Traitor's Moon

by Lynn Flewelling

  “They’ve broken her back,” Klia gasped.

  “Hoist what sails we’ve got,” Farren shouted to the mate. “Prepare the attack!”

  The battle call traveled the length of the ship as the Zyria headed for the embattled craft. The Wolf was going down fast.

  “Beka’s there,” Alec cried, staring helplessly across at the foundering vessel. “Thero, can’t you do something?”

  “Quiet. He is,” said Seregil. “Give him time.”

  Thero stood a little apart from them, eyes squeezed shut. Sweat poured down the wizard’s face as he clenched his hands together in front of him. Then his thin lips curved up in a smile and he let out a small grunt of satisfaction. Without opening his eyes, he chanted softly under his breath and wove a series of symbols on the air.

  “Ah, good choice, that,” Seregil murmured approvingly.

  “What? What is it?” demanded Alec.

  Seregil pointed across to the enemy vessel. “Watch. This should be impressive.”

  An instant later a huge ball of fire erupted from the belly of the Plenimaran ship. Flames far fiercer than those aboard the doomed Wolf burst from every hatch, quickly engulfing everything above the waterline.

  “Beautiful!” Seregil crowed, thumping Thero on the back. “You’ve always had a way with fire. How did you do it?”

  The wizard opened his eyes and expelled a pent-up breath. “Her hold was full of Benshâl Fire. I merely concentrated on that until it exploded. The rest took care of itself.”

  Leaving the Courser to her work, the Zyria sailed on for the Wolf. The broken carrack was rolling slowly onto its side, wallowing in the swells. Sheets of oily flame spread out from her smashed hull.

  “Come on, come on!” Seregil hissed, hanging over the rail to scan the debris surrounding the wreck. Beside him, Alec did the same, praying to find Beka among the living. All too quickly, dark forms resolved into bodies, some charred beyond recognition, others fighting to stay afloat and crying out for help. A few horses—too few—churned in circles, screaming in panic.

  “All boats away,” the captain ordered. “Quick now, before the sharks get them.”

  Seregil and Alec ran for the nearest longboat being lowered over the side. When it smacked own in the water with a jolt, they took the prow seats, searching the waves while the sailors pulled the oars.

  “There’s someone, over there to the right,” Alec called to the oarsmen, pointing the way. The boat leaped forward, closing the distance between them and a struggling Skalan sailor.

  They were within ten feet of him when a huge shape broke the surface and dragged the man under. For one awful instant, Alec looked into the doomed man’s wild eyes, and the shark’s soulless black one. Then they were gone.

  “Maker’s Mercy!” he gasped, rocking back on his heels.

  “Poor old Almin,” someone said behind him, and the sailors rowed harder.

  Leaving the dead to the sea, they rounded the Wolf’s stern and found several people clinging to a broken spar.

  “That’s Mercalle!” Alec exclaimed.

  The sergeant and two of her riders were supporting another between them. Alec recognized the sodden mass of red hair even before they had her all the way into the boat. Beka’s face was white as milk except for a gash across her right temple.

  “O Dalna, let her be alive,” he muttered, feeling for a pulse at her throat.

  “She is,” Mercalle told him through chattering teeth. “She needs a healer, though, and soon.”

  The other riders looked only slightly better. Ileah was weeping silently, her face a mask of grief. Sitting close on either side of her in the bottom of the boat, Zir and Marten were chilled but apparently unhurt.

  “It’s her brother,” Zir told him, putting an arm around Ileah. “He was dead before the bastards rammed us. How’s the captain?” He looked anxiously at Beka.

  Bent over Beka’s still form, Seregil did not look up as he replied, “Too soon to tell.”

  Aboard the Zyria, they carried Beka below to one of the little cabins. Groans and screams came up from the hold, where the wounded sailors had been laid out. The stink of blood and Benshâl Fire hung strong on the stale air.

  While Alec went in search of the ship’s drysian, Seregil stripped off Beka’s sodden clothes. He’d done the same when she was a child, but she was a child no more. For once, he was glad of Alec’s absence. Surprised at his own embarrassment, he finished as quickly as he could and wrapped her in blankets. It hadn’t been only her brief nakedness that was discomforting but the number of battle scars marring her pale freckled body.

