The White Road (22 page)

The witch shrugged. “This is a big land. Bigger than I expected from the marks on your map. But I do see them. They are on a boat coming to this land.”

“Can you narrow it down at all?” asked Rieser.

Turmay played again for a few minutes, mingling owl sounds and catamount cries into the booming drone. When he was done, he lowered the oo’lu and pointed. “They will be that way.”

“That way” was south, and the witch was right about this being a large place. From here, the land stretched to the horizon, much of it mountains. How in Aura’s name were they going to find one ya’shel and something the size of a child out there?

The journey thus far, he realized, had been a general following of a direction. Turmay had been a good guide, assuming he was leading them the right way, but the map had become less trustworthy the farther south they went, perhaps because Hâzadriël and her followers had not come this way during the long trek north.

They made camp on a windswept plain above the sea. Looking around at his riders shivering in their cloaks, Rieser felt great pride. None of them had complained or shown doubt through all the long weeks it had taken to get this far, not even the young ones. Rane and his brother Thiren were joking with Sorengil about something, and Kalien and Allia had their heads together. Love might be budding there, he thought disapprovingly. That would be a needless complication. Nowen, Sona, and Morai had been with him longer and were old enough to know better, as was Taegil. Rieser was not bothered by such feelings any more than Hâzadriën; not when he was on the hunt.

Turmay played while they ate around the fire, then said, “Yes, this is the way.”

Rieser was secretly growing a little uneasy about their dependence on the witch, and this city had unnerved him. The khirnari’s seer had seen the tayan’gil and its keepers going to Aurënen, not here. Now Turmay said otherwise.

He looked up to find that the dark tracery of witch marks had appeared on Turmay’s hands and face, which was all he could see of him. “You doubt me?” the witch demanded quietly.

An unpleasant chill ran up Rieser’s back. “You didn’t tell me you could read thoughts.”

Turmay held up his oo’lu and looked around the circle of suddenly distrustful faces. “I can’t. I don’t need this, or any other magic, to read faces, Rieser, and yours is full of doubt. I see clearly when I play. I promise you, we are very close now. A few days at most.”

Rieser sensed no duplicity in the witch; from the start he hadn’t, and it occurred to him now how odd that was. He was not a trusting man when it came to outsiders. Had some of Turmay’s “songs” been responsible for that?

Still, he gave Turmay a grudging nod. “I meant no offense. It’s been a long journey, and an uncertain one. I’m grateful that you have led us in safety this far.” It was true. They hadn’t encountered so much as a bandit along the way, and the closer they had come to this land, the less any attention was paid to their ’faie looks.

A few days
. He held on to that. Once they were that close, he could rely on his own skills and Hâzadriën’s once more.

“They’re coming on a boat,” Turmay said again. “If we ride south, I will know the way to find them. The Mother will not fail us.”

Rieser sighed inwardly. “Well, it’s a start.”

Old Friends

T
HE
B
ÔKTHERSAN SHIP
glided safely into Silver Bay as twilight painted the western clouds gold and pink. A tidy little town spread out around the harbor, with rolling hills beyond. Firelight glowed warmly from a hundred windows, gleaming across the water and making Alec feel a bit homesick for Rhíminee, less than a day’s sail away.

Seregil used one of the remaining message sticks to alert Thero to their arrival, and tell him to meet them at an inn called the Bell and Bridle in a few days. It was on the highroad north of Rhíminee. Magyana knew the place and could direct him.

“It’s been a while since we passed this way,” Micum noted.

Seregil nodded. “Ten years? Twelve?”

“Something like that.”

“I could do with a clean room and a decent bath,” Alec put in hopefully. “It’s too late to keep going, anyway.”

“I’m of the same mind,” said Micum, glancing up at the first stars of the night. “Where shall we put up? The Codfish?”

Seregil thought a moment, then shook his head. “That will do for our trusty sailors. I’d rather take leave of them here and stay with Madlen, if she’s still around. Sorry, Alec, the bath will have to wait.”

