Raven's Shadow (Raven #1)(10)

"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."