The White Road

CHAPTER 23 Unwelcome Companions

RIESER kept his word. When the road was clear, he gave them back their horses. Seregil had, with some difficulty, managed to convince Alec to let Sebrahn ride with Hâzadriën rather than try to carry him on foot for a day’s march. If a chance to escape presented itself, Seregil wanted Micum and Alec both mounted and ready. Their weapons were bundled away on one of the packhorses; if they made a break for it again, they’d do it unarmed, but that might still be their best hope.

Someone had masked Hâzadriën’s true appearance again. Seregil hadn’t seen the witches do it, or heard them play the oo’lu horns, which meant that there must be a proper wizard among the company, as well as the witch. Even with normal coloring, though, Hâzadriën was hard not to notice, the way his face remained expressionless. He might as well have been still wearing one of those animal masks.

Their captors were not a friendly bunch. They talked and laughed among themselves, but ignored Seregil and the others, except to keep an eye on them. Micum might as well have been air for all the attention anyone paid him. The youngster named Rane looked like he’d go after Alec again without much provocation, but Alec kept to himself and rode beside Hâzadriën, more at ease with the tall rhekaro than any of its companions.

What will you do when the time comes to part from Sebrahn? Seregil wondered. His own doubts were exacerbated by guilt; if it had been up to him, he’d have been very tempted to tell Rieser to take Sebrahn and go. He was not proud of that, but knew it would probably be better for everyone concerned, including Sebrahn. If it was true that the Hâzadriëlfaie kept tayan’gil safe, then it was the best place for him. If Hâzadriën was anything to go by, then the tayan’gils were treated with respect. The others sometimes spoke to him and it was clear that they considered him their equal.

The witch named Naba had left them after breakfast, but Seregil caught the occasional glimpse of other Retha’noi on the heights. Rieser and his people were keeping a watchful eye in that direction, too.

“Think they’re going to drop another tree on us?” Micum asked in a low voice.

“It would open up certain possibilities if they did, but I suspect they’re just making certain we keep going out of their lands.”

“You see them?” asked Turmay, coming up beside them. “Those are Retha’noi people, too.”

“The ones who blocked the road?” asked Seregil, though he had no doubt of it.

“Yes.”

“That’s what you meant by your oo’lu having a long voice, then.” The painted horn slung across Turmay’s back apparently had many uses, including putting one to sleep at the most inopportune moments, as demonstrated yesterday. “You signaled ahead. Or was it magic?”

The witch just smiled.

“Why did they help you? Because you are of the same people?”

“I’m no kin of theirs. They helped me because they want you to go away.”

“Are they frightened of Sebrahn?”

Turmay shrugged. “They want all of you to go away. They don’t like strangers in their mountains.”

“Tell me, Turmay, are you frightened of our tayan’gil?”

“It is not a tayan’gil,” the witch said softly. “It is a monster.”

They rested their horses by a stream at midday, then set off again as the way sloped down more steeply before them. The snow was fast disappearing and the meltwater turned the trail into a muddy stream in places.

The forest grew denser, closing in around them and blocking out the sky. As they rode along in the pine-scented twilight, Seregil nudged Star up beside Rieser’s tall white horse.

“That’s a fine-looking animal you’ve got there, Captain.”

Rieser spared him a brief glance.

“Do you really mean to go into Plenimar with us?”

“I said so.”

“You do realize that you’re going to have to pretend that Micum is your master?”

That got the man’s attention. “What?”

Micum overheard. “You didn’t think three ’faie could waltz into the Riga slave markets and tell them you’re only passing through, did you?”

Rieser scowled at Seregil. “And you will allow this? To play the slave to this Tír?”

Seregil gave him the crooked grin. “You’d be surprised, some of the roles I’ve played. And I might point out that the risk to Micum is just as great. Those caught with wayward slaves aren’t treated well, either.”

“And you think you can fool these Plenimarans?”

“Certainly. When you searched our baggage, you must have seen the metal slave collars. Those are one sign.” Seregil pushed back his sleeve and showed him the fake brand. “And this. More Orëska magic. Too bad our wizard isn’t with us, to fix you up properly. That’s going to be a problem.”

Rieser snorted softly, then pushed his own sleeve back and passed his left hand over his forearm. An identical mark appeared on the underside. “I have no need of your magic. I have my own.”

