Raven's Shadow (32 page)

“No,” agreed Hennea dryly.

“Talk to him at this meeting tonight,” Brewydd told Seraph. “Make him understand what he does is folly.”

“What good will talking do?” asked Lehr. “Haven't you told him what he's been doing is wrong? Why would he listen to Mother when he won't listen to you?”

“Hah!” exclaimed Brewydd. “A man would rather listen to a beautiful woman than a wrinkled old crone. You, boy,” she said pointing at Lehr. “You can help an old woman to her home.”

Lehr took a deep breath, tightened his jaw, and nodded his head. When he took her arm, Brewydd patted his biceps lightly before using him to lever herself up. “Your mother teaches you well, boy. It is good when a youngling is kind to old women.” She winked at Seraph and continued to mutter at Lehr as he led her back to her wagon.

“Right,” said Seraph, hoping Brewydd could do better for Lehr than she'd managed. “Let's go find Benroln.”

“Seraph,” said Hennea, “if you go and start attacking Benroln for what he's done, you'll make Lehr happy and we'll all go our separate ways tomorrow. Benroln will still take gold from the next
solsenti
who wants to pay to have his neighbor's fields destroyed, and you'll have the satisfaction of telling them what you think of them.”

“You have another suggestion?” said Seraph.

“The Secret Path is very powerful,” said Hennea. “They claim that they run the Empire, and that might very well be true. Having more people to call on for help could be very useful.”

“I've thought of that,” said Seraph. “But—Hennea, I am not a Bard. Yelling I can do, but persuasion is another matter entirely. Would you try?”

She shook her head. “To Benroln and his people, you are our leader. To have me speak to them would be an insult. You can do this. Just remember that Benroln is frustrated because there's nothing he can do to keep his people safe. Give him something to do other than rob the
solsenti
of their gold, some way to strike back, and he'll forget about the games.”

 

Isfain was angry with Hennea, Seraph observed as she sipped her hot tea. But Hennea had told her the state she'd found Jes in, and Seraph didn't mind seeing him grit his teeth when Hennea got too close. What chance had given Hennea the knowledge of loosing the
foundrael,
Seraph didn't know, but she was grateful for it all the same.

Hennea had certainly impressed a few people with her freeing of Jes. The whole Rongier clan, at least those present
at the small gathering in front of Benroln's tent, were treating Hennea as if she'd grown a third head.

Or maybe Hennea was just sitting too close to Jes.

Jes had no intention of forgiving anyone for imprisoning him. He lurked in a wolfish form only half-revealed by the flickering light of the bonfire. It might have been easier if he'd chosen to be wolf in whole, but the wolf's muzzle and eyes in an otherwise human body was particularly disturbing. Low growls told everyone that he was unhappy with them all. Seraph rather thought the shape was an illusion, but it was difficult to tell.

Brewydd had brought Lehr with her. He looked tired, but the sickness had faded from his eyes. When the old woman griped at him and ordered him to move her camp chair three times before she sat in it, he actually grinned.

Benroln came out of his tent at last, and looked around to see that everyone was there. He sat down directly opposite Seraph and nodded his head at her: so the meeting would begin with her comments.

Unhappy people, all,
she thought, glancing around at the faces of the clan.

“We could spend the night throwing accusations and debating ancient history,” said Seraph. “If you were not honest with what you wanted of us, well then, we were not entirely honest either.”

“I'd like to rage at you, and tell you how wrong what you've been doing is, but you already know what I think.” She took a deep breath. “So I'm going to tell you the things that we didn't tell you when you invited us to journey with you to Taela. It will take a while, and I am no Bard. I ask for your patience just the same.”

“I am Seraph, Raven of Isolda the Silent and wife to Tieragan of Redern, Owl in his own right, though he has not a drop of Traveler blood . . .”

 

By the time she brought them into the present she was hoarse. Benroln refilled her cup and urged it upon her solicitously—as if they had not just fought a battle over a farmer's field.

As clan leader, it was his place to respond, so everyone sat silently while he considered her story.

“This Path,” he said, “they have been taking our people for years and stealing their Orders?”

