Raven's Strike

CHAPTER 2

“No wonder he was out in the middle of nowhere. If there were a good smith nearby, he’d starve to death,” said Benroln sourly as his sturdy bay kept pace with the little horse Tier rode. Brewydd had appropriated Skew for the ride back to the clan’s camp with Tier’s blessing. Lehr had had to carry the exhausted healer back to the horses, but the smith’s wounded would recover.

“The smith’s work is good enough by the local standards,” Tier told Benroln. “You can’t expect master-level bladecrafting from a man who makes mostly nails and plowshares. If you’d asked for a plow, doubtless you’d have been better pleased.”

“We have not the slightest need for a plow,” grumbled Benroln. “Or nails either. But either would have done us more good than three braces of ill-balanced, rough-handled knives.”

“Then your own smith can use the metal to make something more suitable,” soothed Tier. “You know as well as I that the real benefit you gained this day is that next time you—or any Traveler—comes by here, you will be welcomed and treated fairly.”

“Is Benroln still complaining?” Seraph came up to ride by Tier’s side. She gave Benroln a steady look. “If you’d really wanted a good bargain, you’d have driven it before we killed the mistwight and Brewydd healed his family. Afterward, you get what he gives and be grateful for it.”

Benroln muttered an excuse and dropped back to talk with someone who would listen to him with a more sympathetic ear.

“The knives aren’t so bad,” said Tier. “They’re just not up to the standards of the clan’s smith.”

Seraph watched him closely. “What’s wrong?”

“My knees,” he lied. She saw too much with her clear-eyed gaze. “They’ll be fine.”

He would lose her, he thought. She would stay with him for a while because the children needed her and because she’d given her word to him. But the boys were young men already, and their daughter was no longer a helpless child. How long would his love cage her from the life she was born to?

She’d grown into a woman who could deal with the responsibilities she’d come to him to escape. She was Raven, and he thought perhaps for the first time he understood what that meant.

“We can stop for a while and give your knees a chance to rest,” said Seraph. “Brewydd could probably use the rest as well.”

“No”—he shook his head—“Brewydd is tired, but all she has to do is sit on Skew until we make it back to camp. As for my knees, I just walked too far today. My knees will be fine. No fun, but a long way from unbearable.”

Unbearable was that he could see no way to hold Seraph without destroying her; by comparison his knees were nothing. “I’ll be fine.”

Midmorning the next day they came to a crossroads, and Benroln called a halt. As soon as everyone had stopped he strode directly to Tier and Seraph.

“We are called to the southern fork,” he said in a tight voice.

Seraph smiled at him. “Is this the first time?”

Benroln nodded jerkily.

“Some leaders never hear the call,” she told him, then glancing at Tier, she explained. “When the clan’s help is needed, the leader of a clan knows. It spoke to my brother. He told me it’s like a whisper or a tugging string.”

“A string,” said Benroln, his face a little flushed. “It pulls my heart. My father said his father had it—but I never really believed.”

“You go on then,” said Tier. “We’ll continue west on our own. It’s not far now.”

Benroln’s face lost the absent look it had held. “You have to come with us. Without you we have only me and the Healer. Brewydd says that there is another Shadowed.”

Tier looked around. “I see a lot of people. Surely you don’t dismiss everyone without an Order as useless?”

Benroln gave a huff of frustration. “You know what I mean.”

Tier nodded. “I do. But I have a young daughter staying with my folk—who’ve no magic at all. Now, when my sons were chasing the Shadowed—”

“We don’t know he was the Shadowed,” said Seraph.

“All right,” agreed Tier. “But if he wasn’t another like the Unnamed King, then he was wearing the robes of one of the Masters of the Secret Path, so he must have been a wizard. I’m minded then, that he was killing off Travelers and stealing their Orders just as the others were. He’s not going to be best pleased with the people who destroyed his work—and I’ve the nasty suspicion that he’s going to hold me mostly to blame for it, despite the fact I spent most of the battle chained up and helpless. Benroln, my daughter Rinnie is staked out in Redern like the bait in a mountain-cat trap. I’ll not leave her alone any longer than I can help.”

“How do you know that he knows anything at all about your daughter? The wizard, Shadowed or not, was in Taela—that’s a long way from Redern.”

“The Path had someone watching our family,” Tier told him, feeling a trace of the anger that he’d felt when he’d first found out. What if they had decided to steal away one of the children instead of him? What if he had died? Would the Path have been able to pick off the children one by one? The thought brought an urgent need to have his family together, where he could keep an eye on all of them. He needed to get to Redern.

“He knows about Rinnie,” Tier said firmly. “I’m sorry, Benroln, but I won’t risk her.”

“You’ll find a way to do what you are called to do without us,” said Seraph.