Ah ha! Got you. That explains who is maintaining Hâzadriën’s disguise. This man might actually prove useful in a pinch. “No amount of magic is going to hide us from a necromancer or slaver’s wizard. Sometimes a bit of lying works better. So with Micum as our master, we should go unnoticed.”

“And then what?”

“Then I steal that book for you, we all come back, and you let us go.”

Rieser just gave him a smug look and kicked his horse into a trot.

“Now I trust him even less,” Micum muttered in Skalan.

“Me, too, but he knows if he double-crosses us and tries to hurt Alec, Sebrahn will sing again. Maybe Sebrahn could kill a few more of them, in close proximity.”

“Then all we have to do is get Alec to pick a fight with that surly young fellow Rane and we’re home free.”

Seregil had been thinking the same thing, but for later, not now. It had been madness to think that they could take Sebrahn back into Plenimar without someone noticing him. Thero’s disguise was fading away more rapidly now. In the morning light Sebrahn’s skin was blotchy and his hair was more silver than brown. If the Hâzad wanted to look after him while they were gone, he couldn’t think of better caretakers—if Sebrahn let Alec leave. He glanced at Sebrahn ahead of them, riding contentedly on Hâzadriën’s saddlebow. “Maybe he won’t be so quick to defend Alec anymore, now that he’s found another of his own kind.”

“Don’t let Alec hear you say that. I think he’s heartbroken already.”

Seregil sighed. “Bilairy’s Balls! Why does he have to love the damn thing so much?”

“Wouldn’t you if it had your face?”

“No, I would not!” Seregil whispered.

“Can you love Sebrahn, who has Alec’s face?”

“I wish I could. I care for Sebrahn, but keeping him is simply impossible for so many reasons. Alec knows that as well as I do. He just can’t admit it to himself yet.”

“He’s softer hearted than you.”

“Soft headed, more like it,” Seregil muttered. It wasn’t the best trait in a nightrunner, but Seregil had to admit it was one of the things he admired about Alec. Still, it wasn’t going to make things any easier when they came back with the book and had to face the inevitable.

That night they camped beside a small waterfall. As Alec scavenged for firewood, he noticed that there were handprints carved into the trees here, as there had been at the western end of the trail.

“This must mark the end of Tamír’s Road,” Seregil said.

Alec’s heart sank lower; this meant they were that much closer to parting from Sebrahn. He knew Seregil was right about the risk of taking him, and the thought of Sebrahn being torn apart by another alchemist made him sick.

But what about when we have the book and come back? Of course Seregil would barter Sebrahn for him; Alec even felt the pricking of guilt. He’d had to choose between the two of them once before; he’d chosen Seregil. He believed he would again, but hoped to hell he didn’t have to.

They reached the edge of the forest early the following morning. Rolling foothills fell away to a plain, and Alec could just make out the thin blue line of ocean on the horizon.

“We’ll reach Beggar’s Bridge by tomorrow,” Seregil told them.

“It’s a Tírfaie town?” asked Rieser.

“That’s right.”

“Then my people will go back to the waterfall and make camp there.”

“We’ll be needing our weapons back,” said Seregil.

Nowen and Rieser exchanged a look, and the captain nodded.

Their weapons were returned. Alec smoothed a hand along his bow’s smooth limbs, checking for damage. It was sound, as were the arrows, thank the Light.

Alec stole a glance in Seregil’s direction, looking for any sign that they were going to fight their way out of this or make a break for it. He’d stayed close to Hâzadriën and figured out half a dozen ways to get Sebrahn away from him when the time came.

Instead, Seregil turned in the saddle and offered Rieser his hand.

“Will you keep our bargain now, Bôkthersa?” asked Rieser, ignoring it.

“We will if you will,” Seregil replied.

“The tayan’gil will be kept safe, and my people will be here when we return. I swear it by Aura, and so do they.”

Seregil turned to Alec. “Well?”

It was tempting to refuse. He even thought of letting Seregil and Micum go without him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that, either.

“Alec?” Seregil gave him an apologetic look.

There didn’t seem to be any way out. Dread settled in the pit of Alec’s stomach. “But if they aren’t here, if Sebrahn is gone, then I’ll kill you, Rieser í Stellen, and I’ll track down the others, too. I swear that by Aura.”

Rieser smiled, almost as if he approved. “I know you would, Alec í Amasa.”

