The White Road (31 page)

Seregil led the way over the broken wall and caught Sebrahn as Alec passed him over. Micum came next, then Alec.

They could hear the Hâzadriëlfaie on the other side of the hut, talking and moving about. Keeping just inside the edge of the forest that ringed the ruined village, they hurried down to the picketed horses and found only one man on guard. Their horses were tethered among the others. That was good. Seregil had owned Cynril for years, and Alec would be heartbroken to lose Patch or Windrunner, who’d been a gift from Micum’s family.

Stripped of his sword and knife, Seregil made do with another rock. Sneaking up behind the guard, he gave him a good knock on the head. The man went down with a pained grunt. Praying none of the horses would shy, Seregil and the others untied the whole string and led them away into the trees, moving downhill, hoping the trail was that way. They had no weapons, no food or water, and no way of making a fire, but at least they were free.

They struck the trail at last and untied the horses, leaving the Hâzadriëlfaie’s to wander off on their own. Seregil held Sebrahn while Alec mounted Patch and handed him up to him, then jumped lightly up on Cynril’s back and set off after Micum with Star trailing after him on a lead rein. He could hear shouting from the camp now.

“Go!” he hissed to the others, and they kicked their mounts into a gallop.

The ya’shel and his companions had been clever enough to steal all the horses. It took some time to whistle in enough of them to give chase.

The moon was on the rise by the time they did. The snow was sparse on the ground and the mud was frozen, but Rieser managed to determine which way they’d gone after a little casting around. He cursed himself for a fool for leaving the small tayan’gil with them. There was more to these strangers than he’d given them credit for. Either the crippled Tír was craftier than he looked, or the other ones weren’t quite as helpless as their shiny new swords suggested.

Seregil and the others rode hard through the remains of the night, expecting at any moment to get an arrow in the back. They left the trail when they could to confuse the chase, wending up wooded hillsides and riding down ice-rimmed streams, spelling the horses as long as they dared, which wasn’t long. The way grew steadily steeper, forcing them back to the open trail. They stopped to change horses when the moon set.

“Do you hear that?” asked Alec, looking back over his shoulder.

Then they all heard it, the distant sound of the horn the witch had called an oo’lu. But this time it was more than just one, and seemed to be coming from different directions.

The sound of them sent a nasty shiver up Seregil’s spine. “Come on, let’s go.”

He took Sebrahn to give Alec’s arm a rest and they set off again. As they rode, Seregil hoped it was just a trick of the wind that made it seem like the oo’lu sound was coming from in front of them now.

Just before dawn, they entered a narrow divide—only to find their way blocked by several huge trees across the trail.

“They didn’t just fall,” said Micum, reining his horse in close to the nearest. “They’ve been cut down with an axe.” He reached down to touch one of them. “The sap is still running.”

Behind them they could hear the sound of hooves on stone, and the jingle of harness as their pursuers came on at a gallop.

“If they’re behind us, then who the hell did this?” Alec wondered.

“Most likely whoever was playing those horns,” Seregil muttered, looking around frantically.

There was no question of riding around the obstruction; steep stone faces penned them in on both sides.

When Seregil dismounted to look for a way over, an arrow whistled close to his ear and embedded itself in one of the massive trunks. It was short and crudely fletched; not ’faie work, that was certain. Taking cover behind Star, he stared up into the shadows above them and thought he could see someone moving about at the top of the rock face. The sound of the horns was getting louder, too.

“Here they come,” Micum said, looking grim.

Unarmed and trapped, there was nothing they could do but wait under the brightening sky.

The man in the wolf mask was in the lead. As soon as he saw Seregil and the others, he signaled a halt and dismounted, holding his hands wide to show that he wasn’t armed. Behind him, however, Seregil saw several archers with arrows ready.

“You’re not going any farther, no matter what you do,” the man shouted to them.

“You know what will happen if you attack us,” Seregil retorted, jerking a thumb at Sebrahn, who was now peering out from behind Alec. Or that’s where he thought he was. Instead, Sebrahn had darted out in front of him and was hurrying back toward their pursuers.

“Sebrahn, no! Come here,” Alec shouted. Micum caught him by the arm as he started after him. The strange rhekaro came out to meet Sebrahn and hoisted him up in his arms.

