Raven's Strike (Raven #2)(20)

"Gods do not look haggard and sick to their worshipers?"

"You don't believe in the gods," Ellevanal said. "How would you know what they do or don't do?" The teasing note fell from his voice. "They say that the Travelers don't believe in the gods because they killed theirs and ate them."

"I've never heard that."

"Of course not," said Ellevanal. "You are a Traveler who doesn't believe in gods."

"How long have you been here, guarding the forest?"

The horse raised its head and tested the wind, his rib cage rising and falling as if he'd been racing rather than quietly grazing at her side an hour or more. There was mud on his legs and belly.

"A long time," he said. "Before the Shadowed King came and laid waste to the world. Before the Remnants of the Glorious Army of Man arrived here after the Fall and found safe harbor here, naming me god in their gratitude." Then he cast her a roguish glance. "Before the unthinkable happened, and Tieragan Baker was born Ordered and upset the Travelers' world."

"He hasn't upset the Travelers' world," she said.

"Hasn't he?" The horse snorted and tossed his head. "Wait and see what an Ordered Rederni may do. Already word of you is windborne, and some will come seeking you to destroy what you may become."

Seraph raised an eyebrow at him.

He dropped his head slyly. "A god may speak in riddles if He will."

She shook her head at him and went back to work because the power had begun singing to her again. The forest king went back to eating.

When she came to a place where she could see the farm she was reassured to note that the camp was orderly and relaxed.

A group of men were restringing tent lines and hanging the muddy fabrics over them. Another group was setting up fires for cooking - so many people could not be fed out of her kitchen. She didn't see any of her family, but there was a cheerful energy to the way the villagers moved that told her that no one had been seriously injured: and there was music.

"If you are a god," Seraph said, "shouldn't you have been able to take care of a troll far better than we did?"

"But I am only a small god," said the horse, sounding amused. "I could not destroy the troll - not that troll, which was a minion of the Shadowed and escaped the Fall to live centuries more than a troll ought, and still keep my priest alive. Death doesn't relinquish its rightful prey lightly, and healing is not my province."

"Why didn't you let him die?" she asked, though she had no desire for Karadoc's death. "No one has ever said that the priests of Ellevanal are immortal."

He laughed in soft huffs at her tart tone. "He is an excellent skiri player, which priests seldom are. Most of them are more given to things of the spirit rather than cleverness of the mind." The picture of a priest playing a board game with his god struck Seraph as extremely odd, but before she could ask him about it, the forest king's voice became serious. "There are no others to take his place. His apprentice will be fine in a few years, but I needed my priest now."

The rain had stopped, and rising warmth turned the moisture in the grasses to fog where the last light of the sun peeked through to light the small clearing where the god stood. Steam rose from the white horse's flanks and ribs, ribs that were a good deal less prominent than they had been when he'd first joined her.

"You've been feeding," she said.

The horse set his nose in a knee-high clump of grass and ripped some from the ground. He raised his head and chewed pointedly.

Seraph shook her head at him. "No grass pads ribs so quickly."

"Where do you think the power that you've been feeding into the forest goes?" He laughed, again. "Before the first of Rederni's Bards was born here, I was little more than a very old stag who wandered about. But a Bard is a very powerful thing, if subtle. There may be more than one reason that the Travelers never stay long in one place."

Seraph stared at him. Of course Tier wasn't the only Bard born to the Rederni, not with the way music flowed through them like blood.

"You feed off magic?" she said, setting aside the question of more Ordered solsenti.

"Did I say that?" asked the horse. "I would never lie to you, Raven. I feed off the land only." His eyes lit with wicked laughter at her huff of frustration. "Careful, Raven. Anger and magic are a volatile combination. I don't understand it completely myself."

"What do you understand?" she asked.

"Travelers have not come here in a long time," he said. "Not since the Fall and seldom before that. Only when you came to live here with Tier did I notice there is something about the Orders that makes the land... more alive. It is not magic, not that I can tell. There." He tossed his head. "I have told you as much as I know. The forest is my realm, and its secrets belong to me. Travelers belong to no gods and, I think, they have more secrets than most."

He stayed with her until she completed the circle, then wandered away, swishing his tail in mild irritation at an impious bug.

Seraph staggered almost drunkenly to her feet, sympathizing with Tier, as her knees throbbed, and her back ached. She'd worn a hole in her pants, but that didn't matter. Now that they were home she'd have to go back to wearing Rederni skirts.