“You should take off your sen’gai here,” Seregil advised. “Aurënen ships often put in at Beggar’s Bridge. Your pattern isn’t one anyone will have seen before. And if you’re caught with it in Plenimar, there’s bound to be trouble.”

The man unwound the long length of blue-and-white cloth and handed it to the woman named Nowen, who carefully tucked it away in her saddlebag.

Seregil gave Alec a look that said clear as words, There’s no help for it, talí. We’ll take this one step at a time.

But there was still the matter of what Sebrahn would do now.

“At least let me say good-bye.” Alec dismounted and went to Hâzadriën’s horse. Sebrahn came willingly into his arms. Alec hugged him close for a moment, his heart like a stone in his chest, then he set the rhekaro on his feet and knelt in front of him.

“I’m leaving, Sebrahn.” His throat went tight and he had to clear it before he could go on. “Seregil and Micum and I, we’re going away for a little while.”

Please, throw a fit. Sing this away!

But Sebrahn just looked up at him with those wide silver eyes. “Leeeeaving.”

“Yes, leaving. You’re staying. Staying? With Hâzadriën.”

Sebrahn looked at him for a moment, then turned and held his arms up to the tall rhekaro.

“It’s time to go,” Seregil said quietly. “Come on.”

Alec’s heart ached as he lifted Sebrahn back up into Hâzadriën’s arms. “Take good care of him.”

The tall rhekaro said nothing, and his expression did not change as he shifted Sebrahn in his lap.

Going back to Windrunner, Alec swung up into the saddle and looped Patch’s lead rein over his pommel. Looking back over his shoulder, Alec saw Hâzadriën and the other ’faie ride off without a backward glance.

Sebrahn did nothing.

And Alec’s heart broke a little more.

Rieser braced for an attack as soon as they were out of sight of the other Ebrados, but his traveling companions appeared to be ready to keep their word, at least for now. If they slipped away from him, he would hunt them down. If they murdered him, Turmay would know and there would be nothing to stop his riders from heading home with the small tayan’gil. Either way, he would have accomplished his mission.

All the same, he couldn’t help noticing how Alec bit his lip and looked away as they went on.

“Sebrahn will be safe. I’ve given you my word.”

Alec spared him a black look and rode to the head of the line.

Seregil admired Rieser as they rode away from his people. The man might not trust them, but he trusted in their honor. It was astonishing, really, and so ill-founded.

“We have a day or two of riding ahead of us,” Seregil told him as they set off down through the foothills toward the coast. “We might as well pass the time pleasantly. Why don’t you tell us about this ‘white road’?”

“Haven’t you guessed?”

“Tayan’gil means ‘white blood.’ The white road leads to them?”

“Yes, and the white road we followed when we left Aurënen. But the tayan’gils themselves are sometimes called ‘white roads.’ It is their blood that heals us, and the same blood that made us exiles.”

“I see. And am I correct in assuming that Hâzadriën was made from your ancestor, Hâzadriël?”

“Yes.”

“That was more than four generations ago. He’s really that old?”

“That’s correct. She is dead, but he still exists. No one knows if they ever die.”

“How do you feed him, if the person he was made from is dead?” asked Alec, breaking his silence at last.

“Any Hâzadriëlfaie can feed a tayan’gil. We all share the same blood. Think what you like of us, but my people will not let Sebrahn go hungry or be harmed.”

“Anyone?” Alec looked positively dismayed at that.

Seregil’s heart went out to him. First the little rhekaro’s disregard for their departure, and now this. Perhaps this will help him accept the truth, and what has to happen when we get back.

Turning to Rieser, he asked, “How did Hâzadriël and her people come to be in that valley?”

“How much do you know of her?”

“Only that she had some sort of vision, gathered up some followers, and headed north.”

“That’s the end of the story, but not the beginning. She was captured by the Plenimarans, and was used by a—What did you call them?”

“Alchemist.”

“Yes, by an alchemist to make Hâzadriën. Somehow she escaped, and brought four other ’faie back with her, and five tayan’gils, including Hâzadriën. They were the only ones to return. What she saw in Plenimar—” Rieser paused and made some sort of sign with his right hand, probably one of reverence, or warding. “It was only then that it was revealed to her that her blood and those of the people she saw treated in the same manner was different, special.”

“Dragon’s blood,” Alec murmured.

