Shadows Return

by Lynn Flewelling

“Luck in the shadows to you,” Micum murmured.

  Seregil managed a smile though his heart suddenly felt heavy. “And in the Light.”

  As they pottered about their room, deciding what to take and what to leave, Alec glanced up at his black bow on its peg on the wall and his battered old quiver beside it. The latter was still decorated with dozens of small, oddly carved charms hanging from long rawhide laces and made of everything from wood to chalcedony. They were shatta—betting prizes he’d won from Aurënfaie archers during their last visit.

  “Planning to add to your collection?” Seregil asked.

  Alec took down the bow and ran his hands over the dark limbs. “I doubt I’ll have much time for that, this trip.”

  “True. Still, you might get in a challenge or two, at Bôkthersa.” He gave Alec a wink. “Besides, I always feel safer when you have that along.”

  They rose before dawn and came down by candlelight to find Micum dressed and waiting.

  “Having second thoughts about coming with us?” Seregil asked.

  “Perhaps just a little.” Micum chuckled, but there was no missing the longing in his eyes. “I’ll ride with you to the quay. I figured you’d need someone to take your horses back for you.”

  “It won’t be a very exciting jaunt, compared to what we’re used to,” Alec said.

  “Well, there’s something to be said for peaceful journeys, too.”

  The city slept around them as they rode through the Sea Market, and down the walled Harbor Way to the docks of the Lower City.

  The first glow of dawn was just visible above the city now, but the western sky was still rich with stars. The tide was high, waves lapping at the stone pilings. A land breeze ruffled the calm water of the inner harbor.

  People were stirring here: fishermen returning with their lantern boats, fishmongers opening their markets, and wastrels of all descriptions staggering out of taverns and brothels.

  The Lark’s crew was busy, as well. She was a solid, well-trimmed carrack, with a complement of archers aboard, as well as the crew and their escort. The captain met them on the quay, impatient not to lose the turning tide.

  “I can’t promise you a smooth crossing this time of year, my lords,” he warned.

  Seregil laughed. “Get us across alive and I’ll be satisfied.”

  Micum clasped hands with them as their meager baggage was carried aboard. “Well, I’ll see you in a month or two, then?”

  “We’ll come out to Watermead for a hunt,” Seregil promised, reluctantly releasing his friend’s hand.

  Micum remained there, a lone, still figure leaning on his stick as the ship got under weigh and headed out. Seregil stood at the rail, watching to see if he’d leave, but they were out of sight before he had his answer.

  Alec joined him and rested his elbows on the rail as they passed through the stone moles and lost sight of the shore. “Funny, but I seem to miss him more now than I did when we were up north all those months.”

  “So do I.”

  Alec ran a finger across the back of Seregil’s left hand, tracing the double line of blue spots there, a souvenir of their first trip to Aurënen together. A bite from a dragon of that size was always a dangerous thing. Such marks, stained blue with lissik, were considered lucky. The ones you survived, at least; Seregil had been damn lucky not to lose his hand to all that venom. Alec had gotten off lightly; it was only a tiny fingerling that had nipped his left earlobe. The blue marks were tiny but quite visible when he pulled his hair back.

  Another paired set of wounds, he thought, smiling to himself. They shared an identical round scar from their first journey together, Alec’s on the palm of his hand, Seregil’s on his breast.

  The melancholy feeling persisted until they were well out at sea, but then, with a new day dawning and cold spray on their faces, the old excitement took over.

  “Who knows?” Alec said presently. “Maybe Klia will take us on as scouts when she’s a general again. We’d be good at that.”

  “Still envying Beka that uniform?”

  “No, I was just thinking that anything would be better than listening to you complaining about how bored you are!”

  Seregil gave Alec’s braid a sharp tug, then turned his face to wind, inhaling the sweet salt breeze, heart beating a little faster. Alec was right, though he wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

  CHAPTER 6

  A Welcoming Port

  THE OSIAT WAS mercifully calm for this time of year, and their voyage was an uneventful one, though cold. Seregil and Alec passed the time gaming and singing with the crew. The escort Phoria had given them was small—just ten men. They were a good enough lot, except their captain, Lord Traneus.

