Traitor's Moon

by Lynn Flewelling

  Thero covered his hand with his own for a moment. The silence between them was charged with sentiments neither knew quite how to express.

  Alec spared them the necessity. “We’ll see that your rooms at the Orëska House are aired out for your return,” he joked.

  Thero’s smile flashed in the darkness, then he was gone, barring the gate behind them.

  Mounting his horse, Seregil looked up at the black disk of the new moon, just visible among the blazing stars.

  Ebrahä rabás.

  Astha Nöliena.

  Nyal watched Beka and the others out of sight, then slipped away in the opposite direction, unaware of the rhui’auros who watched him.

  Though it seemed a foolish risk, Seregil stopped one last time at the Vhadäsoori. Across the dark span of water he could see a few people gathered around the Cup for some ceremony, but this side of the pool was deserted. Driven by some half-formed desire, he dismounted and went to the water’s edge. Kneeling, he drew his sword and plunged it into the sacred pool, hilt and all.

  “Aura Elustri, I accept your gift,” he whispered, too low for the others to hear.

  Reversing his grip on the hilt, he stood and offered the weapon to the moon, then let out a soft laugh.

  Alec joined him, scanning the surrounding shadows nervously. “What’s so funny?”

  “Look at this.” Seregil held the pommel up; the round, dark stone looked like a second new moon against the stars. “My uncle and his dreams.”

  “So that runs in the family, too, does it?”

  “Apparently.” Sheathing his sword, Seregil scooped up a handful of water and drank. He felt edgy, light, a little giddy, the way he used to, just before a job.

  It was time to go.

  They set off to the north, anxious to get away from the populated streets. The unrest was worse tonight. Angry voices rang out in all directions around them. Alec thought he caught a fleeting hint of the Bash’wai’s mysterious scent and remained vigilant, expecting pursuit at any moment.

  But most of the people they met paid them little mind, until they reached the edge of the Goliníl tupa, where a half dozen youths emerged from a side street to follow them.

  “Off to serve your foreign queen, Akhendi?” one of them shouted after Alec. The insult was followed by a hail of thrown rocks. One bounced off Beka’s helmet. Another struck Seregil in the middle of the back. The horses shied, but Seregil kept a slow, steady pace.

  “Aura bring you peace, brothers,” he said.

  “Peace! Peace!” came the jeering reply, together with more rocks. One grazed Beka’s cheek when she unwisely looked back. Alec reined in angrily, ready to retaliate, but she blocked him with her horse.

  “Come on; there’s no time for this!” she warned, kicking her horse into a gallop.

  The Goliníl soon gave up the chase, but the riders didn’t slow until they burst out onto the open plain. How far do we have to go before he’s breaking the law? Alec wondered as they slowed to a canter under the star-studded sky.

  Just then the Bash’wai scent closed in around him again, strong enough to take his breath away. Reeling in the saddle, he felt rather than saw a dark force surround him, blinding him and roaring in his ears. Then the stars were back, brighter than ever, but sliding sideways.

  He landed hard and gave thanks later that he hadn’t flung out his arm in time to break or dislocate it. As it was, his ribs took a nasty jar. He lay still for a moment, gasping and tingling strangely all over.

  Then Seregil was there, cursing fiercely under his breath as he ran his hands over Alec’s face and head. “I didn’t realize—I don’t feel any blood. Where did they hit you?”

  “Hit me?” Alec struggled up. “No, it was just the Bash’wai. That’s the strongest I’ve ever felt them.”

  Beka loomed over Seregil’s shoulder, drawn sword in hand. “What did they do to you? You just swooned over.”

  “Must have been their idea of saying good-bye,” Alec said, grimacing as Seregil helped him to his feet.

  “Or a warning,” Beka put in darkly, scanning the darkness around them.

  “No, this was different.” He shivered, recalling the sense of being engulfed.

  “You’re chilled through,” Seregil muttered, pressing a hand to Alec’s cheek.

  “I’m fine. Where’s my horse?”

  Beka handed him his reins. “We better go slowly for a few minutes. We don’t need you keeling over at a gallop.”

  Alec glanced back at the city as they set off again, half expecting to see mysterious shapes drifting after him. Sarikali looked deceptively peaceful from here, a dark, jumbled sprawl against the sky touched here and there by the yellow gleam of a watch fire.