Rieser gave him a surprised look. “Yes, we are blessed with the Great Dragon’s favor. It is our gift and our burden.”

“Do they all have the power to heal?” asked Micum.

Rieser acted as if he hadn’t heard him.

“Do they?” asked Seregil.

“Yes. They are a treasure to our people. Some even count them as a gift of Aura, but the white blood was a curse when we lived within the grasp of the Tír. They tortured and enslaved us to make tayan’gils, and bled us to make dark magic.”

“Not my people,” Micum replied.

Rieser smiled darkly. “Oh, yes. Tayan’gils have been found in all the Tír lands over the years, so it isn’t only the Plenimarans who know the secret of their making. That’s why we withdrew so far. There were no Tír near the valley you call Ravensfell when she led her people there. Now that there are, we have to guard ourselves all the more carefully.”

“I’m from Kerry,” Alec told him. “Most people up there don’t even believe in you anymore. I always thought the ’faie were just some tales the bards told.”

“Your father knew better,” Rieser pointed out. “Did he lie to you, his only child?”

“To protect him,” Seregil cut in. “To keep him from going off to look for his mother’s people, or seek revenge. Alec’s father knew what would happen to him if he got anywhere near you.”

“How did your father meet her in the first place, Alec, if you don’t mind me asking?” said Micum.

“He never told me anything about her, except that she died when I was born. Whenever I asked more questions, he’d go silent. Sometimes he looked sad.” Alec paused, gazing off into the distance as if he could see his past there. “He had no people, so it was just him and me, all those years, always moving around. We never went near the pass.” He turned to Rieser. “It was because he knew about the Ebrados, wasn’t it? You came hunting us.”

“Of course. Until the day our captain’s horse came back with blood on the saddle. We always assumed that he’d found you, and that your father had killed him.”

“No. I would have known.” Alec paused. “He did leave me with an innkeeper sometimes, when I was little. Maybe he knew that the Ebrados were close by.”

“He was a brave, good man,” said Micum.

Alec swallowed hard. “I never knew. He was just—my father. He didn’t even carry a sword.”

“If he was half the archer you are, he wouldn’t have needed one.”

“A good man wouldn’t have left the mother of his son to die alone,” said Rieser.

“He didn’t!” growled Alec. “I saw what happened, in a vision at Sarikali. He was trying to save her when she died. Your people killed her before he could, but he saved me.”

“He didn’t know what he was doing,” Rieser replied solemnly.

“So that’s what you Ebrados do? Kill innocent people?”

“The ones we kill are not innocent. Men came looking for us and we killed them to protect ourselves. Others caught some of us who unwisely ventured out of the valley, and carried them away to make more tayan’gils. The Ebrados hunted every one of them down, and brought back the Hâzad, if they still lived, and the tayan’gils. We take care of our own.”

“Just how many tayan’gils do you have?” asked Seregil.

“Nineteen. They are gentle, silent creatures like Hâzadriën, and great healers.” He turned to Alec again. “They are treated with the highest respect.”

Alec frowned and looked away.

“But you’re willing to risk Hâzadriën, to bring him along as your healer?” asked Seregil.

“It was Hâzadriël’s will, when she led the Ebrados. And it’s not only that. He can sense others of his kind. He helped Turmay find you, and now you see how he cares for Sebrahn. When the time comes, Sebrahn will come with him willingly.”

“But he’s not harmless like the others,” said Alec, still frowning. “What will you do with him?”

“That is up to our khirnari, but I know he will come to no harm, as long as he causes none.”

“How did alchemists find out about the white blood in the first place?” wondered Seregil. “You don’t look any different than any other ’faie. How did Hâzadriël know, for that matter?”

Rieser shrugged. “Aura guided Hâzadriël to find others with the same special blood. The annals say that she was guided by visions. She did not go north until the Lightbringer revealed the way to her.”

“You weren’t a people then, were you?”

“No. We were scattered among all the clans. Some ’faie have magic. Some have music or the hand for art. We had the white blood of the Dragon.”

“How could no one else in Aurënen ever have known?” Seregil wondered.

“They knew at Sarikali. That is where she went with the first rhekaros, and that is where she was given her first vision that sent her to find the people of the blood.”

“She must have been a very strong woman,” said Micum.

Rieser finally spared him a glance. “She was. We strive to be worthy of her legacy, and that of all our forebears.”

