Raven's Strike (15 page)

Akavith lived halfway to Leheigh. It would be dark before Lehr made it home, too late to start out on a hunt for the clan.

Lehr took the pouch and tied it to his belt. “I'll be back as soon as I can.” He turned to Jes. “I'll tell him you told me to ask about Cornsilk.”

After the door closed behind him, Seraph turned to Hennea. “Do you see any profit in waiting for word from Brewydd before we try anything?”

She shook her head. “I wish I could be more help. I don't know how the damage was done or how to fix it.”

“Standing around wringing our hands won't do anything,” said Seraph. “Tier, lie on the rug beside the fire. This could take a long time, and you can't move about. Get comfortable.”

“Can we help?” asked Rinnie. “I could make some tea or soup.”

Seraph started to shake her head, then stopped. “It would be best if we ate first. Bread and cheese then, Rinnie.”

“And tea,” said Jes. “I'll go get water.”

Akavith was eating dinner when Lehr knocked on the door. He stuck his head out. “Eh, you're Tier's boy,” he said.

“Yes, sir.” Akavith was a formidable man with few kind words for anyone who had fewer than four feet. But Lehr had grown up with Seraph for a mother, and it took a lot to intimidate him.

Black eyes glowered at him from under bushy eyebrows. “What do 'ee want, lad. I've dinner to eat.”

“I need a horse, sir. I can wait until you are finished.”

“A horse!” He said it as if no one ever came to him for horses.

“Yes, sir.”

He looked out at Skew. “Got a fine horse there.”

“Yes, sir. But I need to fetch a Traveler healer for my father, who took more hurt than we thought from his stay in Taela. I need a fast horse who can travel a distance. Skew's too old for the trip.”

The animosity faded from Akavith's face. “Do ye' now. Tier's taken hurt? Well, that's a different matter. Go on out to the barn and look for what suits ye. I'll be there as soon as I get my boots back on.”

The horses in Akavith's barn were a choice bunch. Lehr stopped by a tall chestnut mare with a flaxen mane. She left her hay to come to the stall door for attention.

He leaned his forehead against her neck and drew in the sweet-salt scent of a healthy horse as he scratched gently along her cheekbone.

Gods,
he thought,
I hope Brewydd can do something
. His faith in the healer was enormous, but the fear in his mother's eyes made his chest tight.

“That's a good, choice, lad,” said Akavith, his voice the soft crooning one that he usually reserved for his horses.

Lehr straightened. He usually heard people approaching, but he'd had no idea that the horse trainer was nearby.

“I like the bay two stalls back, too,” said Lehr. “And my brother told me to ask about a horse named Cornsilk.”

“That's Cornsilk, right there, lad. And your brother has a fine eye for horses.” Akavith grabbed a halter and opened the stall door. He haltered the mare and led her out so that Lehr could get a better look.

“She's coming five and fully trained—some of that training by your brother. I usually sell them younger than this—that bay is four and sold already. I've had offers for this mare, but . . . Ye see, lad,” Akavith patted her red-gold shoulder. “Noblemen are too proud to ride a mare. They'd make her a lady's mount, trotting her from one party to another.” He frowned fiercely. “She wouldn't be happy like that—she loves the trails and the challenge of a long run. Just don't be putting a harness on her and make her pull a plow like your father did to that Fahlarn gelding of his; Cornsilk doesn't have the bone for it. Tell your father to come see me, and I'll find him a replacement for the grey he lost, I've a few horses that should suit him.”

“I doubt we can afford it, sir,” Lehr told him, but he wasn't thinking about a new farm horse: he was falling in love.

Out of her stall, the mare was beautiful, fine-boned like a sight-hound, and nearly as tall as Skew. Liquid dark eyes examined him with curiosity and the sweetness of a horse who'd never been mistreated. Exotically long and silky, her mane and tail were the exact color of cornsilk. Her nostrils were wide to drink the wind.

“Tell your father, and we'll work something out,” said Akavith. His craggy features relaxed a bit more, and Lehr felt as if those keen old eyes saw right through him. “Yes,” he said, slapping his thigh. “You and this mare will do.”

