Traitor's Moon

by Lynn Flewelling

  Others were not so careful to guard their expressions. Several people exchanged dark glances as Seregil drank; a few others smiled. Among the latter was the first truly ancient Aurënfaie Alec had seen. The old man was thin to the point of gauntness, his eyes deeply sunk beneath sagging lids, and he moved with the caution born of frailty.

  “That’s Brythir í Nien of Silmai,” Nyal told him. “He is four hundred and seventy if he’s a day, an uncommon age even for us.”

  Still wrestling with the ramifications of his own heritage, Alec found the prospect of such a life span vaguely alarming.

  Turning his attention to the nearest bystanders, he noted the sen’gai of several principal clans, as well as a scattering of minor ones. Though many wore tunics, others wore robes and long, flowing coats. The sen’gai were also diverse in style. Some were simple strips of loose-woven cloth; others were fashioned of silk and edged with small tassels or metal ornaments. Each clan had its own manner of wrapping them, as well, some simple and close to the head, others piled into elaborate shapes.

  He was most pleased to discover a small group wearing the modest dark green of Bôkthersa. One of them, a young man with an incongruous streak of white in his hair, suddenly looked his way, as if he’d sensed Alec’s gaze. He regarded Alec with friendly interest for a moment, then turned to whisper to an older couple. The man had a long, homely face. The woman was dark-eyed, with a thin, severe mouth that tilted into a warm smile as she looked Alec’s way. She had facial tattoos, as well, though nothing as elaborate as those of the Khatme; just two horizontal lines beneath each eye. She nodded a greeting. Alec returned it, then looked away, suddenly self-conscious. It seemed they’d already guessed who he was.

  “That woman who just greeted you is Seregil’s third sister,” Nyal murmured.

  “Mydri ä Illia?” asked Alec, surprised. This woman bore little resemblance to Adzriel or Seregil. “What do those marks on her face mean?”

  “She has the healer’s gift.”

  “What about the other people. So you know them?”

  “I don’t recognize the younger man, but I believe the elder is Adzriel’s new husband, Säaban í Irais.”

  “Husband?” Alec looked at the Bôkthersans again, then back at Nyal.

  Nyal arched an eyebrow at him in surprise. “You did not know of this?”

  “I don’t think Seregil knows,” said Alec. He hesitated a moment, then asked, “Are there any Chyptaulos here?”

  “Oh, no. Because of Ilar’s escape, theth’sag has never been settled between them and the Bôkthersans; the bad blood between the two clans is still very bitter. For the Chyptaulos to come here would also be seen as insulting Klia’s lineage.”

  “Lord Torsin said Seregil’s presence may have the same effect.”

  “Perhaps,” replied Nyal, “but Seregil has the more powerful allies.”

  When the ceremony of greeting was over, the khirnari dispersed, disappearing with their kin down one of the many streets that fanned out into the city.

  Adzriel accompanied Klia from the circle. As soon as they were outside the stones, however, she and Mydri embraced Seregil, clutching the back of his coat with both hands as if fearing he’d be spirited away. Seregil returned the embrace, his face hidden for a moment in their dark hair. The other Bôkthersans joined them, and for a moment he was lost from sight in the happy, chattering group. Säaban was introduced, and Alec watched as a look of amazement came over his friend’s face, followed at once by a grin of delight. It appeared that Seregil approved of the match.

  Klia caught Alec’s eye and grinned. Beka and Thero were trying not to be too obvious as they strained for their first glimpse of Seregil’s family.

  “To see you here again!” said Adzriel, holding her brother at arm’s length. “And you, too, Alec talí.” Extending a hand, she drew him close and kissed him soundly on both cheeks. “Welcome to Aurënen at last!

  “But I’m forgetting my duty,” she exclaimed, hastily wiping at her eyes. “Princess Klia, allow me to present the rest of the Bôkthersan delegation. My sister, Mydri ä Illia. My husband, Säaban í Irais. And this is Kheeta í Branín, a great friend of Seregil’s youth who has kindly offered to serve as your equerry in Sarikali.”

  This last was the young man who had stared so openly at Alec during the ceremony. A great friend, indeed, it seemed. Seregil grabbed the younger man in a rough hug, grinning like a fool.

