Raven's Strike (29 page)

There was nothing in his face except for cheerful interest.
Brave,
Hennea thought. She cleared her throat and answered from memory. “It's in the north center of the city. Several miles away, if the map is to scale. Let me go look at it and find the shortest path there.”

If she hadn't summoned them to continue through the city, Seraph thought that the others would have been content to spend the rest of the day exploring Old Town. But, once she'd caught their attention they were happy enough to mount up and set off to look for the library instead.

The horses' hooves rang unnaturally loud on the cobbles, the sound echoing off the buildings that rose around them. As they got farther from the gate, the houses grew larger and more elaborate, some as large as the richest of the merchants in Taela, and, for the first time, Seraph saw the green pottery-tiled roofs that she recognized from the
mermori
.

On one street where all the houses were built wall to wall, there was an empty place where a building should have been. As they got closer to it, Seraph could see that not only was a building missing, but there was a hole half a story deep filled with the crumbled bones of a building. Seraph could see the marks on the walls where a roof had once touched on either side of the hole.

“It's as if, in this one place, the magic didn't protect this building, though the ones on either side are fine,” Hennea said. “These ruins are what the whole city should have looked like.”

They found other holes in the perfect preservation, places where buildings should have been but were no more. Sometimes there was nothing except bare earth, other places they could see stone foundations or piles of rubble.

“Papa, look. It's an owl.” Rinnie said, pointing down a narrow side street that ended at the base of an open building made of granite. A pillar stood before the center of the building, in front of the door. On top of the pillar was an oversized carving of an owl, its wings half-furled, as if any moment it would take off in flight.

Unable or unwilling to miss the call of curiosity, Tier turned Skew down the street.

A few moments more or less would make little difference, Seraph told herself. Even if they found the library and managed to get into it—something not as promising after their troubles with the buildings they'd tried to explore so far—it might take months before she found what she was looking for. Years.

Tier wouldn't have years. Maybe not even months.

She kept her face blank and rode after the others, reminding herself, a little desperately, that Brewydd had believed something here could help them.

“The door's not closed,” announced Lehr, who'd taken the lead. He disappeared into the building before Seraph could caution him.

Seraph dismounted.

“Leave the horses,” suggested Tier, though Lehr had already done so. “Skew, Cornsilk, and Blade will all stand, and the other horses won't leave them.”

He offered his hand to Seraph and escorted her up the half flight of stairs and through the double doors. Despite her worries, she found herself hurrying, eager to see the inside of one of the buildings here at last.

Mosaic tiles of vibrant colors covered the floor of a cavernous room. Great, sweeping arches lifted a ceiling far above them. There was light coming in from somewhere, and Seraph searched for a while before she saw how it had been done.
Shaded by yellow glass, glowing stones cast their light as brightly as the sun had ever shone through an open window.

“It's a temple,” said Tier, when no one else found words to speak.

“I don't know anything about Colossae's gods,” Seraph said. “None of the books in the
mermori
talk about them.” But all of the
mermori
books she'd read were about magic. They gave little insight into the lives of the wizards who had written them.

“Look over there.” Tier nodded toward the far side of the room, and she followed his gaze. She'd been too dazzled by the lights and color to notice the raised dais on the far side of the room. On the dais was a statue.

“She looks as though she might breathe,” said Phoran, striding across the room and bounding up the steps until he could touch the robes of the goddess caught in stone, then painted with such attention to detail that Seraph almost expected the fabric to move.

Phoran's head just reached the goddess's knee. Above him she rose, bare from the waist up. Her skirts, painted bright blue with green-and-yellow geometric patterns, were caught in a belt at her hip—the belt clasp was in the shape of an owl. In one hand she held a small harp, the other hand was stretched out toward the room.

Her hair, very nearly the color of Seraph's own, was cut short, and either some quirk of accident or the subtlety of the artist made the fine strands look like the hairs of a feather. But it was her face that really drew Seraph's attention. The artist had depicted her with a gamine grin so full of life Seraph had to fight the urge to smile in return.

“The goddess of music,” said Hennea. “Kassiah the Owl.”

Seraph turned to look at the other Raven because she'd sounded a little tense. “How do you know that?”

“It's written on her belt.” Hennea sounded like her usual self again, and Seraph could read nothing in her peaceful mien.

“I always wondered why the Bardic Order was the owl rather than a songbird—like a lark or canary,” said Tier.

“It still doesn't really explain it,” said Lehr after a moment. “I mean, why does she have an owl rather than a songbird?”
He ran his fingers over the stone of her skirts. “I like her.”

“She's dead,” said Hennea. “It doesn't matter whether you like her or not.”

Tier frowned at her. “I thought Travelers didn't have any gods.”

“Travelers don't,” said Seraph. “But it looks like the Elder Wizards did. I wonder why they left them behind?”

“Dead gods don't need believers,” Hennea said tightly.

Seraph frowned at Hennea's odd agitation—she wasn't the only one who noticed. Jes, who'd been wandering around the room, turned abruptly and strode across the room to Hennea.

“It happened a long time ago,” he said. “Don't be angry.”

Hennea closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again she'd regained her usual air of peacefulness. “I'm sorry. I don't know why this should . . .” Her voice trailed off as her gaze crossed Tier's. “You're right, Jes. It's stupid to get upset about something that happened so long ago. Let's let the past lie behind us, where it belongs. It's just this city. It's so empty.” She took a deep breath. “We need to find the library and see if we can get in.”

There were no sounds but the ones they made, none of the smells that Seraph associated with human habitation: beer brewing, bread baking, smoky incense mingling with the less pleasant smells of sweat, sewage, and rotting food. That was not to say that there were no smells, but they were the
wrong
smells.

