Raven's Strike (Raven #2)(112)

"The Memory said they will demand a payment for our lives," offered Phoran. "For whatever good that does us."

"Seraph," said Tier, his deliberately calm voice cutting through the rising tension in the library. "I left my lute in my packs at camp. Is there any way you or Hennea could fetch it for me?"

Seraph stared at him. Under the circumstances, it seemed like an odd request. Maybe she had misheard him. "What?"

He put his arm around her shoulders and smiled down at her, the tiredness in his eyes lifting a little. "There are a lot of songs about the dead, Seraph, and more stories. Phoran says the Memory told him that they are coming for a gift. The only gift I've ever heard any of the dead accepting is music."

"I've heard that," said Toarsen quietly. "My nurse used to tell us a story of a bard who tried to survive a night in a haunted castle by singing to the spirits until daybreak." He hesitated, then said, "He stopped a moment too soon because he was distracted by the song of a nightingale."

"I know that tale, but, fortunate souls that you are, there are no birds in Colossae to distract me," said Tier. "So fetch me my lute, love."

"They come," said a strange, toneless voice.

Standing in the middle of the library was a creature of blackness. Too tall and thin for a human, it was shrouded in mists of night-colored darkness that moved as if some unfelt wind blew them here and there. It looked out of place, as if it belonged along the edges of the room where shadows gathered rather than out standing in plain view.

Phoran stepped forward, between it and the rest of the room, and she realized it was Phoran's Memory. It looked more substantial than it had last night, as if it were closer to being a living creature than a dead one.

Just then there was a hollow boom, which echoed in the room and made Jes growl.

"Seraph," said Tier. "I think I'd better have that lute as soon as you can."

Seraph opened her mouth and shut it. Tier knew the state his Order was in. He knew that the convulsion fits happened more often when he sang. He didn't need her to tell him again.

She bent her head and closed her eyes.

She'd never done this before she stole the gem, and she wasn't certain how to find Tier's lute without a cord of magic, however fell, to show her the way. But it had been a day of new things, and she took her magic and told it what she wanted.

Tier's lute was almost as much a part of him as his brown eyes and his dimples. It was easier than she expected to find it and call it because it wanted to be with him. She suspected Tier might have been able to call it himself. She opened her eyes and saw it had placed itself on the polished floor at Tier's feet.

Tier bent down to pick it up. He grimaced, then rose more slowly than he'd bent down. Another thud came from the outside door.

"I'm getting too old for this much adventure," Tier said. "Thank you for the lute, my love." He looked around. "Let's get everyone gathered together here."

He took a seat on the table, and made himself comfortable.

"Sit down," he told them. "I want them looking at me, not at you. And that means you as well," he told the Memory.

To Seraph's surprise, it collapsed to the floor. When Tier said something in that tone of voice, apparently even things like the Memory listened. Seraph sat on a bench next to Tier's table as he tuned the lute.

Phoran sat down on the floor, and his guardsmen spread around him. Jes and Hennea sat on the far side of the group, and Lehr took up the other, even though it left him nearest the Memory until Hinnum settled in between them.

"Rinnie, why don't you come here next to me," offered Phoran. "I think your mother might have her hands full before this night is over." So the most vulnerable of Seraph's children was seated in the middle, and Phoran took a good hold on Gura's collar without Seraph having to ask him.

Tier was still tuning the lute when the door failed, with the shriek of nails tearing free and a crack Seraph assumed was the wood of the door frame breaking. They all looked at the stairs, but there was nothing to see, no sound except for Tier's fingers on strings.

A wave of terror washed over her, worse by far than anything Jes had ever caused.

Tier played a quick scale and began tuning again. "I left it sit too long," he muttered. "The strings don't want to stay in tune."

"Papa," said Lehr, staring at the stairs. "Play."

A mottled grey hand appeared over the top of the stair, and it pulled its body behind it.

"Run!" Ielian came to his feet, but Rufort and Kissel each caught him by an arm and pulled him back down again.

The thing emerging from the stairway looked more human than the Memory, thought Seraph, and oddly the more horrible for its increased resemblance. It had a pair of eyes and what must once have been a nose. A few strands of grey hair stuck out from the top of its head. It looked at them and snap-snapped its jaws.

"Sit," hissed Toarsen at Ielian, who fought to get up again. "Running won't help."

"No," agreed the Memory, his voice like dry leaves in the wind. "Death walks the streets of Colossae by night."

"Thanks," snapped Phoran to the Memory, as Ielian made another abortive attempt to run. "That helped. Why don't you be quiet, eh? Ielian, sit still. Gura, down."