  “Kheeta í Branín, is it?” he laughed. “I seem to remember getting into trouble with you a time or two.”

  “Two? You were the cause of half the beatings I ever received,” Kheeta chuckled, hugging Seregil again.

  Was this fellow one of the “youthful flirtations” Seregil had spoken of? Alec wondered.

  “You’d better close your mouth before something flies into it,” Beka whispered, poking him in the ribs.

  Ducking his head self-consciously, Alec prayed that his thoughts hadn’t been quite so obvious to anyone else.

  Releasing Seregil, Kheeta gave Klia a respectful bow. “Honored kinswoman, quarters have been prepared for you in Bôkthersa tupa. Whatever you need there, just ask me.”

  “Your house stands next to my own,” Adzriel told her. “Will you dine with us tonight?”

  “I’d like nothing better,” replied Klia. “I can’t tell you what a comfort it is to know that there is at least one khirnari of the Iia’sidra in whom I can place my complete trust.”

  “And here’s another!” Mydri said as Amali ä Yassara joined them, walking arm in arm with a white-garbed khirnari.

  By the Four! thought Alec. He’d known that Amali’s husband was older than she, but this man could have been her grandfather. His face was deeply lined around the eyes and mouth, and the scant hair showing beneath his white sen’gai was the color of iron. If his wife’s proud smile and glowing eyes were anything to go by, however, age was no barrier to affection.

  “Klia í Idrilain, this is my husband, Rhaish í Arlisandin, khirnari of Akhendi clan,” Amali said, positively beaming.

  Yet another round of introductions ensued, and Alec soon found himself clasping hands with the man.

  “Ah, the young Hâzadriëlfaie himself!” Rhaish exclaimed. “Surely it is a sign from the Lightbearer that your princess comes to us with such a companion!” Without releasing Alec’s hand, he raised his other to touch the dragon bite on Alec’s ear. “Yes, Aura has marked you for all to see.”

  “You’re embarrassing poor Alec, my love!” Amali said, patting her husband’s arm as if he were her grandfather after all.

  “I’m grateful to be here, whatever the reason,” Alec replied.

  The conversation mercifully turned to other things and Alec retreated back among the Urgazhi. Nyal was there, too, but had not come forward to greet the Akhendi. Instead, he watched from a distance, his face somber as he followed Amali with his eyes.

  “My wife speaks most affectionately of you, dear lady,” Rhaish was saying to Klia. “It is a great event, having Skalans on Aurënfaie soil after so long an absence. Pray Aura we may see more of your people here in the future.”

  “You and your family must feast with us tonight, Khirnari,” Adzriel offered. “Both in thanks for your kind escort of my kinswoman and her people, and because Klia can have no better ally than you.”

  “The hospitality of Bôkthersa is always an honor, my dear,” Rhaish replied. “We will leave you now to settle your guests in. Until tonight, my friends.”

  Leaving Seregil to his family, Alec rode beside Beka.

  “What do you think of it all so far?” he asked in Skalan.

  She shook her head. “I can still hardly believe we’re really here. I expect any minute for one of those dark-skinned ghosts of Seregil’s to pop into sight.”

  Rounding a corner, Alec glanced up and saw someone watching them, but it wasn’t Bash’wai spirits. Several white-clad khirnari stood on a balcony high above the street. He couldn’t see faces clearly at this angle, but he had
the uneasy feeling that they were not smiling.

  “The Skalan queen sends a child led by children!” Ruen í Uri of Datsia declared as he stood with Ulan í Sathil and Nazien í Hari, watching the Skalans ride past.

  Ulan í Sathil allowed himself the hint of a smile. Ruen had supported this parley with Skala; the introduction of a little doubt suited his purposes nicely.

  “You must not be deceived by their apparent youth,” he warned. “The celadon fly hatches, mates, and dies in a day, but in the narrow space of that same day, it breeds hundreds of its kind, and its sting can kill a horse. So it is with the short-lived Tír.”

  “Look at him!” Nazien í Hari muttered, glaring down at the hated Exile riding freely through the streets. “Queen’s kin or not, it’s an affront to bring my grandson’s murderer here. Can the Tír be such fools?”