  “Good-bye,” he whispered.

  The starlight was enough to see by as they crossed the bridge and rode into the shelter of the forest beyond, following the main road.

  As the night wore on Alec reached tentatively out across the talímenios bond, seeking answers to the questions there had been neither the time nor the privacy to ask earlier. Seregil glanced back at him and smiled, but his thoughts were wrapped in silence.

  Tall fir and oak massed darkly on either side of the road, leaning over it in places to form an oppressive tunnel. Bats chirped and swooped around them, chasing huge moths with wings like dusty handprints. An owl flew along beside Alec for a moment, some long-tailed prey dangling from its talons. Other creatures marked their passing with a golden flash of eyes or startled yip.

  They reined in briefly where a stream cut close to the road and watered the horses. Thirsty himself, Alec dismounted and walked a little way upstream to drink. He’d just bent down when a rank odor hit him. The horses smelled it, too, and blew nervously.

  “Get back!” Alec hissed to the others, knowing this was no Bash’wai.

  “What is it?” Beka asked behind him.

  The horses shied again, then fought the reins as an enormous bear burst from the alders and splashed across the stream toward Alec.

  “Don’t move,” he warned the others, mind already racing down well-known paths. It was a sow bear, thin from the winter’s cub bearing. If they’d somehow gotten between her and her young, then he’d reached his journey’s end for certain.

  The bear had stopped a few feet away, swinging her massive head from side to side as she watched him. Seregil and Beka were still mounted, able to break for it. With one eye on the bear, he gauged the distance to the nearest climbable tree.

  Too far.

  The bear let out a loud grunt and lumbered forward to sniff his face. Alec gagged on the hot, fetid breath, then felt himself knocked backwards. Sprawled on his back, he looked up at the bear silhouetted against the sky, its eyes glowing like molten gold.

  “You’d better not linger, little brother,” she told him. “Smiles conceal knives.”

  With a last deep grunt, the sow wheeled around and splashed away upstream. Alec lay where he’d fallen, too stunned to move.

  “By the Flame, I’ve never seen a bear act like that!” Beka exclaimed.

  “Did you hear it?” he asked faintly.

  “Not until you gave the warning,” she replied. “It came out of nowhere.”

  “No, did you hear what she said?” he asked, getting shakily to his feet.

  “She spoke to you?” Seregil asked excitedly. “By the Light, Alec, that was a khtir’bai. What did it say?”

  Alec bent down and placed his hand easily inside one clawed paw print. It had been no apparition. “Same thing the rhui’auros told you,” he replied in wonder. “ ‘Smiles conceal knives.’ ”

  “At least they’re consistent in their obscurity,” grumbled Beka.

  “I suspect we’ll find out what it means soon enough,” said Seregil.

  Fog seeped up from the ground as they rode, collecting beneath the dark boughs and dripping coldly from the ends of long evergreen needles. Spiderwebs were woven across narrow places in the trail; they were all soon coated in sticky wet stran
ds.

  Just after midnight they reached a sizable village next to a small lake.

  “The first change of horses for the dispatch riders is here, in a byre just beyond town,” Beka whispered. “Do we dare make a change here, or cut around?”

  Seregil slapped absently at a spider on his thigh. “We need the horses. Dressed as we are, and at this hour, we should be safe enough. I doubt there’s even a guard posted.”

  Just past the last small house they found a sagging lean-to, its cedar-shake roof thick with moss. Three sturdy horses were stabled inside. Dismounting, they shifted their saddles over, working by the light of Seregil’s lightstone.

  As they led the new mounts out, however, a sleepy young face appeared out of a pile of hay at the back of the byre. Beka grabbed quickly for Seregil’s light, waving the others outside. Holding the light high to keep her face in shadow below the brim of her helmet, she faced the boy. He was sitting up now, regarding her with groggy interest; not a guard, just someone left to tend the horses.

  He mumbled something, and she recognized the word for “messenger.”

  “Yes, sleep again,” Beka replied in her broken Aurënfaie. Her knowledge of the language had improved, but she still understood more than she could say back. “Ours we leave.”

  “Is that you, Vanos?” the boy asked, craning his head for a look at Alec.