  That sort of thing had never bothered him before, not even with Alec. Sitting on the floor beside Beka now, though, he rested his head in his hands, fighting down guilt and grief. He’d been the first after Micum to hold Beka in his arms at her birth; he’d carried her on his shoulders, carved toy swords and horses for her, helped teach her to ride and how to fight dirty.

  And got her the commission that put her here, unconscious, scarred, and bloody, he thought dismally. Thank the Light I never had any children of my own.

  The drysian arrived at last, Alec on his heels with a basin of steaming water.

  “She was thrown when the enemy ship rammed hers,” he said, watching as the healer set to work.

  “Yes, yes, Alec’s told me all about it,” Lieus said impatiently, sponging blood from the ragged wound. “She took a bad knock, all right. Still, the cut didn’t go deep, thank the Maker. She’ll wake up in a while with quite a headache, and probably some sickness. There’s nothing for it now but to clean her up, keep her warm, and let her sleep. You two clear out; you’re just in my way here.” He jerked a thumb at Seregil. “I’ll see to your shoulder later. Arrow, was it?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  The drysian grunted, then tossed Alec a small jar. “Wash his wound and keep some of this on it until the scab dries. I’ve seen wounds like that go putrid a week later. You don’t want to lose your sword arm, now, do you, my lord?”

  On deck, they found Klia busy taking stock of the situation. The Courser had finished with the other Plenimaran vessel and now rode at anchor nearby.

  “You heard him,” Alec ordered, mimicking the drysian’s gruff tone. “Let me see what that arrow did to you.”

  The cuts from the mail rings were still oozing, and the whole area was dark and swollen. Now that the excitement of the crisis was over, Seregil was surprised at how much it hurt. Alec helped him remove the mail shirt and set about dressing the wound, his touch as sure and gentle as any healer’s.

  Those same hands were drawing a bow not so long ago, Seregil reflected with another stab of guilt. Alec had never killed a man before they’d met, and probably never would have if he’d been left to his trapping and wandering.

  Life changes, he mused, and life changes us.

  The soft afternoon breeze off the islands carried a sun-warmed mingling of scents he hadn’t known for nearly forty years: wild mint and oregano, footcatch cedar, and fragrant powder vine. He’d last visited these islands a few months before his banishment. Looking across the water to Big Turtle, he could almost see his younger self jumping across the rocks, diving fish-naked in the coves with his friends—a silly, self-involved boy who’d had no idea what immensity of pain lay just over the horizon of his short life.

  Life changes us all.

  Klia climbed on a nearby hatch, still wearing her filthy green battle tabard. Braknil and Mercalle’s riders gathered on the deck in front of her as she began to take stock.

  “Who do you have left, Sergeant Mercalle?” Seregil heard her ask.

  “Five riders and my corporal, Commander,” the woman replied, betraying no emotion. Behind her, Zir and the other looked bedraggled and dispirited. Most appeared unhurt, although the lute player, Urien, was cradling a bandaged hand against his chest. “We’ve lost most of our weapons, though, and the horses.”

  “Those can be replaced. Riders can’t,” Klia replied br
usquely “And you, Braknil?”

  “No deaths, Commander, but Orandin and Adis were badly burned by those damned fire streams.”

  Klia sighed. “We’ll leave them in Gedre if the khirnari is agreeable.”

  Spotting Seregil, she waved him over. “What did you make of that?”

  “That they were expecting us,” he told her.

  Klia scowled. “And I thought we’d been so careful.”

  The information didn’t necessarily come from Skala, he thought, but kept the thought to himself for the time being.

  “Can we make Gedre without stopping for water?” she asked the captain.

  “Yes, Commander. But it will be dark by the time we’ve run up the new sail. Plenty of time to send landing crews over to fill some casks.”

  Klia rubbed the back of her neck wearily. “If those ships were waiting to ambush us, then they knew why we were going to the island. They could have ambushers waiting at the spring. I’ve had enough surprises for one day. I say we push on to Gedre.”

  No one slept that night, or spoke above a whisper as they sailed on under the dark new moon. Every lantern was extinguished, and Thero stood guard on the rear castle with the captain and Klia, ready to weave whatever magic they needed to evade notice.

