Free The Raven Ring by Patricia C. Wrede Page B

Cilhar. Why would the man risk an honor-challenge when he must know that Eleret had stolen nothing?
    “Is there some problem?” Eleret asked the guard as the two reached her.
    “This man claims you stole that bag from him,” the guard answered, gesturing at the kit hanging from Eleret’s shoulder.
    “It’s mine, all right,” the man said. He made a snatching motion, and Eleret sidestepped to avoid it. “Watch out! She’s trying to get away.”
    “You’ve made a mistake,” Eleret said to the narrow-faced man, her temper beginning to rise. “This is my bag, and I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
    “Ha! You snatched it from me not half an hour ago on the Northwest Castle Road.” The man’s eyes blazed with excitement. “It’s mine, I tell you!”
    “Please, Grand Master Gorchastrin, control yourself,” the guardswoman said. “This is my job, not yours.”
    “Then do it!” the narrow-faced man retorted. “Surely it’s not difficult, even for you. There’s the bag; take it from her and give it to me.”
    The guardswoman stiffened. “She is a subject of the Emperor, and there are certain procedures—”
    “And as a Grand Master of the Order of Tsantilar of Rathane, I have certain privileges!” Gorchastrin snapped back. “Privileges, may I remind you, that hold even in Ciaron. Now, I want my bag!”
    Eleret frowned. Gorchastrin’s strategy was clear now; he expected the guardswoman to seize Eleret’s kit and give it to him, on his word alone. The guard didn’t look strong enough or quick enough to take the kit without Eleret’s cooperation, but Eleret didn’t want to start a fight in the middle of the street, particularly not with an official. Fortunately, it wasn’t a matter of her word against Gorchastrin’s; Commander Weziral could confirm that the bag was hers. Provided, of course, that she could convince the guard and the privileged foreigner to walk back across the city to Weziral’s office.
    “Perhaps I can be of some assistance, my lady guard?” said a new voice. Eleret turned her head. The young man in the scarlet cloak had come up unnoticed during the discussion. As everyone looked at him, he doffed a black cap with a plume dyed to match his cloak and swept a bow. “Lord Daner Vallaniri, at your service and the Emperor’s.”
    “It is a minor matter only, my lord,” the guard said, bowing deeply in return. “Grand Master Gorchastrin’s bag was stolen, and he says this woman was the thief.”
    “Unlikely,” the newcomer said in a dismissive tone, adjusting his cap carefully over his wavy blond hair. He smiled warmly at Eleret. “So lovely a woman would never be a thief. Her face is too memorable for such a profession.”
    “Exactly!” Gorchastrin said, but Eleret thought he did not seem as sure of himself as he had a moment previously. “I remember her perfectly.”
    “I regret that I cannot return the compliment,” Eleret said politely. She shifted the kit unobtrusively as far away from him as she could manage, and slipped her left hand into her slit skirt pocket, just in case. “But as I have said, I have never seen the Grand Master before. The bag is mine; it was given to me this morning by Commander Weziral of the Imperial Guard. I’m sure that he will tell you so himself, should you ask.”
    “Well, then,” the guardswoman said, clearly relieved. “That settles the matter, doesn’t it?”
    “I believe it should,” the young lord, Daner, said. Eleret barely kept herself from an irritated frown at the smug undertone in his voice. He hadn’t done anything to warrant such self-satisfaction. Then she did frown. Why had Daner come shoving his dagger in where it wasn’t wanted? Was he after Tamm’s kit, too? Or was she seeing shadows on noon snow?
    “Not so fast!” Gorchastrin said. “How do you know she’s telling the truth? How do you know she hasn’t bribed this Commander Weziral to say whatever she wants?”
    Eleret stiffened at the implied