Raven's Strike

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.

“He

He remembered He

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.