Alec’s eyes widened at the unexpected compliment. “Even Micum?”
Rieser actually managed a strained smile. “Even Micum. If there were more Tír like him …”
“And me? I’m half Tír. I was raised among them. There are more like us, whether you want to believe that or not.”
“But too many of the bad ones. Would you wish on any of my people what happened to you?”
“Of course not.”
“Then believe me when I tell you that things are best left as they are. So far we have held our valley. If the Tír move north again, though? I think this time it will be war. Our valley is too precious to us.”
Alec thought of the clan house at Bôkthersa, of the lake and the village and the people who lived there in peace and prosperity. “If it comes to that, you should fight. But then people will know for certain where you are.”
“We’ve grown in number since those early days. We could take your town of Wolde with ease.”
“I hope it never comes to that.”
“So do I.”
“But I’m still not going back with you.”
Rieser sighed and would say nothing more.
As soon as the sails were changed, Rhal had the sailors hoist all canvas and pounded on for Skala. Rhal either shared their concern over Rieser or was anxious to have him off his ship; it was bad luck for a sick man to die on board. In the meantime Rhal’s shore party made their preparations, grinding swords and cutlasses to a razor edge and checking the buckles of their cuirasses and chain. Chain mail shirts were found for Seregil, Alec, and Micum, as well. This time they were prepared to meet the Ebrados.
Nowen had stopped sending scouts into the hills behind the waterfall. Turmay had made it clear that it was an intrusion into Retha’noi land and that the number of people up there had increased, though he could or would not say how many, only that it was more than the number of Ebrados. All he would say was for them to stay out of the hills.
Owls hunted and hooted in the darkness close by. There were so many here, for some reason. One little one had come down and perched on Sebrahn’s shoulder the other night. It had even let him stroke its back and wings. When it flew away, he followed it with his eyes, then pointed after it and said “aldrakin,” whatever that meant. Some Tír word probably.
She looked around the fire that night, listening to the owls hunt and counting her people. Rane and Sona were on watch at the edge of the forest; the Retha’noi hadn’t circled around there—yet. With Thiren dead and Rieser gone, that left only eight of them: Taegil, Morai, Relian, Sorengil, Kalien, Allia, and Hâzadriën, who did not fight.
And there was Sebrahn. He’d used his song magic against them once; would he do the same to the Retha’noi? She doubted it, after the conversation she’d had with him that afternoon.
Kneeling before him, she’d taken his hands and he did not resist. He just stared up at her.
“Will you sing for us, if we need you?”
“Hurt?” he replied with no hint of expression.
“Hurt those who hurt us.”
“Baaaaad.”
“Yes, they are bad. Will you help us?”
“Help. No. Bad. Ahek no bad.”
Whatever that meant, it didn’t sound like a yes.
She scanned the heights, counting fires. There were six visible, and she could see dark figures crossing the firelight.
How many of you are there? How are we supposed to get back through the mountains when the time comes?
And then there was Turmay, who came and went between the two camps, and seemed troubled. But he still would not speak of what was going on. Nowen began to think of killing him in his sleep. She wished Rieser were here to make such a decision. The Ebrados did not take killing lightly.
Manab, an elder of Sky village, ran a hand down the length of his oo’lu. “I say we kill them all now.”
“No, we must wait until the ya’shel returns,” Naba replied. “And this book Turmay speaks of.”
“What do we care for books?” Orab, chieftain of the Blue Water Valley village, scoffed.
“They are powerful things, books. So Turmay says,” Naba told him. “This one tells how to make the abomination, and the ya’shel with two lives carries the blood of abomination in his veins. Turmay says to let the Retha’noi kill the ya’shel. He says that the tayan’gil can kill, but only a few. Let it kill them. Then we will strike.”
“Turmay does not want any killing,” the witch woman, Lhahana, reminded them. “They may be outsiders, but they do not wish to stay, any more than we want them to. Why spill blood on our soil unnecessarily? Do you want their ghosts to take this sacred place? Bad enough that the lowlanders use our road. They do not come that often and they do not stay. Ghosts will.”
