Traitor's Moon

by Lynn Flewelling

  “I’d bet a Skalan sester he can shoot that far,” Seregil told him.

  “An Akhendi mark says he can’t,” Riagil countered, producing a thick, square coin seemingly out of thin air.

  Seregil gave Alec a mischievous wink. “Looks like it’s up to you to defend our honor.”

  “Thanks,” Alec muttered. Shading his eyes, he looked up at the sheep again. They were still on the move, at least fifty yards away now, and the breeze was uncertain. Unfortunately, a number of people had heard the challenge and were watching him expectantly. With an inward sigh, he went back to his horse and pulled an arrow from the quiver slung behind his saddle.

  Ignoring his audience, he took aim in the general direction of the hindmost sheep and released purposefully high. The shaft glanced off the rocks just over the large ram’s head. The creature let out a bleat and sprang away.

  “By the Light!” someone gasped.

  “You’ll make a living for yourself with that bow in Aurënen,” Nyal laughed. “Archery’s a betting sport here.”

  Objects of some sort were changing hands around the circle of onlookers.

  Several men showed Alec their quivers, where masses of small ornaments strung on thongs hung from bosses set into the sides. Some were carved from stone or wood, others cast in metal or fashioned from animal teeth and bright feathers.

  “These are shatta, betting trophies, used only by archers,” Nyal explained, plucking one made of bear claws from his own considerable collection and tying it onto Alec’s quiver strap. “There, that shot of yours should earn you something. This marks you as a challenger.”

  “You may not be able to lift that quiver of yours before we head home again, Sir Alec,” said Nikides. “If they let us bet for drinks, I’ll be laying my luck on you every time.”

  Alec accepted the praise with a shy grin. His shooting was one of the few things he’d been proud of growing up, though more for the success it had brought him as a hunter.

  As he returned to the spring to drink, he felt glad of those skills again. In patches of soft ground around the spring he saw the marks of panther and wolves, together with several larger tracks he didn’t recognize.

  “Just as well we missed him,” Seregil remarked.

  Looking where his friend pointed, Alec saw a splayed, three-toed print twice the length of his foot.

  “A dragon?”

  “Yes, and of the dangerous size.”

  Alec placed his hand in the track, noting the deep imprint of talons at the end of each toe. “What happens if we meet one of these while we’re blindfolded?” he asked, frowning.

  Seregil’s impassive shrug was less than reassuring.

  The trail grew narrower still from here, barely wide enough in places for a horse to pass. Alec was pondering what it must be like to venture through here in the winter when something landed on the turned-back hood of his cloak. He reached back, expecting to find a clump of dirt. Instead, something slithered elusively beneath his fingertips.

  “There’s something on me,” he hissed, praying to Dalna that whatever it was wasn’t poisonous.

  “Hold still,” Seregil cautioned, dismounting.

  Easier said than done, Alec thought as whatever it was scrambled up through his hair. The tickle of tiny claws assured him that it wasn’t a serpent. He kicked a foot free of the stirrup, and Seregil stepped in and pulled himself up for a closer view.

  “By the Light!” he called out in Aurënfaie, clearly delighted by what he’d found. “First dragon!”

  The cry was taken up by the Aurënfaie, and those that could crowded around to see.

  “A dragon?” Alec turned his head to see.

  “A fingerling. Careful now.” Seregil gently disentangled it and placed it in Alec’s cupped hands.

  The little creature looked like a manuscript illustration come to life. Perfectly proportioned in every respect, it was scarcely five inches long, with batlike wings so delicate he could see the shadow of his fingers through the stretched membranes. Its golden eyes had slitted pupils. Spiky whiskers fringed its narrow jaws. The only disappointment was the color; from snout to tail, it was mottled brown like a toad.

  “You’re the luckbringer today,” Riagil told him, emerging from the crowd of soldiers with Amali, Klia, and Thero.

  “It is a custom we have, going over the pass,” Amali told him, smiling. “The first traveler to be touched so by a dragon is the luckbringer, and anyone who touches you before it flies away shares the luck.”

