The White Road n-5

by Lynn Flewelling

  “Yes. They want to speak with you next.” Seregil paused. “I saw what happened with the children. I thought you could use a little company first.”

  “You thought right.” Alec held the cup in both hands, watching the reflections of clouds drift across the milky surface.

  “Don’t take it too hard, talí. People are protective of their children.”

  As I am of Sebrahn, he thought. But if he’s no child, then I’m no father.

  It made his head hurt. Taking another long sip, he asked, “So, what are the elders saying?”

  “So far I’ve done most of the talking. Some of them aren’t convinced there’s no risk, having him here.”

  Alec’s heart sank a little lower. He’d felt accepted by many of Seregil’s kin last night, and thought he might make a few friends here, too. He was going shooting with Kheeta and some others later that afternoon. “I thought we were going to be welcome here.”

  “We are, for now. But some rumors are spreading already.” He pointed at Sebrahn, who’d already worked his way out of one boot again. “We have to be more careful. The more ordinary we can make him seem, the easier it will be.”

  “Ordinary? He never will be that. Not ever. He’ll always be exactly as he is.”

  Seregil gave him an odd look.

  Alec set his cup in the snow and lashed the boot more securely onto Sebrahn’s foot. The rhekaro didn’t resist, but he began to pick at the laces as soon as Alec was done.

  “No!” Alec told him sternly. “Just sit there.” He retrieved his cup and downed the last of the milk, glad of the bite of the rassos burning his throat and belly. “What about Micum? He said he’d go home when we were somewhere safe.”

  Seregil took a swallow of his own drink and licked the lingering drops from his upper lip. “He hasn’t said yet.”

  “It will be snowing in Skala before long. He’d better make up his mind.”

  “About what?” Micum asked, coming down the slope to join them. “I’ve been looking all over for you, Alec.”

  “We were just talking about you,” Seregil told him, passing him the cup. “We’re here. We’re safe. You need to go home.”

  “Let me be the judge of that, eh? They’re waiting for you three inside. Adzriel sent me out to fetch you.”

  Seregil stood up and pulled Alec to his feet. “Don’t worry, talí. They just want to see him.”

  They shucked off their fleece coats in their bedchamber and Seregil led the way to a part of the house Alec hadn’t seen. He braced himself as they entered a sunny room, expecting a stern gathering glaring at him from behind a long table. Instead he found himself in a pretty room with warm pine wainscoting, pale green velvet furniture, and polished tea tables. Two ancient-looking women and two equally ancient-looking men were reclining at ease with Adzriel and Säaban, sipping tea and talking quietly together. They all looked up as Alec and Sebrahn came in, and some of the smiles faded.

  Adzriel stood and took Alec’s hand. “I present my brother’s talímenios, Alec í Amasa of Kerry, and of the Hâzadriëlfaie line. And Sebrahn, his rhekaro, foretold by prophecy at Sarikali.”

  “There’s no need to be so formal,” one of the women chided lightly. “Come here, Alec Two Lives. Don’t make an old woman get up, there’s a good boy.” She extended her hand, and after a moment’s hesitation Alec went to her and took it. “I am Zillina ä Sala, a great-aunt of the khirnari and her family. And this must be Sebrahn. May I touch him?”

  Sebrahn was clinging to the edge of Alec’s tunic, but he didn’t flinch as Zillina stroked his hair and cheek.

  “Well!” she said, sitting back and absently rubbing her hand. “I can see the dragon in him.”

  The other three did the same, with varying reactions. Trillius í Morin yanked his hand back as if he’d been stung; Ela ä Yhalina sniffed Sebrahn’s hair and smiled; Onir í Thalir just shrugged.

  “I see that he’s made of flowers,” Ela ä Yhalina told them. “Could you show us how it’s done?”

  Alec pricked Sebrahn’s finger over a goblet of water and made one of the dark lotus blossoms. The rhekaro scooped it out at once and brought it to Ela, placing it on her knee.

  It sank through the soft wool of her long tunic and trousers, and she let out a startled little cry as she flexed her leg. “By the Light, it’s true. It’s eased my rheumatism.”