Naba nodded. “Better to see what the Hâzad people will do. Turmay says they want the two lives dead, too. Let them take the wrath of his ghost.”
And so the talk went on, into the night.
CHAPTER 34
Mistrust
BY THE TIME the Green Lady made anchor at Beggar’s Bridge, the flesh around Rieser’s wound had turned dangerously dark and taken on a sickly sweet odor. Alec and Seregil sat with him while the drysian changed his dressings one last time before they went ashore.
Konthus shook his head. “You should be well healed by now, with all the broths and magic I’ve poured into you.”
“You did the best you could, and I am thankful,” Rieser replied, his cheeks pale except for the red fever patches. “At least I will live long enough to return to my people.”
Konthus made a blessing over him and took his leave.
“I hope you do,” murmured Seregil, wrinkling his nose at the foul odor of the wound.
“Just get me back to Hâzadriën.”
“Or Sebrahn,” said Alec.
“No, Hâzadriën!” Rieser gasped, and there was rare alarm in his voice.
“Why are you so scared of Sebrahn?”
Rieser stared up at the cabin ceiling for a moment before answering. “Because he’s not a true tayan’gil. Please, honor my request. It could be my last.”
“Suit yourself,” Alec said.
They reached Ero Harbor in the morning, and readied to leave. The longboats were packed, and Rhal and his men were armed and ready. They took their leave on deck, shaking hands with Nettles.
“I’ll expect the ship to be still afloat when I get back,” Rhal said with a grin as he clapped the mate on the shoulder. “And provisioned. It’s hunting season again.”
“And I’ll expect you to come back safe and sound, Captain.”
I hope so, too, thought Seregil as he joined Alec and Micum in the longboat and helped lift Rieser onto a pallet spread in the bottom. He wasn’t sure giving up Sebrahn would be enough to satisfy the Ebrados, and Rieser had refused to say one way or the other.
There was nothing Rieser could do about the sailors who were coming along. He hoped Turmay could handle that many people at once, if it came to a fight.
He held on in silent misery until they were rowed in, but collapsed as soon as they were ashore. He awoke in a clean bed in a sunny room with no idea how he’d gotten there. His shoulder burned like fire, and stank so bad it was making him even sicker.
“I think it’s your Hâzad blood,” said Seregil, the only other occupant of the room at the moment. He was sprawled in an armchair beside him, bare feet propped on the edge of the mattress.
“I think you may be right,” he croaked. “These Tírfaie healers aren’t much good to me. Are there any ’faie?” He was mortified to show such weakness in front of his companions, especially the Tír. It put him at their mercy, and that was something he’d never experienced before.
“They heal me well enough,” Seregil told him. “But I’m not of your blood. Do you have healers among your people, or do you just depend on your tayan’gils?”
“Both. What the healers can’t cure, the tayan’gils can.”
“That must make yo
u a very long-lived people.”
“No more than you, I expect. We just don’t die young as often.”
The Bôkthersan was quiet for a moment. “It’s a shame, how they have to be made. In their way, the tayan’gils are a real gift.”
“Our gift and our curse. It cut us off from your people long ago.” He paused. “My ancestors were Bôkthersans.” Why am I telling him at all? he wondered, even as he said it.
“So you said, soon after we met.”
Did I? My mind is wandering. It must be the fever talking. It was far better to tell himself that than admit that he’d come to admire Seregil and his friends—even Micum Cavish. It was hard not to, when you’d fought for your very lives together.
He was beginning to doubt he’d live long enough to die among his own people.
Alec left Seregil to tend Rieser at the inn they’d taken for the night and went to the Sea Horse with Micum to see about the horses they’d boarded there. The stable hand had kept his word, or the fee they’d paid had been high enough. Either way, Patch and the others were sound and glossier than they’d been when they left. Seregil had offered to buy Rhal’s men horses, but apart from their captain, none of them were horsemen.
