we might have to fight the Passerines, too. And if Phoran is not there, Benroln, your men will have to try and get out as soon as this is finished and take all of our fallen, too. Maybe Telleridge has taken them for part of the performance tonight. If the Masters have hurt Tier, they'll have a hard time controlling the Passerines."
"You don't know the Passerines," said Avar.
"I know my husband," she said.
She didn't miss the uneasy way Avar's people surveyed the exotic lot of armed Travelers or the puzzled looks aimed at Brewydd. Old women were not usually part of a battle force - but Healers could look after themselves on a battlefield.
"We need to take them tonight," Seraph said again.
Avar nodded slowly, then turned to the troops around him. In short, punctuated sentences he described what they were doing and why.
The white robes she'd taken from an unwary Raptor were woolen and itchy, but Seraph stood quietly next to Brewydd, who was carrying on a conversation with the white-robed Raptor beside her, talking, of all things, about growing tomatoes.
Hennea had laid spells on all of them: look-away spells to keep them from being noticed and minor illusions to hide things - like Seraph's lack of height and her sex - that would otherwise attract attention. When Hennea had told them all to avoid being noticed, Seraph didn't think that exchanging gardening tips with the first Raptor they happened upon was what she'd had in mind.
Seraph looked out over the room. Jes was somewhere, too, though he hadn't bothered with the white robes. No one would see him until he wanted them to. Lehr was with the rest of their little army.
The Passerines were gathered already; she'd counted them. Assuming Tier's protege was the boy they intended to produce, all of the Passerines were there. Though they didn't have hoods on their robes, Seraph found that the robes obscured enough differences that she had a hard time picking out Toarsen, the only Passerine she knew, from the rest. There were chairs in rows in front of the stage, and the Passerines were all directed to those; even as she watched, the last of them took his seat.
There were more Raptors than she'd hoped, nearly three times the number of Passerines. Well, enough, she told herself, it would be even less likely that anyone should spot the cuckoos in the mix.
"Followers of the Secret Path."
Seraph stiffened at the whiff of magic that accompanied the words so that they rang out and appeared louder than they really were.
The room quieted. Brewydd softened her voice to a murmur, but continued comparing the benefits of growing tomatoes in various soils.
It had been Raven magic that gave power to the words the black-robed man standing in front of the curtained stage had said. Why hadn't he used the Bardic Order? A Bard would have done more than just overpower the talking of the crowd: he could have caught the attention of everyone, even tomato zealots like Brewydd's conversation partner, and held it.
Perhaps they didn't know that, or maybe they just preferred to work with more familiar powers. A solsenti mage, she thought, would be used to having magic work a certain way - like Raven or even Cormorant. They wanted the Orders for power, but even Volis had had no use for subtlety.
"When you come to our Eyrie you take vows," said the wizard. "First, never reveal to anyone what we do here. Second, to attend the Eyrie at least three evenings a week. Third, to obey the Raptors and the Masters over and above all other oaths. One of you has broken the last two of these rules. We are here today to discipline him - not in hope of reformation, because he will never again be welcome to our Eyrie."
"Telleridge sure knows how to capture his audience, doesn't he," marveled the Raptor talking to Brewydd, his voice shaking with age, but he returned to his favorite subject with more ado. "I find that the tomatoes I grow in the orangery - "
"But that is not all we are here for." The Master's voice dipped into sorrow, but Seraph thought he overdid it a bit. "In recent weeks it has come to our attention that our Passerines have been led astray by the magic of our Traveler guest. The magic that keeps his at bay, here in our halls, is dependent upon your resistance. If you want to be his follower, his servant,