agreed the Guardian before withdrawing slowly. Brewydd would not let Lehr get sick.
“Brewydd will be there,” Jes told Papa, and heard Lehr’s relieved breath.
“Let me go,” Lehr said to Papa. “I can do this.”
Papa rubbed his face wearily. “All right. All right. Get a good night’s rest and go in the morning. Take this map.” He folded it and handed it to Lehr. “You can see the shortest route there.”
Jes got up and began to go down the ladder stairs so Lehr could get past him.
“I want to talk to you, Jes,” Papa said.
Jes nodded and jumped down to the floor, bending his knees so that he hit softly and didn’t wake up Hennea or Rinnie.
Lehr, coming down behind him, said, “Thanks,” softly.
Jes nodded and scrambled back up to his parents’ loft. “Papa?”
“Close the door and sit down, son.”
Jes shut the door, then took up Lehr’s place because, with the door shut, there was no room for him where he’d been sitting.
“Remember the smith we helped on the way back?” he asked. Jes knew it wasn’t really a question, but he nodded. “When the Guardian said he scented a mistwight, I asked him how he knew what it was.”
The Guardian didn’t like this conversation, and Jes did his best to think soothing thoughts at him.
“You told me you didn’t know.”
“I remember,” said Jes. “I didn’t know.”
“Did the Guardian?”
It’s all right, we were going to talk to Papa about this, remember? All he got for an answer was a turbulent rush that wasn’t quite an answer.
“Jes,” said Papa, with just a hint of power in his voice.
It was enough to pull Jes’s attention back to him. “He remembered,” Jes told him. “But we’re not sure how. It makes him upset.” He took a breath. “I don’t think he wants to remember.”
“Are you sure he doesn’t know more?” asked Papa gently. “I asked the Guardian, Jes, and he had you answer me. I think that he might know more about it, and doesn’t want you to—”
The Guardian pushed Jes away so far that he never did hear the rest of what Papa wanted to say.
“—know.” Tier paused to adjust to the jumpy feeling that made him want to move away from the man who sat at his feet. Jes was gone, and only the Guardian was left.
“I don’t want him frightened,” said the Guardian.
“It’s dangerous to keep secrets,” said Tier. “Your mother was worried about you. She told me that it is important that you and Jes stay close to each other.”
The Guardian stood up in a graceful show of strength that reminded Tier of watching an animal you thought was a dog and realizing it was a wolf instead. Jes and the Guardian didn’t move anything alike.
“There are some things he doesn’t need to know,” said the Guardian.
“He’s right,” Tier said in some surprise. “You are afraid.”
The Guardian hissed.
“You can’t lie to me,” Tier said, keeping his voice soft though his heart rate had picked up. “Everyone is afraid sometimes. It’s all right if Jes is afraid, too. What is not all right is for you to hide things from him. You need to trust him more.”
“You know nothing,” the Guardian snapped. “You are a Bard—blessed, not cursed.”
Tier raised an eyebrow. “You are not cursed. You were just given a rocky field to harrow. Seems to me that you are doing well at it. But you need to work as a team, or you’ll not make it, son.”
“I’m not your son,” said the Guardian. “Jes is. I am the demon he is cursed with.”
It was said without a flicker of emotion, but no parent could fail to hear the cry in those words.
“You are my son,” said Tier, leaning close enough to the Guardian that his breath turned to frosty mist. “I love you. I worry for you.”
“You worry for Jes,” said the Guardian, turning his head away.
His absolute certainty suddenly reminded Tier of himself as he confronted his father two days before he went to war. His father had turned and left Tier standing with his despairing cry still echoing. “You love the bakery more than you love me.”
He considered this volatile young man who was his son, then said the first thing that came into his head. “You remind me of my sister Alinath. No one ever convinced her of anything she didn’t want to be convinced of.”
“I am nothing like Alinath.” The Guardian crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels.
“You are. The only times she ever changed her mind was when she stopped arguing and started thinking. So you go think about what I’ve said—tell Jes what it is you fear. The weight of most problems can be lightened a bit by sharing. Trust Jes.”
The Guardian was swaying slightly from one foot to the next, the way Jes did when he was upset.
“Why don’t you go out for a run tonight?” Tier suggested gently. “I sometimes find that exercise and solitude make a lot of things clearer.”
Without a word the Guardian opened the door and slipped out of the room. Tier heard the outside door open and shut quietly, then turned to his sleeping wife.
“I hope that helped him.” He kissed her, then blew out the lantern and settled in for sleep.
When Jes came back to himself he was stretched out on a tree limb with his claws dug firmly into the bark as if the Guardian had been sharpening them.
Jes managed to climb down from the tree before he lost the cat-shape. It was difficult, but so was falling out of trees.
Once again in human form, he bent and stretched, trying to decide how far he’d come. He didn’t feel too tired—not with the deep weariness that sometimes hit him when he awoke from the times when the Guardian shut him away. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take him too long to walk home.
He wondered what Papa had said to send the Guardian out running into the woods.