Patch was glad to see Alec, and gave his belt a good nip before she nuzzled the apple from his pocket.
“There’s a small cart out in back,” Micum told him. “I don’t think Rieser will make it any other way—What are you frowning about?”
“When we first met him, he’d have killed you without a second thought. I never expected to see you two friends.”
“I wouldn’t call us friends, exactly. But he’s a brave man and a good fighter. I was glad to have him at my back when things got tight back at the cottage. What that will count for once we get him back to his people, though? I’m not going to assume too much.”
“Did Seregil tell you what I decided about Sebrahn?”
“No, but judging by that long face, you’ve decided to give him up.”
“Yes. So there’s just the matter of whether they’ll let me go. Rieser won’t give me a straight answer about that, but maybe it’s not completely up to him. It’s a good thing Rhal and the others are coming with us.”
Micum rubbed a hand over his short beard. “I’ve been wondering that myself. But I figure we’ll have better luck if we show up with their leader alive.”
Seregil had said the same.
The cart was cheaply got. Seregil put Star between the traces and saddled Cynril. The long rest aboard the Lady and the drysian’s good care had him nearly mended, and he was able to ride without much discomfort.
They made Rieser as comfortable as they could with their packs and bedrolls, but every bump and jolt took its toll. Micum drove the cart and Alec and Seregil rode beside it, watchful for trouble. With Rhal and his men strung out behind them on foot, they made a respectable-looking force.
Rieser lay very still, his sunken eyes closed most of the time. As the day wore on he spoke less and less, and the fever spots in his pale cheeks spread in angry patches.
They made camp that night beside a stream, but Rieser wouldn’t drink, not even the tinctures Konthus had sent with them to ease his pain. Seregil was sitting in the wagon with him late that night when the man woke with a start and grabbed his arm.
“Promise me—” he whispered through cracked lips.
“What?” asked Seregil, leaning down to hear.
“If I die—I had a dream. Don’t let your tayan’gil bring me back if I die.”
Seregil didn’t bother arguing with him. There was a good chance the man wouldn’t see another sunrise. “Why not?” he asked, curious.
“It’s not—not meant to be that way. It’s wrong.”
“But why wouldn’t you want to live if you could? Alec is no different than he was before.”
Rieser stared up at him with fever bright eyes and rasped, “Honor this request. That’s all I ask of you.”
Seregil touched the man’s hot hand. “You have my word, Rieser í Stellen.”
He wasn’t sure if Rieser heard him or not. Seregil sat with him for some time, pondering Rieser’s words. He’d never questioned whether it was right or wrong to bring Alec back from Bilairy’s gate. All he cared about was that Alec was still with him.
And let’s not wonder if a tayan’gil’s magic wears off, like Thero’s did on Sebrahn.
Was there something more than simple superstition behind Rieser’s request? He wondered if Rieser would tell him his dream. Of course, if the man died tonight, then he’d never know.
But Rieser did live through the night, though he remained unconscious as they set out for the Ebrados camp, rousing just often enough to take water to keep life in his body.
They approached the forest’s edge late that afternoon and spotted masked riders. Instead of coming to greet them, however, they turned and disappeared up the trail to the waterfall.
Micum reined Star to a halt. “I guess they can count at a distance.”
“Or they have a special welcome for us,” Seregil said with a frown.
“We should ride ahead and explain,” said Alec.
“Not you, Alec. Rhal, will you come with me?”
The captain drew his sword with a grin. “I’d be glad to.”
“You’d better have Rieser with you,” Micum advised.
“True. All right, you come with us. Alec, you and the rest stay well back from the trees for now. One of us will come back for you, or yell if we’re in trouble.”
Alec took an arrow from his quiver and set it to the string, resting the bow across the saddlebow. “We’ll be ready, but I’ll only wait an hour. It will be almost dark by then.”
