The White Road

CHAPTER 22 Turnabout

SEREGIL woke cold and confused. He’d been dreaming of snow, and wasn’t sure if he was really awake or not; he could still feel snowflakes melting on his face. He sat up and shook the snow from his hair and the blankets. He was most certainly awake and it most certainly was snowing. Alec sat beside him, wrapped in a blanket with Sebrahn. Micum sat on a stone just beyond.

Micum looked at him, bemused. “Looks like winter isn’t done with us just yet.” He had his hood up; it was capped with white. “You kept muttering in your sleep. Bad night?”

Seregil just shrugged. He didn’t remember any details.

It was a windless day and the snow was falling silent and heavy, making it hard to see for more than a few dozen yards in any direction. The solid cover of big-bellied clouds promised a long day of it.

They broke their fast with cold rabbit and water, then set off again, beginning the long descent.

It was midafternoon when Sebrahn suddenly grew restless in Alec’s arms.

“What is it? Another owl?” Seregil wondered, looking around.

“Or someone who needs healing. There could be a village on this side, or a traveler,” said Micum, almost lost from sight in the dull glare of the snow. “Bilairy’s Balls, I wish I could see farther than I can piss!”

Suddenly they were startled by a strange, distant thrumming sound that made the hair on the back of Seregil’s neck stand up.

“It’s the same as last night!” Alec exclaimed, reining in. “And a lot closer.”

Half snow blind and distracted by the sound, Seregil didn’t hear Micum fall and nearly rode him down as his friend struggled to get to his feet. Cynril, who was usually a steady, reasonable beast, bucked wildly, throwing him off, and galloped away, pulling Star away on the lead rein.

Alec was close behind, and reined in so sharply that Patch reared and Windrunner whinnied in alarm. Hampered by Sebrahn, he couldn’t keep purchase on the saddle and they both tumbled off, Alec somehow managing to land on his back with Sebrahn still clutched to his chest. Micum was already on his feet, but Seregil could tell he was favoring his bad leg. In spite of Sebrahn’s healing, he still needed his stick now and then, and carried it tied behind his saddle. He had his sword, though, and he drew it, casting around for a glimpse of the enemy.

Alec already had his bow in hand. He held it low, left hand tight around the leather grip, right hand holding an arrow to the string. Seregil knew how quickly he could raise and shoot.

“Are you all right?” Seregil asked.

“Did you see them?” Micum growled, staring around at the falling snow.

“See who—”

And there they were again, those white-clad figures, drifting in and out of sight all around them in the falling snow. As before, it was impossible to tell how many there were. That strange sound was louder now, and it was giving Seregil a headache. This time it was familiar; he’d heard something like it the last time these bastards had caught up with them in the snow.

He closed ranks with the others as they backed up to shield Sebrahn. No sooner had they done that, however, than the rhekaro suddenly darted away, heading back the way they’d come. Seregil barely managed to catch him by the arm and drag him back. Sebrahn hissed and struggled, but his eyes hadn’t gone black. Seregil kept a tight grip on his thin arm, all the while staring so intently into the falling snow that black spots danced before his eyes.

“He did that last time this lot showed up,” muttered Micum.

Sebrahn tried to pull away again, but Seregil yanked him back.

“Who are you?” Alec called out. “What do you want?”

By way of answer, a masked rider surged into view, swinging a heavy cudgel at Micum. He ducked a blow that would have taken his head off, but was knocked off his feet anyway.

Alec loosed an arrow but missed his mark. Their attacker disappeared back into the shifting veil of snow. Alec sent another arrow after him.

“You don’t get us that easily,” Alec taunted.

The strange sound began again. It swelled and the sudden pain behind Seregil’s eyes felt like a hammer pounding on the inside of his skull.

This is magic! Illior only knew what kind, or how his traitorous body would react to it. All he knew was that if it didn’t stop soon, blood would probably start running out of his ears.

Even through the pain, he somehow kept his grip on the struggling rhekaro and reached for his sword.

“Something’s happening to Sebrahn!” Alec warned. “His eyes are black again!”

Seregil didn’t have time to let go. Even through his thick clothing, he felt the sudden rush of power that flowed out from Sebrahn as he opened his mouth and sang. The power exploded around them, throwing Seregil to the ground.

Bilairy’s Balls, I’m going to be sick …

A man called out in odd, thickly accented Aurënfaie, “And you do not get us that easily, either, ya’shel.”

Seregil exchanged a stunned look with Alec; how in Bilairy’s name had anyone survived that?

“I guess we should have gone back to check on them that day,” Seregil muttered. At least the magic had stopped. He grabbed a handful of snow and filled his mouth with it as he struggled up to his feet. Somehow he’d managed to keep a grasp on Sebrahn, if not his sword. Right now Sebrahn was the more important of the two.

“If your tayan’gil makes that noise again we will kill you all,” the man called back to them.

Noise? Seregil thought. If that wasn’t his killing song, then what in Bilairy’s name was it? Something about the man’s accent caught Seregil’s attention again, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

The same voice called out, “Put down your weapons.”

Alec drew his bow and let fly in that direction. It was made clear once again that their attackers could see somehow; an answering shaft narrowly missed his head.

Alec ducked, then yelled, “You’re a poor archer, you cowardly bastard!”

“You would do well not to offend those who hold your lives in their hands, ya’shel.”

“What Aurënfaie ambushes another, except ones without honor?” Seregil called back hoarsely. “What kind of man hides behind magic rather than face his enemy?” That was said tongue-in-cheek, of course. He attacked from cover any chance he got. But the taunt had the desired effect.

A rider came forward on a white horse, keeping his distance. Seregil recognized him by the wolf-face mask he wore under his fur-lined hood. “So you didn’t die, that day.”

There hadn’t been time during their last meeting to get a good look at him. Seregil now saw that he sat tall in the saddle and held a long sword in his right hand, pointed at the ground for now.

The man ignored him, looking instead at Alec. “Yes, I can see that you are the one, Ireya’s bastard child.”

“What did you say?” Alec’s voice was low and dangerous.

“Bilairy’s Balls!” Seregil murmured, putting all the pieces together, including the archaic way the man spoke. “They’re Hâzadriëlfaie.”

