Raven's Shadow (4 page)

“If I had not been asleep when they were killing my brother,” she said, “I would have killed them all, Bard.”

“You might have.” Tier stretched and slid out from under the tree. “But then you would have been killed also. And, as I told you last night, I am no bard.”

“Just a baker's son,” she said. “From Redern.”

“Where I am returning,” he agreed.

“You are no
solsenti,
” she disagreed smugly. “There are no
solsenti
Bards.”

“Solsenti?”
He was beginning to get the feeling that they knew two entirely different languages that happened to have a few words in common.

Her assuredness began to falter, as if she'd expected some other reaction from him. “
Solsenti
means someone who is not Traveler.”

“Then I'm afraid I am most certainly
solsenti
.” He dusted off his clothes, but nothing could remove the stains of travel. At least they weren't wet. “I can play a lute and a little harp, but I am not a bard—though I think that means something different to you than it does to me.”

She stared at him. “But I saw you,” she said. “I felt your magic at the inn last night.”

Startled he stared at her. “I am no mage, either.”

“No,” she agreed. “But you
charmed
the innkeeper at the inn so that he didn't allow that man to buy my debt.”

“I am a soldier, mistress,” he said. “And I was an officer. Any good officer learns to manage people—or he doesn't last long. The innkeeper was more worried about losing his inn than he was about earning another silver or two. It had nothing to do with magic.”

“You don't know,” she said at last, and not, he thought, particularly to him. “How is it possible not to know that you are Bard?”

“What do you mean?”

She frowned. “I am Raven, you would say
Mage
—very like a
solsenti
wizard. But there are other ways to use magic among the Travelers, things your
solsenti
wizards cannot do. A few of us are gifted in different ways and depending upon that gift, we belong to Orders. One of those Orders is Bard—as you are. A Bard is, as you said, a musician first. Your voice is true and rich. You have a remarkable memory, especially for words. No one can lie to you without you knowing.”

He opened his mouth to say something—he knew not what except that it wouldn't be kind—but he looked at her first and closed his mouth.

She was so young, for all that she had the imposing manner of an empress. Her skin was grey with fatigue and her eyes were puffy and red with weeping she must have done while he slept. He decided not to argue with her—or believe what she said though it caused cold chills to run down his spine. He was merely good with people, that was all. He could sing, but then so could most Rederni. He was no magic user.

He left her to her speculations and began to take down the camp. If Wresen's horse made it back to the inn, there might be people looking for him soon. Without saying anything more, she stood up and helped.

“I'm going to take you to my kin in Redern,” he said when their camp was packed and Skew once more attached to the Traveler cart. “But you'll have to promise me not to use magic while you're there. My people are as wary as any near Shadow's Fall. Redern's a trading town; if there are any Traveler clans around, we'll hear about them.”

But she didn't appear to be listening to him. Instead, when she'd scrambled to Skew's back she said, “You don't have to worry. I won't tell anyone.”

“Tell what?” he asked, leading the way back to the trail they'd followed the night before.

“That someone in your family, however far back, laid with a Traveler. Only someone of Traveler blood could be a Bard,” she said. “There are no
solsenti
Bards.”

He was beginning to resent the way she said
solsenti;
whatever the true meaning of the word, he was willing to bet it was also a deadly insult.

“I won't tell anyone else,” she said. “Being Traveler is no healthy thing.”

She glanced up at the mountains that towered above the narrow trail and shivered.

 

There were not as many thieves in that part of the Empire as there were in the lands to the east where war had driven men off their lands. But Conex the Tinker, who found the dead body beside the trail, was not so honest as all that. He took everything he could find of value: two good boots, a bow, a scorched sword with scraps of flesh still clinging to it (he almost left that but greed outweighed squeamishness in the end), a belt, and a silver ring with a bit of onyx stone set in it.

Two weeks after his unexpected good fortune a stranger met up with him on the road, as sometimes happens when two men have the same destination in mind. They spent most of the day exchanging news and ate together that night. The next morning the stranger, a silver ring safely in his belt pouch, rode off alone.

