The White Road (47 page)

Alec knew. “Maybe we should have gone back for him,” he muttered aloud.

“Ilar, you mean?” Seregil asked. “It would have been suicide. Why didn’t he stay with Ulan? Or ride out after us?” He closed his eyes again, but not before Alec caught a fleeting look of regret. “I thought he’d be safe with Ulan.”

“Perhaps he still will be,” said Micum, but he sounded less than convinced.

Curious Allies

R
IESER
had left Nowen in charge. It should have been easy duty, watching Sebrahn and looking out for anyone traveling this way.

The last of the Tír magic had worn off; Sebrahn was as pale as Hâzadriën, with the same silver-white hair, neatly cut and braided now. She’d shaken her head over the ignorance of the ya’shel, to feed him every day. He was a beautiful little thing, but for the lack of wings, and seemingly devoted to Hâzadriën, as the older tayan’gil was to him. The two were inseparable. It was not uncommon for tayan’gils to flock together, but this one called Sebrahn was almost childlike in his manner. He climbed into Hâzadriën’s lap whenever he sat down, and curled up next to him with his head in Hâzadriën’s lap at night, saying “Sleeping,” in his strange raspy voice. If anyone tried to make him leave the tayan’gil’s side, he said, very distinctly, “No.” It sent a shiver up Nowen’s back every time he spoke.

Tayan’gils were—apart. Or they should be. Back home she seldom saw them, and when she did they were little more than a curiosity unless a healing was needed. The Hâzadriëlfaie valued them deeply for that ability, knowing the price. Every one of the creatures had been born of suffering and servitude, and no Hâzad liked being reminded of that. The fact that Sebrahn acted more like a real living being only made this more obvious.

But she had other, more troubling concerns right now.

“Did you see any of them?” she asked Rane and Sona, who’d just come back from a hunting expedition.

“Yes, and there are more today.”

Day by day, the answer was the same. Nowen had never had any bad experience with the Retha’noi; they kept mostly to their peaks, and when they did descend to trade and barter, they were usually friendly and bothered no one. Turmay and Naba had been instrumental in their success so far, enlisting the aid of a local clan to fell those trees. But something had changed since Rieser left; Nowen was too experienced a tracker not to know when she was being tracked herself.

Naba had remained with them after the capture, and so had those he’d summoned. Now others were appearing on the heights. The smoke from their cooking fires rose against the sky by day, and the light of watch fires sparkled along the ridges through the night. Day and night they could hear the distant sounds of oo’lus; many oo’lus.

What could they possibly want? The Hâzad didn’t carry more than they absolutely needed, which left little worth stealing, except for the horses, and these southern Retha’noi didn’t seem to have any use for those.

Turmay came and went between the two camps freely and kept assuring her that they were in no danger, so long as they stayed down here by the waterfall.

“What do they want?” Nowen asked.

“They distrust outsiders and they want us to be gone. That’s why they helped you, so that you would go away sooner.”

“But they accept you.”

“I am Retha’noi.”

Turmay went to his southern brothers each night and played the oo’lu in the great circle while the witch women danced their magic around the fires. He made love to their women under the moon to put babies with northern blood into their bellies and shared his food and his healings with all who asked. Their two peoples might have been parted for
more years than they could count, but the ways of hospitality still held strong.

The Mother spoke to them when they played and danced, repeating what she had told Turmay of the small tayan’gil and Alec Two Lives, of life and death and the immutable gate between the two.

Retha’noi had come from many miles away, answering the oo’lus’ messages, and they came for their own reasons, as well. There were at nearly forty men now, and five of them witch men. They met around the fire and talked of the small tayan’gil and the man with two lives. Turmay listened and said little, but he taught them the song the Mother had given him.

Two days out from Plenimar there was no sign of pursuit, but Alec and Micum still walked the deck, looking back over the
Lady’s
wake. Ulan í Sathil could probably guess where they were headed, if he chose to pursue them. But the sea was empty again today.

Seregil was healing quickly enough to be restless, and they found him in Rieser’s cabin, chatting with Konthus while the drysian tended to the Hâzad’s wound. Rieser appeared to be tolerating both of them with an effort.

“I don’t understand it,” Konthus was saying. “This is infected, in spite of all my efforts. It must be from the shattered bone, or some bit of arrowhead left in the wound.”

“I’ve suffered worse,” Rieser told him. “Just do whatever you can, healer, and leave me in peace.”

The drysian frowned but went about draining a little pus from the wound and packing it with fresh herbs and honey salve. “I’ll give the cook the makings of a posset for the pain. That’s all I can do for you, friend. And now for you, Lord Seregil.”

After a quick look at the splinted finger and Seregil’s back, he set about unwrapping the bandages from Seregil’s ribs and probed the wound hard enough to make Seregil hiss in pain. “This is healing well.”

“I guess I just heal more quickly,” Seregil gasped.

“You can thank the Maker for that. If the arrow had gone any deeper, you’d not be sitting here now.” He wrapped fresh bandages tightly around Seregil’s ribs to keep the bones stable, then placed his hands on Seregil’s head and spoke a spell.

“Thank you, brother,” Seregil said. “That’s the best I’ve felt in days.”

“I only wish I could do as much for your friend.”

As soon as the drysian was gone, Rieser opened his eyes and rasped, “I want to see the books.”