  Alec whispered something back and quickly disappeared.

  The boy squinted back up at Beka as she turned to go. “I don’t know you.”

  Beka shrugged apologetically, as if she didn’t understand, then pocketed the light and led her horse out.

  The hay rustled behind her and she heard the boy mutter, “Cheap Skalan.”

  Just like home, Beka thought with amusement. Pulling a coin from her wallet, she flipped it in his direction.

  “Now we’ve been seen,” Alec muttered as they set off up the road again.

  “Couldn’t be helped,” Seregil said. “He mistook us for the usual riders, and we’ll be long gone before anyone comes looking for us.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Beka replied doubtfully.

  Thero prowled the halls after Seregil and the others left. Only Braknil and Rhylin shared his vigil; as far as the others knew, Beka was on duty with the princess. Klia remained unconscious, mercifully oblivious as Mydri checked her mutilated hand repeatedly through the night, debating whether or not to cut more away.

  From the beginning, their little delegation had rattled about the cavernous place like seeds in a dry gourd. Now, with so many missing or dead, the sense of emptiness was palpable. Thero strengthened the warding spells he’d laid about the place, then retreated to the colos. The fragrant night breeze across the back of his neck felt good as he took a lump of candle drippings from his pocket and set about warming it between his fingers. When it was soft, he divided it in two and took out his wand. Slipping off the two long strands of hair—one Seregil’s, one Alec’s—knotted around it, he kneaded each into one of the wax balls until it disappeared. Speaking the appropriate spells, he covered them with netted designs he made with the tip of his dagger. A red glow flared briefly at the center of each soft lump when he finished. Satisfied, he tucked them away for future use.

  It was well past midnight now; a few scattered pinpricks of firelight glimmered in the distance. Imagining groups of friends or lovers awake together in the glow of those lights, he was suddenly overcome by a wave of loneliness. The people he trusted most were already miles away. Those whose trust he needed, here in this strange land, he must lie to, breaking honor to serve his princess.

  Shaking off the dark thoughts, he settled himself more comfortably on the stone seat to meditate. Instead, his unruly imagination took him back to the mysterious vision he’d experienced during his first visit to the Nha’mahat. He absently smoothed the lap of his robe; the dragon bite had healed, but the marks left behind remained as an impressive reminder of that night’s half-realized enlightenments.

  Something landed on the back of his hand, startling him badly. Looking down, he saw that it was a little dragon no longer than his thumb. It clung to his knuckle with tickling claws and regarded him curiously.

  He sat very still, wondering if the creature would bite. Instead, it folded its delicate wings against its sides and went to sleep, its smooth belly radiating welcome heat against his skin.

  “Thank you,” he murmured to it. “I can use the company.”

  The dragon’s warmth spread up from his hand, warming him through. Smiling, he settled into a quiet meditation. When the inevitable uproar began, whatever form it took, he would need his wits about him.

  39

  PATHS DIVERGING

  Clouds had rolled down out of the mountains during the night, and dawn brightened slowly behind a fine veil of rain. Beka licked at a sweet drop that spattered against her cheek, grateful for a taste of fresh water.

  They’d ridden steadily all night, keeping to the main road to preserve the illusion of being routine couriers. Along the way, however, they had paused long enough to steal four extra horses. When the time came to part, not too long from now, she’d take the way-station horses with her to confuse the trail.

  It was a good plan—she’d carried out similar ruses often enough against the Plenimarans—but for the past hour or so Seregil had been quiet, and spent too much time staring off into the thick forest along the roadside for her liking. Alec was watching him, too, sensing trouble.

  Seregil reined in again so abruptly that her horse barreled into his.

  “Damn it, what is it now?” she asked, pulling her horse’s head around sharply as Seregil’s spirited sorrel lashed out with its back hooves.

  He said nothing, just gentled his mount and scanned an overgrown byway on their left. His expression was not encouraging.

  “We’ve missed the side road you’re looking for, haven’t we?” Alec asked, and Beka heard the undertone of worry in his voice. There was good reason for alarm. Seregil was their only guide here, and it had been over half a lifetime since he’d traveled these roads.

  Seregil shrugged. “Maybe. Or perhaps it’s been abandoned since I last saw it, given what Amali said about villages dying out here.” He glanced up at the brightening sky, and his tight-lipped frown deepened. “Come on, we’ve got to get off the main road soon. There are other ways to the trail.”