“All right.” Jes’s too-human voice sounded wrong out so deep in the woods. He didn’t have to speak aloud—but it helped him keep track of who was saying what.
“What frightens you?”
“I know that.”
Impatience and frustration overwhelmed him for a moment. Jes tossed his head in the vain attempt to shake the feelings away.
“Explain it to me then,” he managed. “Why is remembering so frightening.”
“You’ve always been dangerous,” Jes said. “That’s the point, isn’t it? How can we protect them if you’re not dangerous?”
The Guardian didn’t answer, so Jes started for home. While they’d been talking he’d found landmarks in the moonlit night and had a pretty good idea where he was and how to find the shortest way home.
“You are a part of me.”
Negation swamped him, and Jes stumbled over a dead branch that lay in his path. He stopped.
the Guardian said.
The Guardian’s shame brought tears to Jes’s eyes.
“You are a part of me,” said Jes. “You help me keep my family safe. Tomorrow we are going to follow Lehr and keep him safe, too. That is what we do.”
“No,” said Jes.
“I’m not mad yet,” said Jes. “I don’t feel like I’m going to go mad. Maybe I’m different from those others. Mother s
ays that she thinks I am.” He smiled to himself. “She says it might be stubborn solsenti blood. She says that if Aunt Alinath is too obstinate to give in to reason, that I can be too obstinate to give in to madness.”
Jes knew who “she” was. He let his smile widen. “Papa says Hennea loves us. Let’s give her time to understand we are stronger than she believes.”
He waited for a heartbeat or two, but the Guardian had said all he intended to say.
Tier rested, but he couldn’t sleep. Had he said enough to Jes? Or had he said too much? He didn’t know as much as he needed to about the Guardian Order—though from what Seraph had told him, neither did anyone else.
He heard Lehr tossing and turning in the room below. He was worried about Lehr, too. Lehr was not reckless; he wouldn’t take chances unless there was no other choice. If Lehr were only going off to face a half dozen bandits, Tier would not be half as nervous. Skill and caution were of little use against plague. He’d have to trust to Lehr’s Hunter skills to get him safely to Benroln’s clan and to Brewydd’s skills to keep his son safe from the plague.
It went against his grain to have his son risk his life for him. It seemed the wrong way ’round. A father should be willing to lay down his life to protect his family—he shouldn’t have to rely on his son. But he’d had the whole of his stay with the Path, when he thought he’d not live to see home again, to decide that without him, his family was too vulnerable. In five years that would not be so true, but for now his family needed him. And for all Seraph’s mending he could tell that he wasn’t whole yet.
His stay with the Path had left him with more than just physical ills, and he was certain he stood to lose more than his ability to sing a few songs. Seraph had told him often enough the Order wasn’t just a facade that could be easily separated from the man he was, but was as much a part of him as his right arm. He was afraid that if whatever magic the Masters had worked upon him succeeded in severing his Order, there would be no stanching of the flow of his life’s blood.
Seraph rolled toward him and wrapped her arms around his arm, nuzzling her face against him until she was in her favorite sleeping position. She relaxed back into the stillness of exhausted slumber, but the warmth of her breath against his arm was comforting.
He drowsed, waiting for Jes to return so he could sleep, knowing his family was safe.
The door creaked open, and Jes said, “Papa, the Emperor has come to call.”
Phoran noted that the main room of Tier’s cabin would have fit five times over in his sitting room at the palace. He took a few steps inside the door behind Jes, and his guards followed.
“Jes?” A groggy voice came from the far side of the room. Then sharp and clear. “The Emperor?” Reason told him it was Tier’s younger son, Lehr, though in the darkness of the room he couldn’t see more than an outline of a sitting man.
A lantern was lit in a loft room, the light visible between the slats in the door. “Phoran?”
Tier’s melodic voice rang through him like a bell. Phoran felt the fear that had been his close companion as they rode from Taela loosen its hold on his belly.
Holding the lantern, Tier slithered down the ladder from the loft, a lantern in one hand and broad smile on his face. “I didn’t expect to see you here, my emperor.” He held up the lantern and looked behind Phoran at his four guards, who had formerly been Passerines of the Secret Path and were now his personal guard. Tier, being Tier, knew them all. “Welcome. Kissel, Toarsen, Rufort, and”—he held the lantern higher—“oh, Ielian is it? Welcome to my home. What brings you here?”
“It’s a long story,” said Phoran. “If it is all right, I’d like to send my men out to find sleep in your barn for the night. We’ve been riding as swiftly as our horses could take us, and we’re all tired.”
“Of course,” Tier said. “Jes, can you take them out to the barn? There is some canvas that can be laid over the hay in the loft. The horses—how many stallions, Phoran?”
“Two.”
“Then put Skew and the new mare in the small pen. The stallions in the box stalls with a stall between them and the rest of their horses in the large pen for now.”
“Beg pardon, Your Greatness,” Ielian said. “But you need to keep a guard with you.”
