Raven's Strike (Raven #2)(113)

Gura and Ielian dropped to the floor with equal unwillingness. Rinnie curled up and buried her face against Gura's side, and Phoran reached over awkwardly to pat her on the back with the hand that wasn't holding on to the dog's collar.

"Mother, the Guardian wants to come out," said Jes. "But I think everyone is frightened enough."

"Let him come," said Seraph, the dryness of her mouth making her voice crack. "He can hardly make this worse."

Someone, it might have been Ielian, squeaked, as Jes flowed into the shape of a black wolf just a hair smaller than Gura. The Guardian glanced once at Ielian and bared his fangs before looking at the thing on the stairs. His low growl was a continuous rumble that echoed oddly off the high ceiling.

Rufort jerked and slid backward a handspan before he stopped himself.

"Something touched me," he said softly.

"Tier, isn't that damned thing in tune yet?" asked Phoran just as the creature pulled its flaccid legs over the stairway and began dragging itself forward.

The pressure of the presence of the dead crowded upon Seraph, bowing her shoulders under the weight. There were more of them than the creature they could see and the one that touched Rufort. She could feel them all around her.

"Tier," said Phoran, as the thing closed the too-little distance between the stairway and their huddled group.

Jes stalked around until he stood between it and them. As he growled louder, the stench of rotting meat filled the library.

Tier grinned fiercely, and his fingers moved on the lute strings.

The thing mewled at the first note, fading from sight just as the foul odor lessened. But Seraph could feel them waiting.

Tier played a mournful song first, a song about a girl wed to a sailor who left on a ship and never came back alive. It was melodic and slow, and Tier's fingers never faltered. Nor did his voice.

Toarsen sucked in his breath once, but when Seraph glanced quickly at him, she couldn't see anything wrong. He hunched over and bowed his head, but he didn't look like he was ready to run.

The immediate crisis seemed to have been put on hold by Tier's music. Seraph worked the spell that allowed her to see spirit again - and the library lit like a field of bonfires in winter. The dead were there, a ring of shapes made of spirit and something else she could see but not define, a haze of red alternating with gold. She managed to pull her eyes away from them long enough to make certain Tier's Order was behaving itself, then returned to her watch, making certain that the dead stayed away from them.

When Tier was finished with that song, he glanced around at his audience - the one he could see. Then he began a soldier's marching song Seraph had never heard before. It had a catchy chorus, and as he started into it for the second time, Tier said, "Join in if you'd like."

Lehr and Jes both did, and Rinnie sang a soprano harmony. Seraph found herself humming along. At the top of the fourth verse, Tier said her name, instead of the word that should have been there, and she realized that he was fighting.

"Seraph," said Tier again.

She pulled her gaze away from the dead and saw his Order had pulled almost entirely away from him, held only by a few lonely strands of his spirit and the last threads of her magic. She grasped the cord that ran between Tier and the gem and pulled hard toward Tier.

"Better," said Tier, before throwing his voice into the chorus again.

She held on. She might be able to help Tier better if she knew how spirit and Order interacted on a healthy Order Bearer. She'd been too busy watching the dead before Tier called her to pay much attention to anyone else.

She looked up, intending to study Lehr - but her gaze stuck on the Memory first. She could see the Memory's form, but with her seeing spell its form was deep purple rather than black. Crouched beneath the shelter of Order was a sharp-featured Traveler who gleamed a soft spirit-blue. He met her eyes, looked startled, then whispered in her head, "Have him tell The Fall of the Shadowed as he told it for me."

"Tier," she whispered so she didn't interfere with his song. "The Memory told me to have you tell The Fall of the Shadowed the way you told it for him."

Tier looked a little surprised, but he nodded. As he sang, she noticed Tier's spirit had steadied and grown more solid where it attached to the tattered grey-green bits of his Order. Seraph wondered if, once the Shadowed's spell was restrained, Tier's music helped fight the drag of the spell.

Tier finished the song, then, striking a minor chord, began an ascending scale that built to a haunting arpeggio, the music forlorn and plaintive. His clever fingers flew over the gut frets of the lute, and the notes fell into a less disturbing tone as he began the story of Shadow's Fall.

"It happened like this."

Seraph had heard the story dozens of times before, so she paid little heed to the words. She surveyed the dead, but they seemed to be content with the lute-accompanied story, because they stayed where they were. The upper courses of Tier's lute wove bits of heroic ballads and festival songs into a single melody over a subtle throbbing bass that gradually began to take on the rhythm of a heartbeat.

"This young man was a good king, which is to say that he promoted order and prosperity among his nobles and usually kept the rest from starvation." Tier's voice blended into his music.

When she was certain the dead were satisfied with Tier's storytelling, she resumed her interrupted task of looking at Lehr to see how the Order was supposed to look in relation to spirit.