Traitor's Moon

by Lynn Flewelling

  It took Seregil a moment to recall that Lhial was dead, and by then the fellow was gone. A group of rhui’auros stood near the entrance, but the apparition was not among them. As he searched their faces, each one raised a hand in silent salute.

  Dance the dance? He closed his eyes a moment, summoning a fragment of something Lhial had tried to tell him the first time he’d visited the Nha’mahat. Looking at you, I see all your births, all your deaths, all the works the Lightbearer has prepared for you. But time is a dance of many steps and missteps. Those of us who see must sometimes act.

  I’m a blind man, dancing in the dark. He thought of the last dream he’d had: the orbs melded into a pattern, and blood coursing down from a succession of weapons. The memory brought with it the same powerful sense of conviction that had overtaken him that night. The power of it straightened his spine and tugged the corner of his mouth up into a little half-smile.

  Passing him, Lhaär ä Iriel saw and gave him a scathing glare.

  “Do not mock the mark you bear,” she warned.

  “You have my word, Khirnari,” he promised, pressing his left hand to his heart. “I take what the Lightbearer sends.”

  Adzriel and Mydri clung to Seregil as they followed Klia’s litter back to the guest house. Alec willingly gave place to them but stayed close, watching Seregil with growing concern.

  Seemingly dazed, the man huddled in his borrowed cloak as if it were winter. What little Alec could feel of his friend’s emotions was a whirl of confusion.

  At least it was better than pure despair.

  As soon as they were in the hall, safe from prying eyes, Klia summoned Seregil to her side and whispered to him. She was weeping now, too. Seregil knelt by the litter, bending to hear her. “It’s all right,” he told her.

  “How can you say that?” Mydri demanded. “You heard what Brythir said; there was hope that the exile would have been lifted eventually.”

  Seregil swayed to his feet and headed for the stairs. “Later, Mydri. I’m tired.”

  “Stay with him,” Thero murmured, but Alec was already on his way.

  They climbed slowly to their room, Alec following a few steps behind. He wanted to reach out and steady Seregil, but something held him back. Reaching their chamber, Seregil shed the last of his clothing and burrowed under the covers. He was asleep almost instantly.

  Alec stood beside the bed for a moment, listening to the soft, even breathing and wondering if it was exhaustion or despair he was witnessing. Whichever it was, sleep was probably as good a cure as any. Kicking off his boots, he stretched out beside Seregil, pulling him close through the blankets. Seregil muttered something and slept on.

  Alec opened his eyes, surprised to find the room nearly dark and the other half of the bed empty. He sat up in alarm, then heard a familiar chuckle from the shadows near the hearth. A long form uncurled itself from one of the armchairs there and lit a candle from the coals.

  “I didn’t have the heart to wake you,” Seregil said, coming to sit on the bed. He was dressed in the russet coat and breeches, and to Alec’s relief, he was smiling. It was a real smile, fond and reassuring. “You’ve taken this harder than I have, talí,” he said, ruffling Alec’s hair.

  “Is this what you had in mind when you decided to come back?” Alec asked, sitting up to search his friend’s face for some sign of madness. How could he be so calm?

  “Actually, I think things may have turned out better than I’d hoped, now that I’ve had a chance to consider. You heard what they said. I’m an outlander now.”

  “And that doesn’t upset you?”

  Seregil shrugged. “I haven’t really been Aurënfaie for a long time. The Iia’sidra and the rhui’auros—they made me ya’shel khi when they sent me away so young. It was just something I clung to all those years. Remember when I finally got around to telling you that you were half ’faie and you said you didn’t know who you were? Do you remember what I told you then?”

  “No.”

  “I told you that you were the same person you’d always been.”

  “And you’ve always been ya’shel khi?”

  “Maybe. I never quite fit here.”

  “Then you don’t mind not being able to come back?”

  “Ah, but don’t you see? I’m not exiled anymore. Brythir changed all that. I’m one of you now, and can go wherever you go.”

  “Then if they do open Gedre—?”