Other riders appeared on their white mounts, surrounding them. Seregil counted only six, but he thought he saw more through the shifting snow. “What do you want with us?” he demanded. He couldn’t see anyone’s face; they all wore those masks with the slotted eyes, but each of a different animal or bird.

“Put your weapons down,” Wolf Face ordered again.

“Why should we?” Alec retorted angrily. “You’ll kill us either way.”

The man said nothing, but two archers appeared beside him on foot. One wore the fox mask Seregil had seen last time, and the other was wearing a lynx mask. Both had arrows set to their bowstrings.

“Can I at least have your name, friend?” asked Seregil. “I always like to know who’s trying to kill me.”

Wolf Face turned his way. “I am not your friend. You are nothing to me. Neither is your Tírfaie companion. No man who willingly keeps such low company matters to us.”

“I think he just insulted both of us,” Micum muttered.

“This Tír is my friend,” Alec shot back. “And this Aurënfaie is my talímenios. If you’re so superior, why are you afraid to show me your face? Where’s your honor?”

The tall man didn’t take off the wolf mask, but he pushed back his hood. His long dark hair was streaked with grey.

“How do you know my mother’s name?” Alec demanded.

“I knew your mother well, before she betrayed her people,” Wolf Face told him.

“Are you the ones who hunted her down?”

“Her own kin took care of that. I hunted your father, and you. It seems to be my destiny. And now I hunt your tayan’gil.”

“Tayan’gil?”

“That little one.”

Seregil had heard something like that before. Tayan was a word the old grandmothers sometimes used. It meant “white” or “silver”—he couldn’t remember which. And gil? He knew that one as well as he did his own name; it meant “blood.” White blood? Silver blood?

The leader pointed to Sebrahn. “The Tír magic can’t hide him from us. But you must realize that, now that it’s wearing off.”

There was no running now, and even if they could, it would mean leaving Micum behind. That pretty much narrowed their options down to one.

He held up his free hand, hoping Alec wouldn’t shoot him next. “If we give you the tayan’gil, will you let us go?”

He could tell from the corner of his eye that Alec had turned to him, and for once he was thankful he couldn’t see the expression on his talí’s face.

Wolf Face didn’t answer, just waved a hand to someone Seregil couldn’t see through the snow. The strange sound was very loud this time. It was like hornets buzzing and an owl’s hoot combined.

“Oh shit!” Seregil mumbled as his stomach turned over and the world went sideways …

Alec woke suddenly, aware first of a stinging pain on his left cheek and the fact that his hands were bound.

Oh, not again!

He opened his eyes to find the man in the wolf mask on one knee in front of him. He had his hand raised to slap Alec again, but stopped when he saw that his eyes were open.

Night had fallen, but someone stood to one side, holding a torch. Below the mask the man who’d struck Alec had a long face, with deep lines on either side of a thin, unfriendly mouth. The hank of dark hair hanging over one shoulder beneath a blue-and-white-striped sen’gai was streaked with iron grey. His wolfskin coat and pants were grimy, and his boots were worn.

Hâzadriëlfaie? Alec took all that in at a glance, and next that he was propped against a stone wall, with his feet bound as well; a short length of rope secured them to his hands so he couldn’t get up. From what little he could see past the man, they were in the remains of a round stone hut. It was still snowing a little, and it was cold. He could see his breath and the other man’s freezing on the air and feel it seeping up through his clothing.

His tongue and throat felt a little numb as he rasped out, “Where are my friends?”

The man moved aside enough for him to see Seregil and Micum trussed up the same way against the far wall. Neither was awake.

“Are they—”

“They are alive. For the moment.”

He looked around again as his head cleared. “Where is Sebrahn?”

The man cocked his head slightly, making him look more wolf-like. “Sebrahn?”

“The—” He searched his muddled brain for the word the man had used. “My tayan’gil.”

It was impossible to read the man’s eyes through the slotted openings, but he sounded surprisingly nonthreatening when he replied, “You named him well. Sebrahn is safe. How did you change his appearance like that?”

“I want to see him.”

Alec had judged him too soon. The man slapped him again and Alec tasted blood on his lower lip. “You are in no position to make demands, ya’shel. What magic was used?”

“Orëska.”

“Never heard of it. What name do you have?”

Alec glared at him.

The man’s thin lips curled in a way that made Alec distinctly uncomfortable as he drew a very large knife from his boot. Instead of threatening Alec, however, he went to Seregil and pressed the edge of it against the unconscious man’s cheek. “I will only ask you once more.”

“My name is Alec.”

“Alec. A Tír name.” The way the man said it sounded like an insult.

Alec was in no position to object; instead he asked, “Your sen’gai—I’ve never seen that pattern. Are you really a Hâzadriëlfaie?”

“Yes.”

“From Ravensfell?”

“Where else would we be from?”

“And you actually came looking for me?” Alec almost felt like laughing. “How in Bilairy’s name did you find us?”

The man just smiled that unpleasant smile.

“Now that you’ve found me—us—what are you going to do?”

“I have questions for you, but first I want you to see something.” He stepped out through the ruined doorway and returned with several people. Alec ignored all of them except for one thin man in a red bird mask, and he only noticed him because the man was holding Sebrahn in his arms. The rhekaro clung to him like a little porie, head on his shoulder, looking perfectly at ease.

The man in the wolf mask said something to the other man, who took off his mask. He was young and unremarkable as ’faie went, except that his back seemed slightly hunched and his face showed no more expression than Sebrahn’s. The man in the wolf mask took Sebrahn from him and said something else softly as he waved a hand in front of the other’s face.

Alec stared up in amazement as the young man’s appearance changed completely. He had the same white skin and silver hair and eyes as Sebrahn. As Alec watched, he put Sebrahn down, pulled off his tunic, and unfolded—wings! Pale, leathery ones like a dragon’s; not large enough to actually fly with, maybe, but wings all the same. They extended an arm span to either side, opaque as new vellum. He stretched them as if it felt good to have them free of confinement. It probably did, too. “He’s a rhekaro!”

The man in the wolf mask was clearly amused now. “My magic is better than this Orëska’s for hiding them.”

The tall rhekaro didn’t resemble Sebrahn in his features, yet he had the same ethereal look.