Conex would never more go a-tinkering.

“You see those two mountains over there?” Tier gestured
with his chin toward two rocky peaks that seemed to lean away from each other.

Seraph nodded. After several days' travel she knew Tier well enough to expect the start of another story, and she wasn't wrong.

Tier was a good traveling companion, she thought as she listened to his story with half an ear. He was better than her brother Ushireh had been. He was generally cheerful and did more than his fair share of the camp work. He didn't expect her to say much, which was just as well, for Seraph didn't have much to say—and she enjoyed his stories.

She knew that she should be planning what to do when they reached Tier's village. If she could find another clan, they'd take her in just for being Traveler, but being Raven would make her valuable to them.

If Ushireh had been less proud they would have joined another clan when their own clan died. But Ushireh had no Order to lend him rank; he would have gone from clan chief's son to being no one of importance. Having more than her share of pride, Seraph had understood his dilemma. She'd agreed that they would go on and see what the road brought them.

Only see what the road brought, Ushireh
.

There was no reason now not to find another clan. No reason to continue on with this
solsenti
Bard to his
solsenti
village. There would be no welcome for her in such a place. From what Tier said, it lay very near Shadow's Fall. There would be no clans anywhere near it.

But instead of telling him that she would be on her way, she continued to ride on his odd-colored gelding while Tier walked beside her and amused them both with a wondrous array of stories that touched on everything except his home, stories that distracted her from the shivery pain of Ushireh's death that she'd buried in the same tightly locked place she kept the deaths of the rest of her family.

Arrogance and control were necessary to those who bore the Raven Order. Manipulation of the raw forces of magic was dangerous, and the slightest bit of self-doubt or passion could let it slip out of control. She'd never had trouble with arrogance, but she'd had a terrible time learning emotional control. Eventually she had learned to avoid things that drew her temper: mostly that meant that she kept to herself as much as possible. Her brother, being a loner himself, had respected that. They had often gone days without speaking at all.

Tier, with his constant speech and teasing ways, was outside of her experience. She wasn't in the habit of observing people; it hadn't been a skill that she'd needed. But, if truth be told, after journeying with Tier only a few days, she knew more about him than she had most of the people she'd lived with all her life.

He wasn't one of those soldiers who talked of nothing but the battles he'd fought in. Tier shared funny stories about the life of a solder, but he didn't talk about the fighting at all. Every morning he rose early and practiced with his sword—finding a quiet place away from her. She knew about the need for quiet and let him be while she did her own practice.

When he wasn't talking he was humming or singing, but he seldom talked of important things, and when he did he used far fewer words. He didn't make her talk and didn't seem uncomfortable with her silence. When they passed other people on the road, he smiled or talked as it came to him. Even with Seraph's silent presence, a moment or two of Tier's patter and the other people opened up. No wonder she found herself
liking him—
everyone
liked him. Isolated as most Ravens were kept, even within the clan, she'd never paid enough attention to anyone outside of her family to actually like them before.

“What are you smiling at?” he asked as he finished his story. “That poor goatherd had to live with a wealthy man's daughter for the rest of his life. Can you imagine a worse fate?”

“Traveling with a man who talks all the time,” she replied, trying her hand at teasing.

Thankfully, he grinned.

 

It was evening the first time Seraph laid eyes on Redern, a middling-size village carved into the eastern face of a steep-sided mountain that rose ponderously from the icy fury of the Silver River. The settling sun lent a red cast to the uniform grey stones of the buildings that zigzagged up from the road.

Tier slowed to look, and Skew bumped him. He patted the horse's head absently, then continued at his normal, brisk pace. The road they were on continued past the base of the mountain and then veered abruptly toward a narrow stone bridge that crossed the Silver at the foot of the village.

“The Silver is narrowest here,” he said. “There used to be a ferry, but a few generations ago the Sept ordered a bridge built.”