  “It’s an affront to all Aurënen,” Ulan agreed, never letting on that he had voted in favor of Seregil’s temporary return.

  Rhaish í Arlisandin slipped an arm about his young wife’s waist and kissed her as they walked slowly toward Akhendi tupa.

  “Your journey has agreed with you, talía. Tell me your impressions of Klia and her people.”

  Amali toyed with the amber amulet lying against his chest. “The Skalan princess is intelligent, forthright, and honest. Torsin í Xandus you know. As for the others?” She sighed. “As you saw, poor Alec is a child playing at being a man. Ya’shel or not, he is so innocent, so open, that I fear for him. Thank Aura he is of no real importance. But the wizard—he’s a strange, deep fellow. We must not underestimate him, in spite of his youth. He will not show his true powers.”

  “And the Exile?”

  Amali frowned. “He’s not what I expected. Under that respectful manner lies a proud, angry heart. He’s grown too wise for his years among the Tír, and from what my men picked up among the Skalans, there’s more to him than meets the eye. It’s fortunate that his goals are the same as our own, but I don’t trust him. What does the Iia’sidra say of him? Will his presence here present an obstacle?”

  “It’s too soon to say.” Rhaish walked on a moment in silence, then asked blandly, “And what of young Nyal í Nhekai? Such a long ride must have given you opportunity to renew your acquaintance.”

  Amali colored. “We spoke, of course. It seems he’s quite taken with Klia’s red-haired captain.”

  “Is that jealousy, talía?” he teased.

  “How can you ask such a thing?”

  “Forgive me.” He pulled her closer. “Besotted with a Tírfaie, you say? How extraordinary! That could prove useful.”

  “Perhaps. I think our hope is well placed in Klia, if she can impress the Iia’sidra as she has me. She must!” Amali sighed, pressing a hand to the slight swell of her belly where their first child was growing. “By Aura, so much depends on her success. May the Lightbearer’s favor lie with us.”

  “Indeed,” he murmured, smiling sadly at the strong faith of youth. Too often it was the god’s will that men make their own favor in the world.

  11

  SETTLING IN

  Alec’s heart sank a little when Adzriel pointed out their guest house. Tall, narrow, and topped with some sort of small, open-sided structure, the house loomed ominously against the late-afternoon sky.

  Inside, he found little to alter his opinion. Though well appointed and staffed by smiling Bôkthersans, the place had a shadowed, oppressive feel—not at all like the airy comfort of Gedre.

  What in the world makes them think this place is beautiful? he wondered again, but kept his opinions to himself as Kheeta guided them through the house. The warren of dimly lit rooms were stacked at odd levels and connected by narrow corridors and galleries that seemed to all slant to some disconcerting degree. Interior rooms had no windows, while the outer ones opened onto broad balconies, many without the privacy of draperies or screens.

  “Your Bash’wai had an interesting concept of architecture,” Alec grumbled to Seregil, stumbling over an unexpected rise in a passageway.

  The interior walls were crafted of the same patterned stone as the outer ones. Accustomed to the rich murals and statuary of Skala, it struck Alec as odd that a people would leave no pictorial record of their daily life.

  A large reception hall took up much of the ground floor. Smaller rooms behind it were appointed for private use. At the back lay several bathing chambers and an enormous kitchen that overlooked a walled stable yard. This was flanked on the right by the stables, and to the left by a low stone building that would serve as a barracks for Beka’s turma. A back gate let out onto an alley between this house and Adzriel’s.

  Klia, Torsin, and Thero had rooms on the second floor. Alec and Seregil had a large room to themselves on the third. Cavernous despite the colorful Aurënfaie furnishings, its high ceiling was lost in shadow.

  Alec discovered a narrow staircase at the end of the hallway and followed it up to a flat roof and the octagonal stone pavilion that stood there.

  Arched openings on each of its eight walls afforded pleasant views of the valley, inside, smooth blocks of black stone served as benches and tables. Standing there alone, he could easily imagine the house’s original inhabitants sitting around him, enjoying the cool of the evening. For an instant he could almost hear the lost echo of voices and footsteps, the rise and fall of music played on unknown instruments.