Hennea, the other Raven, was not a member of Benroln’s clan either, but had come to Seraph in Redern and traveled with his family when they rode to Taela, the capital of the Empire, to rescue him. She had no real ties to them.

“Perhaps Hennea will go with you,” suggested Tier.

Jes had jogged over to see what the delay was, Gura at his heel. The big dog had been reluctant to let any of them out of his sight since they’d gotten back from killing the mistwight, and tended to race back and forth from one of his people to another—sort of like Jes.

Before Benroln could reply to Tier’s suggestion, Jes shook his head, and said positively, “Hennea stays with us.”

Tier raised his eyebrows, hiding the worry he felt about the budding relationship between Jes and Hennea. “Hennea’s a Raven and will do as she wishes, Jes. I thought you’d know that, having grown up with your mother. Why don’t you go find her and see what she says?”

Hennea usually liked to stay toward the back of the clan when they traveled. Jes found her there, talking with a half dozen or so people and Lehr, who smelled of mint and the herbs he must have been collecting for the Healer.

Lehr looked up, saw Jes, and asked, “Why are we stopped?”

Jes felt the weight of everyone’s attention focus on him; their fear tangled with curiosity beat upon him. He didn’t like it, and neither did the Guardian. He dropped his eyes to the ground and tried not to feel them or notice how they backed away.

“Benroln is called south,” he told the ground. “We’re going on to Redern because Papa is afraid that the Shadowed might try and hurt Rinnie.”

The Guardian agreed with Papa. He also believed that the man they had chased was a Shadowed one, not just shadow-tainted.

Jes missed the first part of what Hennea said, though the last of it—“I should go with Benroln”—was enough to bring the Guardian boiling to the surface.

“No,” Jes said, but that was all he could manage around the Guardian’s growl, unheard by anyone else.

<She comes with us! She is mine!>

Jes agreed with the sentiment, but was certain that the Guardian’s telling Hennea as much would be disastrous. So he fought to keep control. It didn’t help that as the Guardian had arisen, the icy dread of his presence increased the fear of everyone around him. Their emotions roiled around him like the river in a storm, until Hennea put her hand on his arm, bringing with her the cool relief that was a part of her. He could still feel the others, but somehow, Hennea’s presence managed to shield him from the worst of it.

“Why don’t you take him away from everyone,” Lehr’s calm voice soothed him, too. “You’re not going to get any sense out of him with all these people around him.”

Hennea must have agreed because Jes found himself following her through the trees. As soon as they were out of sight of the others, their feelings died down to a murmur, but Hennea led him farther.

“I need you to come with us,” he told her.

She patted him on the arm—a motherly gesture—then crossed her arms in front of her chest and turned away. She found something interesting in the bark of a tree and traced patterns on the rough surface with a finger.

“You’ll be fine,” she told the tree, though Jes assumed she was really talking to him. “There’s no need for me to come with you. I’ve repaid the debt I owed to your mother for tricking her into killing Volis the priest. We’ve seen to it that the Secret Path won’t be killing any more Travelers and stealing their Orders.”

Jes stared at her back. Did he mean nothing to her? Of course not. She’d been kind to him, rescued him, and in the process kissed him. Doubtless he wasn’t the only man she’d ever kissed.

How could she care for him? Had he forgotten what he was? A madman who alternated between being a simpleton and a ravening beast. He should count himself lucky that she didn’t run screaming.

<Let me talk to her.>

The Guardian had never asked him before, he’d just taken over if he could. Jes hesitated, remembering that first, possessive roar. But on the rare occasions when he was calm, the Guardian was better-spoken than Jes. Perhaps he could change her mind.

“We can’t force her,” he said. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said it aloud because Hennea didn’t look happy when she turned around to stare at him, but the Guardian wasn’t as good at hearing Jes as he was at hearing the Guardian. Jes didn’t want the Guardian to make matters worse.

<Please. She must come with us.>

With a sigh, Jes let the Guardian overwhelm him.

“You can’t force me,” said Hennea.

“No,” he agreed, stepping away because he thought he might be frightening her—though her face was composed. He didn’t want to frighten her. “What do you intend to do now that your debt to my mother is remitted and the Path is rendered harmless?”

“I will seek out the Shadowed,” she said. “It may be that the man you chased through the tunnels of the Emperor’s castle was just another solsenti wizard. But if not, it would be disastrous to allow him to run free.”

The Guardian lowered his eyelids, trying to look unthreatening. It wasn’t something he had a lot of practice at.

“My father told Benroln that the Shadowed is going to seek vengeance against us for the death of the Secret Path,” he said. “If you want to find him, you are more likely to find him in our company.”

“Or in Benroln’s as he follows his call,” she said.

But her voice wasn’t as firm as it had been.