Wolf face made no move to stop Sebrahn as he wiggled free and went to Alec. Kneeling beside him, brown and silver hair spread around him like a striped cloak, Sebrahn touched a cold finger to Alec’s lip, then licked the blood from it. A woman in a lynx mask placed a wooden cup of water and a small knife on the floor beside Sebrahn. He made a healing flower and pressed it to Alec’s lip. Alec’s nostrils filled with the familiar sweet smell. He ran his tongue over the healed place and waited for the others’ reactions.

The man in the wolf mask knelt beside Sebrahn and gently took his hand to let another drop fall into the cup. “I’ve never seen one this color,” he said, inspecting the new flower. “But the effect is the same. I looked at your fingers. You feed him too much. That’s why his hair is so long. They don’t need to eat except when they’ve used their magic, or are badly injured.”

Alec thought of how depleted Sebrahn had been in Plenimar, and how it had taken days of careful feeding to bring him back to what passed for health. Clearly this man, this companion of a man-sized rhekaro, knew more than Alec did about them. “What do you want with Sebrahn? You have one of your own.”

“I’m more interested in what you want with it, ya’shel. How did you learn to create it?”

“I didn’t. It was made from me without my consent.”

“If that’s true, then why are you taking it to Plenimar?”

“We’re not.”

“I know that you are. Are you in league with the dark witches of that land?”

“That particular dark witch is dead,” said Seregil, and Alec wondered how long he’d been awake listening.

The man turned to him. “How do you know this?”

“Because I killed him.”

“Really? What proof do you have of that?”

Seregil struggled to sit up against the wall, hampered by his bound hands and feet. He was pale and had a familiar sickly look to him; whatever magic had been used on them wasn’t agreeing with him at all. Even so, he still managed to look a little cocky as he said, “We have the tayan’gil. You can see who he was made from just by looking at him, can’t you? He was made in Plenimar and we escaped with him.”

“Then why would you go back?”

“So we can keep any more tayan’gils from being made.”

“That’s a good tale.”

“I swear by Aura, it’s the truth. But I am rather curious as to why you have one.”

“That’s no concern of yours, Aurënfaie.” With that, the man and the one in the fox mask went outside, leaving Sebrahn with them, and the woman in the lynx mask to guard them. Alec caught a glimpse of other masked figures moving around outside as Sebrahn nestled in beside him and rested his head on Alec’s shoulder. Their guard had grey in her hair, too.

“I’m glad you’re alive!” Alec whispered to Seregil.

Seregil laughed softly. “So am I, talí.”

“And Micum?”

“He’s breathing.”

“What happened?”

“Damned if I know,” said Seregil, bracing his elbow against Micum’s hip to sit up a little more. “Can’t say I like the flavor of their magic.”

Micum grunted and sat up. “So far I don’t put much stock in Hâzadriëlfaie hospitality, either,” he said in Skalan, glancing over at their guard. “They could do with some lessons from their southern cousins.”

“So you heard?”

“About the dark witches? Yes. He must mean alchemists. And where do you suppose he got his rhekaro? Do ’faie have alchemists?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Maybe that’s why they want Sebrahn, if they can’t make them for themselves.”

“That’s enough,” the woman growled in that thick ’faie. “Speak in our language or don’t speak at all.”

They sat in silence for a while, listening to their captors moving around outside. A large fire was burning, and the smells of cooking and tea drifted in with the smoke. Someone was speaking loudly and angrily now, something about revenge.

At last the woman went out, taking the torch with her, and a much smaller man with a wild mop of curly black hair came in to stare at them. Enough light came in through the doorway to see that he wore a jacket stitched with animal teeth and held an ornate staff over one shoulder. Alec had never seen anyone like him.

Half obscured by shadows now, Seregil spoke to him in a language Alec had never heard him use before.

The man shook his head and said in passable ’faie, “I do not understand you. That is not my language.”

“You’re not Dravnian?” Seregil sounded surprised.

The little man hunkered down just out of arm’s reach. “I do not know ‘Dravnian.’ Who are they?”

“They’re a people from my land who look very much like you.”

“Do they have oo’lu?” The man held out his staff, and Alec saw that it was actually hollow.

“No,” Seregil replied.

The man laughed. “Then I am certainly not a Dravnian!”

“Who are your people, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I am Turmay, witch man of the Retha’noi of the far valley.”

“Retha’noi? You live in the mountains?”

“Where else would a Retha’noi live?” Turmay replied with a shrug.

“Here in Skala, in these mountains?”

Turmay shook his head and pointed out the door. “No, many, many days that way, to the north.” With that he turned his attention to Alec.

Alec held his breath at the rank smell of him as the little man grasped him by the chin and turned Alec’s face this way and that, looking intently at him. He made a thoughtful noise deep in his throat, then moved away and set one end of the hollow, painted staff to his lips. Alec saw the beeswax mouthpiece and realized that it must be some sort of musical instrument even before he began to play—if you could call it that.

The witch settled his mouth inside the wax ring, puffed out his cheeks, and proceeded to make a series of noises that were nothing like music, but exactly like what they’d heard in the pass. It throbbed and buzzed and squealed. The sound of it made Alec lightheaded, and his eyes fluttered shut. Images began to dance behind his closed lids: hanging facedown in that cage in the cellar of Yhakobin’s workshop with his blood dripping into the dirt below; Ilar’s face; the flight from the slave takers; the moment he faced down the archers who’d killed him …

The witch abruptly stopped playing and looked at him for a long time. Finally he nodded as if satisfied about something and went outside.

“That’s what we heard that night, up in the pass, wasn’t it?” Micum whispered in Skalan.

“I think you’re right. How are you, Alec?” asked Seregil, looking him over with concern. Even being on the edge of this latest magic had made him a little queasy.

“Fine.” Alec paused, blinking. “I think he read my mind, though.”

“We’ll do well not to underestimate this witch. He’s probably the one who knocked us off our horses, and put us to sleep, too.”

“I remember hearing a strange noise,” said Micum.