“No!” Alec cried. He pulled loose from Micum, only to be grabbed and held by Seregil.

“You see?” the man in the wolf mask called to them. “The call of his own kind is too strong. So long as we don’t directly attack you, we are as safe with him as you are.”

“That leaves us at a bit of a stalemate,” Seregil shouted back. The sun was coming up, and now he could clearly make out a number of people on the rocks above them. At least one had a long horn. Turmay and the other witch were with the masked riders, both with oo’lus in hand.

“Bilairy’s Balls,” he muttered, then, to the man in the mask, “What now? Are you going to stay there until we starve?”

“That was not my plan. Give us the ya’shel and you and the other ones can go.”

Seregil tightened his grip on Alec’s arm. “You know we’re not going to do that.”

“And we can’t let you go, Aurënfaie. Not with him.”

Seregil folded his arms and gave the man a crooked grin. “Then I guess we all stand here and starve.”

The masked man turned to the archers and said something. They lowered their bows. “That won’t suit any of us. Will you parley?”

Seregil looked at the others. “Anyone have a better idea?”

“We’ve got no weapons and no food, and someone up there is taking aim at us where we stand,” said Micum.

“I just want Sebrahn back!” whispered Alec, his dark eyes burning with anger and betrayal. “Why did he go to them like that?”

Seregil squeezed his arm apologetically. “I’m sorry, Alec. I think he’s been trying to all along. Stay here.”

“No! He’s my—”

“I said stay!” Seregil ordered, then, more softly, “I don’t want you within arm’s reach of any of them. If they get you, then Micum and I are as good as dead.”

Alec quickly stepped back.

“Thank you. Stay close to Micum.” With that, Seregil walked halfway up the trail toward the others and stood waiting.

After a moment the man in the wolf mask came to meet him. Drawing his sword, he leveled it at Seregil’s heart.

“If we’re going to talk, then we should probably exchange names,” said Seregil. “Mine is Seregil í Korit Solun Meringil.”

“I am Rieser í Stellen Andus Orgil. You wear no sen’gai.”

“And I don’t recognize yours. Blue and white?”

“We are the North Star people. Do you have a clan?”

“Bôkthersa.”

“My grandmother was a Bôkthersan.”

Seregil grinned. “That makes us kin. Can’t kill me now, can you?”

“Don’t presume too much.”

“I won’t, I assure you. So, what do we do now?”

“Do you know why we’ve tracked you down, Bôkthersa?”

Seregil pointed to the two rhekaro, watching placidly from a small distance. “I assume it has something to do with them.”

“And with your talímenios. If you have a tayan’gil, then you must understand already.”

“That it takes Hâzadriëlfaie blood to make them? Yes, and I’ve also heard it said that your people hunt down half-breeds and kill them. I’m afraid I just can’t allow that. Look, could you take off that mask now? I feel ridiculous talking to a wolf.”

Rieser gave him a humorless smirk and lifted the mask from his face. It was a grim visage, to be sure, but now that Seregil could look him properly in the eye, Rieser struck
him as a man who might be reasoned with. “So, what shall we do?”

“You say you are going to stop more tayan’gils from being made. How do you intend to do that?”

Seregil saw no point in lying. “The dark witch who made Sebrahn used a book, some sort of alchemy magic text.”

“You mean to destroy this book?”

“Certainly.” It was one option, though probably not the one Thero would prefer.

“How will you get it?”

“The usual way you get something someone else doesn’t want you to have.”

“Steal it?”

“Yes.”

“You are thieves?”

Seregil grinned. “Something like that, and we’re very good at it.”

“As you are at escaping. Two of my riders are nursing sore heads.”

“I could just as easily have killed them,” Seregil replied, and he could tell the man believed him.

“Why didn’t you?”

“You may be strangers, and damn troublesome ones, too, but you’re still ’faie. Is that why my friends and I are still alive?”

“No.”

“Let me ask you something, then, before you try to kill me again. Why aren’t you all dead? Our rhekaro—tayan’gil, that is—sang. People usually die when he does that.”

“Sang? Is that what you call it? One of my young riders did die, so you have that blood on your hands. It made me and the others very sick, but we share the same blood as the tayan’gil, so it does not affect us the way it would the Tír or other ’faie.”