“There was no clue to the Shadowed’s identity in the papers left by the Path,” said the Guardian. “None of the servants knew anything, nor did any of the men the Emperor could have questioned. Only the wizards might have known who he was, and they were all killed the night the Path fell. There might still be records in the temples, but the Emperor could do nothing against either of the temples of the Five Gods in Taela because there was nothing that connected them to the Path. In Redern, though, there is a temple ready to be searched.”

“We searched it already,” Hennea said.

“Did you? I thought two tired Ravens went through and did their best to find all the Ordered gemstones and anything that might bring harm to villagers who might go exploring. Did you read all of Volis’s correspondence? Did you search for journals? Were you looking for a new Shadowed One?” He knew the answers to those questions—she did, too, because she didn’t say anything.

“Then there are the Path’s gemstones, also,” he murmured, trying hard to keep his triumph from showing. His relief. She was his to guard, as his family was his to guard. He could not have borne for them to be at risk and he not able to protect them all. He needed them to stay together. “Seraph will do her best to solve their secrets and free the Orders that are bound to the stones. She will not give them to you—I know her well enough to understand that she could never give that task to another, even if you do not. It matters too much to her.” And to you, he thought.

She bowed her head shallowly. “You are right,” she said serenely. “I will come. But I will not stay in Redern, Jes.” She rubbed her hands over her face, and it seemed to Jes that the gesture rubbed away some of her composure. “I cannot be more to you than I am. You are so young. You will find someone else. I am—” She stopped. Took a deep breath. “I was Volis’s leman, Jes.” Her voice shook on the dead priest’s name, though he could tell that she was doing her best to be impassive. It was fortunate for the priest that he was already dead.

She must have felt his reaction because she continued hurriedly. “I chose it because it seemed to be the best way to find out how to save my people. I would do it again. I am not your mother, who chooses her family over duty. I am a Raven first—and Ravens do not make good mates. Strong emotions are almost as dangerous to us as they are to Guardians. I chose not to love, Jes. Not ever. I can’t afford it. You deserve someone who will love you.”

The Guardian closed in on her, but she held her ground even when he put one hand on her neck and the other on her shoulder to hold her still. He bent his head and kissed her—gently at first, though that wasn’t part of his nature. He let Jes return and take control of the kiss just as her shoulder softened under his hand and her lips parted.

Jes savored the touch, but withdrew before Hennea’s snarl of emotions broke the spell of the kiss and made it something more complex.

He didn’t look at her, didn’t want to try and read her face. He didn’t know what emotions she would decipher from his own since he wasn’t certain what he felt.

His father would say that their conversation had resulted in a draw. He’d also say that sometimes, that was the best result you could hope for. Jes was pretty certain this was one of those times.

He didn’t say anything, just stepped back so that she could lead the way back to where the clan waited. He followed her, making certain that she did not come to harm.

Tier fretted because they made slower time once they’d left Benroln and his people. Mostly that was due to Seraph’s insistence on frequent rest stops to spare Tier’s knees. Brewydd had not been so strict a caretaker. In the evenings, Seraph and Hennea continued to spend hours in the illusionary remains of one of the Colossae wizards’ homes as they, and Brewydd, had done since they left Taela. They used Seraph’s mermora, the house that had once belonged to Isolde the Silent.

Tier had known about the mermori for years, but Seraph had seldom done more than look through the graceful silver forms, which to him looked like small elaborate daggers. He’d seen Isolde’s house once or twice, but that didn’t make the sudden appearance of a house in the middle of the wilds any less fantastical.

They were looking for a way to free the Orders that the Path had bound to gemstones.

“It would have been easier,” Seraph told him one night, “if the Path actually managed to do what they had intended. If they had managed to separate the Order completely from the Traveler they killed, the gemstones could probably just have been destroyed to free the Orders.”

“But you can’t do that now.”

She shifted against his side to get more comfortable. He didn’t tell her that her elbow was digging into his ribs where they were still a little tender because that would make her move away from him entirely. She’d wriggle around a bit more before she fell asleep anyway.

“No,” she said, yawning. “Brewydd says there were only ever a few Orders in the world. When one Order Bearer dies, the Order is cleansed and passes to a new bearer. Because of the Path’s interference, these Orders aren’t cleansed.”

“What do you mean?” he asked. He’d missed these late-night talks. When they’d first left Taela, he had been too tired by the time they stopped each night to do anything but sleep. He was tired tonight as well, but not with the kind of exhaustion that made him lose consciousness as soon as he quit moving.

“Most of the gems don’t work quite right,” Seraph said. “What was supposed to happen was when the gem was worn against a wizard’s skin, that wizard could use the powers of the Order just as if he was the Order Bearer they had stolen it from. Brewydd thinks that they were stealing the Order too soon, before it was cleansed by the death of its previous bearer.”

“So the gems are haunted?” Tier asked.

Seraph nodded. “Or so we surmise. Volis said that none of the Healer gems work right.”