  The scuff of leather against stone startled him and he jerked around to find Seregil grinning at him from the doorway.

  “Dreaming with your eyes open?” he asked, crossing to the window that overlooked Adzriel’s house.

  “I guess so. What’s this thing called?”

  “A colos.”

  “It feels haunted.”

  Seregil draped an arm around Alec’s shoulders. “And so it is, but there’s nothing to fear. Sarikali is a city dreaming, and sometimes she talks in her sleep. If you listen long enough, sometimes you can hear her.” Turning Alec slightly, he pointed across to a small balcony near the top of his sister’s house. “See that window up there, to the right? That was my room. I used to sit there for hours at a time, just listening.”

  Alec pictured the restless grey-eyed boy Seregil must have been, chin propped on one hand as he listened for alien music seeping from the night air. “Is that when you heard them?”

  Seregil’s arm tightened around his shoulders. “Yes,” he murmured, and for one brief moment his face looked as wistful as that lost child’s. Before Alec could do more than register the emotion, however, Seregil was his old bantering self again. “I came to tell you that the baths are prepared. Come down as soon as you’re ready.”

  And with that he was gone.

  Alec lingered a bit, listening, but heard only the familiar bustle of his fellow travelers settling in.

  Beka declined a room in the main house in favor of a small side room in the barracks.

  “I haven’t seen a decent fortification since we got here,” Mercalle grumbled, looking the place over.

  “Makes you wonder what happened to those Bash’wai folks,” Braknil observed. “Anyone could ride in and take the place.”

  “I’m no happier about it than you are, but it can’t be helped,” said Beka. “Get watch fires started, give the place a thorough inspection, and set guards at all entrances. We’ll rotate everyone between guard duty here, escort detail for Klia, and free time. That ought to keep them from getting bored too quickly.”

  “I’ll keep those off duty to standard city drill,” said Mercalle. “No less than three in a group, old hands watching out for the new ones, and keep them close to home for the first few days until we see how warm our welcome really is. Judging by some of the Aurënfaie I saw today, there’s likely to be a bit of chest thumping.”

  “Well said, Sergeant. Pass the word, all of you; if there is any trouble with the ’faie, Commander Klia doesn’t want steel drawn unless life is about to be lost. Is that clear?”

  “As spring rain, Captain,” Serge
ant Rhylin assured her. “It’s better politics to take a punch than to give one.”

  Beka sighed. “Let’s hope it never comes to that. We’ve got enough enemies back over the sea.”

  Entering the long main room of the barracks, she found Nyal stowing his modest pack next to one of the pallets.

  “You’re bunking in with us, then?” she asked, feeling another odd little flutter below her breastbone.

  “Shouldn’t I?” he asked, reaching uncertainly for his pack again.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Kallas and Steb exchange knowing grins. “We still need you, of course,” she replied tersely. “I’ll have to consider how to assign you, now that we’ll be splitting into details. Perhaps Lady Adzriel can find me another interpreter or two. We can’t expect you to be everywhere at once, can we?”

  “I shall do my best to be, nonetheless, Captain,” he replied with a wink. But his smile faltered as he added, “I think it might be best if I don’t attend the feast tonight, though. You and your people will be well looked after by the Bôkthersans.”

  “Why not?” asked Beka, surprised. “You’re living here in Adzriel’s tupa. I’m sure she’d welcome you in her house.”

  The Ra’basi hesitated. “May we speak privately?”

  Beka ushered him into her side room and closed the door. “What’s the problem?”

  “It is not the Bôkthersans who would not welcome me, Captain, but the Akhendi. More specifically, their khirnari, Rhaish í Arlisandin. You see, Amali ä Yassara and I were lovers for a time, before she married him.”

  The news sank in like a kick in the gut. What’s the matter with me? I barely know the man! Beka thought, struggling to remain dispassionate. Instead, she suddenly recalled with merciless clarity how Nyal had kept his distance from Amali during the journey from Gedre when he had been so friendly with everyone else, and how he had faded into the background when her husband appeared at the Vhadäsoori.