  In the meantime Sebrahn had made a second and placed it on her other knee. She flexed both legs, then leaned forward and kissed Sebrahn on the top of his head. “Thank you, dragon child of flowers, for your lovely gift.” She turned to the others. “There is power in him, and great danger, but there’s a kindness there, as well. From what Seregil has told us, he even seeks out the ill to heal them.”

  “He does,” Alec assured her.

  “That may be so,” Trillius í Morin said doubtfully, “but all I felt was death. And it’s still blood magic.”

  “I felt nothing at all,” Onir í Thalir said, shaking his head.

  “Perhaps each feels what he or she needs to feel, or perhaps expects?” wondered Zillina ä Sala. “I see the dragon in his eyes, but I see the child in the dragon, too. I’ve never heard of such a being in any of the writings.”

  “Zillina is our greatest scholar,” Adzriel explained. “She’s studied at Sarikali and with the Khatme, as well.”

  “Do you know anything about the Hâzadriëlfaie?” Alec asked, then politely added, “Great-Aunt.”

  “Less than you, it would seem. The old story is that Hâzadriël had a vision and gathered only certain people from across the land to take away with her, never to be heard from again. As far as I know, they took their secret with them. But now, in this child of magic, I think I see their reason.” She took Alec’s hand in hers. Her skin was smooth and dry as vellum, but her eyes were warm. “What was done to create this child was evil, unnatural. This alchemy Seregil told us of sounds like some lesser type of necromancy. What happened to you, dear Alec Two Lives, was an abomination, and this rhekaro is an abomination—No, my dear, don’t give me such a scowl. You know in your heart that it is true. Such beings, the homunculi, are not natural. They are not meant to exist.”

  It was true, and Alec knew it better than any of them. And yet he could not condemn Sebrahn as an abomination. It would be like cursing himself.

  “Imagine if Hâzadriël’s followers had remained,” said Adzriel. “How many would have been taken and used to make these creatures for the benefit of their masters?”

  “Or to be sold!” said Onir. “If these creatures can kill with a song and grant life to a corpse, then they are more valuable than gold or horses.”

  Ela sighed as she rubbed her knees. “If only it stopped at healing. Perhaps then—But to bring back the dead?” She shuddered. “I mean you no offense, Alec Two Lives, but such a thing isn’t right, either. What was done to you goes against the flow of the world. What if some evil person had one of these creatures at his disposal, and would never die, but go on accruing power?”

  “Are you saying I shouldn’t be alive? That I’m an abomination?” Alec asked, feeling a cold lump forming in his belly.

  “No, not at all,” Ela replied, “but you have done something no one should do—come back through the gates of death.”

  Seregil put an arm around Alec’s shoulders and a hand on Sebrahn’s. “No one asked Sebrahn to do that to Alec. Neither of us had any notion that his power could be that strong! Sebrahn just did it.”

  “And it almost killed him, too,” said Alec. “If I hadn’t been alive to feed him, he would have just wasted away.”

  “Ah yes, the feeding. It eats only blood?” asked Onir í Thalir.

  “Only mine,” Alec explained.

  The old man considered this. “If that’s the case, then I don’t see how these alchemists could create herds of them to sell, since they cannot be parted from their progenitor. They must have been the property of a small elite.”

  “But there’s also the matter of Alec’s
mixed blood,” said Zillina. “He’s not pure Hâzadriëlfaie. Who is to say that this rhekaro is exactly like one produced from a pureblood?”

  “The alchemist did say that the two he made didn’t turn out as he expected, according to some book,” Alec explained. “They were supposed to have wings, and no voices. Sebrahn can’t fly, but he can speak.”

  “Can he?” said Onir í Thalir. “Let us hear.”

  Alec picked up a cup and held it out to the rhekaro. “What is this?”

  “Cuuuuup,” Sebrahn rasped, barely loud enough to hear.

  “And this?” Alec held out his dagger.

  “Kniiiiiiiife.”

  “Who am I?” asked Alec.

  “Ahek.”

  “And me?” asked Adzriel.

  “Asreel.”

  “You see?” she said to the others. “He speaks. He learns. He’s clearly very attached to Alec, and to Seregil, as well. And as far as we know, he is the only one of his kind. If he can be taught to use only his healing powers, then I say he will be an asset to this clan.”