  The khirnari of Akhendi woke to the sound of someone lifting the latch of his chamber door. Heart pounding, he reached for the knife beneath his pillow and flung an arm out to protect Amali, only to find the other half of the bed empty.

  His steward, Glamiel, slipped in with a candle and padded softly to his bedside.

  “Where is my wife?” Rhaish demanded, clutching his aching chest.

  “In the garden, Khirnari. She rose a little while ago.”

  “Of course.” Sleep visited him so seldom these days and left him muddled when he woke. “What is it, then? It’s not dawn yet.”

  “It is, Khirnari. Amali gave orders that your rest not be disturbed, but there’s been strange news this morning.” Glamiel went to the tall windows and pulled back the hangings. Grey light filled the room, and the smell of rain. Looking out through the flowering boughs that framed the casement, Rhaish saw his wife sitting alone beneath an arbor. She’d wept last night, imploring him again to explain his silence and his anger. What could he have told her?

  Distracted, he missed the first part of Glamiel’s news and had to ask him to repeat it.

  “The Skalans sent out a dispatch rider last night,” the man told him.

  “What of it?”

  “As you say, Khirnari, no one thought anything of it, until word came in just now from the first way station that neither of the Akhendi escorts gave the usual signal, and that the Skalan rider was one the boy had never seen before. One of the escorts claimed to be Vanos í Namal, but he’s still at the Skalan barracks. I’ve spoken with him myself. So are all the others assigned to guide the Skalans. What sh
ould we do?”

  “How long ago did you get word of this?”

  “Just now, Khirnari. Should Brythir í Nien be informed of this?”

  “No. Not until we learn what our Skalan friends are up to.” After a moment’s consideration, he added, “Send for Seregil. I wish to speak with him at once.”

  Alone again, Rhaish sagged back against his pillows as an image rose to his mind’s eye: Seregil skillfully slitting the dead fish, extracting the ring with as much certainty as if he’d known it was there all along. And earlier, in the garden, he’d searched so intently, so efficiently. At the time it had been gratifying, astonishing. Now the memory filled him with unease.

  The cold kiss of a rain-laden breeze woke Thero. Outside the colos, a morning shower pattered down on the roof tiles and voices drifted up to him from the street below. Catching Seregil’s name, he sent a sighting spell that way and discovered Mirn and Steb speaking with an Akhendi man he didn’t recognize.

  “I haven’t seen Lord Seregil yet this morning,” Mirn was saying. “I’ll tell him Lord Rhaish is looking for him as soon as he comes down.”

  “It’s a matter of some urgency,” the Akhendi replied.

  Here we go, then, Thero thought. Hurrying down to Seregil’s abandoned room, he latched the door after him. None too soon, either, as it turned out. The latch lifted, then jiggled against the lock pin.

  “Seregil, you’re wanted downstairs.” It was Kheeta, damn the luck. A servant could be put off with a curt response. “Are you awake? Seregil? Alec?”

  Thero passed his hand quickly over the bed, willing a memory, any memory, from it. The bed let out a rhythmic creaking, accompanied by a throaty masculine moan. The wizard fell back a pace, annoyed. He’d expected snoring, but supposed he should have known better.

  The sounds had the desired effect, however. There was a meaningful silence on the far side of the door, then the tactful retreat of footsteps.

  Wasting no time, Thero took out the wax balls he’d prepared the night before, pinched them man-shaped, and placed them beneath the edge of the coverlet. Weaving shapes on the air with his wand, Thero hummed tonelessly under his breath, remembering faces, limbs, the shapes of hands and feet. The wax simulacra swelled and lengthened beneath the blankets. By the time he finished they had a fair likeness of Seregil and Alec but were still stiff and expressionless. Laying a finger on Seregil’s cold brow, Thero blew into his nostrils. Color suffused the pallid cheeks, and the features relaxed into something like sleep. He did the same with Alec’s double, then arranged the pair into a sleeping pose. Summoning more memories from shared nights on the road, he added the steady rise and fall of breath, with the lightest of snores from Alec. With any luck and a bit of delicacy on the part of servants, this might buy them a few more precious hours.