something long and round flashed in the moonlight as it came down on the back of the second guard’s head. He stumbled and fell to his knees immediately in front of Ranira. Her eyes widened as he took in the unmistakable garments she wore, and he opened his mouth to shout. Without thinking, Ranira leaned forward and, with all her strength, drove the dagger into his chest.

The guard choked. Ranira had a fleeting glimpse of utter astonishment on his face before he fell sideways, carrying the dagger with him. Shandy appeared behind the body still holding the water dipper. He swung it at the remaining guard, but the blow was unnecessary. The man was already collapsing.

As the second guard fell, Jaren twisted the sword from his grasp and neatly cut the man’s throat, stepping a little to one side as he did so. Blood spurted briefly, then the Templeman pitched forward on his face. Beneath his head, a dark pool began to grow, glistening wetly in the moonlight.

Jaren bent to the other corpse. He retrieved the dagger and wiped it on the Templeman’s robes, then turned and offered it to Ranira. She accepted it silently. Suddenly she found herself shaking, and she forced herself to look away from the bodies.

When she recovered her composure enough to look again, Jaren was removing the sword belts from the two corpses. He donned one, settling it around his waist with a relieved sigh. He picked up the other, then hesitated. He drew the unused dagger and gestured at Shandy, but the boy shook his head. With a shrug, Jaren replaced the weapon and slung the entire belt over one shoulder. He looked at the bodies again and shook his head regretfully, then began dragging them to less conspicuous positions in the shadows.

By the time Jaren turned back to her, Ranira was under control again. This time she was ready for the surge of pain as he lifted her. She did not faint, but the alley swam before her eyes as Jaren glided silently forward.

Shandy led them cautiously through the streets and alleys of Drinn. Several times they had to stop, crouching behind water jars or flattened against doorways while groups of Templemen strode past. Jaren moved so smoothly that the sword belt dangling from his shoulder never scraped a wall or banged against the sword he wore.

Well as she knew the city, Ranira was soon lost. She quickly stopped trying to remember the turnings and concentrated instead on remaining awake. Between exhaustion and pain, this was no easy task, and she was surprised and relieved when Jaren slid into an alley and knocked a curious rhythm on one of the doors.

The door swung inward and closed hastily behind them as they entered. Inside, no hint of moonlight crept through any window slits. Ranira realized they must be in one of the abandoned buildings not yet claimed by the Temple of Chaldon. She could not see even a dim outline of the room, but she could feel Jaren moving surely forward, and she wondered how he could find his way through the blackness. She heard the click of another door latch opening; then they were descending a flight of stairs.

A light shone below, dim and wavering. Ranira found herself looking down into a deserted wine cellar. Empty racks stood along the walls, dusty and broken. Pieces of glass and pottery littered the floor. Seated on a pile of warped and rotting boards on the far side of the room was Mist, carefully shielding a small candle stub from any draft. The foreign witch had discarded her short veil, and Ranira was shocked by the weariness that showed in every line of her face. Embarrassed, she hastily averted her eyes. Though she knew that few women went veiled outside the Empire of Chaldreth, the sight made her uncomfortable.

Jaren set Ranira gently down on the floor. She glimpsed Shandy and Arelnath descending the stairs. Shandy’s eyes shifted nervously from side to side; Ranira suspected that the boy disliked hiding in a wine cellar with only one exit almost as much as he disapproved of the three non-Chalders. Arelnath moved to stand beside Ranira looking down at her.

“I see the boy spoke truly,” she said. “How did you get out of the river? I did not really expect to see you again.” Her voice was cool.

“Shandy pulled me out.” Ranira started to explain the details of her rescue. Halfway through, Jaren interrupted.

“Tunnel?” he asked, looking at Shandy.

Shandy was smug. “Sure. The Watchmen don’t care about it ’cause they’re too fat and lazy for it to do them any good. I got lots of good hiding spots like that.”

“Shandy knows more about getting around Drinn than anyone,” Ranira said.

Jaren nodded. “I can well believe it. I’ve seen what he can do.” He turned to the boy. “Would you be willing to assist us in getting out of Drinn? I don’t think we could find a better guide.”

Shandy’s thin chest swelled with pride at Jaren’s words, but almost immediately his eyes narrowed. Ranira could see his suspicion of the foreigners warring with his desire to be rid of them. “Maybe.”

Arelnath looked disapprovingly from Jaren to Shandy, but said nothing. Shandy glared back. There was a brief silence. “I brought something for you, Arelnath,” Jaren said then. He rose and unslung the extra sword belt from his shoulder. “Here, catch.”

Arelnath’s face lit up as she saw the weapons, and she jumped forward and caught them easily. She buckled the belt in place, then drew the sword. She tested its edge against her thumb, then hefted it to check its weight. Finally, she stepped back and swung the weapon several times, as if feinting at some imaginary opponent. Then she repeated the entire process with the dagger.

“Not the best weapons I’ve seen,” she said at last, “and not sharp enough, but better than none.”

“I hadn’t checked.” Jaren drew his own sword. He flicked a fingernail against the side, producing a faint ringing. He shrugged. “It’ll do.”

“Jaren, you’re too casual,” Arelnath said, shaking her head. Her frown returned, and she looked at him suspiciously. “Where did you come by them?”

Jaren shrugged again. “A couple of Templemen who won’t need them anymore. Nowhere near here, though we may have spoiled one of Shandy’s better hiding places for a while.”

“If they come from Templemen, I must examine them, Jaren. Give them to me, please,” Mist put in. The black-haired woman had risen and come slowly forward. Even her voice sounded tired. Jaren looked at her and raised both eyebrows almost to his hairline, but he unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to her without comment. The woman’s face went blank for a moment as she fingered the sword and sheath. Then she relaxed with a sigh.

“Nothing,” she said in response to Jaren’s look of inquiry. She returned the belt and looked toward Arelnath. “Yours next.”

The other woman had already unbuckled the belt, but she made no move to hand it to Mist. “You are tired already, and there is more work here that only you can do,” she said, glancing at Ranira. “Is this necessary? Is it wise to spend your strength so freely?”