“If you break the stones, won’t the Orders be freed?”

Seraph shrugged. “Probably. But they’ll still have bits and pieces of their previous owners’ experience—maybe even personality. Brewydd thought it might keep them from bonding at all—or, worse, make the Order act more like a shadow taint.” She took a deep breath. “Like the Guardian Order, maybe.”

“I see why you can’t just destroy the gemstones,” Tier said, smoothing her hair.

“It might come to that eventually,” Seraph said. “But I’m not anywhere near willing to take that risk.”

The mountains were a mixed blessing, thought Tier a few days later. It meant they were getting closer to home—but it also slowed their pace.

Jes and Lehr had taken to ranging in front of them with Gura, looking for chance game or wayside robbers—leaving the women to totter along with the cripple and his old warhorse, Tier thought sourly. Journeying with Benroln’s clan, he had gotten used to riding while others walked, but it bothered him more when his only companions were a pair of women.

When they came to a fairly level stretch of road he threw one leg over Skew’s rump and dropped to the ground with a groan.

“What are you doing?” Seraph put her hands on her hips and frowned at him.

“I’m going to walk a bit,” he told her, and suited his actions to his words.

“Brewydd told you to keep off those knees.” Seraph slipped an arm through his and walked beside him.

“That was a week ago,” Tier said. “I’ll only walk where the road is level. Skew needs a rest.”

“He does not,” she said stubbornly. “Tier—” She stopped herself. Her voice soft, she said, “I worry too much, I know. But I hate it. Hate that you were hurt. Hate it worse that I didn’t get to immolate the men who did it until after they were dead.”

He slipped the fingers of his left hand through her braids and ducked down to kiss her on the lips. “You’re not responsible for everything that happens, my Raven. You can’t prevent any of us from getting hurt or even dying. That is not your place. Best you accept that now, love.”

She didn’t say anything more, but tucked herself more closely against him as they walked.

“It is, though,” she said, when they reached the end of the level path, and Tier stopped to mount.

“Is what?” he asked with a grunt of pain. Walking hadn’t been too bad, but mounting was miserable. His left knee didn’t want to bend enough for him to get a foot in the stirrup, and his right knee wasn’t happy about holding all of his weight. He managed it, and managed to haul himself into the saddle, too, but only just.

Seraph waited until he was settled before she answered his question. “It is my place to keep others safe. It’s what I was raised for and part of being Raven.”

He kept Skew still for a moment as he looked down upon his wife. She was strong, and gods knew she was powerful. He knew that, but his heart saw how easily she bruised and how mortal her flesh. His eyes saw a woman who weighed half what he or either of her sons did.

He loved everything about her. If she were not a Raven, she wouldn’t be his Seraph. If he could, he would not change that part of her, even if it meant she had to take up her duties and leave the farm, leave him. But he didn’t have to like it.

“Is it?” he asked softly. “Maybe. But those stories are so old, Seraph. Older than the Empire. Older than the Fall of the Unnamed King. Are you certain that you are right? Maybe there’s something else that the Ravens, the Owls, and all the other Ordered are supposed to do. Maybe there’s a better reason that Jes suffers under the Guardian Eagle’s talon. I hope there is. If it is only that some damn fool wizards decided they’d made a mess their children’s children’s children needed to pay for, then you are all paying too much.”

Hennea stopped and picked up a rock that caught her fancy and put it in her pocket. The air was heavy with clouds, but there was no rain yet. Perhaps she ought to go back to the trail and join up with Seraph and Tier.

When the boys were both out scouting, Hennea tried to give Seraph and Tier what privacy she could. There was some tension between them to be worked out—and walking alone was no hardship for Hennea. She liked being alone because it gave her time to think.

She’d had time enough to decide the decision she’d made to stay with Jes’s family had been the right one. The kind of man who could give up his humanity for power would not forgive the blow that Tier had dealt to his plans. Sooner or later the Shadowed would find them, and Hennea intended to be there when he did. That was the purpose of her existence after all—to keep the shadows at bay.

Her decision was the right one, but not for Jes. Not for Jes. She was going to end up hurting him.

She took the rock in her pocket and threw it as hard as she could. It hit a tree and bounced off the bark and into the branches before falling to the ground with a dull thud.

“What’s wrong?” asked Jes, startling her. Guardians were like that.

“Nothing,” Hennea said, without turning to look at him. “I was just thinking it was probably time to get back to your parents. They’re going to wonder where we are.”

“I’m not my father,” Jes said. He was close enough now that she could feel the heat of his body against her skin. “I don’t know when you are lying.”

“Always,” she told him. It was the truth, but she kept her voice light.

Slowly, so she had plenty of time to move, Jes leaned against her back and wrapped an arm around the front of her shoulders above her breasts and pulled her against him. She could feel his breath stirring her hair and closed her eyes so she could feel it better. It had been a very long time since someone had touched her this way. There was nothing sexual in the embrace—if there had been, she’d have pulled away. But she couldn’t make herself reject the comfort he offered her.