  “That is a very large ‘if,’ honored Khirnari,” mused Trillius í Morin. “I know what I felt, and it was death. He has killed before, and he will kill again.”

  “And yet he heals, too—Uncle. Isn’t there balance in that?” asked Alec.

  “The greater questions are what he is, and if someone can make more of them. If so, they must be stopped!” Onir insisted. “I think that only you two can find these answers, and you must!”

  “You’re right, of course, Great-Uncle,” Seregil said. “We’re going to visit Tyrus í Triel.”

  Zillina nodded approvingly. “That is a wise decision. Go quickly, and may Aura the Lightbringer protect you both.”

  “Thank you, Great-Aunt.” Seregil bowed to her, then looked to Adzriel.

  Adzriel nodded. “That is all, brothers.”

  Alec bowed low, and Sebrahn copied him, drawing a few chuckles from the onlookers.

  Once outside, Alec let out a gasp of relief.

  Seregil threw an arm over Alec’s shoulders. “If they were going to throw us out, I’d have known it ahead of time. You did well.”

  Alec was relieved, and glad, too, but his earlier revelation about Sebrahn continued to haunt him. It had been so much easier, before. Shaking off the sadness that came with it, he asked, “Where is this dragon man?”

  “‘Dragon Friend,’ Alec. It’s a title of great honor. He’s a hermit, and lives up in the mountains.”

  “Then let’s go!”

  “It’s a day’s ride in good weather. We’ll go tomorrow, with an early start.”

  They started back to their room but were waylaid in the great hall by Kheeta and three young men Alec recognized from the feast. All were dressed for the outdoors and had bows and quivers decked with shattas. The tallest was carrying an axe.

  “What’s all this?” asked Seregil.

  “It’s time for our new cousin to prove his mettle,” Kheeta announced, clearly meaning Alec.

  “This fellow is Ethgil í Zoztrus,” Kheeta told him, and the tall one with the axe nodded, smiling. Kheeta then ruffled the hair of the youngest. “This little one is Korit í Arin.” That earned Kheeta a scowl.

  Seregil’s father had been named Korit. Alec wondered if this was another one of Seregil’s kin.

  “And I’m Stellin í Alia,” the third youth told him. He was clearly a ya’shel like Alec, but his eyes were dark brown and he had curly black hair, like the Zengati slavers who’d taken him and Seregil to Riga.

  “I’m glad to meet you all,” Alec replied, bowing a little.

  The others laughed at that.

  “Go fetch your bow before the light goes on us,” Kheeta ordered, clearly in charge of the younger ones, including Alec, it seemed.

  “I’d like to see this,” Seregil said, grinning.

  They retrieved their winter clothing, and their new companions led them through another unknown part of the house, gathering a small crowd of onlookers along the way.

  “Your reputation precedes you, cousin,” Kheeta told Alec with a wink.

  They left the house with their entourage and made their way out to a level stretch of land at the edge of the forest. There, Ethgil used his axe to cut an X into the bark of a large pine. “There. Let’s see if you’re as good as we’ve heard!”

  Alec just smiled. He’d had plenty of time during their journey here to accustom himself to the lemonwood bow. He stood to one side, waxing his bowstring, while Korit paced out thirty yards from the target and drew a line in the snow with his heel.

  Winking at Seregil, who stood with the little crowd with Sebrahn on his shoulders, Alec set his first arrow to the bowstring, then raised the bow as he pulled and let fly at the target. He’d been too cocky, and missed his mark, but still hit the tree. Frowning, he scooped up a small handful of snow and let it filter through his fingers, testing the direction of the breeze, then he nocked another arrow and took a bit more time. This one flew straight and hit the center of the X dead-on, earning him some respectful whistles and murmurs of “Well done!”

  “That’s one, but can he do it again?” Stellin challenged.

  “Let’s see,” said Alec.

  His next shaft struck the upper left arm of the X.

  “Oh, so close!” Korit exclaimed, as some of the others laughed.

  Alec ignored them all and sent another shaft into the upper right arm of the X—then the lower left, and lower right. His fifth shaft found the center, shaving a bit of fletching from the arrow that was already there.