They bargained for a while, and Lehr knew the price they agreed on was far lower than the horse trainer would have gotten from one of those nobles who were looking for a lady's mount.

“Don't fret,” said the horse trainer. “Your brother won't let me pay him, and these past few years he's as good as my best boy with the horses. Do you have a saddle and bridle that'll fit this mare?”

“No, sir.”

Akavith put the mare back in the stall and led Lehr to his tack room. As he sorted through bridles, he said, “Had a man in here today from Redern. Told me Olbeck—the steward's son, do you mind him?”

Lehr knew Olbeck, but Akavith continued speaking without waiting for an answer.

“He killed a lad—a merchant's son, Lukeeth it was.”

Lukeeth was one of Olbeck's sycophants, a Rederni merchant's son. Lehr hadn't known him well, nor liked what little he knew, but he hadn't wanted him dead either.

“Storne Millerson bore witness against him, I heard. If Olbeck's father weren't the Sept's steward, Lukeeth's father would have demanded his head and gotten it, too. But all he managed was to banish Olbeck from Redern. I imagine it won't take a month for the steward to have
that
judgment put aside.” He spat on the floor of the stables. “Makes me glad I don't live in a town. One of my boys kills another, I take care of it.”

“If you can't control your worries, I can do this,” Hennea told Seraph as she sat beside Tier on the floor by the fireplace after they'd all eaten.

If someone was going to muck about with Tier's Order, Seraph preferred to do it herself. She knelt beside her husband and shifted until she was as comfortable as she was going to get on the slat floor.

When she was settled she took a couple of deep breaths and buried her fear and anger deep so that she could control her magic. Emotions made magic unreliable and dangerous.

“I am fine,” she told Hennea.

Jes and Rinnie sat on the floor and leaned against a wall where they wouldn't interfere with anything Seraph had to do.

“Lie down,” she told Tier, who was sitting up. “And relax.”

She began by
looking.
Usually an Order appeared to her like a set of transparent clothes that covered the whole body, though she knew that all Ravens didn't see the same way. Her teacher Arvage had seen small crowns of woven vines, each Order bloomed with a different color flower. Only the colors were the same for each Raven. She wondered how her old teacher would have seen the damage to Tier's Order.

“What do you see when you
look
at his Order, Hennea?” she asked.

“Light,” she answered. “With areas of darkness.”

Seraph touched Tier's chest lightly, where her magic told her one of the holes was. “I see a break here,” she told Hennea.

Hennea nodded. “That's one of the dark patches.”

“Keep an eye on him,” Seraph asked. “If you see any change at all, let me know.”

Until this past season, Seraph would never have thought that there was anything that could alter an Order. When she'd been young, she'd tried, and she supposed that she wasn't the only one. She'd wanted to see if she could change the appearance of her Order so that any Raven who happened by would not automatically know what kind of Order Bearer she was.

Nothing had worked. Magic had just slid off the surface of the Order without affecting it.

Magic worked with patterns, she thought, patterns and symbolism.

Seraph stared at Tier's Order and pulled her magic to her as if she were spinning yarn at her wheel. She felt it soft and fine, like the best lambswool as it spun itself beneath her fingertips. She saw the Order as clothing, so she'd pattern her magic after that and see if it worked.

“Tier,” she said. “Tell me if you feel anything—but most especially if something hurts.”

“I'll do that.” His wry tone made her smile, as he'd intended it to.

She set her yarn of magic against his Order, but her fingers sank through to touch his neck.

“Cold,” said Tier.

“Very funny,” she muttered, glaring at his uncooperative Order. Pulling her fingers away, she saw the glittering violet of her own Order, and it gave her inspiration. This time she took the end of her yarn with the lightest of touches, so light her fingers did not touch it at all, only the thin veil of Raven Order.

She laid the thread against Tier, and this time it rested lightly on Bardic Order and, at her will, the thread she'd spun began to take on the texture and green-grey color of the Bardic Order. When she tugged lightly on the yarn, it fell away from Tier. It wouldn't merge with the Tier's Order—she'd have to weave it through. Even as she put the yarn back to lie against Tier so that it could all absorb the aspects of his Order, she had an idea of how she might be able to repair the damage.