  A sharp-eyed young man, prideful and clearly ambitious, Captain Traneus was well liked by his men but no one else. He was obsequiously polite to Seregil and Alec, but now and then his gaze seemed to rest on them just a little too long for comfort. Keeping Magyana’s warning in mind, Seregil was chilly in return, having the advantage of blood. Alec just did his best to keep away from the man.

  Apart from that, Alec was glad to be on the water again and passed the time helping the sailors and watching for dolphins and spouting whales. At night, he and Seregil bundled up in warm cloaks and stretched out on a hatch cover to watch the stars wheeling through the rigging.

  So far, Seregil had said little about returning to his clan, even though this was the first time since their mission to Sarikali with Princess Klia.

  “Are you glad to be going home again?” Alec asked, their second night at sea.

  Seregil smiled. “Yes. It’s a bit simpler this time, isn’t it?”

  “Think I’ll meet the rest of your sisters?”

  “Maybe.” But his tone was neither hopeful nor particularly enthusiastic.

  Of Seregil’s four sisters, only two of them had forgiven him for the crimes of his youth. Adzriel, who’d raised Seregil after their mother’s death, was khirnari of Bôkthersa now, and Alec had been glad to become acquainted with her during their time in Sarikali. Mydri, the second oldest, was not as warm as Adzriel, but she’d been kind to Alec and at least tolerant of her wayward brother. Shalar and Ilina were another matter. They had cut all ties with Seregil when he was exiled.

  “Do you ever get angry with them? Your sisters?” asked Alec, keeping his gaze on the stars. He never knew how Seregil was going to react when asked about his past, especially his family.

  “How could I be? I committed the crime.”

  “But you were duped by that Ilar fellow.”

  Seregil was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “I should have known better.”

  “I don’t understand. You were hardly more than a child.”

  “Well, you didn’t grow up in Aurënen.”

  “Hmm. I guess neither of us has had the best experience when it comes to family.”

  Alec had known only his human father, and together they’d lived in virtual hiding from his mother’s people, the Hâzadriëlfaie. Her own kin had killed her for loving an outsider, and had tried to hunt down Alec and his father to finish the job. Alec grew up believing himself to be human, until Seregil and Nysander had convinced him of the truth. The most frustrating part was not knowing why the Hâzadriëlfaie were the way they were, or why they would care that his father wasn’t one of them. Even the oracles in Sarikali hadn’t been able to tell him that.

  Seregil reached over and smoothed his palm across Alec’s forehead. “You’re going to give yourself wrinkles, frowning like that. What’s wrong, talí?”

  “Nothing you haven’t heard before.”

  “Going back to Aurënen makes you think about it, eh?”

  “Yes. And you?”

  Seregil grimaced. “Oh yes. I’m absolved, but not forgiven. But there’s no shadow on you.”

  “Because they’re not really my people.”

  “Let them know you as I do, and they will be. My sisters love you, and the clan will embrace
you. Not because of me, or in spite of me, but for who you are.”

  Alec sighed and took his hand. There were some things even Seregil couldn’t understand.

  The weather blew fair and foul by turns, but the captain took full advantage of the winds and the Lark pounded swiftly on. They passed the Eamalie Islands on the fourth day and glided into Gedre harbor just as the sun was touching the jagged mountaintops beyond.

  There was no jubilant welcome this time; Skalan vessels had become a common sight here since the pact was signed. Alec felt a certain degree of pride as he counted the ships riding at anchor and the line of newly built storehouses along the shore. The town climbing the gentle rise beyond still looked the same, with its domed, whitewashed houses and flowering trees. Firelight glimmered warmly through hundreds of windows, formed a sparkling crescent around the harbor. The iron firepots on the quays cast wavering shafts of light across the water to meet them. A thin new moon—called Aura’s Bow here—had already risen above the eastern horizon.

  “I wonder if Ulan í Sathil has been here since the change?”

