The Black Raven Read online

  Slowly, silently, Verrarc made his way out of the ruins. The air outside had never smelled so sweet, despite its biting cold, and he realized that he had felt close to vomiting, watching Raena plead with her spirits. For some while he stood among the tangled blocks of stone and looked down at the mists rising from the warm lake. Why was he waiting for her, he wondered. She would find her own way home easily enough. With a shrug he picked his way back to the path. By the time he got back to the house, he was tired enough to go back to bed, and this time he slept through till morning.

  When he woke, Raena lay next to him, curled up on her side and breathing softly. Around the shutters a gleam of grey light announced dawn. In her sleep she smiled, a curve of her mouth that seemed to hint of secrets. He left their bed without waking her, and when some while later she joined him for breakfast, he said nothing about the night just past.

  Dressed in green, she sat down across from him at the little table near the fire. For a while they ate porridge in silence.

  “My love?” Raena said at last. “Is it that you must be about council business this afternoon?”

  “It’s not, truly, unless some sort of messenger does come from the Chief Speaker.”

  “That gladdens my heart.”

  “Indeed? Why?”

  She shrugged, ate a few more mouthfuls, then laid her spoon down in the bowl.

  “I did wish to walk about the town, ’tis all,” Raena said, “and I fear to do it alone. The citizens, they do stare at me so, and I know they do whisper about me, too, behind my back.”

  “Well, curse them all! One day soon, Rae, I do promise you, you’ll be my wife, and none will dare say one word.”

  “But till then—”

  “True spoken. It would do me good to get out of this house, too. We’ll have our stroll.”

  In the winter air Loc Vaedd steamed. From Citadel, the town below and round its shore lay hidden in white mists. On the public plaza that graced the peak of the island, the cobbles lay slick and treacherous. Bundled in their winter cloaks, Verrarc and Raena walked slowly, side by side. In the brief daylight a number of other people were about, mostly servants of the wealthy and important souls who lived on Citadel. Some hurried past with buckets of water, drawn from the public well across from the Council House; others had been down in town, judging from the market baskets and bundles they carried.

  About halfway through their slow circuit, however, they met Chief Speaker Admi, waddling along wrapped in a streaky scarlet cloak much like Verrarc’s own—a mark of their positions on the town council. Admi bobbed his head in Raena’s direction with a pleasant enough smile, but when he spoke, he spoke only to Verrarc.

  “And a good morrow to you, Councilman,” Admi said. “There be luck upon me this morn, to meet up with you like this.”

  “Indeed?” Verrarc said. “Here, if you wish to speak with me, you be most welcome at my house.”

  “Ah well, my thanks, but truly, just a word with you will do. I did speak last night with some of the townsfolk, and they be sore afraid still, due to young Demet’s death. I did wonder if you might have some new understanding of the matter?”

  “Not yet, truly.” Verrarc licked nervous lips. “I did talk most carefully with Sergeant Gart and the men who were on watch that night. Many a time have I returned to the ruins where he were slain, as well, but never have I found a trace that might lead us to his killer. To hear the men talk, Demet had not an enemy in the world, much less in the town. Truly, I do wonder if the townsfolk have the truth of it, when they whisper of evil spirits.”

  Admi shuddered, drawing his cloak tighter around his enormous belly. Still, Verrarc was aware of how shrewdly Admi studied him behind this little gesture of fear. Verrarc glanced away, but he made sure he didn’t look at Raena.

  “Tomorrow,” Admi said finally, “I think me we should call a meeting of the council. Tomorrow, say?”

  “Uh well, I’ll not be ready by then. The day after?”

  “Very well. When the sun’s at its highest. There’s a need on the full five of us to go over this matter and see what may be done to lay it to rest.”

  “Well and good, then. Shall I go round to the others and tell them about the meeting?”

  “Oh, I be out for a stroll alone, and it be no trouble for me to stop by their houses.” Admi patted his belly. “My wife, she does say I grow too stout, and so she does turn me out into the cold like a horse into pasture to trot some of the flesh away.”

  Admi laughed, but Verrarc found merriment beyond him. Raena stood watching the pair of them with eyes that revealed nothing. Admi nodded her way with another smile.