Phoran swallowed his irritation. It was easier to comply than it was to argue—and Toarsen and Kissel both knew everything he wanted to tell Tier anyway.
“Right,” he said. “Toarsen, stay with me. Kissel, help Jes get the horses settled, then you all should get some sleep. This might take a while.”
He waited until Jes had taken the three guardsmen out to the barn before he turned back to Tier.
“I’m sorry to bring my troubles to you,” he said. “But you are the only one I could think of who might have a solution for my problems.”
“The Path?” asked Tier.
“The Path is part of it,” Phoran said. “Let’s wait until Jes gets back—I don’t want to have to tell the whole thing twice. Seraph probably ought to hear this, too.”
“I’ll make some tea, Papa,” Lehr said, pulling on his clothes.
He rolled his bedding efficiently and set it off his bed—which transformed into a board on top of a pair of benches. Tier took an end of one bench and Toarsen the other and carried it to the large table by the fireplace. When Lehr started dragging the second bench over, Phoran lifted the other side and helped him put it on the other side of the table.
While Lehr made tea, Tier went up to the loft to rouse his wife.
“It might take a minute,” Lehr said quietly. “Mother tired herself out this evening—we’ve had some troubles of our own.”
“Nothing serious, I hope,” said Toarsen. “If it’s something the Sept could help with…” The Sept of Leheigh, the Sept who ruled Tier’s corner of the world, was Toarsen’s older brother.
Lehr shook his head. “Not that kind of a problem. I’m headed out tomorrow morning to find Benroln’s clan.”
Magic, then. Phoran felt worse for bringing his troubles when it sounded as though Tier had some of his own, but Phoran had no one else he could trust. Actually there weren’t even untrustworthy people who could help him. Phoran paced and tried not to listen to the murmurs from the loft room.
Jes came in from the barn. If Phoran hadn’t known better, he would have thought him a simpleton, but he’d seen what Jes had done in the battle with the Path.
Phoran knew the difference between a fight fought with brute strength and one fought with intelligence and skill. He’d also noticed none of the Travelers were surprised that this one lad could have been responsible for the terrible deaths of the Path’s Masters. He hadn’t been, but the Travelers had believed that he might be.
Tier had told him that Jes was gifted with one of those odd magics that belonged to the Travelers. Phoran had the feeling that it was a terrible gift.
“The horses are taken care of,” Jes told him, looking at his shoes rather than meeting his eyes; it was a trick Phoran remembered from when he’d first met Tier’s oldest son. “I put grain out for the stallions because your grey was restless in a strange place.”
“Thank you,” Phoran said. “He can be a problem. I should have gone out with you.”
“Jes knows horses,” said Lehr, lighting a few more lanterns. “He has a way with animals.”
“Who’s over there?” asked Phoran, noticing for the first time that there was a length of fabric hanging on the opposite end of the room from the fireplace.
“Hennea—she’s another Traveler Raven like Mother,” said Lehr. “You met her, but there were a lot of other people you met at the same time. You might not remember her. My sister Rinnie is there, too. She’s ten.”
He remembered Hennea, and any daughter of Tier’s could be trusted. The murmuring had died down from the loft, and Tier climbed down. His limp was better than it had been when he’d left Taela.
Seraph followed him. When
she turned, and the lantern caught her face, Phoran could see that Lehr hadn’t been exaggerating. She looked as though she hadn’t had any sleep in weeks.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Phoran told her.
“Nonsense,” she said—and somewhat to his discomfort she patted him on the cheek before shuffling over to the bench. She sat down upon it and braced her elbows so her arms could hold her head up.
Everyone was there. It was time to begin his story, but he couldn’t for the life of him decide where to start.
“I imagine cleaning up the Path was not an easy business,” said Tier, after he’d seated himself next to Seraph. “Why don’t you begin there.”
Phoran found that he couldn’t sit, and he couldn’t watch them while he talked.
CHAPTER 8
Two Weeks Earlier in the Emperor’s Palace in Taela
“My Septs, We thank you for your patience in hearing out this trial over the past weeks.” The Emperor’s voice rang in the huge chamber where most of the Septs of the Empire gathered.
Phoran had practiced this moment in the privacy of his own rooms. He had gone over the reasons for doing it this way with his closest advisors. Phoran had played out all the scenarios, and this one worked the best.
“We have acted upon Our Own powers to grant pardon to all the young men known formerly as the Passerines of the Path. First because of their defense of Our Own Person, and second, so We could use their eyewitness accounts to bring to an end the era of the Secret Path, a clandestine group that has been plotting the destruction of the Empire from within.”
He paused, giving the Septs a chance to whisper with their advisors and colleagues. Some of the Passerines were sons of the Septs, mostly third or fourth sons who had caused their families no end of misery. Surely some of the Septs were glad Phoran had taken on the task of making useful men of their miscreants.
He’d offered each of the young men a place in the newly created Emperor’s Own, his own personal guard. Most of them had accepted. He wasn’t certain if that was a good thing or not—they had been chosen by the Path, after all, as the most amoral and corruptible young nobles of their generation.
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