“Yes. They must have gotten close to us, for him to do that.” Seregil gave them a wry grin. “If they weren’t probably going to try and kill us, I’d have to admire them. However …”

He held up his right hand, showing them it was free. He’d worked it loose before the man in the wolf mask had come in, then kept it in his lap, feigning sleep. He hadn’t even had to dislocate his thumb this time, a fact he was very thankful for. He’d done it often enough over the years that the joint ached in cold weather, as it did now. Instead he’d simply folded his hand in on itself enough to work it out of the bonds.

“Now we start playing by our rules.”

Rieser stood by the fire with Naba, waiting patiently for Turmay as they sipped their tea. A whole pan of it sat hot by the fire, sending up a sweet aroma. They’d run out weeks ago, but their captives had several pouches of it in their packs. It was good, too, strong on the tongue. A bit of milk would have been nice, but he wasn’t complaining. One of the captives carried tobacco and a pipe, which Allia and Taegil were presently attempting to smoke. The stuff smelled vile, and they already looked a bit green.

“Stop that!” he ordered. “It’s a filthy Tír vice. Have some tea.”

Allia tossed the pipe away down the hill, and the pouch after it, then went to join the others, who were examining their captives’ weapons and the rest of the contents of their packs. Judging by their clothing and boots, these were men of substance, even the Tír. And the man’s sword had seen much use, Rieser acknowledged grudgingly. The other two swords were new, finely made by some expert smith but with little sign of use. The Tírfaie is probably their protector, he thought with a sneer.

Rane was still pacing angrily, saying nothing to anyone since his outburst. He would have to wait to avenge his brother until Rieser was satisfied he’d gotten all the information from these strangers that he could.

Naba had found them a good site for the night; a few of the stone huts of this deserted village still offered some shelter. Naba’s people had once lived close to the trail; it had been theirs. Then the Skalan Tír came, and at some point the Retha’noi people had moved farther up into the mountains to avoid them.

Turmay came out of the ruined hut at last.

“What is it? Did you learn something from them?”

“The boy,” Turmay said slowly. “I sensed something strange about him, and now I know. He died, and now he is alive again.” He turned and said something to Naba, who took up his own oo’lu and went in to the captives.

“How is that possible?” asked Rieser as Naba began to play.

“It should not be. The Mother gives life and the Mother takes it away,” Turmay said, rubbing a hand over his oo’lu. “It must be the tayan’gil’s doing.”

Naba emerged a moment later, looking perplexed as he spoke with Turmay.

“My brother says the same,” Turmay told Rieser. “This is a great evil!”

“Are you saying their tayan’gil somehow restored him to life?” asked Nowen in disbelief.

“I don’t know how, but that is what we saw in this Alec.”

“The small tayan’gil can take life. Why not the reverse?” said Rieser.

“Is the boy an unnatural creature now?” asked Sorengil, making a sign against evil.

The witch nodded as he dipped up a cup of tea. “He is alive when he should be dead.”

“So this little tayan’gil kills and gives life,” Rieser murmured, astonished. “Thank you. I’ll deal with them.”

When he reached the darkened hut, however, he found it empty except for three hanks of rope lying where his captives had been.

“They’ve gotten loose!” he snarled, striding back out to the others. “Find them. Now!”

Whoever had tied Seregil up had been either considerate or careless enough not to tie his hands too tightly. He’d almost gotten caught undoing his other hand when the second witch came in and played his horn at them, but fortunately the man had been focused on Alec, rather than the two of them sitting across the hut in the shadows. As soon as the witch was gone, Seregil had gone back to work on the ropes.

Once he had both hands loose, it was a simple matter to get himself and the others untied. Alec picked up Sebrahn as Seregil carefully peered over a low place in the broken wall at the back of the hut.

Just as he’d expected, there was a masked guard posted there. The man’s sword was in its scabbard and he was chaffing his arms against the cold. Seregil bent down and felt along the ground inside the wall until he found a couple of palm-sized stones. He was a better shot with a rock than with a bow; Alec often joked about making him throw arrows rather than shoot them. Even in the dark, he hit the guard in the head on the first try. The man dropped without a cry.

Seregil led the way over the broken wall and caught Sebrahn as Alec passed him over. Micum came next, then Alec.

They could hear the Hâzadriëlfaie on the other side of the hut, talking and moving about. Keeping just inside the edge of the forest that ringed the ruined village, they hurried down to the picketed horses and found only one man on guard. Their horses were tethered among the others. That was good. Seregil had owned Cynril for years, and Alec would be heartbroken to lose Patch or Windrunner, who’d been a gift from Micum’s family.

Stripped of his sword and knife, Seregil made do with another rock. Sneaking up behind the guard, he gave him a good knock on the head. The man went down with a pained grunt. Praying none of the horses would shy, Seregil and the others untied the whole string and led them away into the trees, moving downhill, hoping the trail was that way. They had no weapons, no food or water, and no way of making a fire, but at least they were free.

They struck the trail at last and untied the horses, leaving the Hâzadriëlfaie’s to wander off on their own. Seregil held Sebrahn while Alec mounted Patch and handed him up to him, then jumped lightly up on Cynril’s back and set off after Micum with Star trailing after him on a lead rein. He could hear shouting from the camp now.

“Go!” he hissed to the others, and they kicked their mounts into a gallop.

The ya’shel and his companions had been clever enough to steal all the horses. It took some time to whistle in enough of them to give chase.

The moon was on the rise by the time they did. The snow was sparse on the ground and the mud was frozen, but Rieser managed to determine which way they’d gone after a little casting around. He cursed himself for a fool for leaving the small tayan’gil with them. There was more to these strangers than he’d given them credit for. Either the crippled Tír was craftier than he looked, or the other ones weren’t quite as helpless as their shiny new swords suggested.

Seregil and the others rode hard through the remains of the night, expecting at any moment to get an arrow in the back. They left the trail when they could to confuse the chase, wending up wooded hillsides and riding down ice-rimmed streams, spelling the horses as long as they dared, which wasn’t long. The way grew steadily steeper, forcing them back to the open trail. They stopped to change horses when the moon set.

“Do you hear that?” asked Alec, looking back over his shoulder.

Then they all heard it, the distant sound of the horn the witch had called an oo’lu. But this time it was more than just one, and seemed to be coming from different directions.

The sound of them sent a nasty shiver up Seregil’s spine. “Come on, let’s go.”