She hadn't darned socks or sweaters for a long time—not since she'd taught Rinnie how. Sewing had never been her favorite part of
solsenti
life. Travelers darned their clothing as well, but a Raven's time was too valuable to be taken up in such mundane tasks. For Tier, though, she'd have darned a patch that covered the farm with room to spare.

When all her yarn was blended with Tier's Order she pulled it away. From magic she formed a darning egg, visualizing a hard surface rounded just right to turn the edge of her needle away from Tier's skin.

Now all that she needed was a darning needle.

The only thing that had been able to affect Tier's Order was her own.

“Hennea,” she said. “Would you sort through the Ordered gems and bring me one of the Lark gems? The tigereye ring, I think.” That was the one that sometimes warmed in her hand when she and Hennea were working with them.

“You're going to try and use the gems?” Hennea's voice was neutral—a good indication of her disapproval.

Seraph shook her head. “I'm going to see if I can persuade it to help me.”

She heard Hennea get up, but only peripherally. Most of Seraph's attention was on what she intended to do. There was no room for doubt when she worked magic. Only utter confidence would make her magic do as she desired.

Something small and warm was tucked into her cold hand, the ring.

She'd chosen the Lark, because Healing seemed very close to what she was trying to do.

Seraph thought through the problem she faced and what she needed several times, curbing her panic and her impatience as best she could. She'd begun on a third time when something sharp pierced the skin on the hand that held the gem. She looked down, and the rust-colored Order that had surrounded the gem had formed itself into the shape of a large needle.

She thought very hard about how grateful she was as she slipped her yarn into the needle. She set the darning egg beneath the largest of the holes in the fabric of Tier's Order. She had no idea what would happen if she pierced flesh with her needle, and had no particular desire to find out.

Carefully taking the needle in her Order-gloved hands, she used her will more than her fingers to set the needle into Tier's Order, two fingerwidths from the edge of the tear.

Like a tightly knitted sweater, the threads of Bardic Order slid away from her needle without harm and the egg protected Tier from the sharp point. The ring, which she held loosely between two fingers, passed through Tier's Order as if neither were affected by the presence of the other. The needle, though, worked as well as she had hoped it might. Carefully, she pulled it back through the weaving of Tier's Order, stitching all around the hole to strengthen the edge before she began reweaving the fabric of Tier's Order with her magic.

Hours passed, but she was absorbed in her work, painstakingly knitting Tier's Order together again. The familiar task was absorbing, and she didn't realize how tired she was until Tier's voice penetrated her concentration.

“Seraph,
listen to me.
”

“I'm not finished,” she said stubbornly. There were still holes. Small holes that would turn into larger ones. She looked for her yarn, but she couldn't find any more.

“Hennea says you can do no more. Seraph, stop.”

The needle faded away, until she held only a ring. Dazedly, she realized Tier was holding her wrists and shaking her.

“She's stopped,” said Hennea, her voice little more than a hoarse mumble.

“I'll get them to their beds.”

That was Lehr. What was he doing back already?

“Take Mother up,” said Jes. “I'll get Hennea, then help you with Papa.”

“I can get myself up,” said Tier.

Tier.
Seraph slid her hand in his loosened grip until she had a hold on his arm.

“Hennea,” she said. “Can you
look?
” She was too tired to use any more magic.

“It's better,” the other Raven replied. “It won't hold forever, but it should give us some time. I wouldn't have thought of using the Orders that way.”

“You haven't darned many socks,” replied Seraph. She wondered briefly what her weaving had
looked
like to Hennea,
who saw light rather than fabric. But she couldn't hold on to the question long enough to ask it. Knowing Tier was better, even if just for now, let her collapse peacefully into the soft darkness of exhaustion.

Jes waited while Lehr picked up their mother and started up the ladder steps to his parents' loft. Then he extended his hand to his father, who got to his feet with a groan.