Raven's Shadow (Raven #1)(111)

"They are useful to us." said Telleridge, sounding distantly amused. Tier took note of the effect, planning to save it for some time when he wanted to be obnoxiously patronizing. "Just as they were. We've called a Disciplining, which will return control to us, but I fear that very few of these Passerines will make it to Raptor now. I was particularly upset when you took the Sept of Leheigh's young brother. I had great hopes for him. And it's too bad about the young musician, Collarn - we shall miss having music in these halls when you both are gone."

"I see," said Tier, deciding to let the Master direct the conversation into the gently ironic tones he seemed to prefer. "I take it that my demise will happen a little sooner than you planned?"

There was a noise from behind the screen, but it was too faint for Tier to identify.

"I'm not any happier about it than you are," the Master said. Apparently the others had all been told to sit and be silent, because none of them had done anything more exciting than breathe since Tier entered the room. "Owls are few and far between, and this haste will destroy our plans. That makes two failures in as many years. We've never had this much trouble controlling a Bard - I assume it's a Bardic talent you are using to win over the Passerines?"

Tier frowned at him. "How could it be? You've told me that you have my Order under control." He'd used the methods Gerant had taught him instead, because he'd never relied on his Order for much - unlike a Traveler-raised Bard.

"I wonder that none of our other Bards have done such a thing," said the Master.

Because a Traveler Bard was hardly likely to worry about the lives of a bunch of solsenti thugs-in-the-making, thought Tier, but he didn't say anything.

The Master waited politely, but when Tier didn't respond he shrugged. "At any rate, I, personally, am most distressed at a few other things you've cost us," he got to his feet and strolled to the screen, "Come, Bard. And maybe you will be sorry as well."

For want of a better thing to do while surrounded by five mages, Tier got slowly to his feet and followed the Master's beckoning. The others got up silently and followed.

A woman was tied naked to a chair, and someone had obviously been testing, in the time-honored fashion, how well flesh fared against knives and other things. Her face was so battered that it was unrecognizable - but Tier knew the hair.

"Myrceria," he said.

She stiffened when he spoke, and he realized that her eyes were so swollen that she must not be able to see at all.

"Myrceria has been telling us things," said Telleridge. "Haven't you, my dear?" He patted the top of her head, then took out a dagger and cut off the gag.

"I'm sorry," she said, her face turned blindly toward Tier. "I'msorrysorry."

"Shh," said Tier, putting some force behind the words. "It doesn't matter. Shh."

She kept shaking, but she quit apologizing. Either his words worked, or Seraph was right about the unraveling of the Master's spells and she'd felt the magic push he'd given them.

"I was angry about the Passerines," said Telleridge. "Angrier still when I questioned Myrceria this morning and realized that instead of keeping an eye on you as she was supposed to - you had taken her from us, too. She has been a valuable tool for years, and you've ruined her."

His movement was so quick, so unexpected that before Tier realized what the Master had done, Myrceria's blood showered him from chest to knee.

Telleridge pulled up her head and held it through the throes of death. "She's been so useful over the years. Where am I going to find another wizard who is so good at getting close to our Traveler guests? I have no more daughters." He dropped her head and wiped his hands on his robes. Black robes hid the blood much better than Tier's light-colored clothing.

It wasn't, thought Tier, that he hadn't believed they were evil. He had just forgotten how sudden death could be, and how final. He'd liked Myrceria.

Tier still had his sword from practice, but this was too well-orchestrated. If his sword would have done him any good, they'd never have let him keep it.

Had Myrceria betrayed their plans? She hadn't known it all - but she'd known enough.

"But you know the thing that bothers me the most?" asked Telleridge, intruding on Tier's grief and anger. "How did you get to the Emperor? Do you know how long it took us to come by a harmless ruler? How many people gave their lives so that I could mold the proper emperor? Then suddenly, he is making an effective grasp for power. It wasn't until I spoke with you the other day that I drew a parallel between what you've done to the Passerines and what happened to the Emperor."

Telleridge shook his head. "And what have you left us to rule in his place? Avar is next for the throne; but although he is an idiot, he is a well-meaning idiot. You've ruined Toarsen." He heaved a theatrical sigh. "Not that it will matter to you how much trouble you've caused, but I thought you might enjoy sharing the stage tonight. I'll leave you for last so you can watch your little projects die."

Tier stared silently at Myrceria's corpse.

"Ah, no words for me, Bard?" taunted the Master.

Yes, thought Tier, it was time to see just how much control they had over his Order.

"Only cowards torture women," he said, not bothering to dodge the staff that took him across the cheekbone.