Seraph thought he was going to begin another story, but he fell silent. He bypassed the bridge by taking a narrow track that continued along the river's edge. A few donkeys and a couple of mules occupied a series of pens just a few dozen yards beyond the bridge.

He found an empty pen and began to separate Skew from the cart. Seraph climbed down and helped him.

A boy appeared out of one of the pens. “I'll find some hay for 'em, sir,” he said briskly. “You can store the cart in the shelter in the far pen.” He took a better look at Skew and whistled, “Now that's an odd one. Never seen a horse with so many colors—like he was supposed to be a bay and someone painted him with big white patches.”

“He's Fahlarn bred,” said Tier. “Though most of them are bay or brown, I've seen a number of spotted horses.”

“Fahlarn?” said the boy, and he looked closer at Tier. “You're a soldier then?”

“Was,” agreed Tier as he led Skew into the pen. “Where did you say to put the cart?”

The boy turned to look at the cart and his gaze touched Seraph and stuck there. “You're Travelers?” The boy licked his lips nervously.

“She is,” said Tier closing the pen. “I'm Rederni.”

Tier was good with people: Seraph had every confidence that the boy wouldn't make them move on if she left Tier to talk to him.

“He said to put the cart in the far pen,” murmured Seraph to that end. “I'll take it.”

When she got back to Tier, the boy was gone, and Tier had his saddle and bridle on his shoulder.

“The boy's gone to get some hay for Skew,” he said. “He'll be in good care here. They don't allow large animals on the streets—the streets are too steep anyway.”

He didn't lie about that. The cobblestone village road followed the contours of the mountain for almost a quarter of a mile, with houses on the uppermost side of the road, and then swung abruptly back on itself like a snake, climbing rapidly to a new level as it did so. The second layer of road still had houses on the uphill side, but, looking toward the river, Seraph could see the roofs of the houses they'd just passed.

Stone benches lined the wide corner of the second bend of the zigzagging road, and an old man sat on one of them playing a wooden flute. Tier paused to listen, closing his eyes briefly. Seraph saw the old man look up and start a bit, but he kept playing. After a moment, Tier moved on, but his steps were slower.

He stopped in front of a home marked by sheaves of wheat carved into the lintel over the doorway and by the smell of fresh-baked bread.

“Home,” he said after a moment. “I don't know what kind of welcome to expect. I haven't heard from anyone here since I left to go to war—and I left in the middle of the night.”

Seraph waited, but when he made no move to continue she said, “Did they love you?”

He nodded without looking away from the door.

“Then,” she said gently, “I expect that the men will bluster
and the women will cry and scold—then they will feast and welcome you home.”

He laughed then. “That sounds about right. I suppose it won't change for putting it off longer.”

He held the door open for her and followed her into a largish room that managed to be both homey and businesslike at the same time. Behind the counter that divided the room in half were tilted shelves displaying bread in a dozen forms and a burly red-headed man who looked nothing like Tier.

“May I help you, good sir?” asked the man.

“Bandor?” said Tier. “What are you doing here?”

The big man stared at him, then paled a bit. He shook his head as if setting aside whatever it was that had bothered him. Then he smiled with genuine welcome. “As I live and breathe, it's Tier come back from the dead.”

Bandor stepped around the counter and enveloped Tier in a hearty embrace. “It's been too long.”

It was odd to see two men embracing—her own people were seldom touched in public outside of childhood. But Tier returned the bigger man's hug with equal enthusiasm.

“You're here for good, I hope,” said Bandor, taking a step back.

“That depends upon my father,” Tier replied soberly.

Bandor shook his head and his mouth turned down. “Ah, there is much that has happened since you left. Draken died four years ago, Tier. Your sister and I had been married a few years earlier—I'd taken an apprenticeship here when you left.” He stopped and shook his head. “I'm telling this all topsy-turvy.”

“Dead,” said Tier, his whole body stilled.

