Nightrunners 03 - Traitor's Moon (27 page)

"Be that as it may—"

They were interrupted by a call to the banquet. The light was failing

quickly now, and torches were lit around the garden and in the street below. Klia and Nazien went to join their host. Alec moved off, looking for Seregil.

"Well?" asked Seregil as they took their seats on a couch near Klia's.

Alec shrugged, still smarting from the Haman's treatment. "Just more politics."

The entertainment began with the feast. A horn sounded and a dozen riders on Silmai blacks appeared from around the corner of a distant building. The horses' harnesses and girth straps were hung with tinkling gold and turquoise ornaments, and their streaming white manes and tails shone like combed milkweed silk.

The riders, men and women both, were equally exotic. Their long hair was bound tightly back into a club at the back of their necks, and each wore a silver crescent of Aura on their brow. The men wore short kilts dyed the turquoise blue of their clan and tightly belted with gold. The women wore tunics of similar design.

"They're ya'shel, too, aren't they?" Alec asked, pointing out several riders with golden-tan skin and curling black hair.

"Yes. Some Zengati blood, I'd say," Seregil told him.

Riding bareback at breakneck speeds, the performers leaped from one mount to another and rode standing on their horses' backs, their oiled limbs shining in the firelight. As one, they clapped their hands, and swirling masses of colored lights unfurled from their fingertips like banners, then were woven into patterns by the intricate drills they executed. The Skalans clapped and cheered. Standing guard behind Klia, Beka's riders cheered the loudest of all.

When the performers had finished and retired, a single rider took the field. Dressed like the others, he cantered out and saluted his audience, gripping his mount's sides with long, lean-muscled legs. His skin was a golden tan, his hair a cascade of long black curls.

"My youngest grandson, Taanil i Khormai," Brythir announced, beaming at Klia.

"And the banquet's main course, I suspect," murmured Seregil, nudging Alec with his elbow.

As Taanil set off on his first circuit of the grassy riding area, the khirnari leaned closer to Klia. "The skills of my grandson are not limited to riding. He is a fearless sailor, and a student of languages. He speaks your tongue quite flawlessly, I'm told. He would welcome the opportunity to converse with you."

I'll bet,
thought Seregil, grinning behind his wine cup.

Coming down the field at a gallop, Taanil gripped his mount's girth strap and vaulted from side to side over its back, then went into a handstand, his lean body straight as a spear. The sight drew more than a few admiring sounds from the Skalan contingent.

The young Silmai joined Klia on her couch after his ride and charmed them all with his tales of sea trade and horsemanship.

When he left to perform again, Klia leaned over to Seregil and whispered. "Am I being courted?"

Seregil gave her a wink. "There's more than one way to forge an alliance. Marrying off a youngest grandson is a small price to pay for a new trade ally, wouldn't you say?"

"Are you saying I'm being offered second-rate goods?"

Seregil raised an eyebrow. "
I
certainly wouldn't call Taanil second rate. What I meant is that they wouldn't be losing a potential khirnari if he left."

Klia chuckled at this. "I don't think they have much to worry about on that score, but I suppose I can bear his company while we're here." She winked. "After all, we do need the horses."

13

Guides

Alec woke the following morning to find Seregil standing over him, dressed from head to foot in black: black leather breeches, black boots, long black velvet coat slashed with black silk. Above his gold badge of office, Corruth's ruby ring glowed on its silver chain. The overall effect was rather sinister. Seregil looked grim and tired.

"You were restless last night," Alec complained, yawning.

"I had that dream again, the one I had in the mountains."

"About going home?"

"If that's what it is." He sat down on the edge of the bed and laced his fingers together around one up-drawn knee.

Alec reached up to touch the Akhendi charm still braided into Seregil's hair. "It must be a true one, with this to guard your dreams."

Seregil gave a noncommittal shrug. "I think you'll be of more use behind the scenes today."

Changing the subject again, are you?
Alec thought resignedly. Giving up for now, he settled back against the bolsters. "Where should I start?"

"You should learn your way around the city. I've asked Kheeta to guide you until you

get used to the place. It's too easy to get lost when it's empty like this."

"How very tactful of you, Lord Seregil." Alec's sense of direction had a disconcerting way of deserting him in cities.

"Familiarize yourself with the area, make friends, keep your ears open." Leaning over, he ruffled Alec's already disheveled hair. "Look as simple and harmless as you can, even around our supporters. Sooner or later someone will let slip some interesting bit of information."

Alec affected a look of wide-eyed innocence and Seregil laughed.

"Perfect! And to think you used to say I'd never make an actor of you."

"What about that?" Alec said, pointing at the ring.

Glancing down in surprise, Seregil dropped it inside the neck of his coat, then headed for the door.

"Idrilain wouldn't have given it to you if she didn't think you were worthy of wearing it," Alec called after him.

Seregil gave him a last, thoughtful look and shook his head. "Good hunting, tali. Kheeta's waiting."

Alec lay back, thinking about the ring and wondering whose approval Seregil awaited. The Iia'sidra's? Adzriel's? The Haman's?

"Oh, well," he muttered, rolling out of bed. "At least I've got something to do today."

He washed with cold water from the pitcher and dressed for riding. He left his sword belt hanging with Seregil's over the bedpost. Most of the Aurenfaie he'd seen went unarmed except for belt knives. In the event of trouble, he always had the slender dagger in his boot. Their tool rolls were still hidden away for now, as well. According to Seregil, there were few locks in Sarikali, and most of those were magical in nature. That fact aside, it certainly wouldn't do for erstwhile diplomats to be caught carrying such a fine collection of lock picks.

Instead, he slung his bow and quiver over his shoulder and headed down in search of breakfast.