Her eyes burned with tears though she didn’t know why.

“You are tired,” Jes whispered in her ear, and tightened his arm.

“Seraph and I stayed up too late,” she said.

He shook his head. “No. Not sleepy. Tired.”

She was tired of fighting a futile battle that never seemed to end. They had managed to bring the Path down—a task that had seemed impossible to her when she’d started out for Taela with Seraph and her sons. They’d managed it somehow, but there was no triumph in a victory that left a Shadowed at large. And if they managed to destroy this Shadowed, another one would appear. Let ten years or a couple of centuries pass, and there would be another power-mad mage who wanted to live forever. Whatever she did, it would never be enough.

“Very tired,” said Jes, rocking her slightly. “Shh. Don’t cry.”

She wanted to turn and bury herself in his arms. They were strong arms, which managed to make her feel safer than she could ever remember feeling. Only Jes. She loved the smell of woods and earth that clung to his skin. She loved…

She didn’t want to hurt Jes.

She pulled away and turned to face him. “I’m not crying. It’s started to rain.”

He tilted his head then held out his hand to let a few sparse drops land on his palm. He gave her a gentle smile. “My father would know you are lying.”

Impatiently, Hennea wiped her face. “It’s a good thing that you are not your father then, isn’t it?”

His smile widened further as he nodded. “Especially since my mother would be upset if you felt about my father the way you felt about me while I held you.”

Empath. How could she have forgotten?

She didn’t know what showed on her face, but it made him laugh. Even as her face burned, part of her observed that Jes’s laughter warmed her cold center. It made her want to touch him.

“Look at that,” said Tier pointing at a mountaintop. “See that peak? I’d know it anywhere. We’re closer to home than I thought.”

“Skew’s been walking faster for an hour or so,” Seraph told him, just as the first drops of rain began to fall. “I think that we’re no more than an hour’s walk from home. Maybe less. I’ve only been over this road once.”

She glanced up at her husband and smiled to herself at the intent look on his face. It had been autumn when he’d seen Rinnie last, more than half a year ago.

From somewhere on the side of the trail came Jes’s too-loud boisterous laugh. Branches rustled and shook, and Hennea burst onto the path, looking uncharacteristically disturbed.

She marched up to Seraph and shook her finger at her. “You tell that boy of yours that he is too young for me. I don’t take babes fresh from their mother’s milk.”

“She likes me, Mother,” said Jes, following Hennea with a wide grin.

“I can see that,” said Tier. “But take it from me, son. It’s time to let her settle her feathers.”

Hennea shifted her hot gaze to Tier. “You will not encourage him.”

Seraph had never heard of a Guardian stable enough to contemplate a romantic entanglement. There were any number of problems. Even simple touching was difficult—when the Guardian slept, its Order Bearer, who was always an empath, was too raw to allow anyone to touch him. When the Guardian was in control, the nameless dread that accompanied his presence was more than enough to cool the ardor of the most heated lover.

But Hennea’s training as a Raven gave her enormous control that seemed to protect Jes from her emotions so that he could enjoy her touch. And as for the Guardian, Hennea didn’t appear to be intimidated by him in the slightest.

It gave Seraph hope.

As Tier and Hennea exchanged a few words, sharp on her part and teasing on his, Seraph watched Jes, enjoying his laughter until it abruptly stopped. Amusement died in his eyes first, but quickly faded altogether, leaving a face that looked as if it had never smiled.

Before she could ask what was wrong, Lehr emerged from the forest on their left with Gura. “Papa, Mother, something—”

He was interrupted by the shrill scream of a stallion. Skew answered, half-rearing.

“Easy,” soothed Tier, and Skew, his warning given, allowed himself to be gentled. “What’s wrong?”

The storm chose that moment to turn from a gentle rain into a downpour; Seraph ducked her head involuntarily. When she looked up, there was a horse facing them in the middle of the path.

It was pale as death—a dirty off-white that darkened to yellow on the ends of his ragged tail. It looked cadaverous, with a full fingerspace between each rib and great hollows behind its sunken eyes.

“What’s wrong?” said Jes, and at first Seraph thought he was just repeating Tier.

But then the horse spoke in a voice as rough and terrible as the storm.

“Come,” it said, then dashed into the trees.

Both boys and the dog disappeared behind it. Skew took a bounce forward before Tier stopped him and looked at Seraph and Hennea.

“It’s the forest king,” said Seraph as soon as she realized it herself. “Go ahead. Hennea and I’ll catch up.”

He didn’t wait for her to say it twice.

“That’s Jes’s forest king?” asked Hennea as she scrambled beside Seraph in Tier’s wake. “Not exactly what I expected.”