The former inhabitants of Colossae hadn't bothered with a small zigzag path up the cliffs like the Rederni. Instead they'd built a giant ramp. Seraph, looking up the gradual slope of the ramp marveled silently at the wealth that would allow such construction.

Though at first everyone had been pointing out the wonders of the city, they'd all eventually fallen silent. Not even the massive ramp, cobbled with rough-surfaced stones that gave hooves good purchase on the climb and must have required replacing on a regular bases, drew comment. Overwhelmed, she thought.

But she wasn't here as a tourist. She let her eyes return to Tier, who was talking with Phoran. She'd have to put her faith
in Brewydd's foresight and believe that there were answers here.

The houses were more spread out on the upper reaches of Colossae than they had been below, and, to Seraph's eye, the curious holes in Colossae's magic where buildings had fallen into rubble were more common, too. Sometimes there were two or three in a single block.

The road they followed turned abruptly, and the houses fell behind them as they rode through elaborate gardens full of varieties of flowering plants Seraph had never seen before.

“I wonder what season it was when Colossae was ensorcelled.” Tier looked around them dreamily, and Seraph could almost hear the story he was composing in his head. “I don't see many flowers that I know. I wonder if it was spring or summer.”

“I don't like this,” said Jes. “It's like Colbern.”

“Shadow-touched?” Seraph straightened in the saddle.

“No,” Lehr said. “Dead. I feel it, too.”

“There's the library.” Hennea pushed her horse into a trot and headed for a large building in the center of the gardens.

“It looks like the palace in Taela,” Phoran told Rinnie, as they took a slower pace than her parents and brothers, who had rushed off after Hennea. “Though the palace is considerably bigger.”

Toarsen, who'd overheard his comment, took another look at the building. “It is smaller,” he said. “And it looks like some effort was made to make it pleasing to the eye. But I can see what you mean. This started as a small building and just kept growing.”

“Your palace is bigger than this?” asked Rinnie, and looked as though she might be awestruck by him again. Phoran couldn't have that.

“Stupidly big,” he admitted. “And ugly. And impossible to keep repaired. There's a leak in the eating hall that has been there for three generations. No one can figure out where the water is coming from.”

“I expect we'll find out someday when the entire ceiling falls in,” said Kissel comfortably. “Hopefully the Sept of Gorrish will be seated under a suitably heavy bit and be crushed to goo.”

Toarsen cleared his throat and tipped his head meaningfully toward Rinnie.

“Eh, sorry, lass.” Kissel ducked his head in embarrassment that might or might not have been real.

“That's all right.” Rinnie hopped off her horse and gave Kissel a mischievous smile. “I'm sure anyone you want smooshed to goo would deserve it.”

They tied their horses to a railing that might have been set before the university for just that purpose—or it might have been decoration. Phoran couldn't tell. He tied Blade as far from Toarsen's stallion as he could, though the two horses had learned to tolerate each other for the most part.

Tier, Seraph, and Hennea were talking quietly together. Phoran didn't see either of their sons, but he knew them well enough to know they'd gone off exploring.

“—where the library is in this building,” said Seraph.

Hennea raised her eyebrows. “I'm pretty sure this
is
the library, Seraph.”

“The whole thing?” Seraph didn't sound overjoyed about it.

In Phoran's experience if there was anything a wizard appreciated more than a building full of books, it was a bigger building full of books.

“Most libraries are organized,” he offered. “Especially libraries run by wizards.”

Seraph drew in a breath and gave him a shallow bow of thanks. “I'll hope it is very well organized.”

Phoran continued to look at the library while Seraph went over to talk to Tier. As he thought of all the wondrous things he'd seen since they left Redern he realized two things.

The first was that he was almost certain he was not going to be rid of the Memory soon enough to do him any good. He'd been listening to Seraph and Hennea and realized that, for all of Seraph's earlier arguing with Ielian, neither of the Ravens really expected to find the Shadowed here. They were almost certain that
he
would find
them
eventually, because he wanted to punish Tier and his family for the fall of the Path and Seraph's killing of the Shadowed's minion in Redern. They didn't expect the Shadowed to find them soon, though: Why would the Shadowed hurry to avenge himself, when he had all the
time in the world? The Shadowed would be patient and strike when he felt it was time.

The second thing he realized was that he was glad the Memory had forced him to flee to Tier. Even if it meant his death at the hands of the likes of the Sept of Gorrish when he returned, as he must, to Taela. He would not have given up the opportunity to see Shadow's Fall and the wizards' city for his throne or even his life. He turned from the library and glanced at Tier and Seraph. And the opportunity to be someone other than the Emperor was something he could not begin to put a price on at all.

Lehr came jogging back, having evidently run around the perimeter of the entire building. “I can't find any open doors,” he said. “There are some windows up higher that—”

He broke off when the door they were standing in front of opened wide, revealing Jes. “This building is different,” he said, unnecessarily. “It's not frozen like the others.”

Hennea walked to the nearest wall and put her hand on it. “He's right,” she said. “This building is thick with magic, but it's a preservation spell of some sort.”

“Like the maps,” Seraph said. “Of course the wizards would preserve their library.”

“Of course,” murmured Tier. “If we couldn't open doors and windows, I bet that we wouldn't have been able to take books off the shelves. I can't see wizards willingly making a library unusable.”

Phoran waited until most of the others walked into the building, motioning Toarsen, Kissel, Rufort, and Ielian through ahead of him. Instead of obeying him, Ielian waited beside him.

“Why do you do that?” Ielian whispered.

Phoran slipped through the door, but hung back to give Ielian the illusion of privacy as they talked. He'd learned Lehr and Jes would probably hear every word anyway—but they'd pretend they hadn't.

“Do what?” The entryway to the library was not impressive, Phoran noticed—though maybe this was the back door. There was only a small entrance hall edged in businesslike doors and stairways.