A cook gave him a pocket breakfast and news that Klia and the others had already left for the Iia'sidra. In the stable yard, he found Windrunner saddled next to another Aurenfaie mount. "Feels like rain today, I'd say," Rhylin observed, on duty there.

Alec studied the hazy sky and nodded. The breeze had dropped and the clouds were already darkening ominously. "Have you seen Kheeta?"

"He went back to his room for something. He asked that you wait here."

The sound of voices drew Alec into the stable, where he found one of Mercalle's dispatch riders and her Akhendi guides trying to argue about liniments in two broken languages.

"Heading north?" he asked Ileah.

She patted the large pouch slung over her shoulder. "Maybe I can come by a few fancy dragon marks like yours along the way. Any letters you want carried to Rhiminee?"

"Not today. How long do you reckon it takes to get a message back through?"

"Less time than it took us to get here. We'll push harder over the unguarded sections of the pass, and we'll have fresh horses all along the way, compliments of our Akhendi friends."

"Good morning, Alec i Amasa!" said Kheeta, the fringed ends of his green sen'gai flying about his shoulders as he hurried in. "I'm to show you around, I'm told."

"Let us know if you find any decent taverns in this ghost city," Ileah implored.

"I wouldn't mind finding something like that myself," Alec admitted. "Where do we start, Kheeta?"

The Bokthersan grinned. "Why, at the Vhadasoori, of course."

Cloud shadows scudded across their path as they set off along the turf-muted avenue leading back to the center of the city.

It felt less deserted today. Riders galloped past, and there were people in the streets. Marketplaces had been set up at crossroads, with goods being sold on blankets or out of the backs of carts. Most of the people Alec saw looked like servants and attendants. Clearly, it took a sizable population behind the scenes to maintain the banquets and bathhouses that helped court alliances.

"It's difficult to believe a city like this just stands empty most of the time," Alec remarked.

"Not quite empty," said Kheeta. "There are the Bash'wai, and the rhui'auros. But as you say, Sarikali belongs mostly to itself and its ghosts. We are merely occasional lodgers, coming here for festivals, or to settle clan disputes on neutral ground."

He pointed to a stag's skull set on a post beside the street. It was painted red, with silvered horns. "See that. It's a boundary marker for Bokthersa tupa. And that white hand with the black symbol on the palm painted on the wall across the street marks the tupa of Akhendi."

"Are people very territorial here?" Given the chances that he'd be nightrunning here sooner or later, it was a good idea to know the local customs.

"It depends on who is involved, I suppose. Violence is forbidden, but trespassers can be made to feel quite unwelcome. I stay clear of Haman tupa and you and your companions will do well to do the same, especially when you're alone. The Khatme aren't much for visitors, either."

At the Vhadasoori they left their horses outside the circle of stones and entered on foot. Alec paused beside one of the monolithic figures, pressing a palm to its rough surface. He half expected to feel some magical vibration, but the stone was silent beneath the cool morning dew.

"You did not have a proper welcome the other day," Kheeta said, going to the moon-shaped chalice that still stood on its pillar. "All who come to Sarikali drink from the Cup of Aura."

"Is it left here all the time?" Alec asked, surprised.

"Of course." Kheeta dipped up water from the pool and presented it to him.

Alec took it in both hands. The narrow alabaster bowl was perfectly smooth, its silver base untarnished.

"Is it magical?" he asked.

The Bokthersan shrugged. "Everything is magical in some way, even if we cannot perceive it."

He drank deeply, then handed it back to Kheeta. "Don't you have any thieves here in Aurenen? "

"In Aurenen? Of course. But not here."

A city without locks and without footpads and thieves?
Alec thought skeptically. That would be magic indeed.

They spent the rest of the morning exploring. There were hundreds of tupas, counting those of the lesser clans, so Alec concentrated on those of the Eleven for the moment. Kheeta was a talkative guide, pointing out clan marker and points of interest. One hulking dark structure looked very much like another until he named it as a temple or meeting place.

Alec found himself studying his companion as well. "Does Seregil seem much changed to you?" he asked at last.

Kheeta sighed. "Yes, especially when he's dealing with the Iia'sidra or your princess. Then again, when he looks at you, or makes a joke, I see the same old haba."

"I heard Adzriel call him that," Alec said, pouncing on the unfamiliar word. "Is it like 'tali'?"

Kheeta chuckled. "No, haba are small black—" He paused, searching for the Skalan word. "Squirrels? Yes, squirrels, that live in the western forests. They're everywhere in Bokthersa, feisty little creatures that can chew their way into the tightest bale, or will steal the bread from your hand when you're not looking. Seregil could climb like a haba, and fight like one when pushed to it. He was always trying to prove himself, that one."

"To his father?"

"You've heard about that, have you?"

"A bit." Alec tried not to sound too eager. This wasn't the sort of information he'd been sent to gather, but he wasn't about to let the opportunity pass.

"Well, you've met Mydri, so you can see the difference. Seregil and Adzriel were the only ones of the four who took after their mother. Perhaps things might have been different for Seregil if she'd lived." Kheeta paused, frowning at some unpleasant memory. "There are those in the family who say it was Korit's guilt that kept father and son at odds."

"Guilt? For what?"

"For Illia's death in childbirth. Most Aurenfaie women bear only one or two children, but Korit i Solun wanted a son to carry his name. Illia obliged him out of love, having daughter after daughter until she was past her prime. The last birthing was too much for her, or at least that's how I've heard it.

"The raising of Seregil fell to Adzriel, and a good thing, too. What finally happened with that bastard Ilar—" Kheeta spat vehemently over his horse's flank. "Well, there are those who laid the blame as much on his father as on Seregil. I tried to tell Seregil as much last night, but he won't listen."