  Alec felt a bit self-conscious as the others crowded around to touch his leg. The fingerling seemed in no hurry to go. Wrapping its whip-end of tail around his thumb, it poked its bristly head under the edge of his sleeve as if investigating a potential cave. Its soft belly was fever-hot against his palm.

  Klia reached up to stroke the dragon’s back. “I thought they’d be more colorful.”

  “The laws don’t extend to hawks and foxes,” said Seregil. “These little ones take on the color of their surroundings to hide. Even so, only a few survive, which is probably a good thing. Otherwise we’d be hip deep in dragons.”

  Alec’s little passenger rode with him for over an hour, exploring the folds of his cloak, burrowing through his long hair, and resisting all efforts to be passed to anyone else. Suddenly, however, it scrambled around to his left shoulder and bit him on the earlobe.

  Alec let out a yelp of pain and it fluttered away, clutching a few strands of his hair in its claws.

  Their Aurënfaie escorts found this highly amusing.

  “It’s off to make itself a golden nest,” Vanos declared.

  “A kiss to welcome you home, Kalosi!” said another, thumping him on the shoulder.

  “It stings like snakebite!” Touching his ear, Alec felt the first signs of swelling and swore.

  Vanos produced a glazed vial from a pouch slung from his belt and tapped out a few drops of viscous blue liquid.

  “Don’t worry, the venom’s not much worse than a hornet’s at that size,” he said, holding out his finger. “This is lissik. It takes away the pain and heals the wound faster.”

  “It’s also pigmented to permanently color the teeth marks, like a tattoo,” Seregil said behind him. “Such marks are highly prized.”

  Alec hesitated, thinking of the ramifications of such an unusual distinguishing mark for someone in his profession.

  “Should I?” he asked Seregil in Skalan.

  “It would be an insult not to.”

  Alec gave a slight nod.

  “There you are,” Vanos said, dabbing lissik on the wound. It was oily and smelled bitter, but it cooled the burning instantly. “That’ll be a real beauty mark once it heals.”

  “Not that he needs one,” said another ’faie, giving Alec a friendly wink as he showed him a similar mark at the base of his right thumb.

  “Your earlobe looks like a grape,” Thero observed. “Odd that the creature took such a dislike to you.”

  “Actually, a fingerling’s bite is considered a sign of Aura’s favor,” said Nyal. “If that little one survives, it will know Alec and all his descendants.”

  Other riders showed off their own marks of honor on hands and necks. One named Syli laughed as he proudly displayed three on each hand. “Either I am greatly loved by Aura, or I taste good.”

  “Known to a dragon, eh?” Beka let out a whistle of admiration. “That could be useful.”

  “To the dragon, perhaps,” Seregil remarked.

  They made camp at a way station that stood at the meeting of two trails. It was unlike any structure Alec had seen in Aurënen so far. The squat, round tower was at least eighty feet in diameter and had been built into the uneven rocks that rose around it like a mud swallow’s nest. It was topped with a conical roof of thick, dirty felt and entered by a sturdy wooden ramp leading up to a door halfway up the tower. A few dark-eyed children watched their approach from the top of a low stone wall that fronted it. Others could be seen behind them, laughing as they c
hased black goats and each other up the tower ramp. A woman appeared at the door, then came out accompanied by two men.

  “Dravnians?” asked Thero.

  “They are, aren’t they?” said Alec, who’d recognized them from Seregil’s stories. Shorter than the ’faie, and more heavily built, they had black, almond-shaped eyes, bowlegs, and coarse black hair slicked back with grease. Their sheepskin clothing was richly decorated with colorful beading, animal teeth of various types, and painted designs. “I didn’t expect to see them this far east.”

  “They wander the whole Ashek range,” Seregil told him. “These mountains are their home; no one knows more about how to survive the snows. This traveler’s lodge has stood here for centuries and probably will forever, with the occasional new roof. The ’faie share the use of it with the local tribes.”

  Though Alec couldn’t understand their language, there was no mistaking the welcoming smiles the Dravnians gave Riagil and the others. Tethering their horses in the stone enclosure, they all trooped up the ramp.