  The groans of the wounded came up from belowdecks like the voices of ghosts. Alec and Seregil ventured down every hour or so to check on Beka. When she woke at last, she was so ill that she ordered them to go away and leave her in peace.

  “That’s a good sign,” Seregil noted as they made their way up to the bow. “She’ll be well enough in a day or two.”

  Perched on a large coil of rope behind the bowsprit, they settled in to scan the starlit waters ahead for any sign of enemy lights or sails.

  “She’s lucky she wasn’t burned,” Alec said as another agonized cry floated up to them over the rush of the water.

  Seregil said nothing, his face lost in shadow. At last he pointed up to the dark moon, just visible over the western horizon. “At least the moon’s on our side tonight. Most ’faie call the dark moon Ebrahä Rabás, the Traitor’s Moon. Where we’re headed, she’s called Astha Nöliena.”

  “ ‘Lucky black pearl,’ ” Alec translated. “Why’s that?”

  Seregil turned to give him a humorless grin. “Smuggling’s a common sideline where I’m from, ever since the Edict closed Gedre as a legal port. Virésse is a long way off from landlocked Bôkthersa; much simpler to head up to Gedre for the ‘fishing.’ My uncle, Akaien í Solun, used to bring my sisters and me along with him sometimes. On nights like this we’d sail out in fishing boats with our goods hidden under the nets to meet Skalan trade ships.”

  “I thought you told me he is a swordsmith?”

  “He is, but as he used to say, ‘Bad laws make good rogues.’ ”

  “So you’re not the first nightrunner in your family after all.”

  Seregil smiled. “I suppose not, though smuggling’s practically an honorable trade here now. Gedre was a thriving trade port once, but when the Iia’sidra closed the borders she began to die. She’s been slowly withering ever since—along with Akhendi—the fai’thast on the other side of the mountains. For centuries the northern trade routes were their life’s blood. Klia’s mission represents a great hope for them.”

  And for you, talí, Alec thought, sending up a silent prayer to the Four for their mutual success.

  8

  GEDRE

  The next morning, Seregil watched the port town of Gedre appear out of the thin mists like a familiar dream just remembered. Her white domes shone in the bright morning light. Beyond them, brown hills patched with green rose like mounting waves to the feet of the jagged Ashek peaks—the Wall of Aurënen, Dragon Home. He was probably the only one aboard who noted the scattering of ruins above the town, like a line of dried foam left in the tide’s wake.

  A land breeze swept the scent of the place across the water: tender spring sweetgrass, cooking smoke, sun-warmed stone, and temple incense.

  Closing his eyes, he recalled other dawns, skimming into this harbor in a little skiff laden with foreign goods. He could almost feel his uncle’s big hand on his shoulder, smell the salt and smoke and sweat on the man’s skin. It had been Akaien í Solun who’d given him the praise he never seemed to merit in his own father’s house. “You’re a good bargainer, Seregil I never thought you’d talk that merchant up to such a price for my swords” or “Well steered, my boy. You’ve learned your stars since our last voyage.”

  His father was gone, but so was his claim on this land. Reaching up, he touched the lump Corruth’s ring made, hanging inside his somber grey surcoat. Only he and Alec knew it was there; the rest of the world saw only the flame and crescent emblem on a heavy silver chain on his breast, signifying his rank among Klia’s entourage. For now, it was best that this be all that they see, these strangers who were once his people.

  He knew the others were watching him and kept his face to shore, letting the wind cool the stinging behind his eyes as he watched the boats of Gedre put out from shore to welcome them.

  Alec’s heart beat faster as he watched the little vessels skimming across the waves under their colorful lateen sails to greet the Zyria and her remaining escort.

  He leaned over the rail, waving to the half-naked sailors. They wore only a sort of short kilt around their slim hips, regardless of age or gender. Skimming in past the larger ships’ prows, they laughed and waved, their long dark hair streaming in the breeze.

  Several of Beka’s riders let out appreciative whistles.

  “By the Light!” murmured Thero, eyes widening as he saluted a lithe, sun-browned girl. She gestured back, and a fragrant purple blossom appeared behind the young wizard’s left ear. Other boatmen followed her lead and more flowers materialized to adorn or shower the Skalan visitors.