He took Sebrahn to give Alec’s arm a rest and they set off again. As they rode, Seregil hoped it was just a trick of the wind that made it seem like the oo’lu sound was coming from in front of them now.

Just before dawn, they entered a narrow divide—only to find their way blocked by several huge trees across the trail.

“They didn’t just fall,” said Micum, reining his horse in close to the nearest. “They’ve been cut down with an axe.” He reached down to touch one of them. “The sap is still running.”

Behind them they could hear the sound of hooves on stone, and the jingle of harness as their pursuers came on at a gallop.

“If they’re behind us, then who the hell did this?” Alec wondered.

“Most likely whoever was playing those horns,” Seregil muttered, looking around frantically.

There was no question of riding around the obstruction; steep stone faces penned them in on both sides.

When Seregil dismounted to look for a way over, an arrow whistled close to his ear and embedded itself in one of the massive trunks. It was short and crudely fletched; not ’faie work, that was certain. Taking cover behind Star, he stared up into the shadows above them and thought he could see someone moving about at the top of the rock face. The sound of the horns was getting louder, too.

“Here they come,” Micum said, looking grim.

Unarmed and trapped, there was nothing they could do but wait under the brightening sky.

The man in the wolf mask was in the lead. As soon as he saw Seregil and the others, he signaled a halt and dismounted, holding his hands wide to show that he wasn’t armed. Behind him, however, Seregil saw several archers with arrows ready.

“You’re not going any farther, no matter what you do,” the man shouted to them.

“You know what will happen if you attack us,” Seregil retorted, jerking a thumb at Sebrahn, who was now peering out from behind Alec. Or that’s where he thought he was. Instead, Sebrahn had darted out in front of him and was hurrying back toward their pursuers.

“Sebrahn, no! Come here,” Alec shouted. Micum caught him by the arm as he started after him. The strange rhekaro came out to meet Sebrahn and hoisted him up in his arms.

“No!” Alec cried. He pulled loose from Micum, only to be grabbed and held by Seregil.

“You see?” the man in the wolf mask called to them. “The call of his own kind is too strong. So long as we don’t directly attack you, we are as safe with him as you are.”

“That leaves us at a bit of a stalemate,” Seregil shouted back. The sun was coming up, and now he could clearly make out a number of people on the rocks above them. At least one had a long horn. Turmay and the other witch were with the masked riders, both with oo’lus in hand.

“Bilairy’s Balls,” he muttered, then, to the man in the mask, “What now? Are you going to stay there until we starve?”

“That was not my plan. Give us the ya’shel and you and the other ones can go.”

Seregil tightened his grip on Alec’s arm. “You know we’re not going to do that.”

“And we can’t let you go, Aurënfaie. Not with him.”

Seregil folded his arms and gave the man a crooked grin. “Then I guess we all stand here and starve.”

The masked man turned to the archers and said something. They lowered their bows. “That won’t suit any of us. Will you parley?”

Seregil looked at the others. “Anyone have a better idea?”

“We’ve got no weapons and no food, and someone up there is taking aim at us where we stand,” said Micum.

“I just want Sebrahn back!” whispered Alec, his dark eyes burning with anger and betrayal. “Why did he go to them like that?”

Seregil squeezed his arm apologetically. “I’m sorry, Alec. I think he’s been trying to all along. Stay here.”

“No! He’s my—”

“I said stay!” Seregil ordered, then, more softly, “I don’t want you within arm’s reach of any of them. If they get you, then Micum and I are as good as dead.”

Alec quickly stepped back.

“Thank you. Stay close to Micum.” With that, Seregil walked halfway up the trail toward the others and stood waiting.

After a moment the man in the wolf mask came to meet him. Drawing his sword, he leveled it at Seregil’s heart.

“If we’re going to talk, then we should probably exchange names,” said Seregil. “Mine is Seregil í Korit Solun Meringil.”

“I am Rieser í Stellen Andus Orgil. You wear no sen’gai.”

“And I don’t recognize yours. Blue and white?”

“We are the North Star people. Do you have a clan?”

“Bôkthersa.”

“My grandmother was a Bôkthersan.”

Seregil grinned. “That makes us kin. Can’t kill me now, can you?”

“Don’t presume too much.”

“I won’t, I assure you. So, what do we do now?”

“Do you know why we’ve tracked you down, Bôkthersa?”

Seregil pointed to the two rhekaro, watching placidly from a small distance. “I assume it has something to do with them.”

“And with your talímenios. If you have a tayan’gil, then you must understand already.”

“That it takes Hâzadriëlfaie blood to make them? Yes, and I’ve also heard it said that your people hunt down half-breeds and kill them. I’m afraid I just can’t allow that. Look, could you take off that mask now? I feel ridiculous talking to a wolf.”

Rieser gave him a humorless smirk and lifted the mask from his face. It was a grim visage, to be sure, but now that Seregil could look him properly in the eye, Rieser struck him as a man who might be reasoned with. “So, what shall we do?”

“You say you are going to stop more tayan’gils from being made. How do you intend to do that?”

Seregil saw no point in lying. “The dark witch who made Sebrahn used a book, some sort of alchemy magic text.”

“You mean to destroy this book?”

“Certainly.” It was one option, though probably not the one Thero would prefer.

“How will you get it?”

“The usual way you get something someone else doesn’t want you to have.”

“Steal it?”

“Yes.”

“You are thieves?”

Seregil grinned. “Something like that, and we’re very good at it.”

“As you are at escaping. Two of my riders are nursing sore heads.”

“I could just as easily have killed them,” Seregil replied, and he could tell the man believed him.

“Why didn’t you?”

“You may be strangers, and damn troublesome ones, too, but you’re still ’faie. Is that why my friends and I are still alive?”

“No.”

“Let me ask you something, then, before you try to kill me again. Why aren’t you all dead? Our rhekaro—tayan’gil, that is—sang. People usually die when he does that.”

“Sang? Is that what you call it? One of my young riders did die, so you have that blood on your hands. It made me and the others very sick, but we share the same blood as the tayan’gil, so it does not affect us the way it would the Tír or other ’faie.”