Alec went to his cabin and returned with them. He kept them wrapped in a cloak during the day, and spread out on the cabin floor at night to dry them. The pages were rippled and curling at the edges, and the writing in the halves of the red journal was smeared in places beyond recognition. The other two, the ones in code, were otherwise undamaged.

“You were right about not throwing them in the sea,” Micum remarked, trying to smooth the pages of the brown book. “Who knows whose hands they might have washed up into.”

“I haven’t thanked you for saving these, and us, Rieser,” Seregil told him. “But you have my gratitude. I’m in your debt.”

“And me,” said Alec.

“And I, and my family,” added Micum with a half bow. “You’ll always be welcome at my door.”

Rieser looked up at him, face betraying little. “I’m told it was you who pulled me from the water after I was struck.”

“That’s right.”

“Then we are even and there is no debt on either side.”

Micum shook his head, grinning. “Well, you’re welcome at my door anyway.”

After a few days, Seregil’s side still hurt badly enough by nightfall to keep him from lying down flat to sleep, but Rieser was in worse shape. His broken shoulder blade was a constant source of pain, and the arrow wound was still infected, the skin around it a swollen, angry red. Rhal’s healer dressed their wounds several times a day and used his
healing spells and potions, but they only slowed the infection spreading through Rieser’s shoulder without curing it. The fever from it kept him in his bunk for the duration of the voyage. The others looked in on him through the day, though he didn’t welcome their attentions.

“You’ve caught yourself a strange one there,” Captain Rhal observed over supper one night. “Not a real friendly sort of fellow.”

“Not really,” Seregil agreed with a wry grin. “He’s an interesting man, though, and a good fighter.”

“What’s going to happen when you get him back to his people?”

“We’ll see, won’t we? I’m prepared for a less than warm welcome, especially if Rieser dies on us before we get there.”

“Sounds like you could use some help,” said Rhal.

Seregil raised an eyebrow. “I was thinking the same thing. Could you spare me ten men? I’ll do my best to get them back to you in one piece.”

“Will ten be enough?”

“I think so. It will give us some protection without looking like we’re declaring war. If it does take a bad turn, your crew are seasoned fighters.”

“So are the Ebrados,” said Alec.

“We don’t know that,” Seregil pointed out. “They used magic and trickery on us, not force.”

Rhal scratched under his beard and thought a moment. “Well, I guess I’ll come along with you. We’ve had some slack months and I don’t want to get out of practice. Nettles, you’ll be in command while I’m gone. Skywake, go ask for volunteers. And Dani isn’t to be one of them.”

“I’m going to enjoy having the odds more in our favor for a change,” Alec said with a dangerous grin.

“Do they have any wizards we should watch out for?” asked Rhal.

“Rieser is the only one I know of, and he doesn’t seem to have much power beyond simple transformations,” said Seregil. “But there’s a witch called Turmay who uses a long
horn for his magic. If we can get that away from him, he may not be able to do any harm.”

“Can he kill with it?”

“We don’t know,” Micum replied. “But he can put you to sleep better than a nursemaid’s song, and that could be just as bad in the long run.”

Hard Choices

R
HAL STOPPED
at the same island to change sails. From here it was less than a week back to the waterfall encampment.

Alec hadn’t slept much better than Seregil for the past few nights. In the dark, the thoughts that had been lurking at the edges of his mind since they’d burgled Yhakobin’s workshop could not be kept at bay.

When they dropped anchor in the little cove, Alec turned to Seregil suddenly and said, “Are you up to a walk?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go ashore. Just you and me, this time.”

Alec was grateful that Seregil asked no questions as he rowed him ashore in one of the boats and put in at the same beach where the four of them had skipped stones together.

Alec was in no mood for that today. Taking the lead, he walked up the short beach and over the ledges beyond. Great flocks of grey-backed gulls rose with raucous screams of protest and circled stubbornly. Thick forest lay beyond, and as they made their way along a deer path that wended between the tall pines and oaks they found themselves stepping around stick rings of last year’s gull nests, some still holding shards of speckled brown eggs in a bed of matted white down.

It wasn’t curiosity or the pleasure of being off the ship that drove Alec deeper and deeper into the woods. The words he wanted to say were burning his heart, and once he began,
there would be no taking them back. So he walked on, and Seregil followed in silence.

Birds chirped and sang overhead, and somewhere nearby an osprey was defending its territory with harsh cries. In the distance the gulls croaked and argued as they returned to their nests and ledges.

Alec had to remind himself to go slowly. Seregil didn’t complain, but Alec caught him holding his side. Alec thought he’d pushed him too far when Seregil paused at the foot of an ancient oak and bent over, but it was only to pick something up. It was a long barred owl feather. He twirled it between his fingers, then presented it to Alec. “You have something on your mind, talí.”

Alec took the feather and stared down at it. “I’ve been thinking about Sebrahn.”

“I thought you might be.”

This was more difficult than he’d feared. He sat down on a log and took a deep breath, owl feather clutched, forgotten, in one hand. His eyes stung and his throat felt tight as he said, “I think—I think you were right. We should let Rieser take him back to Ravensfell. He’ll be safe there, and there are others like him and—” He fought back tears as Seregil sat down and put an arm around him. “If we keep him, he’ll always be in danger. We’ll always be looking over our shoulder for someone trying to take him.”