Raven's Shadow (Raven #1)(84)

"Seraph - I've looked all over..." Hennea's voice died out as she recognized the confrontation.

"These men have taken Jes," Seraph told Hennea. "So that I will aid them in cursing a man's field. They will receive gold for their efforts."

She saw Hennea's face as worry faded, leaving behind a facade as cold as ice - just such a face had Hennea worn as she knelt beside the dead priest in Redern.

"They take gold to curse people?"

Seraph spat on the ground in front of Benroln. "They have chosen to forget who we are. But they have me at a disadvantage." She shook her head in disgust and then looked at Lehr.

She needed someone to tend Jes, someone he trusted who would sit by him calmly until she could get Benroln to take the foundrael off - the collars could only be taken off by the person who put them on. But Lehr was too angry, she thought in near despair; Jes would know that there was something wrong.

"Where's Jes?" asked Hennea.

Seraph looked at the other woman's expressionless face thoughtfully. "Kors," she abruptly, "will take you to Jes. He's being held with a foundrael - Isfain is supposed to be keeping him calm. I would appreciate it if you would do your best to see that Jes is not discomforted while I go with Benroln."

"A foundrael?" If anything, Hennea's voice was colder than before. A blush rose on Kors's cheeks. Hennea's mouth was tight with anger, but she nodded her head at Seraph. "I'll take care of him - he's been helping me knit in the evenings since we met up with this clan. Sometimes simple tasks help."

"Thank you, Hennea," said Seraph, feeling vast relief at Hennea's confidence. She pointed to the tent entrance. "Gura. Stay. Guard." The last thing she wanted was for one of these fools to get their hands on the Ordered stones. Once the dog was sitting where she'd asked him to, she said, "Lehr, my dear, it looks like you might miss the Hunt today. You will come with me - I have no desire to lose anything more than I can help on this fool's errand."

Chapter 12

Hennea stalked behind Kors, the canvas bag that held her needles and woolen thread clutched tightly in one hand. Her anger was partly self-disgust. She knew better than to getinvolved; that always brought unnecessary pain. Poor Moselm... he'd been such a kind man, uncomplicated. They'd been lovers before they'd been taken, but it had been little more than a convenience to both. Moselm's wife had died several years before of one of the mysterious ailments that plagued the Traveling clans. They had come together for comfort.

But it was the Traveler's lot in life to confront things that no one else would face. If Moselm's death brought the light of destruction to the Path, he would have counted his life well-spent. But Jes...

There was no peace in dying among kinsfolk - and Hennea, like Seraph, knew that every minute that Jes spent collared by the foundrael brought him that much nearer to madness and a merciful death at the hands of those who loved him. She didn't want to do that ever again.

That Travelers would come to this, Travelers sworn and taught to aid the solsenti. For gold and hatred they betrayed their oaths, and put a good man at risk - perhaps they all deserved the fate that the solsenti intended to mete out.

Kors, subdued and somber with doubt, led Hennea toward one of the more distant campsites. The clansfolk they encountered on the way bowed their heads and refused to look her in the eye. They knew, she saw, and they were ashamed - but angry at the guilt they felt. Before long, she thought, they'd turn that guilt into righteous indignation.

See what the solsenti have turned us into, they would say to one another, so lacking in pride that they could not even accept the responsibility for their own downfall.

Kors stopped in front of a large tent and they both heard Isfain's harsh voice snap out. "Sit here and wait, boy, as I told you. Your mother has business with Benroln and then you may do as you wish."

Hennea's eyebrows climbed. "Supposed to be keeping him calm, is he?" she murmured to Kors, pleased when she saw that he was unhappy with what they'd just heard as well.

She swept open the tent with none of the usual courtesies. Isfain was standing in front of her and she shoved him ungently aside to see Jes perched unhappily on a tall stool in the middle of the tent. It was the only object in the tent - if Benroln had indeed given orders to keep Jes calm he had failed marvelously.

"Woman, watch what you do!" snapped Isfain.

Evidently, he didn't care for her entrance. She ignored him.

"Hennea," Jes said in soft-spoken relief. "I need to see Mother." One hand rubbed at the leather strap he wore around his neck, turning it about as if to find a buckle or lacing that wasn't there. To Hennea's eyes the leather was as smooth as if it had just grown around his neck.

"What are you doing here?" said Isfain. "Does Benroln know you are here?"

She ignored him again.

"It's all right, Jes," she said to the dark young man sitting restlessly on the battered old stool. "Benroln wants to force your mother to curse some poor farmer's land for money. They're holding you with an artifact that keeps your other spirit at bay - there's nothing wrong with you. Lehr went with your mother."

She didn't know how much he'd understand in his current state so she was gratified when Jes's swaying slowed down.

"They are safe?" he said.