“He seldom is,” agreed Seraph absently as she tried to pick a quick way through the undergrowth near the trail.

“Do we need to track them, or do you know where we’re going?”

“Can’t you feel it?” asked Seraph. “I wasn’t paying attention until it worsened—but this storm is called.”

“Rinnie?”

“Unless there’s another Cormorant in the area. Something is very wrong.”

They fell silent then, Seraph turning all her energies to climbing. The shortest path home was steep, forcing them to slow before they were halfway there.

“I’m going to the farm,” she told Hennea, between gasps for breath. “That’s where it feels like she is. I’ll be able to tell for certain once we top this rise.”

Hennea didn’t bother to try and talk.

Seraph stopped at the ridgetop. The farm lay below, but she couldn’t see it for the trees and the darkening skies. She had more than vision to call upon, though.

The first thing Seraph had done when she and Tier had moved to the farm was to walk a warding that surrounded it. The farm was too close to the old battlefield, Shadow’s Fall, to be entirely safe without protection from the kinds of creatures attracted to shadow. Several times a year for twenty years she’d added to its potency.

Her warding traced along the crest just here.

Seraph knelt in the pine needles and touched the threads of her spelling. Power swept through her in a heady rush—something shadow-touched was trying to cross it at that very moment. Like a spider at her web, she waited, letting her breathing slow, while she waited for the warding to tell her more.

It settled back down after a moment, though she could tell that whatever shadowed thing had touched it was still near. There were some weak areas in the warding, she noticed, as if it had been much longer than the six months or so when she’d last reworked it: something or a number of somethings had been trying the warding while she’d been gone.

Thunder cracked almost instantaneously with the bright flash of lightning, and it was followed by a second strike and a third before the wind picked up into a howling force.

With evidence of Rinnie’s distress, Seraph was unwilling to wait longer for more information, but she sent power surging through her warding, tightening it as a fisherman tightens his net. It wasn’t enough to completely repair the damaged areas, but it would hold until she had time to do it right.

She came to her feet and started down the slope toward home.

“What did you learn?” asked Hennea.

“Not much, something shad—” Seraph’s voice was broken by a torturous howl that rose above the wind.

“Troll,” said Hennea.

Heart in her throat, Seraph started running again.

They came out of the trees still somewhat above the farm, but it didn’t look as it had when Seraph left it. Instead of a half-plowed field and an empty house, there was a field of tents and her house was illuminated from within and without by dozens of lanterns. For courage, she thought, because it wasn’t yet dark enough to require lanterns for sight, though with the rain it wouldn’t be long before darkness had hold here.

Among the changes wrought since she’d been home last was a crowd of people that looked to be composed of the whole village, all confronting a troll that straddled the path leading to Redern.

Seraph pushed her way through the first group of people, mostly women and children, and into the clear space in front of them, where she paused to take in the enormity of her task.

It was a forest troll, moss-green and larger than its more numerous cousin, the mountain troll. By the earlobes which hung so long they brushed its stooped shoulders, it was older than any Seraph had ever seen.

That trolls had two arms and two legs had given rise to the rumor that the thing was related to humans. Anyone who thought so, in Seraph’s opinion, had never seen a troll. Small red eyes were set deep and close on a head as wide as Skew was long above a nose that was merely two slits in the bumpy textured skin. Tusks curled out of its jaw and pulled the lower lip down to reveal fist-sized, serrated teeth that could snap a cow’s skull open.

Seraph’s long-ago teacher had speculated that they were hobgoblins or some other small creature morphed by the Shadowed King. He’d told her the first mentions of trolls in books and stories came after the Fall of the Shadowed.

However they came into being, Seraph could wish this one a long way away instead of pacing back and forth at the trail-head to Redern, with its head topping the nearest trees.

As far as Seraph could tell, almost every able-bodied man of Redern had gathered along the edge of the warding that had so far kept the troll from coming closer, almost as if they could tell where it was. Born and bred in the Ragged Mountain as these folks had been, it wouldn’t surprise Seraph if they could sense her ward—though it could just be experience had taught them how far the troll could come. Some of them had bows or swords, but most of them held whatever implement had come to hand. She saw Bandor, Tier’s sister’s husband, with one of the big knives they used to cut bread.

She couldn’t see the forest king—or Jes either, but it didn’t surprise her. If either was here, he’d be in the forest, not in the midst of a crowd of people.

Tier was in the very front of the line of defenders. She could see him easily over the others because he was the only mounted man. Not many horses could be brought so close to a troll, but Skew was a warhorse born and bred.

The gelding roared the chill sound that belonged to fighting stallions—and geldings, too, apparently. Foam lathered his chest and neck, and the rest of him was wet with sweat and rain. Ears back, he rose to his hind legs in a slow, controlled rear. Warhorses, Tier had once told her, had been trained to turn their fear to anger—just as Seraph herself usually did.