  “My farewell to you both,” Admi said. “I’ll be off, then.”

  For a moment they stood watching him waddle across the plaza, stepping carefully on the slick cobblestones. He turned down the narrow path that led to the western flank of Citadel, where the temple of the local gods and the cottage belonging to Werda, the town’s Spirit Talker, stood close together.

  “My curse upon him!” Raena snarled. “Will no one in this stinking town even speak my name?”

  “Here, he did give you a greeting of a sort. Some weeks past he’d not have done that much. Patience, my love.”

  Raena tossed her head in such anger that the hood of her cloak fell back. With a muffled oath she pulled it back up again.

  “Patience!” she snarled. “I be sick of that as well.”

  “Well, no doubt, and I can’t hold it to your blame. I did speak with some of the townswomen and did ask them to intercede for us with the Spirit Talker. If only she’d bless our marriage—”

  Raena jerked her head around and spat on the cobbles. Two of the passing servants stopped to consider her, and Verrarc could see the twist of contempt on their faces.

  “Shall we go home?” Verrarc grabbed Raena’s arm through the muffling cloak.

  “I’d rather not!” She pulled away and strode off fast across the plaza, though in but a few steps she nearly slipped. With another curse she slowed down to let Verrarc catch up with her. When he touched her arm she turned and suddenly smiled at him.

  “My apologies, my love,” she said. “It does gripe my heart, is all, to see your fellow citizens look down long noses at me.”

  “It does gripe mine, too.”

  They walked on, past the stone Council House that graced the side of the plaza opposite the temple. At the stone well Verrarc paused. Wrapped in her shabby cloak, Dera was hauling up a bucket of water. He’d not heard that she’d mended from her latest bout of winter rheum, and her face seemed thinner than ever, framed by wisps of grey hair.

  “Here!” Verrarc called out. “Let me take that for you.”

  He hurried over, leaving Raena to follow after, and grabbed the heavy bucket’s handle in both hands. Dera let it go with a sigh of thanks. Her face was pale, as well as thin, and scored with deep wrinkles across her cheeks.

  “You’ll not be carrying such when I’m about,” Verrarc said, smiling. “I do ken that Kiel be on watch, but surely your man or your daughter could have fetched this.”

  “Lael be off setting traps in the granary.” Dera’s voice rasped, all parched. “And Niffa? Well, the poor little thing be wrapped in her grief. Sometimes she does stay abed all through the daylight, only to sit up weeping in the night.”

  “Ai!” Verrarc shook his head and sighed. “That be a sad thing, truly, and her so young.”

  “It is. Well, good morrow, Mistress Raena! Taking a bit of air with your man?”

  “I am indeed.” Raena had come up beside him. “And a good morrow to you, Mistress Dera.” She smiled, nearly radiant. “It does gladden my heart to see you well.”

  “My thanks,” Dera said. “But I’d best not stay out in this cold, alas.”

  “Indeed you shouldn’t,” Verrarc said. “I’ll just be carrying this down for you.”

  “I’ll be going back home, then.” Raena glanced his way. “This winter air, it does cut like ice. But Mist
ress Dera, might I come pay a call on your daughter? Mayhap I could help cheer her.”

  “Why, now, that would be most kind of you!”

  Dera smiled, Raena smiled, but Verrarc found himself suddenly wondering if Raena would harm the lass. His fear shamed him; it seemed such a foreign thought, dropped into his mind by some other person or perhaps even a spirit. He carried the water bucket down the twisting path to Dera’s rooms behind the public granary and saw her safely inside, then hurried back to the house. By then the sun hung close to the horizon, and the winter night loomed.

  When he came in, Raena was sitting in her chair near the roaring fire. He hung his cloak on the peg next to hers and joined her, stretching out grateful hands to the warmth.

  “Dera, she be a decent soul indeed,” Raena said.

  “She is,” Verrarc said, “and I trust you’ll remember how highly I honor her and hers. No harm to her kin, Rae. I mean it.”

  “Of course not! What do you think I might do?”

  “I did wonder why you showed such interest in Niffa, naught more.”