Micum laughed. “I never thought I’d hear
you
say that!”

They said their farewells to the captain, carried their packs down the gangway to the torchlit wharf, and set off through the dark streets.

“Who is Madlen?” asked Alec.

Seregil held up his hand and made the Watcher sign—left thumb curled over his forefinger. For centuries Watcher members had been scattered all over Skala and Mycena, and some in the northlands beyond, too: wizards, merchants, innkeepers, even drysians, all of whom were well paid through various channels to keep their secrets from all but their leader, and some of them had no idea who that was. Since Nysander’s death, it was Thero. In spite of Phoria’s orders, the organization was still in place. The queen had no idea of the breadth of it, assuming it was just Seregil and a few others in Rhíminee.

Seregil paused in a tiny market and looked around. “I don’t remember this being here.”

Micum scratched at the thick, greying stubble on his cheek, looking thoughtful again. “I hate to think we’ve lived long enough to forget our way.”

After some casting about, Seregil got his bearings again and led the way down several muddy streets to a little back lane near the forest’s edge. There were only a few houses here, and they continued on to the last one, which stood apart from the others. Alec was heartened to see firelight through its two windows. As they approached, two huge hounds emerged from the shadows, growling with their heads lowered and hackles up.

Seregil held out his left hand and did the dog trick. As usual, the hounds went from growling menace to happy tail wagging in an instant. Seregil gave them both a good scratching behind their ears, then moved to the door and tapped out a pattern. A moment later a muffled voice demanded, “Who is it?”

“Luck in the shadows,” Seregil whispered.

They heard the bar lifted inside. The door swung open to reveal a plump old woman in a nightgown and shawl. “And in the Light!” she whispered back. “I should have known when the dogs went quiet! It’s been years, and you look just the same, you shameless bastard. What brings you here after all this time? And Micum! By the Maker, but you’ve aged.”

Micum laughed and kissed her on the cheek.

“And who’s this pretty young thing?” she demanded, looking Alec up and down.

Seregil fought back a grin. “This pretty young thing is our friend Alec. He’s one of us, so you can speak your mind in front of him.”

Madlen gave Alec the Watcher sign. When he returned it, she seemed satisfied.

“Well, I’m glad to meet you, Alec.” Then she caught sight of Sebrahn as he peeked out from behind Alec’s legs. His hood had fallen back, and his eyes and the wide silvery streaks in his hair shone like metal in the firelight. The white patch on his cheek looked pink.

“And a little one!” Madlen exclaimed before Alec could muffle him up again, not seeming the least put off by Sebrahn’s odd appearance. “Dear me, what have you boys been up to?”

“Not what you think,” chuckled Micum.

She gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. “You may be a bit greyer, but you haven’t lost that sparkle in your eye.”

Seregil gave Alec the nod to unwrap the rhekaro. Madlen’s eyes widened for an instant at the sight of him; then she scooped him up against her ample bosom before Alec could stop her and carried him over to the hearth.

Seregil caught his breath, exchanging a worried look with Alec, but Sebrahn just settled in her arms and looked back at Alec.

“The poor little thing is cold as ice!” she scolded. In the firelight, Sebrahn’s eyes didn’t look so unnatural. “Just feel his poor little hands. Whose child is this, if he isn’t yours, and what are you doing with him?”

“The less said, the better,” Micum told her.

“We didn’t kidnap him,” said Alec. “He’s mine.”

Madlen pulled back to look at Sebrahn’s face. “Of course. He favors you. But how did a young one like you come to have a child this old?”

“As Micum said,” Seregil told her, “the less you know, the better. Can you give us a safe place for the night?”

“You know you’re always welcome here, though if you stay away this long again, I’ll be in my grave next time you come by. And now, since I have such strong men here, I’m going to take advantage. Can you fetch me in some firewood
from the byre?” She pointed to the empty wood box near the hearth. “I’ve got some nice fish chowder I can heat up for you, if it hasn’t curdled.”