  “Exactly. And whenever they get around to lifting the Edict, which I have no doubt they will, I can go anywhere. I’m free, Alec. My name is my own to make and no one can call me Exile anymore.”

  Alec regarded him skeptically. “And you knew all this would happen, back there in the mountains?”

  Seregil’s smile tilted into a crooked grin. “Not a bit of it.”

  Seregil had a harder time swaying the others. Klia and Adzriel wept. Mydri retreated into sullen silence. Deep in his own heart, he still harbored doubts, but the words of the rhui’auros stayed with him: Dance the dance.

  Fortunately, he had little time to dwell on it. There was still the matter of the vote, this time with Korathan heading the negotiations. Seregil was barred from the Iia’sidra chamber, but Alec and Thero kept him apprised of the progress over the next two days, or rather the lack of it.

  “It’s as if nothing changed,” Alec groused as they sat down to a late supper. “The same arguments go round and round. You’re not missing a thing.”

  Sitting home with Klia through the rest of that week, Seregil grew increasingly unsettled. The initial hope the rhui’auros had given him was wearing thin. For all his trouble, his part in the workings of power was over for now.

  Or so he thought.

  On the fifth day of negotiations, a young boy arrived at the door asking for Seregil. The lad wore no sen’gai and gave no name, simply handed him a folded square of parchment and walked away.

  There was no one else around just then except the two Urgazhi standing guard on the steps below. As soon as he’d unfolded the packet, Seregil was glad of it. Inside he found the words “Cup of Aura tonight, alone, at moon’s zenith” written in an elegant, familiar hand. There was also a token: a small tassel of red-and-blue silk. Seregil examined it more closely, and smiled to himself when he found a few telltale darker threads among the red.

  Alec was less pleased when Seregil showed it to him that evening. “What does Ulan want with you?” he wondered suspiciously.

  “I don’t know, but I’m betting it’s in Klia’s best interests if I find out.”

  “I don’t like this ‘alone’ business.”

  Seregil chuckled. “I cleared the man’s name. He’s not going to murder me now. And not after putting this in my hands.”

  “Are you going to tell Klia?”

  “You can tell her after I’ve gone. Tell everyone.”

  It was a still night. The full moon’s reflection lay flat as pearl inlaid in jet on the face of the Vhadäsoori pool.

  Seregil entered the stone circle and walked slowly toward the Cup. He thought for a moment that he was the first to arrive; it gave one power to make another wait for you. Then he saw the moon’s reflection bob and wink out of sight for an instant as a dark figure glided across the water’s surface. Old fears stirred to life, but this was no necromancer’s demon.

  Ulan slid gracefully to shore and stepped up to meet him. His dark robes blended with the surrounding darkness, while his long, pale face and silver hair caught the moonlight like a floating temple mask.

  Seregil distrusted this man, but he had to admire his style. “I had a feeling we might speak again, Khirnari.”

  “As did I, Seregil of Rhíminee,” Ulan replied, linking arms with him. “Come, walk with me.”

  They strolled slowly along the water’s edge as if they were companions. It wasn’t hard for Seregil to imagine Torsin in his place. Had the old envoy been able to sense the power that rolled off this man like heat off a forge? Uncomfortable with such proximity, he freed
his arm and halted. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s late and I know you didn’t ask me here for the pleasure of my company.”

  “I might have,” Ulan countered. “You are a most interesting young man. I’m sure you have many fascinating stories to tell.”

  “Only with a harp in hand and gold before me. What do you want?”

  Ulan laughed. “Truly, you have taken on Tírfaie ways. That’s all right, though. I like the Tír and their impatience. It’s most invigorating. I shall adopt the fashion and be direct. Your people still wish to see Gedre open, do they not?”

  Ah, here it was at last. “Yes, and my guess is that you’re finding Korathan a less subtle negotiator than his sister.”

  “I expected as much as soon as I heard he was on his way to Gedre with ships of war,” the khirnari remarked blandly, gazing up at the moon.

  Seregil refused to rise to such obvious bait. Either Ulan knew of Korathan’s original orders or he was bluffing for information. With such an opponent, it was best to offer nothing in return.