Seraph nodded.

“You have some of the stones?” asked Brewydd.

Seraph had thought the old Healer was asleep.

“Yes.”

“I'd like to see them,” Brewydd murmured. “Bring them here when we are done and we'll sit in the Librarian's home, you and I, Hennea and Benroln, and see just what evil the
solsenti
have wrought.”

“All right,” Seraph said and then changed the subject. “Tomorrow, my family and I will continue on to Taela where my husband is being kept.”

“You say your husband is Ordered,” said Isfain. “But he is a
solsenti?
”

“That's right.”

“Could this Secret Path you told us about be the reason that the
solsenti
laws have become so stringent against us?” asked Kors.

Seraph thought that they could look to themselves and to other clans who had gone after gold rather than fighting evil for the cause of the antipathy
solsenti
had toward Travelers, but she wasn't such a fool as to say so.

Benroln, unaware of Seraph's thoughts, nodded intently. “It could be. If what we have heard tonight is true, this Path could be very powerful.” He nodded his head once more. “Then this is what we will do. Isfain, send out messages to the other clans we know of and warn them of this Path and their methods. See to it that they in turn pass the message on.” He waited until Isfain nodded. “Tomorrow we also strike out at speed for Taela.”

He turned to Seraph. “There are things that we can do to help. We have friends in Taela.”

Seraph looked at his eager face. “I would be very grateful for any help you can give,” she said.

 

Seraph was exhausted, but she found herself as unable to say no to the old Healer as everyone else was. Besides, she wanted to know what the Healer could tell her about the rings. So it was that she found herself inside the house of Rongier the Librarian with Hennea, Benroln, and Brewydd.

Rongier's home had been larger and more prosperous than Isolda's. His library had a table large enough to seat eight or ten people.

Seraph took the seat next to Brewydd and dumped the bag of rings on the table.

Brewydd hesitated and lightly fingered each ring before settling on an old ring set with a stone of rose quartz.

“Well,” she murmured, “how did they do that then? You told me that they took the Orders and bound them to a ring.”

“Right,” said Seraph. “That's what Hennea said, and that's what seems to have happened.”

“Indeed.” Brewydd put the ring down and pushed it away from her. Her hand was shaking a little. “So that's one of the reasons,” she murmured.

“Reasons for what, Brewydd?” asked Benroln. He'd made no move to look closer at the rings.

“There were only ever so many Orders,” she said. “I don't know the numbers, I'm not certain where to find an exact count of most of them—but there were only ever ten healers. One would die and another would be born. But now there are only six.” She pointed at the ring she'd been handling. “That one is one of the missing.”

“Do you mean to say that the Orders are . . . like a . . .” Seraph searched for a proper comparison.

“Like a suit of armor,” said Brewydd. “One that is fitted at birth and stays with you, grows to be a part of you until it is like your skin. When you die, the skin sloughs off and cleanses itself of everything that was yours—your scent, your shape, the sound of your voice. Then, once more only a suit of armor, it goes off and seeks the next person to fit itself to.”

She folded her hands and rested her chin on them. “The Orders don't go to just anyone.” She nodded her head toward Seraph. “You would have been a mage even if you hadn't been Raven. Your husband would still have sung. Benroln would have been one of those people who always seems to know when a bad storm is coming in. The Orders go where they will be welcomed.”

“So when they made these stones,” said Benroln somberly, “each ring was another Traveler born without an Order.”

Brewydd nodded her head. She looked at Hennea. “You
said that the wizards of the Path, these Masters, find that they cannot use some of these. I believe that they took the Order too soon, that there are bits of personality still clinging to the stones. The only time I've ever seen something similar is when I had to deal with a Raven's Memory.”

“A Raven's Memory?” asked Benroln.

“A Raven's Memory,” said Brewydd, “happens only when a Raven is murdered. A Raven can take the power that always comes with death and a part of himself to the Order and bind the result to a false life until it carries out vengeance against his murderer.”

“But it's not only the Raven stones that . . .” Seraph's voice trailed off because she wasn't certain how to explain it.