Tier had his sword out, not brandishing it, but at the ready.

Some chance movement in the crowd gave Seraph a quick view of Rinnie, standing just behind Skew. She was a child still, with only the faintest of signs of the woman she would be. She should have looked pitiable next to the warrior and the troll, but her whole body glowed brighter than the lanterns Seraph had just passed.

For a moment Seraph let herself be awed by the beauty of the power a Cormorant could gather.

But it was just for a moment because Rinnie didn’t have the control to hold that kind of power—nor was it doing any good against a troll. Seraph began threading her way between the men, who dropped away as soon as they saw who it was.

Lightning flashed and hit the troll. It rolled its eyes and shook its head, but other than that, the lightning did nothing. But while it was distracted an arrow found its target and the troll took several steps back with another of those agonized cries. It reached one of its arms up to bat at its face and pluck the arrow from its nose slit. It held the arrow up and shook it before throwing it aside and striding forward with a ground-shaking stride that boomed almost as loud as its scream.

Lehr, standing to Rinnie’s left, nocked another arrow and waited.

The troll hit Seraph’s warding and magic leapt up in a fine display of light and color and held it off. The creature stayed for a long count of two before falling back, covering its eyes; but it was obvious to Seraph, if to no one else, that the warding wouldn’t hold it back much longer.

“Rinnie!” shouted Seraph, as soon as she was close enough that they might hear her over the storm. She stopped as close to her daughter as she dared. “Rinnie, let the storm go. Your lightning won’t hurt it, and it prefers dark to light. Lehr, in the ear, eye, nostril, and ventral slit—if you can, get someone to make flaming arrows for you. A troll is partially immune to magic, so I can’t set it afire, but real fire sometimes works.” Sometimes.

Though her glow hadn’t dimmed, Rinnie must have heard what Seraph had said: the rain and wind died, leaving an uncanny silence in its wake, but the storm and all its potential violence still hung overhead malevolently.

“There are a few spells that can hurt it,” said Hennea.

In her anxiety for her family, Seraph had almost forgotten the other Raven.

She turned to see Hennea circle her hands as if she held a large globe, then make a tossing motion. As soon as it crossed the wards, her spell turned into a ball of fire so hot it burned blue. It hit the troll in the middle of its forehead with an impact Seraph could hear from where she stood.

Blinded by the light of the fire, the troll pulled the molten ball from its forehead, and at its touch the magic fell into nothing, leaving only a great blackened area in the troll’s face. The troll howled its rage.

“You have to teach me that one,” said Seraph. “But it’s not going to help us much. They hunt by scent and hearing. Blinding’s only going to make it angry.”

Someone had heard her tell Lehr to use fire; she heard a voice cry, “We need flaming arrows!” Someone else yelled, “Eyes, mouth, and private parts, boys.”

The troll charged the warding again. Seraph dodged past Skew to give the ward more power, ignoring Tier’s shout of consternation. The troll saw her, too, and began wading through the barrier of magic to get to her.

Trolls were smarter than they looked.

A great mountain cat leapt onto the troll from the top of a tree, landing on the top of its head and sending it staggering back away from Seraph and the warding.

Jes, thought Seraph. A black mountain cat was one of the forms that Jes favored—and a normal great mountain cat would never have attacked a troll.

The enraged cry of the cat joined the howl of the troll. Before the troll could regain its balance, Gura joined in the attack, going for the tendon on the back of the troll’s ankle.

The troll kicked out wildly and caught Gura with the edge of its foot. The dog yipped once and rolled a dozen feet to stop against a tree. He lay still.

Jes braced his hind legs on the back of the troll’s neck and sank his front claws deep into the top of its forehead, then pulled back—forcing the troll’s mouth open.

A troll’s joints worked differently than most animals. It had no neck, and its lower jaw was fixed in relation to its body—so it chewed by moving the upper portion of its head rather than the lower. By taking control of the head, Jes’s hold gave him effective control of the whole troll.

It was clever, Seraph acknowledged, but how did Jes know enough of trolls to use its weaknesses against it?

Someone had listened to her because a flaming arrow sank into the troll’s open mouth. Once she turned her attention to it, Seraph realized she’d been smelling burning oil for a few minutes. She turned to see the double handful of archers, including Lehr, were all shooting flaming arrows, which, inexpertly wrapped in oiled rags were awkward to shoot.

A number of the arrows smoldered in the damp ground in front of the troll, but the arrow she watched Lehr loose flew to lodge in between the troll’s gaping jaws, just beside the first one that had hit it. He sent two more to follow the first in quick succession. Each hit was followed by a round of cheers from the rest of the villagers, who were beginning to find the target with their own arrows.