“You got off easy, then.” He masked his concern as he looked back at Sebrahn in the other rhekaro’s arms. He looked perfectly content, the little traitor!

“They’re like that,” said Rieser. “Yours is different than the others, but alike enough to feel the bond.”

Seregil raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Others? How many others?”

“That’s no concern of yours, Bôkthersa.”

“So you make them, too? How are you any better than the ‘dark witches’?”

“We don’t make them! We gather in those that are made and keep them safe. This little one can never be safe in your world. You must know that by now.”

Seregil nodded slightly, glad Alec wasn’t hearing all this. “They can kill and heal.”

“Tayan’gil do not kill, or sing, for that matter. They have no voice at all. Except for this one of yours. I think it must be because of the tainted blood it was made with.”

Seregil let the insult pass, thinking back to what Tyrus and his dragon had told them; somehow, Alec’s blood had made a stronger rhekaro, the only one of its kind—unless another alchemist got hold of Alec and the book. “But it also heals people, and very well, too. I imagine that makes some people rather greedy to own one. We’ve been trying to protect him, too. Alec—the ya’shel—considers him his child. He had a prophecy about a ‘child of no woman’ and Sebrahn appears to be just that.”

“It is no child,” warned Rieser. “The witch says that this one of yours can raise the dead. Is this true?”

“Why would he think that?” Seregil didn’t like where this was heading.

“He sees what he sees, more deeply than you or I. He told me that your ya’shel has two lives.”

“Really?” Seregil returned dryly, sidestepping the question of Alec’s death. “So, here we are. You can’t attack us, and we can’t get away. What shall we do?”

Rieser considered this for a moment, then lowered his sword slightly. “I will make you a bargain.”

“I’m listening.”

“I will let you all live if you will give me the book, the tayan’gil, and the ya’shel.”

“We don’t have the book, Alec will have something to say about you taking Sebrahn away, and you can’t have Alec.”

“As long as the ya’shel walks in this world, he is a danger.”

“As I said, the dark witch—who is actually called an alchemist, by the way—who made Sebrahn is dead. He won’t be making any more tayan’gil out of anyone, and if I can get those books, neither will anyone else. You’re welcome to them. Take them off to your valley and guard them all you like. But Alec stays with me. That’s not on the table. And if you kill him, then you’d better make certain I’m dead, too. Otherwise I’ll hunt you to the ends of the earth and leave your meat for the crows. Then again, Sebrahn will probably do the job for me. You may have survived wounding Alec, but if you kill him, the results will be dire.”

Rieser considered this for a moment, then shrugged. “It’s madness to take the ya’shel into Plenimar, and unthinkable to take the tayan’gil. Your ‘alchemist’ may be dead, but there could be others who know what Sebrahn is, and seek to own him.”

“Well, we can’t really leave him just anywhere. He won’t be parted from—” Seregil paused, struck by a sudden realization. Sebrahn hadn’t been with them when they’d awakened in that ruined hut. And he’d tried to get free and find the other rhekaro—or tayan’gil—every time they got close to the masked bastards. Which meant—

“As you see, you can leave Sebrahn with Hâzadriën,” Rieser said with a knowing look.

“Really?” A guilty hope sprang up in Seregil’s heart, one he quickly quashed. “Even if that’s so, why would we leave Sebrahn here? What’s to stop you from taking him away the minute we’re out of sight?”

“Because I will go with you to Plenimar. My people will not go home without me.”

Seregil stared at him in surprise. “And how is that any less insane than taking a half-breed? You’re the pure article.”

“I can take care of myself, Bôkthersa. I will leave you and your talímenios alive if—”

“And Micum.”

“And the Tírfaie, if you will give me the books once you have them.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes. If what you say is true, then without the book, they cannot be made. That is the mission of the Ebrados, to keep that from happening.”

“Ebrados?” He’d never heard that word before, but the parts were as archaic as tayan. “‘White road riders’?”

“Yes.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means a number of things, none of which are any concern of yours. Now, do you accept my bargain or not?”

“I’ll have to speak to the others. And assuming that we do get the book and make it back, what about Sebrahn?”

Rieser regarded him impassively.

“Right.” Seregil stole a look back at Alec, who stood with Micum, watching them intently. “Alec will never agree.”

“We will see, when the time comes. But I stand by my pledge for your safety if you keep your part of the bargain. You have my word.”

“And what is that worth, when you give it to a stranger?”

The older man’s mouth twitched in what was in no way a smile. “You don’t want ’faie blood on your hands. Neither do I.”

“I need to speak with my friends.”

“Be sure to make it clear that your only other option is to stay where you are and die of cold and thirst. We can outwait you and we will not weep for any of you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Without thinking, he made Rieser a slight bow, and was amply repaid by the surprise on the other man’s face as he returned it.

He turned over all the things Rieser had said as he walked the short distance back to the others, all the while thinking of how peaceful Sebrahn looked in the arms of the rhekaro called Hâzadriën—

Hâzadriën? Seregil looked back over his shoulder at the tall rhekaro. Rieser spoke of it as “he,” but was it just his imagination that the face could just as easily be that of a woman? No, it wasn’t possible.

“Why do they still have Sebrahn?” Alec asked.

“The only reason we’re still alive is that we still have you, and that’s not a very strong guarantee, seeing as how they came all the way down here to finish the job they started the day your mother died.” Alec’s stricken look made Seregil hate himself, but there was no time for coddling now. “They have us in a narrow place, literally. Look around. Even if we could get past them, or over these trees without them catching us, how far are we going to get with no horses, no weapons, no food—”

“What else are we supposed to do?”

“He’s offered us a trade. He goes with us to steal Yhakobin’s book, and we leave Sebrahn here as a ransom while we’re gone.”

Alec’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’re not serious?”

“It will make our task considerably easier, Alec. Look at him.” There was more silver showing in Sebrahn’s hair this morning. “Do you really want to risk having him fall into the hands of another alchemist?”

“No—” Alec gazed up the trail at Sebrahn, frowning at dark memories. “But even if we wanted to, how could we leave him? He’ll have another of his fits.”

“They flock to their own kind. He’s happy with Hâzadriën. Didn’t you notice that he wasn’t there after we were captured?”

“But he’ll starve!”