“No.” Brewydd sorted out a half dozen rings. “Here is the Lark, a couple of Ravens, a Hunter and Bard, these all contain part of their last Order-Bearer. They're bound, tied to the stones so they can't act like Raven Memories—but I bet the wizards who tried to wear them got a rude surprise.”

“Do you know what to do with them?” asked Hennea.

“Not yet,” said Brewydd. “Do you mind if I keep these?” She indicated the jewelry.

“No,” said Seraph. “If you can figure out what to do with them, how to free the Orders, it is more than Hennea and I have managed.”

Brewydd nodded and collected the rings into Seraph's bag. “Tell that boy of yours to come to my wagon tomorrow when we stop to camp,” she said.

“Lehr?” asked Seraph cautiously.

Brewydd nodded. “I know a few odd things about Hunters he might be interested in.” She got to her feet. “I know a lot more than I let on,” she said. “But I only share with those I like. Your boy was exhausted and heartsick, not to mention tired of taking orders and angry with the whole of my clan—yet he still was courteous and gentle. I like him.” She glared at Benroln.

He got up off the chair with a crack of laughter. “I love you, old woman.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I'm going to get some sleep before I fall over. You'll want to keep the
mermora
until you've solved this puzzle with the rings, and you are welcome to it, Brewydd. Good night.”

Brewydd turned to Seraph. “I'm an honest woman, so I'll tell you that I'm not used to learning wisdom from those younger than I. I thought that I had to convince him that what he was doing to earn gold was wrong. I never considered trying to find something else for him to do instead. Thank you.”

Seraph shook her head. “I'm afraid you have Hennea to thank for that.”

Hennea smiled and got up. “You're welcome to any bits of wisdom I pick up. Now, I'm with Benroln; it's time to sleep. Can I escort you to your wagon?”

Brewydd laughed and winked at Seraph. “I'll say yes, only because that handsome young Guardian who's been waiting outside will come, too.”

Seraph laughed, yawned, and left for their tent.

 

“Seraph, wake up,” Hennea's voice was soft and disappeared into the dream.

“Mother,” murmured Jes.

At the sound, Seraph sat up and opened her eyes almost in the same motion. “Jes, are you all right?”

He smiled his sweet smile. “Fine, Mother, but you're going to wake the camp.”

Seraph yawned and tried to find the reason they'd woken her up in what Jes had just said. It was still dark out and everyone except her was lying down. Hennea had a gentle grip on Seraph's arm.

“You were having nightmares,” said Lehr, rolling on his side so he could see her more easily.

When he said it, she remembered. Tier had been sitting on a throne of oak, ash, and rowan while a spell was worked around him. He'd been playing one of the songs he played often at the tavern, though she couldn't remember which one it was. She'd run to him, knelt at his feet, and set her head in his lap as she had sometimes when the nightmares had been so bad after her brother had died. But there had been something wrong. He'd kept playing, ignoring her entirely. Finally she'd reached up to touch the skin of his arm and screamed. His flesh had been warm, she could feel blood pulse under her fingertips, but she knew that he was dead.

Nervously she ran her fingers in her hair. “Thank you for waking me,” she said, lying down again.

“What did you dream of?” asked Hennea.

“I don't remember,” Seraph lied. She had no talent for foreseeing, she reminded herself firmly. It had only been a dream.

She lay back and stared at the top of the tent. She knew that Jes and Lehr assumed they'd find Tier hale and whole and the only problem would be getting him out, but Seraph had too much experience to believe in happy endings.

He might be dead.

She'd never told Tier that she loved him. Never once.

She had done her best to turn herself into a good wife, tried to become the person he needed as helpmeet. She knew he'd assume that she'd never told him that she loved him because she didn't.

He was wrong.

Tier felt guilty for so much: that she'd been forced to marry him, that she'd been so young. Their marriage had freed him from the burden of taking over the family bakery and he felt guilty about that, too. He'd gained his freedom and she'd lost hers, lost her chance to rejoin her people. If she'd ever told him that she loved him, he'd have told her that he loved her, too.