Maddened, the troll fought to close its mouth. Jes’s claws slid through the tough skin, opening huge gashes, but also allowing the troll to close its mouth. It dropped to the ground and rolled, forcing Jes to leap clear. The smell of scorched flesh rose from the troll as it rolled again, trying to put out the fire of a dozen arrows.

The panther grunted and backed away until it stood near Gura, who was rising unsteadily to his feet. As soon as it was obvious that the troll was distracted by the fire that was eating it, the big cat disappeared into the woods, driving the dog before it.

Seraph heard Hennea murmur, “That’s it, Jes. Away from us for the moment. The last thing we need is for anyone to be more panicked than they already are.”

The wind began slowly, then gusted suddenly, fanning the small flames caused by stray arrows that had been slowly dying in the storm-dampened grass. Someone, it must have been Hennea, used magic to snuff out the fires.

“Rinnie,” Seraph said in a biting voice. “That’s enough.”

But the sharp tones that sometimes worked did nothing as power shook Rinnie’s small body.

“Is something wrong?” said Tier.

“Call her, Tier,” she said. “Quickly.”

“Rinnie?” he said.

“Not like that,” Seraph said. “Like you called Skew the night the bear got into the barn. She’s riding the storm, and it’ll kill her unless you can summon her back.”

He didn’t make her explain further.

“Rinnie,” he said, his voice somehow carrying the reverberating power of the thunder.

The children were not the only ones who had learned something about their Orders this past spring. Tier’s voice sounded louder than it actually was—Seraph could feel it settle deeply into her bones, though it was not she whom he called. Even the troll stopped its flailing for an instant.

Seraph could sense the change in the weather even before rain began falling again, this time in a gentle drizzle that would eventually drain the power from the storm. She took a relieved breath. “Hennea, keep that troll dry so it burns to ash.”

“Done.”

“Papa,” said Rinnie, dazedly staring at Tier. “Is it dead?”

Tier sheathed his sword and swung down from Skew’s back, grunting as he hit the ground. But his knees didn’t stop him from picking Rinnie up and pulling her tight.

“Shh,” he said. “You’re safe now.”

But he spoke too soon.

The troll rolled across the wards and kept coming.

Tier, with his back to the burning troll, his eyes on Rinnie, had no warning. The dying monster struck him a glancing blow that knocked him off his feet. Tier rolled over until Rinnie was below him, protecting her with his body.

But the troll knew where they were now and brought forward a three-fingered hand and wrapped it around Tier’s legs.

The troll still lay across Seraph’s wards, and she spoke, using for the first time in her life one of the Words that had been passed down from the Colossae wizards to their Traveler children.

“Sila-evra-kilin-faurath!”

The wards shifted and became something else, called into being by her will and the ancient syllables.

For two decades Seraph had gone out each season to walk a path around the farm while her family slept. She’d set her blood and hair into the soil and called a spell to protect her family from harm. With the Word she called that power into a single act that was the culmination of the purpose of all those nights, all that magic.

Lehr’s fire died completely, leaving the troll burnt and blackened, but alive. It roared triumphantly and tightened its grip on Tier.

Someone made a dismayed sound.

“Die,” said Seraph, in a voice so hoarse and deep it sounded unfamiliar, as if something else used her throat. There was no room left in her for anger or fear, no room for anything except power as she touched the troll.

Blackened flesh turned grey and cracked around grass-green bones. Grey turned to white ash that slid to the ground under the gentle hand of the rain and the iron-shod hooves of Skew as the battle-trained horse protected his rider as he had been trained.

Seraph took in deep breaths and tried to contain herself, but there was too much power.

“Don’t touch her, Lehr,” Hennea said. “Look to Tier and the child. Seraph. Seraph.”

Slowly, Seraph turned her head to look at the other Raven, who averted her gaze under Seraph’s hot attention.

“What are you going to do with the magic, Seraph?” Despite dropping her gaze, Hennea sounded serene.

Seraph found herself clinging to that serenity for a moment. “Too much,” she said. “Unwise to kill something that old with a Word.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

The force of the power the Words had siphoned into her burned and felt wondrous at the same time. The troll had been old, too old. The power of his death rippled through her along with the magic she herself had drained from her wards. Too much power to be safe.

“The wardings,” she said, her voice thick and still oddly deep. “I need to protect…”

“Papa?”

Lehr’s voice broke Hennea’s hold on her, reminding her why she’d killed the troll in the first place. She might have been too late. “Tier? Rinnie?”

Seraph turned to look at Tier, where Lehr and a couple of the bolder villagers were pulling the remains—bones—of the troll off them.

“They are alive.” Hennea’s voice was calm. “And they’ll remain so if you can contain the magic you hold. Control yourself, Raven.”

“Take care of them,” Seraph said harshly, resenting the part of her that understood that Hennea was correct. She had to rid herself of this magic. “I’ll walk the wards.”