  The upper floor was a single large room with a smoke hole in the center of the floor. Stone stairs followed the curve of the wall down to the lower room, which doubled as hearth room and byre. More Dravnians were at work down there, mucking out from the winter. One of the younger woman waved up at them, flashing a shy smile.

  “That custom you told us about, of having to sleep with their daughters—?” Thero asked nervously, wrinkling his nose at the pungent odors wafting up from below. Seregil grinned. “Only at a home hearth. It’s not expected here, though I’m sure they’d be flattered if you offered.”

  The girl waved again, and Thero retreated quickly, his wizard’s celibacy evidently safe for the moment.

  The evening passed in relative comfort, though the frequent howls that drifted to them on the night wind made Alec and the others doubly grateful for the tower’s thick walls and stout door. The Dravnians, he learned, called this time of year the end of the hungry season.

  Though stark by Aurënfaie standards, the tower was warm and the company good. They traded some of their bread for Dravnian cheese and ended up making a communal meal of it. The evening was passed trading tales and news, with Nyal and Seregil interpreting for the Skalans.

  After several hours, the Ra’basi excused himself and went outside for a breath of air. A few moments later Seregil did the same, giving Alec the surreptitious signal to follow in a moment. Assuming he was offering a brief moment of privacy, Alec counted to twenty, then slipped out after him.

  But Seregil had something else in mind. Just outside the door he touched Alec’s arm and motioned toward two dark figures barely visible up the trail. “Nyal and Amali,” he whispered. “She went out a few minutes ago and he followed.”

  Alec watched the pair disappear around a bend in the trail. “Should we follow them?”

  “Too risky; no cover and these rocks echo every sound. We’ll just sit here and see how long they’re gone.”

  Walking down the ramp, they sat down on a large flat rock by the enclosure wall. Above them, sudden laughter rang out from the doorway.

  They must have found themselves another interpreter, thought Alec. A moment later he heard Urien strike up a soldier’s ballad.

  Staring out into the darkness, Alec tried without success to gauge his companion’s mood. The further they ventured into Aurënen, the more distant Seregil became, as if he were listening ever more closely to some inner voice only he could hear.

  “How come you never told me about getting captured by the Hâzadriëlfaie?” he asked at last.

  Seregil laughed softly. “Because it never happened, at least not to me. I heard the story from another exile. The bit about collecting the legends was true, and I was homesick enough to consider making the journey, but the man to whom the tale belongs talked me out of it, just as I did you once, if you recall.”

  “So you do think Nyal’s a spy?”

  “He’s a listener. And I don’t like how quickly he’s cozied up to Beka. If you were a spy, what better place to be than at the side of Klia’s protector?”

  “So you gave him a false story?”

  “And now we wait to see if it resurfaces, and where.”

  Alec sighed. “Will you say anything to Klia?”

  Seregil shrugged. “There’s nothing to report yet. I’m more worried about Beka just now. If he does turn out to be a spy, it will reflect badly on her.”

  “All right then, but I still think you’re wrong.” Hope you’re wrong, he amended silently.

  They’d kept watch for perhaps half an hour when they heard the sound of returning footsteps in the darkness. Moving into the deeper shadow below the ramp, they watched as Nyal reappeared supporting Amali with one arm. Their heads were close together in conversation, and neither seemed to notice Alec and Seregil in the shadows.

  “Then you’ll say nothing?” Alec overheard her whisper to Nyal.

  “Of course not, but I must question the wisdom of your silence,” he replied, sounding worried.

  “It is my wish.” Releasing his arm, she walked up the ramp.

  Nyal watched her go, then wandered back up the trail alone, apparently lost in thought.

  Seregil’s hand closed over Alec’s. “Well, well,” he whispered. “Secrets in the dark. How interesting.”

  “We still have nothing. The Akhendi support Klia.”

  Seregil frowned. “And the Ra’basi may not.”

  “I still say you’re jumping at shadows.”

  “What? Alec, wait!” Seregil hissed.

  But Alec was already gone, ambling noisily up the trail. Stones crunched and tinkled under his boots. He hummed aloud for good measure.

