Patricia Briggs - Raven's Shadow

“I don’t know how opening locks ties in with being a Hunter either, though Brewydd explained it to me a dozen times.” He sounded pleased with himself. He looked at Toarsen.

“Go ahead,” said Toarsen. “I’ll stay here.”

“Thanks,” said Lehr, and he leaped off the edge of the stage.

Having completed the task Hennea had given him, the Guardian took a quick glance around the room. Lehr was fighting at Avar’s side and accounting for himself quite well. Just as his gaze found Seraph, she raised her hands and tossed a half dozen men into the air. Obviously she was in no need of immediate protection.

He turned to go to his father, but the Sept of Leheigh’s brother was standing over Papa’s crumpled form and seemed to be having no trouble fending off attackers. The wizards, who posed more of a threat, had other things on their minds than hurting his father. A double handful of Passerines were doing their best to get onto the stage and attack the Masters—too many of them to allow the wizards’ magic to be an effective weapon. The Guardian knew— remembered from other battles fought long ago, before Jes’s father’s father had been born —that keeping the Passerines away would soon weaken the solsenti wizards too much for them to be a danger to Tier.

Satisfied that they were all safe for the moment, the Guardian jumped off the stage to return to Hennea’s side, slipping between fighters who mostly moved out of his way without ever looking at him directly.

The noise of swords clashing and men screaming excited him almost as much as the smell of blood.

A man bumped his arm and the Guardian turned on him with a snarl and a flash of fangs. If the man hadn’t retreated, falling backwards over a body on the floor, even Jes could not have held the Guardian back.

Hennea stood alone near the fallen wall. He couldn’t tell if her spells to avoid being seen were working on everyone else, or if they were just smart enough to stay away. Mother had told him that spells usually didn’t work right on him.

There were two men attacking a boy who was stepping back rapidly to avoid being overrun. The Guardian could see that the boy wouldn’t stay away from their blades for much longer. He glanced at Hennea, but she was all right. The Guardian dropped the sword he held and reached for the form of the great cat—he wanted to taste blood, not feel flesh part against steel.

He picked the nearest Raptor and leaped onto his shoulders, driving him down to the floor. As his claws sank deep into meat, the man’s pain and fear washed through Jes. The Guardian reveled in the searing sensations, which only raised his bloodlust further.

The other antagonist paused to stare, but the Passerine recovered a little faster and killed his opponent before beating a rapid retreat. Death and the boy’s fear fed the battle rage and Jes turned his attention to the man who lay beneath him.

“Jes!”

The great cat halted, his mouth already opened to still the struggles of his prey.

“Jes, come back. I need you!” Hennea sounded frantic.

Her hand touched his tense back. “Jes,” she said.

Trembling, fighting, Jes forced the Guardian to step away from the downed man even as the beast roared its thwarted rage.

“What?” he managed, the emotions and pain of the battle raging around him raw without the Guardian’s protection.

Hennea smoothed her hands over him and the worst of the clamor faded until it was manageable. The Guardian would have been better, but Jes couldn’t let him loose until he had a moment to calm down.

“Look on the stage,” Hennea whispered. “What do you see?”

There had been wizards on the stage when he’d carried Hennea’s message to the Emperor. Five stood in plain view, but the other held to the shadows. When his father had lost control of them, they, like Hennea, had stood back from the battle and aided their people as they could.

Now four wizards lay crumpled on the ground, and something—something that caused the Guardian to take control again—fed on the fifth.

“What is that?” asked the Guardian.

“A Raven’s Memory,” she said. “A vengeful ghost—though I’ve never seen one so substantial. It’s almost alive.”

The sixth wizard, anonymous in his robes, slipped off the stage and toward the destroyed wall. No one looked at him, though he passed a few men quite closely.

“One of the wizards is getting away,” the Guardian observed to Hennea, calm again.

“Where?” she asked, but when he pointed, she didn’t see him.

“I’ll follow him,” he decided and Jes, anxious to get away from the battle, agreed with the Guardian’s decision. Neither of them listened to Hennea’s protest as the great cat leaped over a heap of rubble to follow the escaping man.

Seraph blew her hair out of her eyes wearily and kept moving forward. The large young man who had been so helpful in dispatching that first Raptor had stayed by her side as she used whatever means necessary to push through the battle.

There was a limit to her magic, and after the first blast won her only a few yards before the fighting spread into the cleared area she’d made, she decided that she was going to have to use more subtlety and less power. With a sword she scavenged from the floor, she used magic to lend force to her blows until the blade slid through bone as if it were water. She’d taken the time to add her own see-me-not spell to Hennea’s efforts. Blood covered her from the elbows down, weighting down her clothes with more than physical burden—but she wasn’t here to fight fair. She needed to get to Tier.

“You know it’s true what he said,” panted her young friend Kissel.

“What’s that?” she managed, dropping another Raptor who was raising his sword to attack a blue-robed man from behind.

“A man would be smarter to face an enraged boar than to cross my wife.” The boy managed to imitate Tier’s style.

“Huh,” she grunted, kicking an unsuspecting man behind his knee and dropping him onto his opponent’s blade. “How flattering.”

The boy grinned wearily. “He doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Can you see him yet?”

“No,” he said. “But I can see Toarsen on the stage—he’ll do his best to keep him from harm.”

Tier knew that he should get to his feet and claim a sword, but he just couldn’t manage it.

As if he read his mind, Toarsen said, “It’s all right, sir. Just having Avar in here fighting for the Emperor took most of the heart out of the Raptors. All the Passerines called out his name as soon as they saw who it was—even that squid you’ve had Kissel and me watching was attacking the Raptors. Remind me never to let him behind me with something sharp. All that’s left now is just a few of the Raptors and mercenaries who didn’t leave fast enough. Avar will call quarter in a minute, as soon as he thinks that his men have had enough of killing.”

Sure enough, through the sounds of battle—all the louder for being inside the cavernous chamber—came a bass rumble still distinguishable as the words: “Quarter give quarter! Surrender or die!” picking up in volume as more voices took up the cry.

“Waste of time,” murmured Tier, just before he passed out. “They’re all guilty of treason—Phoran will have to hang ’em all.”

He wasn’t actually out all that long because there were still clashes, as a few desperate men continued to fight, when he woke up.

He opened his eyes just as an old, quavering voice said, “Woo-eyah. I see that those giggling twits were right about solsenti men.”

Tier stared at the oldest woman he’d ever seen, then grinned. “You must be Brewydd,” he said, “the Healer.”

“And it’s a good thing for you, young man,” she agreed. “You must be the Bard that woman’s been so upset about. Now let me see what this old biddy can do about making you want to stay with the living.”