“If Rieser is telling us the truth, he doesn’t need to eat that often.”

Alec’s blue eyes were accusing now. “You want to leave him, don’t you? You want to be rid of him!”

Seregil had made a vow long ago never to lie to Alec, and he’d never broken it. For that reason, he said nothing, knowing his silence would be damning enough. Alec turned away, but Seregil could read the set of his shoulders as well as if he could see his face.

All I care about is you, talí! And Micum. If Sebrahn is the price of your lives …

“And this man will go with us, just like that?” asked Micum, looking skeptical. “What’s to keep us from slitting his throat a mile down the road and circling back for Sebrahn?”

Seregil shrugged. “Atui, Micum. But if he breaks it first, then that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

“What is your answer, Bôkthersa?” Rieser called.

“A moment, please!”

Seregil went to Alec. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder, he looked sidelong at the younger man and whispered, “I don’t see another way right now, but it’s up to you.”

“You want this?”

“I want to get us out of here alive. I want to get in and out of Plenimar without attracting attention or having you and Sebrahn fall into the hands of another alchemist, or worse. Leaving Sebrahn here makes sense on both accounts.”

“Do you really believe that his people won’t just leave?”

“I don’t know, but we have time between here and Ero to figure that out. Right now, I don’t see that we have much choice except to go along with him.”

Alec rubbed at his eyes and took a deep breath. “All right. But if I decide I don’t trust him, then we go back to our original plan.”

“Agreed. Micum?”

The other man shrugged. “I’m just a Tír along for the ride. But I don’t think his precious honor holds him to keeping his word to the likes of me.”

“I have his assurance on that, too. So, we’re all agreed?”

The others nodded. Together they walked back up the trail to where Rieser was waiting.

“Trust me, talí,” Seregil whispered to Alec, but the younger man said nothing, keeping his gaze fixed on Sebrahn.

“What have you decided?” asked Rieser.

“We need a show of good faith,” said Seregil.

“Do you?” The grim-faced bastard sounded amused.

“We want our weapons and gear back.”

“And our own horses,” added Micum.

“Gear and horses for now. We’ll see about the weapons later.”

“And Sebrahn rides with me,” said Alec.

“No.”

“We’re supposed to trust you, but you don’t trust us?” Alec shouted. “Sebrahn rides with me, or you can all go to the crows!”

“You can carry him, and walk,” Rieser countered.

“Fine!”

“I’ll take turns with you, and so will Seregil,” said Micum.

“Then it’s settled.” Seregil extended a hand to Rieser. The man clasped it grudgingly, and the deal was struck.

So it was that Alec and the others came to be sitting around a morning campfire with Rieser, the two rhekaros, the witch Turmay, and half a dozen Ebrados, sharing a tense, silent breakfast while Naba and the rest were at work on the trail below, dragging the fallen trees aside. Alec’s dried venison and bread were like leather and ashes in his mouth as he thought of leaving Sebrahn with strangers, even if the rhekaro didn’t care. That hurt a bit, too. More than a bit.

It took considerable effort to turn his initial anger at Seregil onto Rieser instead, though Alec knew in his heart that Seregil had done the best he could. As he grew calmer, he regretted that he hadn’t answered Seregil’s plea for trust as they’d walked back to surrender. The look in Seregil’s eyes then had made Alec’s heart turn over in his chest, but there was nothing he could do about that right now except to keep his guard up and his eyes open.

From where he sat, it was a short sprint to where his bow and sword were, strapped to the back of a white packhorse. Windrunner and Cynril were tethered nearby; Patch, Star, and Micum’s horses were gone, put to work hauling trees.

“So how did you get ahead of us on the trail?” Seregil asked Rieser, seemingly at ease now and playing as if he didn’t already know that answer.

Rieser spared him a brief glance, then turned back to minding the fire.

“My oo’lu has a long voice,” the witch told him, grinning.

“You signaled someone?” asked Seregil, showing the witch more respect than he did his master. “Who?”

“I have—”

“That’s enough,” growled Rieser.

“As you like, friend. As you like,” the little man chuckled, but Alec was almost certain he saw a flash of something less friendly in the witch’s black eyes. Small and dirty as he was, Alec could feel a power in him, and felt a gut level mix of respect and dread when he saw the way the dark tracery on the witch’s face and hands seemed to move on its own with his moods. Micum was watching him closely, too, and gave Alec the slightest hint of a nod as their eyes met.

Seregil was not oblivious, he knew, but was playing his own game—one he was very good at.

Pointing over at Sebrahn, who was still with Hâzadriën, Alec asked, “So, why are they drawn to each other like that?”

Rieser looked annoyed. “It’s the blood.”

“You mentioned others last night. Do they all look like yours?”

“More than yours does.”

“Do they all favor the one they are made from?” asked Seregil. “Sebrahn certainly looks like Alec, and nothing at all like Hâzadriën.”

“They do,” a young man replied. He had the same dark hair and long face as Rieser, but appeared to be half his age and twice as friendly. “Or at least that’s what I’ve been told. Except for the coloring, they all are a little different in the face.”

“Is that why this one has a woman’s face but a man’s name?”

“They have no sex,” Rieser snapped. “Shut up and eat. We ride as soon as the way is clear.” He turned to one of the older men. “Sorengil, you’re in charge. If any of the captives give you trouble, bind and gag them. Turmay, come with me.” Tossing his last crust into the fire, Rieser stalked away down the hill to oversee the work.

With weapons, Alec and the others probably could have taken the half dozen men and the woman left, but Alec had no idea what the witch would do and Seregil seemed content to play the toss as thrown for now.

Sorengil looked to be the same age and temperament as Rieser, while the one who’d answered Seregil appeared to be friendlier.

“What’s your name?” Alec asked him, sensing a weak point on the enemy’s side.

“Kalien í Rothis. And you?”

“Alec í—”

“Bastards don’t name their fathers,” one of the young ones sneered, tossing the bit of stick he’d been whittling into the fire just close enough to stir up sparks in Alec’s direction. This one was maybe even younger than Alec in pure ’faie years.

“That’s enough, Rane,” warned Sorengil.

“I’ll speak to him if I want! Who has more right than I do?” Rane snapped back.