“We’ll do it for the joy of your company,” Micum replied. “But your chowder is always much appreciated.”

It took several trips, and some explaining as to why Sebrahn had to help, but when they came with the last load of wood, stamping snow from their boots, they found supper laid out for them on Madlen’s polished wood table. Seregil’s mouth watered painfully as he took in the steaming bowls of milky chowder with bits of fried salt pork floating on top, accompanied by mustard pickles, brown bread, and butter.

Alec used some quick sleight of hand to make it appear that he was feeding Sebrahn bits of bread, then ate a spoonful of chowder with a chunk of fish in it and groaned with pleasure. “We’ve been living on ship’s fare. This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted!”

Madlen grinned and gave his braid a playful little tug. “Compliments like that will earn you seconds. Now, don’t let your little one go hungry.”

Seconds led to thirds and Seregil was feeling content and dozy by the time he pushed back his bowl. It was damn good to be back on land and under a friendly roof again.

Once Madlen was satisfied that none of them could eat another mouthful, she eyed their stained Aurënfaie tunics. “You’ll be needing proper clothes. I’ll go see what I have.”

She came back a few minutes later with an armload of tunics, coats, and trousers. They sorted through them and found some that fit—even a tunic and a cloak Sebrahn’s size.

“What news of the war?” Seregil asked.

The old woman threw up her hands. “According to the heralds, Queen Phoria has the upper hand for now. It’s stretched on far too long, if you ask me. Shortages of everything. The sutlers have bought up meat, flour, sugar, horses, leather, even candle wax! All carried across the sea for the soldiers. From what I’ve heard, the jewelers in Rhíminee can’t find gold to work with anymore, or silver. I don’t imagine the nobles are too happy about that. But the worst of it is the conscription. There isn’t a young man left in the village
here, and some of the young women, too—all gone off to war.”

Micum shook his head. “My oldest daughter, too. This war’s already cost us a good queen. If Phoria’s killed, there’s only that green niece of hers, unless one of the others steps in.”

“It ought to be Princess Klia,” said Madlen. “First a barren queen, and then a child heir? Mark my words, if—Lightbringer forefend—the queen is killed, there will be some unrest.”

“That might not be a bad thing,” said Seregil.

They talked a bit longer about the war, then Madlen bid them good night and retired to a bed behind a curtain at the far end of the room. Seregil and the others climbed up a ladder to the loft and settled in among the cobwebs and mice.

“That was a nice bit of fooling you did down there,” Micum noted as Alec shook little pellets of bread from his sleeve and shared them around.

“I had a good teacher.” When he was done, Alec pricked his finger and gave Sebrahn a proper feeding.

“My heart about stopped when Madlen grabbed him up like that,” whispered Micum.

“So did mine,” said Seregil. “He seems to have a good sense of who is a friend and who isn’t. Most of the time, anyway.”

“It’s good to hear that Phoria’s winning,” said Alec.

“It may be too soon to say that,” warned Micum. “She may have the upper hand, but once fighting starts up again soon, it could go either way.”

“A stalemate,” Seregil said, shaking his head. “Both sides will come to ruin if this goes on much longer.”

Micum nodded, looking grim. “And Beka right in the middle of it.”

Putting their trust in Madlen’s hounds, they all slept the night through, and woke late.

“Lazy creatures,” she scolded as they climbed down the ladder. “I’ve had your breakfast ready since sunup, and have already been into town to find you some horses.”

Seregil gave her a kiss on the cheek and sat down to his cold porridge. “I don’t have enough to pay you for the horses.”

“No matter. I’ve plenty put by. We can settle up when you come through again.”

They all knew that it might be never.

Fortunately for Alec, the old woman went out to feed her pigs and chickens, sparing him the need of pretending with Sebrahn. Seregil smiled to himself, imagining Alec trying to hide porridge up his sleeve.