  Ulan tilted his head toward Seregil again, seeming not to have noticed his reticence. “You are clever, and wise beyond your years. Wise enough to know that I have the power and the will to fight against the Skalan’s treaty until the Plenimaran fleet rides at anchor in Rhíminee harbor and your beautiful city is in flames. I’ve been watching this prince of yours. I don’t think he has the wit to grasp this, but you do, and you have his ear.”

  “I can’t tell him to give up. Gedre is essential.”

  “I have no doubt of that. That is why I am willing to abide by the agreement Torsin and I discussed before his unfortunate demise. Rhaish may be dead, and teth’sag satisfied, but I assure you, there are few among the Iia’sidra now who will spare Akhendi much pity. Her new khirnari, Sulat í Eral, is green wood yet, with little backing among the powerful. Your own clan is under a bit of a cloud as well, though I’m certain Adzriel ä Illia will do her best. Yet there are so many who use the actions of her onetime brother as a two-edged sword. Is not yours a cautionary tale for those who wish no contact with the Tir? Will not Lhaär ä Iriel point her tattooed nose in your direction and cry, ‘See what comes of mixing with outlanders?’ Then, of course, there is the matter of the new queen’s honor. That is of great concern to us all.”

  “I’ve been wondering, Khirnari—what did you pay the Plenimarans for that information?”

  Ulan raised an eyebrow. “That information came to me as payment. The Plenimarans are most anxious for the Strait of Bal to remain open to their ships and to their traders. The Skalans are not the only ones in need of supplies to wage this foolish war of yours.”

  Seregil’s heart sank, though this came as no real surprise. “Are you telling me that you’ve supported them all along? That the Skalans have no hope?”

  “No, my friend, I’m offering you a compromise and my support. Argue for a limited opening of Gedre—say, the duration of your war? I tell you as one grateful for what you did to clear my name that this is the best you can hope for. Or has your unfortunate alliance with the Akhendi blinded you to your original purpose? Klia did not come to challenge the Edict but to secure aid.”

  “Can we even hope for that?” Seregil asked.

  “You know what to do, my clever friend. You’re the master harpist who knows what strings to pluck. If you agree to my tune, you will have my support.”

  “Are there verses to your tune? Certain strings you want plucked?”

  Ulan’s ghostly face loomed closer, the eyes lost in shadow. “There is only one thing I want: Virésse remains an open port. Respect that, and whatever else you need I shall endeavor to provide.”

  “I don’t suppose you can do anything about Plenimaran warships blocking the Strait of Bal?” Seregil asked with a wry grin. The khirnari’s smile drove his own from his lips. “You can, can’t you?”

  “There’s a great deal the Virésse are capable of, if we choose. Skalan trade has never been adverse to us, and they tend to be more trustworthy. What do you say?”

  “I can’t speak for Klia or Korathan,” Seregil hedged.

  “No, but you can speak with them.”

  “And what should I say to the people of Akhendi and Gedre? That their days of prosperity are numbered?”

  “I have already spoken with Riagil and Sulat. They agree that half an apple is better than no apple at all. After all, even in Aurënen, things change with time and death. Who knows what may come of this little crack in the Edict, eh? Slow change is best for our people. It always has been.”

  “And if things stay the same long enough for you to keep your power?”

  “Then I shall die a contented man.”

  Seregil smiled. “I’m sure there are a great many people who wish for that, Khirnari. I’ll speak with the Skalans. There’s one last thing I’d like to know, though. Was it you who told the Plenimarans where to ambush us on the voyage over?”

  Ulan clucked his tongue. “Now you disappoint me. What use would a princess martyred by Plenimar be to me? Her death would only have united my opposition and created the most inconvenient sympathy for Skala’s cause. Besides, I’d have missed out on the delights of the game we’ve all shared here. That would’ve been a great loss, don’t you think?”

  “A game,” Seregil murmured. “Or a complicated dance.”

  “If you like. That’s what existence is all about for people like us, Seregil. What would we do if life were ever simple and easy?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Seregil replied, thinking again of Ilar and the complexities of that long-ago summer. “I was never given the chance to find out.”