  “I hope so,” Seregil replied with a crooked smile. There was no love lost between him and the khirnari of Virésse. The easternmost clan and their allies had vigorously opposed the opening of another trade port, having enjoyed a monopoly on trade during the time of the Edict of Separation. In Gedre, however, the smugglers had been more than happy to trade openly once more.

  The surprised harbormaster met them at the quay and quickly sent word up to the clan house. A mounted messenger soon returned, leading a string of horses for them and carrying the khirnari’s warm welcome.

  Seregil took the red-painted message wand from his coat and snapped it in half. A tiny flash of light sizzled out and whipped away toward Skala.

  He smiled at Traneus. “That’s one.”

  Korathan was walking along the castle battlements, enjoying the night air, when the tiny blue orb appeared before him, hovering like a hummingbird. He touched it and a tiny voice—Magyana’s—said, “They have arrived at Gedre.”

  Pleased, he strode off to tell his sister.

  He found Phoria at sword practice with Elani in the queen’s private garden. He paused at the gate, admiring the skill on display. Dressed in plain practice leathers, Phoria and Elani struck at each other with blunted swords, catching each other’s blades on spiked bucklers. The girl was very quick. Korathan supposed she had to be; her aunt was not a gentle or forgiving tutor.

  “Keep your point up!” Phoria snapped, catching Elani’s blade with her own and knocking it aside.

  The girl recovered quickly and ducked under Phoria’s guard, ending with the point of her sword under the queen’s chin. They stayed like that for an instant, grey eyes locked with grey—so alike that to Korathan it was almost like seeing his sister at two different ages at once.

  Phoria broke into a rare grin. “The advantage is yours, lady. Well done!”

  Elani colored happily and lowered her blade.

  Phoria turned to Korathan. “Did you see that? She could have cut my throat just then.”

  “Well done, Niece.”

  Elani bowed, graceful even in her leathers. “Thank you, Uncle.”

  “I’ve had the first message,” Korathan told Phoria. “They are safely in Gedre.”

  Phoria tossed her practice sword to a page, exchanging it for a goblet of wine. “Good. Then the first toss is made.”

  “She will come.”

  “We will see.”

  “And will you be glad to see Aunt Klia, Elani?” Korathan asked, testing the waters.

  “If it pleases the queen,” she replied, her young face giving nothing away.

  It chilled Korathan a little, to see how much Phoria’s influence was already blossoming in such a young protégé.

  Riagil í Molan and his wife, Yhali, met them at the gate of the clan house.

  “Your arrival is unexpected but most welcome, Seregil of Rhíminee! And Alec, too,” he exclaimed, clasping hands with them both when they’d dismounted.

  Yhali offered a hand to each of them and led them inside. “Come in, and your escort, too. I’ve ordered a feast in your honor.”

  “You shouldn’t go to such trouble for unannounced guests,” Seregil replied, as etiquette required. Any guest—expected or otherwise: friend, enemy, or stranger—could expect such hospitality at any clan house in the land.

  Traneus and his men were given rooms and the use of the household bath chambers. Seregil and Alec, however, were given a bedchamber by the family’s private bath.

  “Your favor has improved here,” Alec noted, sliding happily into the warm, scented water. After so many days in the same clothes, he was hardly even bothered by the presence of the bath attendants.

  Seregil had no such modesty, ignoring them completely as he threw off his clothes and settled in the deep tub next to Alec’s. “That means more than I can say, talí,” he admitted with a deep sigh of satisfaction. “I guested here so often in the old days, with my uncle and kin, it was like a second home. I don’t mind so much not having a name, so long as I have a welcome.”

  By the time they’d refreshed themselves, a meal had been laid out on the long tables under the trees in the central courtyard. The little fretted lamps nailed to the trunks were lit, too, just as Alec remembered.

  Seregil was given a place of honor on Riagil’s right. Alec sat at Yhali’s left. Traneus, Alec noted with secret amusement, looked a bit put out with his place far down the table.

  Yhali poured a cup of wine and passed it to Seregil for the guest’s libation.

