She could see how it had happened. Willon had a Lark born right under his nose, a child. He’d have been frustrated because when the Path had managed to find a Lark, they could not use the Order they stole from her. Maybe a child would be easier.
She’d started to get sick in the spring. No matter what herbs Karadoc had given her, no matter what Seraph could do, Mehalla just kept fading away. She’d had fits in the end.
Seraph had almost forgotten that. Mehalla was weak by then. She would just stiffen a little, her eyes rolling up into her head. It hadn’t been dramatic, like Tier’s fits, but then Mehalla had been a toddler, not a full-grown man.
“With magic strong enough to imprison an Order, it is better to be safe,” agreed Hinnum. “I—” He jerked his head up. “Did you feel that?” he asked.
Phoran heard footsteps approach them, and he decided whoever it was had been hidden around the corner. He couldn’t see anyone because he couldn’t move at all.
“Breathe,” said the voice.
Phoran realized that he hadn’t been breathing only after he took in a deep gulp of air. He was almost certain the voice belonged to Willon, but it sounded wrong. He heard Lehr, who had been standing next to him, take a harsh breath, too.
Gura whined unhappily, and he felt the big dog brush against his leg. The dog, it seemed, had been impervious to the spell holding Phoran and the others.
The footsteps stopped just in front of Phoran. “You can move your eyes,” the man said. “And blink. I am not a cruel man, not when I think about it. I may have to kill you, but I don’t gain anything by torture.”
Phoran blinked—and moved his eyes. The only people he could see were Rufort, who had been just in front of him, and the wizard. For a moment he thought he’d been wrong, and the wizard who held them was a total stranger. The man’s dark hair and lithe, muscular body didn’t belong to the Willon he knew. Then the wizard turned, just a little, and Phoran saw his face. It was Willon, but a much younger Willon.
Willon had been an illusionist when he came to Colossae, thought Phoran. Of course he would protect himself by appearing to age.
“What’s this?” asked Willon.
“A rubbing from the Owl’s temple. The names of the Elder gods.” Ielian’s voice came from somewhere behind Phoran.
“Ah. I don’t think those should be left loose where anyone can read them, do you?”
The smell of burning cotton came to Phoran’s nose.
“Ielian, you have done well,” said Willon, reappearing in Phoran’s view. “All of them at once without Tier to see through my illusions or the Ravens who could break them. Now, you are certain Hinnum has taught Seraph how to make the Ordered gems useful?”
“Yes,” said Ielian, who had moved just behind Phoran. “I don’t understand how it worked, Master. But I know Seraph was certain she could clean them, she said as much.”
“Good work, my lad,” said Willon. “If she can do that, it will be worth the trouble they caused me when they brought down the Path. I gave them all the gems except for Tier’s own in the hopes that a pair of Ravens and a Lark might do what I could not.”
“But they didn’t,” said Ielian. “Of course they couldn’t.”
Willon smiled. “Of course not. So only Hinnum knew how, but he’d never teach me, and he has no one I could threaten. No one he cares about.”
“So you gave them the maps and sent them here.”
“No,” said Willon. “I merely left them where they were—where Volis put them after he stole them from me. When nothing Seraph did would heal Tier, I knew she’d come here, looking for answers—and find Hinnum. I’m just surprised that they won Hinnum over in so short a time—secretive bastard that he is. They haven’t been here two days, and Hinnum stole Tier’s gem from me.”
“Seraph did that, Master, not Hinnum. Then Tier broke the spell entirely while he was singing The Fall of the Shadowed.”
Willon frowned. “Tier freed himself? You must be mistaken. A Bard can break illusions, but that spell is not an illusion.”
Ielian said, “I’m no wizard, Master. I can only tell you what they told me.”
“Perhaps Hinnum did it and allowed them to believe it was Tier,” mused Willon. “Makes no difference.”
He looked up into Phoran’s eyes. “You needn’t worry, Phoran. I owe you greatly for bringing my Passerine where he could spy for me. How else would I ever have found the Guardian Order? There is nothing written about them, no story told about them. None of the Path’s prisoners spoke of them. When Volis began muttering about an Eagle, I thought he was deluded. Imagine my surprise when I found that Jes is slow, not because he is defective, but because he is a Guardian. How unexpected to find an Order Bearer so ill equipped. If Hinnum were still speaking to me, I’d chide him for it.”
He looked over at Lehr. “None of you will die if you do as I ask. Tell your mother, boy, if Seraph cleans all the rings she has.” He paused. “And if she shows me how it is done. None of her children will die. You tell her that. Tell her you and your family have nothing to fear from me, if she does as I bid her.”
“If not…” He walked just behind Phoran and whispered something Phoran couldn’t quite hear.
“My father will kill you after my mother boils you in oil,” said Rinnie, and Phoran’s heart twisted in fear.
He knew that she struggled because she bumped against him.
“I don’t think so,” Willon purred. “I think she will do exactly what I ask because otherwise you will pay the price.”
She was a child, and Phoran could do nothing. A bead of sweat slipped into one of Phoran’s eyes, burning it, but no matter how hard he struggled, he could only move his eyes.
“Bring her,” Willon said. “Meet me at the top of that tower. I’ll go to the Owl’s temple and see to it that no more enterprising explorers happen onto the names of the gods.” He walked back in front of Phoran, but without Rinnie. He must have given her to Ielian. He bent down so he could see Lehr’s eyes. “Lehr Tieraganson, tell your mother we’ll be up there in that tower, waiting for her answer. Her daughter and I.”
“There’re ghosts and whatnot here in the city,” said Ielian. “It might be better to find a place outside.”
“I assure you that I know how to keep them away,” said Willon, straightening. “I lived here for five years, once. I learned how to deal with the ghosts. Bring her up to the tower.”
One moment Willon was standing in front of Phoran, and the next there was a golden hawk where he had stood. The hawk crouched and, in a graceful swoop of wings, took flight.
Everyone knew wizards couldn’t change shape, thought Phoran. Apparently the Shadowed didn’t need to worry about what everyone knew.
“Traitor, oath breaker,” said Rinnie, her anger almost hiding the fear that made her voice shake.
Ielian laughed. “No, they’re the oath breakers: Toarsen, Kissel, and Rufort. I took my oath to the Masters of the Path, and I’ve never broken it.”
“He’s the Shadowed,” Rinnie said. “How can you serve the Shadowed?”
“Because,” said Ielian, his voice slick and hungry, “he gives me people to kill.”
Gura whined again, clearly agitated at Rinnie’s fear, but Ielian was supposed to be a friend.
“Rinnie, Rinnie,” Ielian chided. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice the gathering clouds? You’re a Cormorant, a weather witch. But I noticed something while I was riding with your family. Do you want to know what it is? Unless you’re a farmer, Cormorants are all but useless.” His voice became mockingly sympathetic. “It takes such a long time to build a storm. And all it takes to stop you is—” There was the dull sound of flesh hitting flesh—and Phoran couldn’t move.
Gura could.
Phoran heard the threatening growl and the sound of a scuffle. A grunt—dog or human he couldn’t tell. Phoran’s frustration rose to new heights. A body fell to the ground.