  “You’re wondering if I was involved with the Chyptaulos traitors,” Ulan said, and Seregil would not have put it past the man to be able to read thoughts and to have the audacity to do it.

  “Yes,” he replied softly, wondering what he would do if Ulan confessed.

  The khirnari turned to look out over the pool. “That game needed no assistance from me, I assure you.”

  “But you knew about it, didn’t you? You could have prevented it.”

  Ulan arched an eyebrow at him. “In my place, would you?”

  Seregil could feel the man’s scrutiny, as if Ulan had the power to look directly into his soul and perceive the truth there. In that moment came the humbling realization that Ulan’s power was based on nothing so paltry as the reading of thoughts.

  “No,” he admitted, and the khirnari’s approving smile sent a shard of ice through his heart. “I’ll speak with Korathan.”

  As Seregil walked away he had the uncomfortable sensation that Ulan was watching him go, perhaps gloating, and the thought made his skin crawl. Stealing a glance back over his shoulder, however, he saw the old man gliding in slow, graceful circles across the smooth face of the pool.

  57

  AFTERMATH

  It took just two days for the Iia’sidra and Korathan to come to terms. That night, under a waning moon, the Eleven met at the Cup of Aura to cast their vote. The stone circle was ringed with onlookers. Standing among them, Seregil watched with mixed feelings as, one by one, each khirnari dropped their lot into the Cup. When it was finished Brythir sorted the black stones from the white and held them up in his fists. His cracked old voice did not carry well, but word passed from mouth to mouth through the crowd: “Eight white. Eight white! Gedre is open.”

  A cheer went up from the Skalans.

  But only for forty auspicious turnings of the moon, thought Seregil, watching as Ulan í Sathil congratulated Riagil. Virésse would remain open, as well.

  Slow change is best, Ulan had said. Three years for the ’faie was not slow, but within that small space of time, Skala’s war would be lost or won. If Skala won, then a precedent would be set, and they could try again for permanent trade.

  As it stood now, the Skalans were to be allowed a small trade colony at Gedre but no access yet to the interior. No Aurënfaie troops would be levied, but anyone foolish enough to want to
join with the Skalans was free to do so. “It’s a beginning, at least,” Alec yelled to him over the rising tide of voices. “We can finally go home!”

  Seregil gave him a wry smile. “Don’t pack up just yet.”

  In typical Aurënfaie fashion, it took nearly a month to finalize the details of the agreement. Spring gave way to blazing summer, and many of the ’faie who’d come to witness the negotiations went home, leaving the city more empty and haunted than ever.

  For days on end the sun burned down from a cloudless sky, turning the turf in the streets sere and brown, though hardy wild roses and summer flowers bloomed in profusion everywhere. Alec finally learned to appreciate the city’s forbidding architecture. No matter how hot the day was, the dark stone rooms remained cool. Everyone adopted the Aurënfaie fashion of loose, flowing tunics and trousers of Aurënen gauze.

  Alec once again had time on his hands and a great deal less to do. Beka and her riders however, found themselves in greater demand than ever. A steady stream of dispatches went up to Gedre, and Alec and Seregil sometimes went along with them. Nyal was there, helping Riagil oversee preparations for Klia’s departure.

  Since the vote, the Urgazhi were suddenly also popular with would-be adventurers, who talked excitedly of joining the Skalan cause.

  “If they’re as brave as they make out, we’ll be Urgazhi Troop before we leave here,” Sergeant Braknil observed one evening as they returned from a Silmai tavern.

  “We’ll need them, too,” Alec heard Beka mutter.

  “You’re anxious to get back, aren’t you?” he asked, dreading the prospect. It had been easy, all these months, to forget what awaited her when they went back.

  “I’m a soldier, and an officer. I’ve been gone too long,” she said softly, watching Braknil’s riders laughing together as they walked along ahead of them.

  A few nights before they were to leave, Alec and Seregil were summoned to Klia’s chamber. Korathan, Thero, and Beka were there already but none of the prince’s people.