“Let him speak,” the youngish woman with dark eyes said, sparing Alec a none-too-friendly look.

Alec looked around and found the others watching him like a pack of wolves, looking for his weaknesses. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, meeting the younger man’s glare with one of his own.

“I mean, you whore’s get, that you’ve cost me a father and a brother already, and I’ll be more than happy to stick the knife in you when the time comes!”

“Rane, I said stop it,” Sorengil ordered.

“I don’t mind him,” Alec shot back. “If my tayan’gil’s song killed your kin, then you’ve got no one but yourself to blame. We didn’t skulk after you through a snowstorm, now, did we?”

The boy launched himself across the fire at Alec, drawing a belt knife before any of the others could react.

Rane was fast, but Alec was faster. He jerked out of the way and caught him by the wrist, using the boy’s own momentum to flip him on his back and wrench the weapon away. Grabbing up the fallen blade, Alec straddled his chest and had the blade to Rane’s throat before the other Hâzad pulled him off. The seemingly friendly one nearly broke Alec’s fingers taking the knife away. Only then did Alec see that Seregil and Micum were on their feet now, too, and that Seregil was holding a struggling Sebrahn around the waist, a hand clamped over the rhekaro’s mouth as he whispered frantically into Sebrahn’s ear.

Kalien got an arm around Rane’s neck and restrained him. “Sit down, ya’shel, and your friends, too, or this will end badly for all of us.”

“I had a father,” Rane wheezed, struggling to get loose. “His name was Syall í Konthus, and he died hunting the filthy cur of a Tírfaie that rutted you into your mother’s belly! And your cursed tayan’gil killed my brother.”

“My father was a good man!” Alec yelled, lunging against the arms that held him back. “Your people killed my mother!”

“Let them fight,” some of the others urged, forming a loose circle around them. “No knives, just fists!”

Alec glanced back at Sebrahn, who was clawing at Seregil’s hands now, and then at Seregil, who was regarding him steadily.

If I let Sebrahn go, you know what will happen, that look said, clear as a hand sign. Is that what you want me to do?

As tempting as it was, Alec couldn’t do it. Not against an angry boy who’d lost his father, even if it wasn’t Alec’s fault.

He dropped his arms to his sides. “I’ve eaten your food. I won’t dishonor myself and my talímenios,” he shot back. But he couldn’t resist adding, “Or my parents’ memory.”

“What about you, Rane?” Sorengil demanded. “Does the ya’shel have more atui than you?”

The boy pulled away. “Where’s Rieser’s atui? The honor of the Ebrados? Why are these bastards still alive?” he snarled, and strode off into the trees.

A young woman spat in Alec’s direction. “You honor your parents little, backing down from a blood feud.”

“I’ll have a blood feud with your kin, Allia, if you don’t watch your tongue,” snapped Sorengil.

Alec pulled away from the men holding him and smoothed down his coat. “My father was a good man, not a kin killer.”

“If your mother had let us have you and your father, she might be alive now, though her shame would have followed her to the grave,” Sorengil told him.

“Alec, maybe you should calm Sebrahn,” Seregil suggested with a look that said let it go for now.

No one tried to hold Alec back as he lifted Sebrahn in his arms. “It’s all right, Sebrahn. Don’t hurt anyone, understand?”

“Huuurt,” the rhekaro whispered, eyes still dangerously dark.

Kalien and the others stared at them. Even the tall rhekaro seemed to take notice.

“It talks?” one of the riders gasped.

“He’s not like yours,” Alec growled, “and you’ll do well to remember that. The next time you lay a hand on me or any of my friends, I won’t hold him back.”

The threat didn’t win him any sign of respect, but no one taunted him after that.

It took four horses to drag away the huge firs that the Retha’noi had felled for them. Rieser could see several more of the small hill folk watching from their heights. Not knowing how many more there might be made him uneasy.

When the sections of the great trees were finally moved to the side of the trail, Rieser sat down on a log and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. He’d taken off his wolfskin coat, but even so he’d worked up a sweat. Nowen did the same as she sat down beside him.

“The others asked me to speak for them,” she said without preamble. Nowen was always direct. “We don’t like you going off with these men.”

“Do you think you could convince the ya’shel to come with us and bring his tayan’gil?”

“No.”

“And what do you think that tayan’gil will do, if we try to take them by force? Do you want another taste of its power?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what would you have me do?”

“They will kill you, the first chance they get.”

“That would mean abandoning their tayan’gil. The ya’shel will never do that. He still mistakes it for a child, one that can feel and love.”

“Perhaps it can. It’s so different from Hâzadriën.”

“It is, which makes it all the more imperative to bring it back to the valley.”

“Yes,” said Turmay, who’d been eavesdropping. “You must take it back. You must! Perhaps you could let your people take it away when you and the ya’shel are gone? You could find your way back, yes? I could wait with you and guide you.”

“That would leave the ya’shel behind.”

“Once you’re away from his tayan’gil, you can kill him.”

Rieser mopped his brow again. “I’ve thought of that, but you said yourself that he is something new, too. He died and came back to life. I believe our khirnari would rather have him brought back than killed. Besides, there’s always the chance that this Sebrahn is connected to the one he was made from, as Hâzadriën and the others were to their ’faie. If I kill Alec, then Sebrahn might know and attack you. From a distance he killed one of us. What do you think will happen if he’s in your midst?”

“So you’re going to trust them?” asked Nowen.

“No, but I will go with them. If they attack me, I can defend myself. But they won’t.”

“You believe the Bôkthersan?”

“I do.”

“But why? For all you know, they are going back for the book so that they can make tayan’gils for themselves!”

“I watch Seregil as he watches the little one. He won’t make any more. And he would not do that to his talímenios.”

Nowen gave him a frustrated look. “I have followed you all these years, and never known you to be a fool. I pray to Aura this isn’t the first time.”

Rieser chuckled. “So do I. I will keep my word to them and you will stay here. When the time comes, we will find a way to bring them both back.”

“I think that would mean killing the other two.”

“We’ll see. We owe nothing to the Tír. The other is a problem.”

“I wonder what Khirnari Seneth ä Matriel would make of that, bringing a stranger into the valley?”

Rieser pondered that for a moment. “We can deal with him, once we have him there.”