  “How did you do that?” Stellin exclaimed.

  Seregil grinned, “Didn’t Kheeta tell you? He’s good.”

  Alec shrugged nonchalantly.

  “Stellin, you try!” Korit said, giving him a shove forward.

  “Yes, defend Bôkthersa’s honor!” Kheeta urged.

  Korit retrieved Alec’s arrows from the target and handed them back with a respectful nod.

  “Thanks, cousin.” Alec decided this wasn’t a bad way to introduce himself. After all, it was what he was best at.

  Dark Stellin took his place at the line and tried to match Alec’s pattern, but aside from the center mark, three were only close and one missed the tree entirely.

  “That wasn’t too bad,” said Alec as they waited for Korit to bring Stellin his arrows.

  “But not good enough,” the young man grumbled. “I bet you can’t do that again.”

  Alec’s blood was up now, and he gave him a cocky grin. “Let’s see.”

  And he did, duplicating his earlier feat with ease.

  After that, the challenges were inevitable. Kheeta had taken up a collection of shattas for Alec to pay his debts with when he had to, which turned out to be not all that often.

  They used the X for a while, then set up wands in the snow and did clout shooting, firing arcing shots to come down on a handkerchief on the ground.

  Alec’s father had taught him to shoot this way, and he quickly began rebuilding his lost collection, to the point that the others began to grumble a bit.

  “Are you a wizard?” asked tall Ethgil, who’d lost three good shattas to Alec. “Those arrows fly like magic!”

  “I grew up with a bow in my hand,” Alec told him, a little insulted. “If I didn’t shoot straight, I didn’t eat. Hunger was the only magic I needed.”

  Kheeta smoothed it over, and they all stayed friends and went back to shooting. Alec thought fleetingly of aiming off the mark on purpose, but knew it would hurt their pride if they figured it out.

  By the time the light failed and they headed back to the house with promises of hot tea in the kitchen, Alec felt almost at home. He liked his companions and they seemed to like him. Inwardly, though, he wondered what they thought when they looked at Sebrahn.

  CHAPTER 11

  Dragon’s Friend

  DAWN WAS just a hint of gold over the eastern peaks when Alec set off with Seregil and Micum through the bitter cold to take
Sebrahn to Tyrus Dragon Friend.

  With Seregil leading once again, they followed a road deep into the thick forest beyond the town, and up into the mountains. It had snowed in the night, and the towering firs were clad in white below a clear blue winter sky.

  It’s all so familiar! thought Alec again, breathing in the sweet, cold air as the way grew steeper.

  “Except for the dragons, this place is a lot like the forests around Kerry,” said Micum, echoing Alec’s thought.

  “And I always thought the forests around Kerry were a lot like here,” Seregil replied with a smile.

  “I can see how you would miss this place,” Micum said, looking around. “And your clan.”

  “It is good to be back.” He and Alec still hadn’t discussed how long they would stay.

  The forest was quiet, but not silent. Small birds sang among the branches, habas chattered as they scampered across the road with their bushy black tails curved over their backs, and hawks cried to one another as they circled against the sky. There were dragons here, too: dragonlings, and others as large as rabbits. Alec and the others gave those a wide berth and the creatures paid no attention to them, more intent on hunting for unlucky mice in their tunnels in the snow, and tiny dragonlings, too. Alec saw one of the larger ones gobble down two at once.

  “They eat their own,” Micum noted, surprised. They’d seen foxes and hawks, even ravens, devour a few, but never this.

  “So will a pig,” Seregil said. “I think that’s why little dragons are so common and huge ones are so rare. You need a lot of young to start with, so at least a few survive. If all the little ones grew up, there’d be nothing but dragons left. They’d have eaten the rest of us.”

  Sebrahn pointed to the dragons constantly and tried to squirm out of Alec’s arms, presumably to go to them.

  It was midafternoon when they turned aside onto a trail, or what seemed to be a trail. The blanket of snow was smooth between the trees, but Alec soon spotted the hatch marks cut into tree trunks along the way. They were old, the bark long since healed around them. The snow was deep for a man, but the horses fared well enough. More than once, they saw larger dragons circling far above them.