Raven's Strike rd-2

by Patricia Briggs

  Seraph waited while the silence gave weight to her question, then she opened her neglected book to a random page. “I don’t know either. But I can’t help but wonder if there are forces shaping the events of our lives. I hope I’m wrong. I hope we all die of old age, but I don’t think we will.” She stared at a random page without seeing it. “Although maybe we’ll be killed by lung fever or trolls first.”

  It felt good to talk about this to someone who could see the patterns only another Traveler would recognize. Not that Hennea would know anything more about what was happening than Seraph did, but it felt good to tell her anyway.

  Seraph looked at the page she’d opened to—and suddenly remembered where she’d seen the book before. “Huh. This is a copy of a book I found in Kiah the Dancer’s mermora—that’s the fourth mermora that came into my hands. I used to keep track.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Seraph wiped a hand across her forehead. No doubt, she thought, leaving an attractive smear of dust behind. She glanced at Hennea, who was picking through the contents of a chest, her face pale and set.

  After sorting the books in the library and taking a careful look at the mostly empty rooms comprising the innards of the temple, they’d collected Rinnie and the boys and set them to hauling the books of solsenti wizardry and the books neither she nor Hennea could translate down to Jes’s secret room. Then she and Hennea set out to look at the two rooms they’d left for last.

  The closet where the Shadowed had set his summoning runes told them nothing. Given a few years, the dissipating powers might clear enough to allow Seraph to read the wooden slats and find out more about the Shadowed, but right now the only past that they wanted to tell her about was the past of Karadoc carrying the forest king into the temple and cleaning the runes.

  She had learned something interesting though not important to their search for the Shadowed.

  She’d thought the excavation was too extensive to have been dug in the short time between the arrival of the new Sept of Leheigh, who had brought Volis and assorted mages belonging to the Path among his retinue, and the opening of the Temple of the Five. She’d been right.

  The lower tunnels told her they had been dug in secret, many years earlier, as places to hide goods from the Sept’s tax collector. When Volis had brought hired men into Redern to dig the temple, they must have happened into the tunnels by chance. She wondered if Willon knew about the tunnels here, since the lower layer should be on the same level as his store.

  By unspoken consent, they saved Volis’s bedroom for last; Seraph because it was the most likely place, after the library, to hold something of interest, but she thought Hennea put it off it for another reason.

  Seraph found a yellowish sapphire set in a wristband, fallen among the cushions of Volis’s bed. It wasn’t an Order-bound gem, so she left it there. Dropping the bedding she’d searched, Sraph looked at Hennea.

  She was sifting through one of a pair of trunks that sat against a wall and avoiding looking at the bed. If Seraph had been in any doubt as to some of the uses Volis had put Hennea to, one look at Hennea’s face when they’d first come into the room would have been all she needed. Hennea hadn’t said anything, and Seraph didn’t pry. Sometimes silence was all the help she could offer.

  When they finished, Seraph let Hennea take care of spelling Jes’s secret room with its new treasure while Seraph and Rinnie packed Traveler books.

  Jes bounded into the library. “It’s a good secret room, now,” he said, as Hennea and Lehr followed him into the library.

  “I’m glad it pleases you,” Seraph told Jes. “Grab a pack, and we’ll start down.”

  “I get to carry my maps,” said Rinnie smugly. Maybe it was the knowledge she’d found the most interesting thing in the temple, but Seraph suspected that at least some of the self-satisfied expression was because the satchel with its maps was a lot lighter than the books.

  The tavern was a very old building, perhaps the oldest in Redern, and built near the bottom of the mountain. As Seraph put her foot on the bottom step of the porch, Lehr touched her arm. When he had her attention, he nodded toward Jes, who was pale and swaying—always a bad sign.

  “Why don’t you head on home,” Seraph told Lehr. “I can get Tier and follow the rest of you.” She gave him her pack of books to carry along with his own. He gave her a half smile that told her he understood she didn’t want to have to explain to everyone in the tavern just what it was she was doing carrying a pack full of books from the temple.