  “Sort of makes you want to reconsider that wizard’s vow of celibacy, doesn’t it?” asked Alec, giving him a teasing nudge in the ribs.

  Thero grinned. “Well, it is strictly voluntary.”

  “It’s a better welcome than we’ve had anywhere for a long while,” said Beka, joining them. Someone had magicked a wreath of blue and white flowers around the brim of her burnished helmet, and more blossoms were tucked into her long red braid. She was still pale beneath her freckles, but no one had been able to convince her to lie low once land came in sight.

  Standing nearby, Klia was clearly as excited as any of them. Today she wore a gown and jewels worthy of her royal status. Freed from its usual military braid, her thick chestnut hair fell in waves about her shoulders. Some Aurënfaie admirer had decked her with a girdle and wreath of wild roses.

  Alec had put on his best, as well, and the neck of his cloak was fastened with a heavy silver and sapphire brooch. Klia had smiled when she caught sight of it; it had been a gift from her own hand, an unspoken gesture of gratitude for saving her life.

  Looking around, he saw with a sudden twinge of guilt that Seregil was standing alone. He held a single white bloom, absently twirling it by the stem between his long fingers as he watched the boats.

  Going to him, Alec stood close enough to touch shoulders and took Seregil’s free hand in his beneath the cover of their cloaks. Even after all their months of intimacy, he was still painfully shy about public gestures.

  “Don’t worry, talí,” Seregil whispered. “Gedre holds good memories for me. The khirnari is a friend of my family.”

  “I’ll have to learn who you are all over again,” Alec sighed, rubbing his thumb across the back of Seregil’s hand, loving the familiar play of bone and tendon beneath the skin. “Do you know the town well?”

  Seregil’s thin lips softened into a smile as he tucked the white flower behind his ear. “I used to.”

  The Zyria and the Courser glided into harbor like two storm-battered gulls and dropped anchor at two of the town’s remaining quays. Tumbled piles of stones stretching out into the water were all that remained of several others.


  Alec studied the crowd at the waterfront in awe. He’d never seen so many Aurënfaie in one place, and from a distance they all looked distressingly alike, even in their varying states of dress. Everyone seemed to have Seregil’s dark hair, light eyes, and fine features. They weren’t identical, of course, but the similarities threatened to blur into an indistinguishable whirl.

  Most wore a simple tunic and breeches and colorful red and yellow sen’gai. Seregil had spent a good deal of the voyage schooling the Skalans on the various combinations, but this was the first time he’d seen the actual headdress. They added a bright, exotic note to the scene.

  As he came nearer, however, differences began to emerge: He saw blond and ruddy hair scattered among the crowd, a man with a great wen on his cheek, a child missing a leg, a woman with a hunched shoulder. Still, they were all Aurënfaie, and beautiful in Alec’s eyes.

  Any of them could be blood kin to me, he thought, and in that moment felt the first true stirrings of understanding. In this foreign place he saw faces that resembled his own more than any he’d seen in Kerry.

  The Zyria docked beside the quay and the crowd fell back as the Skalan sailors ran out the plank for Klia. Following her with the others, Alec saw a bearded old man in Skalan robes awaiting them with several important-looking ’faie.

  “Lord Torsin?” he asked, pointing him out to Seregil. He’d met the envoy’s niece several times in Rhíminee; she was a regular in Lord Seregil’s circle. Torsin, however, he’d seen only at a distance at a few public assemblies.

  “Yes, that’s him,” said Seregil, shading his eyes. “He looks ill, though. I wonder if Klia knows?”

  Alec craned his neck for a closer look at the old man as their two groups converged on the quayside. Torsin’s skin was sallow, his eyes sunk deeply beneath his thick white brows. The skin of his face and neck hung in folds, as if he’d recently lost weight. Even so, the man still cut an imposing figure, austere and dignified. The close-cropped hair showing beneath his plain velvet hat was snowy white, his long face creased with solemn furrows that seemed to sag with the weight of his years. As he approached Klia, however, his stern expression gave way to a surprising smile that immediately disposed Alec in the man’s favor.