  They considered each other, and once again Verrarc felt his old suspicion rise. Had Raena somehow murdered Niffa’s husband? She’d been worshipping her wretched Lord Havoc in the ruins when Demet had been slain, after all. Don’t be a fool, he told himself. How could she possibly have harmed a strong young lad such as he? Lord Havoc, now—him he could believe a murderer.

  “Oh come now, Verro.” Raena lowered her voice. “Remember you not the omen I did see, that Niffa does have the gifts of the witchroad? ’Twere a grand thing if I did enlist her in our studies.”

  “Ah. True spoken.”

  Yet the fear returned from its hiding place, somewhere deep in his mind beyond his rational understanding. He felt as if he were remembering some incident, sometime when she’d done something to earn this distrust, but no matter how hard he tried, the memory stayed stubbornly beyond his conscious mind.

  A bowl of dried apples preserved in honey made a generous gift, here in winter when food was scarce, but Niffa felt like knocking it out of Raena’s hands. Dera, however, smiled as she took it from their guest. She set it on the table, then bent her knees in an awkward curtsy.

  “This be so generous of you, Mistress Raena,” Dera said. “It will do my poor raw throat good.”

  If it be that it not poison her, Niffa thought. She wanted to snatch the bowl and hurl it to the floor so badly that her hands shook. She clasped them tightly behind her and wondered if she were going daft, to believe that Verrarc’s woman meant them harm, when she knew with equal certainty that the councilman would never allow anyone to injure Dera.

  “My poor child!” Raena said. “You do look so wan. You’d best sit down and close to your hearth too.”

  Niffa managed to mumble a pleasantry and sat on the floor, leaving their only chair for the visitor and the bench for her mother. Raena sat down, opened her cloak, and pulled it back, but she left it draped over her shoulders to ward off the chill. Around her neck hung a silver pomander; she raised it to her nose and breathed deeply.

  “I do apologize,” Dera said. “The ferrets, they have a strong stench about them in winter. It be too cold, you see, to risk giving them a good wash.”

  “Ah well, I mean not to be rude.” Raena sounded a bit faint. She raised the pomander again.

  “It be kind of you to visit the likes of us,” Dera said. “It be a long while since we’ve had a treat such as this.”

  “Most welcome, I’m sure. Verrarc did think the honey might ease your throat.”

  There, you see? Niffa told herself. If Verrarc did send it, then harmless it must be.

  “It might at that,” Dera said. “The herbwoman did suggest the same, but my man couldn’t find any honey to be had in town, not for trade or a coin.”

  “Ah, then it be a good thing that we did have some laid by.” Raena glanced at Niffa and gave her a sad-eyed look that was doubtless meant to be sympathetic. “It be a great pity that there be no herb or simple that might ease your grief.”

  Niffa rose, staring at her all the while. Abruptly Raena looked down at the floor.

  “Er, well,” Raena went on, “I mean not to press upon a wound or suchlike.”

  “I be but sore surprised, is all,”—Niffa felt her voice turn to a snarl—“that you of all people would say such a thing.”

  Raena went dead-white and crouched back in her chair.

  “Now here!” Dera snapped. “Mind your manners!”

  Niffa turned and ran into the far chamber. She slammed the door behind her and leaned against it, her shoulders shaking. She could hear her mother’s startled voice, and Raena murmuring a frightened good-bye. In a moment the voices stopped, and Dera came knocking on the door.

  “Niffa! You come out of there!”

  Niffa did. Her mother was standing with her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Never did I raise my children to be as nasty as wild weasels,” Dera said. “What meant you by—”

  “She were there when my Demet died, and I wager she did kill him herself. I be as sure as I can be of that, and here she was, the filthy murderess, as bold as brass in our own house.”

  Dera stared, openmouthed.

  “I did see it in vision,” Niffa went on. “The night he were slain, that was, and I did see her, gloating and laughing as he did lie there dead. Think, Mam! Why else does Verrarc drag his feet and refuse to look into the murder? Kiel does agree with me. Ask him if you believe me not!”

  With a long sigh Dera sat down on the bench by the fire.