  “Back to the farm sounds like a good idea,” Hennea said. She took a step toward Jes, hesitated, then took his arm. He started as if he hadn’t noticed her until she touched him. “Come, Jes,” she said, her voice a little softer than usual. “We’re going home.”

  Worried, Seraph watched them go. Jes had never liked the town, but she’d never seen him this bothered by it, either. Was he getting worse? Was there anything she could do to help? She felt like she’d spent half her life asking herself those questions, and she no more had the answers now than she’d had twenty years ago.

  Searching for something more productive to think about, she found herself playing with the idea Hennea had broached earlier. What if there were more Ordered solsenti? Would she ever have recognized it in Tier if she hadn’t met him under extraordinary circumstances?

  Intent on her thoughts, the noise of the busy tavern startled her. It was full. Guards, she thought, judging by the number of weapons they carried. It wasn’t all that uncommon to see so many strangers here; this was the closest tavern to the trail. It made her glad she’d sent her pack with Lehr—books were valuable, and some of these guardsmen looked as though they sometimes might have held other, less savory occupations.

  She could hear a lute intermingling with the sounds of men talking, but whoever it was played stiffly and a little off pitch. She wondered when Tier would tactfully help him out a little.

  The crowd shifted, and she saw the lute player. Shock caught her breath. It was Tier. Even as she watched him, he shook his head and put the lute down.

  “Seraph,” Regil, the tavern’s owner, reached out to steady her, but didn’t quite touch. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” she said, composing herself. “Excuse me.”

  Tier could play badly, she thought, but only if he wanted to. She’d spent the first two weeks after she’d gotten him back from the Path wizards surreptitiously checking to make certain that they had not damaged him, that they hadn’t begun to steal his Order already. But after those first weeks, as he began to recover from the hurt they had done, she’d quit worrying, quit looking.

  Unto the Ravens it is given to see the Orders. She called the magic and looked. The fine fabric of Tier’s Order was wrapped around him as it always was, but there were holes in it.

  She started toward Tier, but her exchange with the tavern owner had drawn several of the strange men’s attention to her.

  A man on her right surged to this feet. “A Traveler bitch? I thought the animals had to stay outside.”

  Seraph stopped and looked at him, waiting for him to do something else. Anything else. Rage surged through her veins and brought magic with it. Tier was home. He should have been safe. This guardsman had nothing to do with her anger.

  Nothing and everything.

  “Seraph Tieraganswife,” said the tavern owner, trying to distract her from her prey, brave man. “As you see, your husband has been keeping us busy with his tales.”

  She didn’t take her eyes off the guardsman. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said.

  “Seraph,” said Tier. “Let the poor man alone.”

  If that “poor man” had tried his speech in a different place, with a different Traveler woman, one who was not Raven, he might have caused some harm. Benroln might have been right, maybe if the solsenti were more afraid of Travelers, they wouldn’t have destroyed so many of the clans.

  The Path wouldn’t have begun taking Travelers, and Tier wouldn’t have rents
in his Order. She’d never seen anything like it, but then, until the Path kidnaped Tier, she’d never heard of anyone being able to separate Order from Order Bearer.

  “Sit down.” She told the guardsman.

  Tier could put a compulsion in his words that made people obey him. Seraph’s magic forced his body to comply with her demand. Same result from different causes. The guardsman dropped to his seat as if he’d been a puppet whose strings were cut.

  “Shut up.”

  The spell would fade after an hour or so, she’d given it no extra push. The rest of the tavern had miraculously quieted, though she had been careful to direct the spell only onto the man who’d annoyed her.

  She walked the rest of the way to Tier’s table with Regil’s anxious escort.

  Willon stood as she approached the table. Her gaze locked on Tier, she hadn’t even noticed there was someone else sitting with him until Willon moved. He took her hand and kissed it. He’d never done such a thing before, and it distracted her for a moment. “Seraph, so nice to see you. Please excuse the words of my cousin’s guardsman. He won’t be here long.”

