“Well,” she said after a moment, “let’s go see what they want.” She led her brood out of the trees and down to the trail that led from field to house.
Gura barked welcome as they neared, and Seraph saw that he’d kept the men from approaching the house too closely. Now that Seraph was nearer to the house she saw the steward’s distinctive braid, which he wore to hide the balding spot on the top of his head.
“Hello, Forder,” Seraph said. “Welcome.”
At the sound of her voice Gura quieted, his job done.
“Seraph Tieraganswife,” said the Sept’s steward. “Where have you been?” He asked it as if it were her fault he’d been kept waiting, as if he had clan-father rights over her.
Part of her flexed, like a cat testing its claws. So many years in Redern and she still couldn’t get used to the way women were treated—as if being a man gave them the right to hold sway over any woman who crossed their paths.
Sensitive to her moods, Gura left the porch, a low growl hovering in his barrel chest. He quieted at her gesture, but stayed on his feet.
“We break ground tomorrow,” Lehr said peaceably, drawing attention away from Seraph so that the steward wouldn’t notice her gathering ire. “We took time to walk the fields tonight. Pray accept our apologies for keeping you waiting. We had no idea that you would come again today. If you had sent word we would have awaited your pleasure.”
“No more had I intended to return,” Forder grunted. Ignoring Seraph completely he addressed Lehr. “The Sept’s huntsman has found something; I thought you should hear from him as soon as possible. If I’d known you had the habit of walking the forest in the night, I would have waited for a more convenient time.”
If Lehr’s hand hadn’t tightened on her shoulder, Seraph would have said something rash. It wasn’t like her to lose control of her temper so easily, but it was easier to cling to temper than to wonder why the steward, who was a man who enjoyed his comforts, would put himself to the trouble of coming here a second time in two days.
Bad news travels fast.
“Thank you,” said Lehr, though he was enough his mother’s son that he didn’t apologize again.
“I was out with a pair of my men,” said the huntsman, who upon close inspection was vaguely familiar to Seraph. He lived in Leheigh, where the Sept’s keep was, but he’d come down to Redern a number of times to hear Tier sing in the tavern at the edge of the village. “We were up past the falls, tracking a deer that had taken an arrow, when we came upon what must have been a Blighted Place.” He shuffled his feet uncomfortably.
Seraph reached up and took Lehr’s hand in a fierce grip.
“I tell you,” the huntsman said with sudden intensity, “I, my own self, have ridden by there a dozen times, and never seen anything untoward, but I can think of nothing else but the old evil left by the Shadowed that could have done what I saw.”
“What was that, sir?” asked Lehr tightly when Seraph said nothing.
“The body of a grey mare,” replied the huntsman. “Her hooves were scorched as if she had been burned in a fire—and not much left but bones in front and a bit of flesh and hide behind. There was a human skull there, clean and white, and a few bones. I knew that Tier was still out trapping, and one of my men recalled that your husband had just bought a grey horse. We buried the remains where we found them, as is proper for Blight-kill but I brought what was left of the bridle in hope we could identify the man.”
He took a bag from his saddle and withdrew a handful of leather, both scorched and cracked, and the half-melted remains of a copper bit.
When Seraph made no move to take it, Lehr freed himself gently from her hold and took the scraps of leather and the bit. He stared at it a moment, then knelt by the porch. He rearranged the pieces on the wooden boards until he revealed the remains of a bridle with enough of the beaded browband left that Seraph couldn’t deny it belonged to her husband.
“It is my father’s bridle,” Lehr said. “Frost, the horse he was riding, was dappled grey.”
“I regret bringing you such news,” said the huntsman, as if he meant it.
“My father is usually home much earlier than this,” said Lehr.
“Papa?” said Rinnie.
Her voice broke through the numbness that encased Seraph. She couldn’t afford to lose herself in grief; she had children. She took a step toward Rinnie, but Jes was already there, holding her against him. He nodded at Seraph: the Guardian would watch over his sister until Seraph could send the steward on his way.
“Where did you find them? I’d like to bring Tier home,” said Seraph.
The huntsman didn’t look at her, instead giving his answer to Lehr. “There was nothing left but a skull, and we buried that,” he said. “Shadowed magic is nothing to play with. I won’t lead a boy or a woman there. One man is already dead; there is no need for more.”
“I see,” said Lehr over Seraph’s soundless snarl.
“You know, of course, that I should serve you notice”—the steward changed the subject—“since your brother is simple and you are not yet fully of age. But it is too late to bring in another family to farm, and you are a stout lad. The Sept will give you this year as a trial.”
Lehr bowed his acceptance to Forder, and Seraph bit her tongue. No one else would farm this far into the mountains. If the steward drove them out there would be nothing for the Sept. But she knew Forder, knew that if she antagonized him enough he’d send them away for spite.
“The Sept is generous,” said Lehr. “We will do our best to deserve the chance he gives.”
“Huntsman,” said Seraph, seeing a dim reflection of her own wild grief in his eyes. “Thank you. There are very few who would have the courage to get near a Blighted Place just to identify a dead man. Knowing is better than waiting with false hope.”
Few men as well would have roused the steward to bring the news as soon as it came to him. It had been the huntsman, of course, who had forced Forder to come out at night instead of waiting until tomorrow. Gratitude and grief ripped through years of habit and she sketched a glowing sigil in the air that hung between them briefly.
“Traveler’s blessing upon you,” she said, “and upon your house. Good fortune hold by you and yours.”
In the darkness she could see the whites of Forder’s eyes, but the huntsman was made of sterner stuff, as befitted a man who braved Blighted Places.
“And to yours,” he said with a quick nod before he mounted his horse.
As soon as the huntsman’s foot was in the stirrup, Forder had his own horse in motion. Then they were gone, disappearing into the night, leaving only the lingering sounds of trotting hooves behind them.
Seraph ushered her children into the cabin and lit the fire with a wave of her hand. A corner of her mind noted how easily she shed the cloak of good Rederni wife she’d held to since she married Tier, but she tucked the thought back with her grief as she dealt with the more immediate problem of her children.
The Guardian lurked in the room like a restless spirit, adding fear to the mix of shock and sorrow. Rinnie clung to him, sobbing heartbrokenly. Lehr was pale and still wore the air of calm he’d donned for the benefit of the steward—but his hands held the remains of Tier’s bridle in a white-knuckled grip.
Tier would have known how to ease their sorrow. He would have said something wise and soothing. He would have held Rinnie until she fell asleep. Then he would have talked to his sons until there was a bandage of comfort between them and their grief.
Seraph wanted to scream and rage until she was too tired to feel any more.
“There was nothing,” she said, “that Tier loved more than you three.”