  He found the interpreter sitting on a rock beside the trail, looking up at the stars.

  “Who’s that?” Alec called out, as if startled to find someone there.

  “Alec?” Nyal jumped to his feet.

  Guiltily? Alec wondered, unable to make out the man’s expression at this distance.

  “Oh, there you are!” Alec said lightly, striding up to him. “Did the Dravnians wear you out already? There are stories going untold for lack of you.”

  Nyal chuckled, his voice deep and rich in the darkness. “They’ll go on all night whether we understand them or not. Seregil’s throat must be raw by now, left alone with them so long. What are you doing out here all alone?”

  “Had to tap the hogshead,” Alec said, patting the lacings of his breeches.

  Nyal looked blank for a moment, then broke into a broad grin. “Piss, you mean?”

  “Yes.” Alec turned aside to make good his claim.

  Nyal chuckled behind him. “Even when you speak my own tongue, you Skalans are not always easy to understand. Especially the women.” He paused. “Beka Cavish is your friend, isn’t she?”

  “A good friend,” Alec replied.

  “Has she a man of her own?”

  Still facing away, Alec heard the hope in the man’s voice and felt an irrational twinge of jealousy.

  His own fleeting attraction to Beka in the early days of their friendship had been no match for her determination to follow a military career. No doubt the difference in their ages had played a larger part in her mind than his, too. Nyal, on the other hand, was man-grown and handsome besides. There was no faulting Beka’s choice on that account.

  “No, no man of her own.” Tugging his breeches closed, Alec turned to find Nyal still smiling at him. The man was either a consummate actor or more guileless than Seregil cared to believe. “Don’t tell me you fancy her?”

  Nyal spread his hands, and Alec suspected he was blushing. “I admire her very much.”

  Alec hesitated, knowing Seregil would disapprove of what he was about to do. Stepping closer to the ’faie, he looked him in the eye and said gravely, “Beka admires you, too. You asked if I’m her friend. I am, and her almost-brother as well. You understand? Good, then as her almost-brother, I’ll tell you that I like you, too, though I don�
�t know you well. Are you a man she can trust?”

  The Ra’basi squared his shoulders and made him a respectful bow. “I am a man of honor, Alec í Amasa. I would bring no harm to your almost-sister.”

  Alec stifled an undignified chortle and clapped Nyal on the shoulder. “Then why don’t you go and keep her company?”

  Grinning, Nyal strode off toward the tower. Alec hoped the man’s celebrated hearing wasn’t acute enough to hear his own strangled snort of laughter. Another of a more nervous variety escaped as he stopped to think what his fate would likely be if Beka ever learned that he’d appointed himself the defender of her honor. He hoped the talkative Ra’basi had enough discretion to keep his mouth shut about their little chat. He’d just started back when Seregil emerged from the shadows.

  “I thought you said it was too risky to sneak up on people out here?” Alec gasped, startled by his sudden appearance.

  “Not with all the noise you were making,” Seregil retorted curtly.

  “Then you heard?”

  “Yes, and you’re either brilliant or a damn fool!”

  “Let’s hope it’s the former. I don’t know what he was up to with Amali, but if he’s not really love-struck for Beka, then I am a fool.”

  “Ah!” Seregil held up an accusing finger. “But he didn’t happen to mention the good lady Amali, now did he?”

  “He wouldn’t, would he? We heard him promise to keep silent about something.”

  “Clearly a man of honor, your Ra’basi friend,” Seregil observed dryly. “To his credit, I think you’re right, at least about his feelings for Beka. Let’s go keep an eye on him.”

  It was clearly Beka who occupied the interpreter’s thoughts that night and the following morning, although she continued to greet his attentions with apparent bemusement.

  The second day was much the same as the first. The air grew colder, and when the breeze shifted, Alec felt the chill kiss of glacial air on the back of his neck. Just after midday, the pitch of the trail begin to drop. Riding blind, Alec found it hard not to doze off. His chin was slowly sinking on his breast when a sudden warm gust of damp, acrid mist brought him awake.