  His words and his unusual gallantry were to let the guards know they were to leave her alone, she thought, and was dimly grateful.

  “Willon.” She couldn’t manage to chat with the merchant, not when she was so worried about Tier.

  She knew that Tier would have already thanked him for traveling all the way to Taela to help them, so she didn’t need to. She inclined her head to him, but her attention was on her husband. “Tier, the children have gone on home, are you ready to leave?”

  He smiled, but there was something off about his smile. He knew, she thought. Of course he knew there was something wrong.

  “I think it might be best.” He picked up a lute and gave it to the tavern owner. “Thanks for the lunch, Regil. I missed your sausage while I was gone.”

  He put Seraph’s hand on his arm and led her back to where Hennea awaited him at the exit.

  As soon as they were out of earshot of the tavern, Tier said, “Seraph, I was singing, and I couldn’t stay on pitch.” He shook his head. “I’ve never had that trouble before.”

  “There’s something wrong with your Bardic Order,” she told him.

  His strides broke rhythm, then resumed his usual pace, though slowed a bit by his limp. “Something the Path did?”

  Seraph gave a frustrated huff and slid her hand down until she was clutching his. “It seems likely. I don’t know how to fix this. Until the Path’s wizards proved differently, it was my understanding that nothing could affect the Orders.”

  “Coat it in sugar, why don’t you?” Tier’s voice was lightly amused, but his hand tightened almost brutally on hers. “If you can’t fix this, I’m not going to sing on key anymore?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Tier didn’t loosen his grip on her hand, but he quit talking.

  They hadn’t been so long at the tavern that the children had beaten them home by much. Gura was still bouncing with excitement when he spied them on their way. He tore up the path, going so fast that he had to run by them once before he could slow enough to get a proper ear rubbing from Tier.

  In the house Hennea had a map spread out on the table, and the boys and Rinnie were gathered around, engrossed in their examination.

  “Hennea,” Seraph said. “We have a problem.”

  “Can you do anything, Mother?” asked Rinnie.

  Seraph glanced at Hennea, who shrugged and answered, “I don’t know. We’ll try. The Elder Wizards managed to work with the Orders, obviously, since they created them. But as far as the mermori libraries that Hennea, Brewydd, and I have managed to get through, they wrote nothing about it.”

  “Brewydd might know something that could help,” said Lehr. “I can go and find the Librarian’s clan.”

  Seraph hesitated. Benroln’s clan could be anywhere—and there was no guarantee that Brewydd could do anything for Tier.

  “I’m Hunter, Mother. I can find them.”

  “He’ll need a horse,” said Tier. It was the first thing that he’d said since they came home. “Skew’s not up to a fast trip.”

  “All right.” Seraph got up to retrieve the purse the Emperor had given them from the loft. She scrambled back down the ladder and held the bag out to Lehr.

  “Take this now, while there’s still daylight. Go see what kind of a mount you can purchase from Akavith.”

  Lehr took the purse gingerly. “Akavith’s expensive, Mother.”

  “He breeds horses for the nobility,” she agreed. “He’ll have something fast. Make certain he knows you want an animal for hunting, not farmwork.” She glanced at Tier, he knew the crusty old horseman better than she. “Can he tell Akavith that he’s riding for a Traveler healer?”

  Tier nodded. “Tell him where the money comes from, too, though likely he knows already. After the verses Ciro sang the other night, likely the story of the farmer and the Emperor is all over the mountains by now. Akavith will be more likely to help if he knows the whole story. His mother’s aunt was a hedgewitch and healer round about when I was a boy, and he has no grudge against Travelers.”

  “Tell him you’d like Cornsilk,” said Jes.

  Seraph felt her eyebrows creeping up.

  Jes ducked his head. “I help him sometimes, Mother,” he said.

  “Akavith has a way with wild things,” said Tier.

  “Don’t worry about the cost,” Seraph told Lehr briskly. “If it is too dear, we can sell the horse when we no longer need it. But go now so you have the daylight—take Skew, he’ll be faster than walking. In the morning we’ll talk about the most likely places for Benroln’s clan to be.”