  “Well, now,” Dera said. “Your visions, they be true things, by and large, but—”

  “But what?”

  “This be too grave a charge to trust to vision, lass. I do believe you saw what you say you saw, mind. Never would I call you a liar. But I do wonder if you did see the truth or only some part of it. Here, you’ve not told anyone else this but Kiel, have you?”

  “I’ve not. There be fear in my heart, Mam. What if the townsfolk, they do think me the sort of witch who dabbles in evil things? Would they not drive me out of town into the snows?”

  “That be my worst fear too.” Dera sat for a long while, staring silently into the fire. “Ah ye gods! Well, if Kiel does come home before your father, I’ll be asking him about all of this. Say naught to your father, lass, till I’ve had a chance to speak with him.”

  “I shan’t. But you saw that Raena. She went as pale as milk, didn’t she? It were her guilt taking the blood from her face.”

  “If that be true, then it’s a dangerous thing you’ve done.”

  Niffa felt herself turn cold. She sat down next to her mother and held trembling hands out to the fire.

  “So it was,” Niffa said. “I do wish I’d thought of that before I spoke, but truly, the words wouldn’t stay in my mouth.”

  “Well, there be little Raena could do to us, whether your charge be true or false.” Dera turned, looking at the bowl of honeyed apples. “I did think she meant us well.”

  “That be safe enough to eat, coming from our Verro,” Niffa said. “But I’d not eat of any dish the bitch sends us from now on.”

  “Hush! Don’t you be calling anyone names such as that! We ken it not if Raena be guilty, and until we do, well then, let’s not speak ill of her or anyone.”

  Niffa merely nodded a hypocritical agreement. She had learned young that it was futile to argue with her mother’s relentless desire to think the best of everyone.

  Verrarc was puzzling over a strange passage in his dweomer scroll when Raena ran in, slamming the door behind her. She threw off her cloak and sank into her chair by the fire, then covered her face with trembling hands. For what seemed a long while she merely sat and shook.

  “What be so wrong?” Verrarc said at last. “My love—”

  “That lass.” Raena let her hands fall into her lap and turned a dead-white face his way. “Niffa. She did come as close as close can be to saying I murdered her man.”
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  “What? How would—”

  “I ken it not! But she did let me see, oh and so full of hate she were as well, she did let me see that she thinks this ill lies at my door.”

  Verrarc hesitated. All her life Raena had been prone to embroidering her truths to present them in the most exciting possible light, but this time there was no denying her terror. He stood and took a few steps toward her.

  “Listen to me, Rae. The time be here for the truth. There be naught I can do to keep you safe without the truth.”

  She leaned back in her chair and looked up at him, her lips trembling.

  “Well, did you slay him?” Verrarc said. “You do have strong witchery, Rae, and I ken not its limits. Did you slay Demet?”

  “Never!” Her eyes glazed with tears. “I swear it to you, Verro. Never would I do such a thing.”

  “Then who did? Your Lord Havoc?”

  “He were the one.” Raena started to get up, but she was shaking too hard. “Demet did come blundering in. The silver light, it were so strong I never did see nor hear him till there he was. And Havoc—I ken not what he did. But the lad screamed and fell back dead.”

  Verrarc realized that he’d been holding his breath and let it out in a long sigh. Raena raised one hand as if she feared he would strike her. Sweat was beading on her upper lip and forehead.

  “I do believe you,” Verrarc said. “But do you see what this means? Your Lord Havoc. He be no god, Rae, but an evil spirit indeed. It were best if never you invoked him again.”

  “I must! You don’t understand! There be a need on me to find out what he does ken about—” Her voice caught and stumbled. “About a certain matter.”

  “Rae! These cursed secrets!”

  She moaned and let her head flop back, then forward. For a moment he stood staring at her until he at last realized that she had fainted. He ran to the door that led to the back of the house and called for his manservant.

  “Harl! Come here!” Verrarc shouted. “Your aid!”

  Verrarc ran back to Raena, who lay sprawled in the chair. He knelt beside her and caught her cold hand between both of his. All at once her head jerked up, and she seemed to be looking about her.