“Good. See you soon!” Seregil took the lead ahead of the wagon, with Rhal in the rear.
“I don’t see any sign of archers,” Micum said in a low voice, scanning the forest on either side as they entered the trees.
“It’s the ones I don’t see that I worry about.”
No one challenged them until they reached the clearing at the waterfall.
Nowen and Sorengil came to meet them with swords drawn. Behind them Rane, Relian, Morai, and Allia had bows at the ready, and Turmay stood by the fire, oo’lu in hand. The other four were missing. Seregil wondered how many other bows were aimed in his direction. There was an air of tension here that seemed out of proportion with the situation.
“Who are those men you brought with you, and where is Captain Rieser?” Nowen demanded.
“Those men are our bodyguard,” Seregil replied. “We left them behind as a show of good faith, but I’d be happy to go and get them. As for Rieser, he’s here in the wagon and needs your healer badly.”
The archers he could see lowered their bows and followed Nowen to the side of the cart.
“Did they do this to you, Captain?” she asked, shocked.
“He’s beyond hearing you,” Seregil told her. “And if we had, we wouldn’t be bringing him back to you, would we?”
Hâzadriën and Sebrahn climbed into the cart while the youngster named Rane fetched a bowl of water and a knife.
Seregil and Rhal dismounted and watched with the others as Hâzadriën drew his knife and slit his finger. He made half a dozen yellow lotus flowers and arranged them in a ring on Rieser’s shoulder. Each one melted away in turn, and their sweet scent mixed with the rank odor of pus and proud flesh.
“By the Old Sailor!” Rhal exclaimed softly as he watched.
“But it’s not enough,” said Nowen.
Sebrahn reached for the knife, but before he could make his dark flowers, Seregil climbed in to stop him.
“No,” he said firmly, holding Sebrahn by the wrist.
“What’s this?” asked Nowen.
“Rieser told me he didn’t want any of Sebrahn’s healing. I gave my word. Let your tayan’gil go on.”
Nowen motioned for Hâzadriën to continue. At last the flowers began to take effect. The infection began to fade from the flesh, and the w
ound opened and oozed bloody yellow pus.
“You’re bringing those men here?” Nowen asked, still suspicious. “If you come in peace, then why do you need them?”
“They are my men,” Rhal told her. “We’re just here to ensure the safety of our friends. We mean you no harm.”
“Is Alec with them?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Go get your people and bring him with you.”
Rhal exchanged a quick, questioning look with Seregil.
“It’s time you went back.” The sun was nearly touching the tops of the peak now, and long shadows were stretching across the clearing. Rhal mounted Windrunner and galloped off down the track.
A few moments later Rieser came to with a sudden gasp and stared up at Sebrahn crouched beside him with a mix of awe and horror. “Nowen! Was I—Was I dead?”
“No, but as good as,” Seregil told him. “And don’t worry. It was your tayan’gil who healed you. How do you feel?”
Rieser flexed his shoulder. More pus streamed from the wound. Rane handed him a cloth and Rieser pressed it to the wound with a grimace of disgust. “Better than I was, except for this mess.”
Nowen felt his forehead. “The fever’s gone down a bit.”
Rieser smiled at Hâzadriën—the most genuine smile Seregil had ever seen on the man. “Thank you, old friend.”
Hâzadriën just looked at him and twitched his shoulders slightly. Seregil could see the outline of the wings press out against the back of the rhekaro’s tunic and wondered what kind of garment he normally wore.
“The small tayan’gil has great power,” Turmay replied, “but Seregil would not let the little one touch you. Why not, if it can heal, too?”
“I prefer the tayan’gil who is my friend,” Rieser told him. “Now let’s see if I can hold myself up.”
He climbed unsteadily from the back of the cart, then gripped it to stay on his feet.
“Good to have you back, Captain,” Nowen said, helping him over to a log seat by the fire. It was clear he was in no condition to fight.
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