Raven's Shadow (Raven #1)(97)

Phoran believed him, and wished unhappily that he did not. "What if," he said slowly, "what if I told you that the Path recruits the restless younger sons and cousins among the nobles of the Empire at the age of fifteen - the kinds of boys who are an embarrassment to their families. Remember, the one rule the Path has when the young men join is that they cannot be direct heirs of any Sept."

"I have noticed that there are a lot of Septs among the Raptors," agreed Tier, clearly seeing what was bothering Phoran. "But since I haven't heard of a wave of assassinations of Septs and their heirs, I assumed there was an explanation - the last war or that plague."

"You told the Memory the story of the Shadowed," said Phoran.

Tier wasn't stupid; he understood where Phoran was going. "You think that one of the Masters of the Path created that plague?" he asked. Unlike Avar, Tier had no incredulity in his voice; he was considering Phoran's theory.

Thus encouraged, Phoran continued. "The plague twenty years ago was very convenient for a number of Raptors. Tomorrow I'll bring paper and ink so you can write down the list of Septs for me again. Then I'll do a little research, but I know that Telleridge, Gorrish, Jenne, the old Sept of Leheigh, and a dozen others you named inherited then. Some of them were six or seven people away from inheritance."

Phoran glanced at Tier.

"Go on," the Bard said.

"My father died in the plague. His brother, my uncle, was named regent. When I was twelve he was poisoned by his mistress, and the council, under Gorrish, took over an informal regency. The Sept of Leheigh's son, Avar, took me under his wing." Phoran smiled without humor. "He's mellowed out a lot in the past few years, but when I met him he was a lot less respectable than his reputation would have shown him."

Phoran had done a lot of thinking since his conversation with Avar before the council meeting. "He was a boy, and his own father had encouraged him to be wild. It wouldn't have struck him odd that the old Sept would encourage him to take a twelve-year-old places that were at best unsavory and at worst outright dangerous - I don't think that he'd have sought out my company without his father forcing him to do so." It hurt to admit that, but he knew it was true.

"You have gained a reputation of being volatile and unreliable," said Tier slowly. "Even we in the hinterlands of Redern have heard so much."

"Not to say that I wasn't a willing participant," Phoran said staunchly, though he wanted Tier to like him and it was difficult to admit responsibility. "But if my uncle had lived I would never have been allowed the excesses I have visited."

"And you would have come to power by now," said Tier. "You are what, twenty-four? The Septs would have been under you directly for five years."

"Am I seeing shadows that don't exist?" Phoran asked.

"I don't know," said Tier. "But if you are, then so am I. I've been looking upon them as my problem, or even a Traveler problem. But so many Septs would make any group powerful, and powerful groups seek more power. I don't know that wizards can create convenient plagues, but it is odd that so many of the Path survived to inherit."

"I sent a letter to your wife," said Phoran hesitantly.

Tier's head jerked up, but Phoran couldn't read his expression.

"I told her that you were here in the palace," Phoran continued quickly. "I told her you were alive, but that it would be dangerous to come. I told her that she could send word to me or you through the messenger - he was one of my uncle's men, retired this past decade. My uncle was a canny man; I doubt that any of his would be suborned to the Path."

Tier laughed abruptly. "Told her it was dangerous, did you?"

Phoran nodded. "I thought it best."

"We can plan on her showing up a week after she receives the letter, then," he said. "And we'll be the better for it. I'm not a Traveler - but my wife is, and, if you gave her enough information, she'll bring the whole of the Travelers with her when she comes." He laughed again. "Thank you."

"I wrote to Gerant as well," Phoran said. "Directly after the council meeting. I thought he ought to know what the council had almost done." He hesitated. "It was a long letter. I told him of the situation I've made for myself, then asked him to come here and help clear out the Path. I told him that I had it on good authority that he was an honest man."

Tier laughed. "He'll want to thank me for that - but he'll come, right enough. He's almost too old for fighting - fifty or thereabouts by now - but he had several sons, good men all." He began to play a quiet melody as he talked. "If the Path is as bad as we think, then it will be good to have Gerant at your back. The wizards won't scare him off either; one of his daughters-in-law is a wizard, and he employed a few more when I knew him. I take it that you saved his land?"

Phoran launched into the story of his triumph. Tier was a good listener. He laughed in the right places - grinned, when Phoran told him about the way Avar had silenced the court.

"I can see why you like him. Phoran," said Tier, "would you take some advice from an old soldier?"

"Try me," Phoran replied.

"There are a lot of the Passerines here who might turn out to be good men if they had some goal, some task to work at. No one is more loyal than someone who feels good about himself and his accomplishments - someone who has a stake in the stability of your throne. Find them jobs to do."