  Akavith lived halfway to Leheigh. It would be dark before Lehr made it home, too late to start out on a hunt for the clan.

  Lehr took the pouch and tied it to his belt. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He turned to Jes. “I’ll tell him you told me to ask about Cornsilk.”

  After the door closed behind him, Seraph turned to Hennea. “Do you see any profit in waiting for word from Brewydd before we try anything?”

  She shook her head. “I wish I could be more help. I don’t know how the damage was done or how to fix it.”

  “Standing around wringing our hands won’t do anything,” said Seraph. “Tier, lie on the rug beside the fire. This could take a long time, and you can’t move about. Get comfortable.”

  “Can we help?” asked Rinnie. “I could make some tea or soup.”

  Seraph started to shake her head, then stopped. “It would be best if we ate first. Bread and cheese then, Rinnie.”

  “And tea,” said Jes. “I’ll go get water.”

  Akavith was eating dinner when Lehr knocked on the door. He stuck his head out. “Eh, you’re Tier’s boy,” he said.

  “Yes, sir.” Akavith was a formidable man with few kind words for anyone who had fewer than four feet. But Lehr had grown up with Seraph for a mother, and it took a lot to intimidate him.

  Black eyes glowered at him from under bushy eyebrows. “What do ’ee want, lad. I’ve dinner to eat.”

  “I need a horse, sir. I can wait until you are finished.”

  “A horse!” He said it as if no one ever came to him for horses.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He looked out at Skew. “Got a fine horse there.”

  “Yes, sir. But I need to fetch a Traveler healer for my father, who took more hurt than we thought from his stay in Taela. I need a fast horse who can travel a distance. Skew’s too old for the trip.”

  The animosity faded from Akavith’s face. “Do ye’ now. Tier’s taken hurt? Well, that’s a different matter. Go on out to the barn and look for what suits ye. I’ll be there as soon as I get my boots back on.”

  The horses in Akavith’s barn were a choice bunch. Lehr stopped by a tall chestnut mare with a flaxen mane. She left her hay to come to the stall door for attention.

  He leaned his forehead against her neck and
drew in the sweet-salt scent of a healthy horse as he scratched gently along her cheekbone.

  Gods, he thought, I hope Brewydd can do something. His faith in the healer was enormous, but the fear in his mother’s eyes made his chest tight.

  “That’s a good, choice, lad,” said Akavith, his voice the soft crooning one that he usually reserved for his horses.

  Lehr straightened. He usually heard people approaching, but he’d had no idea that the horse trainer was nearby.

  “I like the bay two stalls back, too,” said Lehr. “And my brother told me to ask about a horse named Cornsilk.”

  “That’s Cornsilk, right there, lad. And your brother has a fine eye for horses.” Akavith grabbed a halter and opened the stall door. He haltered the mare and led her out so that Lehr could get a better look.

  “She’s coming five and fully trained—some of that training by your brother. I usually sell them younger than this—that bay is four and sold already. I’ve had offers for this mare, but… Ye see, lad,” Akavith patted her red-gold shoulder. “Noblemen are too proud to ride a mare. They’d make her a lady’s mount, trotting her from one party to another.” He frowned fiercely. “She wouldn’t be happy like that—she loves the trails and the challenge of a long run. Just don’t be putting a harness on her and make her pull a plow like your father did to that Fahlarn gelding of his; Cornsilk doesn’t have the bone for it. Tell your father to come see me, and I’ll find him a replacement for the grey he lost, I’ve a few horses that should suit him.”

  “I doubt we can afford it, sir,” Lehr told him, but he wasn’t thinking about a new farm horse: he was falling in love.

  Out of her stall, the mare was beautiful, fine-boned like a sight-hound, and nearly as tall as Skew. Liquid dark eyes examined him with curiosity and the sweetness of a horse who’d never been mistreated. Exotically long and silky, her mane and tail were the exact color of cornsilk. Her nostrils were wide to drink the wind.