“You got off easy, then.” He masked his concern as he looked back at Sebrahn in the other rhekaro’s arms. He looked perfectly content, the little traitor!

“They’re like that,” said Rieser. “Yours is different than the others, but alike enough to feel the bond.”

Seregil raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Others? How many others?”

“That’s no concern of yours, Bôkthersa.”

“So you make them, too? How are you any better than the ‘dark witches’?”

“We don’t make them! We gather in those that are made and keep them safe. This little one can never be safe in your world. You must know that by now.”

Seregil nodded slightly, glad Alec wasn’t hearing all this. “They can kill and heal.”

“Tayan’gil do not kill, or sing, for that matter. They have no voice at all. Except for this one of yours. I think it must be because of the tainted blood it was made with.”

Seregil let the insult pass, thinking back to what Tyrus and his dragon had told them; somehow, Alec’s blood had made a stronger rhekaro, the only one of its kind—unless another alchemist got hold of Alec and the book. “But it also heals people, and very well, too. I imagine that makes some people rather greedy to own one. We’ve been trying to protect him, too. Alec—the ya’shel—considers him his child. He had a prophecy about a ‘child of no woman’ and Sebrahn appears to be just that.”

“It is no child,” warned Rieser. “The witch says that this one of yours can raise the dead. Is this true?”

“Why would he think that?” Seregil didn’t like where this was heading.

“He sees what he sees, more deeply than you or I. He told me that your ya’shel has two lives.”

“Really?” Seregil returned dryly, sidestepping the question of Alec’s death. “So, here we are. You can’t attack us, and we can’t get away. What shall we do?”

Rieser considered this for a moment, then lowered his sword slightly. “I will make you a bargain.”

“I’m listening.”

“I will let you all live if you will give me the book, the tayan’gil, and the ya’shel.”

“We don’t have the book, Alec will have something to say about you taking Sebrahn away, and you can’t have Alec.”

“As long as the ya’shel walks in this world, he is a danger.”

“As I said, the dark witch—who is actually called an alchemist, by the way—who made Sebrahn is dead. He won’t be making any more tayan’gil out of anyone, and if I can get those books, neither will anyone else. You’re welcome to them. Take them off to your valley and guard them all you like. But Alec stays with me. That’s not on the table. And if you kill him, then you’d better make certain I’m dead, too. Otherwise I’ll hunt you to the ends of the earth and leave your meat for the crows. Then again, Sebrahn will probably do the job for me. You may have survived wounding Alec, but if you kill him, the results will be dire.”

Rieser considered this for a moment, then shrugged. “It’s madness to take the ya’shel into Plenimar, and unthinkable to take the tayan’gil. Your ‘alchemist’ may be dead, but there could be others who know what Sebrahn is, and seek to own him.”

“Well, we can’t really leave him just anywhere. He won’t be parted from—” Seregil paused, struck by a sudden realization. Sebrahn hadn’t been with them when they’d awakened in that ruined hut. And he’d tried to get free and find the other rhekaro—or tayan’gil—every time they got close to the masked bastards. Which meant—

“As you see, you can leave Sebrahn with Hâzadriën,” Rieser said with a knowing look.

“Really?” A guilty hope sprang up in Seregil’s heart, one he quickly quashed. “Even if that’s so, why would we leave Sebrahn here? What’s to stop you from taking him away the minute we’re out of sight?”

“Because I will go with you to Plenimar. My people will not go home without me.”

Seregil stared at him in surprise. “And how is that any less insane than taking a half-breed? You’re the pure article.”

“I can take care of myself, Bôkthersa. I will leave you and your talímenios alive if—”

“And Micum.”

“And the Tírfaie, if you will give me the books once you have them.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes. If what you say is true, then without the book, they
cannot be made. That is the mission of the Ebrados, to keep that from happening.”

“Ebrados?” He’d never heard that word before, but the parts were as archaic as
tayan
. “‘White road riders’?”

“Yes.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means a number of things, none of which are any concern of yours. Now, do you accept my bargain or not?”

“I’ll have to speak to the others. And assuming that we do get the book and make it back, what about Sebrahn?”