“Bandor,” said a woman's voice from behind a closed door. The door swung wide and a woman came out backwards, having bumped open the door with her hip. Her arms were occupied with a large basket of rolls. “Do you think I ought to do another four dozen rolls, or are the eight dozen we have enough?”

The woman was taller than average, thin and lanky like Tier. And as she turned around, Seraph could see that she had his dark hair and wide mouth.

“Alinath,” said Bandor. “I believe you have a visitor.”

She turned toward Tier with a polite smile and opened her mouth, but when her eyes caught his face no sound left her lips. She dropped the basket on the ground, spilling rolls everywhere, then she was over the top of the counter and wrapped tightly around him.

“Tier,” she said in a muffled voice. “Oh, Tier. We thought you were dead.”

He hugged her back, lifting her off the floor. “Hey, sprite,” he said, and his voice was as choked as hers.

“We kept it for you,” said Alinath. “We kept the bakery for you.”

Alinath pulled back, tears running freely down her face. She took a step away from him and then punched him in the belly, turning her shoulder to put the full force of her body into the blow.

“Nine years,” she said hotly. “Nine years, Tier, and not even a note to say that you were still alive. Damn you, Tier.”

Tier was bent over wheezing, but he held up three fingers.

“We received nothing,” she said angrily. “I didn't even know where to send you word when Father died.”

“I sent three letters the first year,” he said, huffing for breath. “When I had no reply, I assumed Father washed his hands of me.”

Alinath put her hands to her mouth. “If he ever got your letters, he didn't say anything to me. Darn my fiendish temper. I'm sorry I hit you, Tier.”

Tier shook his head, denying the need for apology. “Father told me that someday I'd be sorry I taught you how to hit.”

“Come with me,” she said. “Mother will want to see you.” She tugged him from the room, leaving Seraph alone with the man at the counter.

“Welcome,” Bandor said after a long awkward moment. “I am Bandor, journeyman baker, and husband to Alinath of the Bakers of Redern.”

“Seraph, Raven of the Clan of Isolda the Silent,” Seraph replied with outward composure, knowing her words would tell him no more than his eyes had already noticed.

He nodded, bent to right the basket Alinath had dropped, and began to collect the rolls that had fallen on the floor.

When he was finished he said, “Alinath will be busy with
Tier; I'd best get to the baking.” He turned on his heel and headed back through the door that Alinath and Tier had taken, leaving Seraph truly alone.

Uncomfortable and out of place, Seraph sat on a small bench and waited. She should have left on her own as soon as Tier had killed the nobleman who pursued her. She'd have been safe enough then. Here in Tier's village she was as out of place as a crow in a hummingbird nest.

But she stayed where she was until Tier returned alone.

“My apologies,” he said. “I shouldn't have left you here alone.”

She shrugged. “I am hardly going to come to harm here, nor do I have a place in your reunion.”

He gave her a faint smile. “Yes, well, come with me and I'll make you known to my sister and mother.”

She stood up. “I'm sorry that your father was not here as well.”

His smile turned wry. “I don't know if I'd have been welcomed here if my father were still alive.”

“Maybe not right away, but you're persuasive. He'd have relented eventually.” She found herself patting his arm and stopped as soon as she realized what she was doing.

 

Tier's mother and sister awaited them in a small room that had been arranged for a sick person. Alinath sat on a stool next to the bed where Tier's mother held court. The older woman's hair was the same dark color as her children's, though streaked with spiderwebs of age. She wasn't old, not by Traveler standards, but her skin was yellow with illness.

Both women looked upon Seraph without favor as Tier made his introductions.

“Tier tells us you have no home, child,” said Tier's mother, in a begrudging tone—as if she expected Seraph to impose on
her
for a place to stay.

“As long as there are Travelers, I have a home,” Seraph replied. “It only remains for me to find them. Thank you for your concern.”

“I told them that I would escort you to your people,” said Tier. “They don't come near Shadow's Fall, so it might take us a few months.”