  Seregil tipped a few drops onto the flagstones, then took a sip and passed the cup to his hosts. It was more than a ceremony; it was an unspoken pledge that neither party would harm the other while they shared the same roof.

  “What brings you across the Osiat at such an unlucky time of year?” the khirnari asked as the spiced lamb and parsley bread were served.

  “We’re on the queen’s business,” Seregil replied. “Phoria has sent us to Bôkthersa to fetch Princess Klia home.”

  “Ah, she will be pleased!” Yhali exclaimed. “I think she’s been homesick, though she’s too proud to say so.”

  “And this is your escort?” Riagil raised an eyebrow at the small number of Skalans.

  “I think we can ride from here to Bôkthersa without fear,” Seregil assured him.

  “Queen Phoria has sent new soldiers to attend her sister.” Riagil paused, letting the observation hang on the air as he sipped his wine. “We thought that very odd.”

  “I’m not privy to the queen’s thoughts,” Seregil replied. “Captain Traneus, can you shed any light on the subject?”

  The captain rose and bowed. “I fear not, my lords, though I’m sure her reasons were sound.”

  Riagil seemed satisfied and the conversation soon turned to talk of rains and trade, births and horses.

  As soon as the meal was over, Traneus took his leave and went to see his men settled for the night. Seregil and Alec lingered a while under the flicking lanterns, enjoying the autumn night and the last of the year’s night-blooming white flowers. A young woman fetched a harp, and Seregil obliged his hosts with some soft music, while Alec accepted a challenge to shoot against some of the young men who’d heard of his prowess with his Black Radly.

  “It seems odd that the queen would not send you with a proper escort,” Riagil observed.

  Seregil smiled over his harp, still playing. “I know the way, and too many Skalans would only slow us down.”

  “I see. But you would perhaps not object if I sent a few riders with you, as well? As your host, I feel it is my duty. I’ve been meaning to buy more of your sis—” He paused and gave Seregil an apologetic look. “I mean to buy more of Bôkthersa’s fine horses. I’ll send my kinsman, Aryn í Arisei, and his servants to trade for me.”

  Seregil bowed his head respectfully. “We would be glad of their company.”

  They sat a while longer, the
n Yhali walked with them back to their room and bade them good night. She lingered a moment, clasping Seregil’s hand. “Welcome back, Seregil í Korit. To me, you will always have a name.”

  Seregil swallowed around a sudden tightness in his throat. “Thank you, dear lady.”

  When she was gone, Alec took out Thero’s yellow message stick and broke it in two, releasing the little burst of light. “I don’t know what difference it really makes, but I feel a bit easier with that done, and with some Gedre riders on the road, too.”

  “So do I. I wasn’t looking forward to being on a lonely stretch of road with Phoria’s dog and his men.” Then he grinned as he cast a meaningful look at the safely locked chamber door and the broad, clean bed. “Things are looking up, all around, wouldn’t you say?”

  CHAPTER 7

  An Unexpected Shooting Party

  ALEC WOKE SMILING the next morning, bathed in early sunlight and trapped under Seregil’s arm.

  Seregil opened one eye. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning yourself. Move off. You’re heavy.”

  Seregil rolled onto his back and yawned. “We stink. Bath.”

  Riagil found them there as they soaked, and introduced his young kinsman, Aryn. Alec covered himself as best he could with the sponge, blushing furiously. Both Gedre smiled and obligingly turned away a bit.

  Seregil lounged at ease, uncaring as always, damn him.

  “I mean to take the coastal route to Smuggler’s Pass,” Aryn told Seregil. “That’s the fastest route to Bôkthersa, though we may encounter some early snow in the pass.”

  Seregil nodded. “Good. Give us time to dress and we’ll meet you in the courtyard.”

  “Breakfast first,” Riagil insisted. “Yhali won’t forgive me if you don’t have a proper send-off. My apologies, Alec í Amasa, for disturbing you.”

  Seregil held off until they were alone again, then threw a towel at Alec, laughing. “Tsk, such blushing! People will talk. Especially about that rather unfortunate mark I left there, under your left ear.”