A proud people, thought Seregil. That would make them all the more dangerous.

“We should have gone to Sarikali when we had the chance,” said Alec. “If she could take a rhekaro there, then we could have, too!”

“Other rhekaros can’t kill,” Seregil reminded him.

“We could have found a way.”

Seregil sighed inwardly. He didn’t blame Alec for being angry right now, and probably feeling helpless into the bargain. All Seregil could do was trust that he wouldn’t do anything stupid and impulsive. Alec was too smart for that.

Even so, Seregil was still all too aware of the pain his talímenios was in, and how much he hated their unwanted companion. He had no doubt that if Rieser tried anything, he wouldn’t get more than a bowshot away.

They came in sight of Ero early the following afternoon. The ruins of the citadel were visible for miles, and Alec forgot his simmering worries for a moment at the sight of them.

The remains of towering walls and ruined castles stood stark against the blue sky on a high promontory. As they drew closer, he could make out the broken outline of the wall that had encircled the city from harbor front to the citadel. It hadn’t been as large a place as Rhíminee, but still worthy of a royal capital.

“Someday when we have time, I’ll take you up there,” Seregil told him. “It was called the Palatine, and all the nobles in Ero had palaces and villas there.”

“What happened to this city?” asked Rieser.

“The Plenimarans burned most of it when they raided it in Queen Tamír’s day.”

“How long ago?” asked Rieser.

“Five centuries. Later on the rest of it burned again. I think they just gave up on it in the end. Some even say it bears a curse, from the days when Tamír’s kinsmen seized control. Plague was a problem, too, though that was more likely a problem with the swamps or drains than a curse. It must have been a beautiful place in its day, though. You can still find traces of murals inside some of the old villas and palaces, and a bit of statuary. They were a very prosperous people. The original royal crypt is up there, too, or what’s left of it. Queen Tamír had the remains of her kin moved to Rhíminee when she built her new city.”

Alec resisted an urge to snap at Seregil. When he fell into his storytelling ways, he could go on for a long time. Rieser didn’t need to know all this. Deep down, however, he realized that what he really resented was the familiar way Seregil was speaking with the Hâzad, almost as if they were comrades by choice.

Play every role to the hilt, Alec. He knew that this was what Seregil was doing, but with rather more relish than Alec was feeling right now.

“The Skalans must be a powerful people,” said Rieser, shading his eyes as he stared out at the ruins. “I’ve never seen cities as large as they have here.”

“They are a good people, overall,” Seregil told him.

Rieser snorted at that.

They reached the outskirts of the old wall and followed it past scattered farmsteads and pastures to Beggar’s Bridge, which lay just south of the old city. There really was an ancient stone bridge there; a large one, with traces of the ornate carvings that had once decorated it.

“That’s a pretty fancy bit of work, to be called Beggar’s Bridge, don’t you think, Alec?” Micum remarked.

“I suppose so.”

“Seregil?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was a popular place for people to beg.”

Beggar’s Bridge was small but didn’t seem particularly impoverished. In fact it was no different from any of the little ports Alec had seen. There were a number of small vessels moored close to shore, and several larger ones farther out. Even from here he recognized the Lady. She was sleeker than the high-prowed trading carracks, and was the only ship there with battle platforms.

It was getting dark as they entered the town through a simple gate.

“Don’t speak unless you have no choice. Your accent is too thick,” Seregil warned Rieser.

“Who would I speak to here?” the man replied, wrinkling his nose at the stench from the gutters.

The one small square had a shrine to Astellus, the patron deity of sailors, fishermen, and women in labor. The lintel was carved with the traditional wave pattern, and there were dozens of little wax votives shaped like boats and fish scattered in front of it.

The Sea Horse Tavern was a respectable one-story establishment near the waterfront. It had a low thatched roof, and its whitewashed walls were painted with the same wave design in blue.

“Remember, don’t start any conversations,” Seregil murmured as they dismounted in front of the stable. Leaving their horses in the care of the stable hand, they shouldered their packs and went inside.

The front room was crowded, but Seregil quickly spotted Rhal’s cabin boy, Dani, standing by a window overlooking the harbor. As soon as the boy caught sight of them, he pushed through the crowd and began to bow to them. Seregil caught him by the shoulder in time, not wanting to draw attention.

“It’s good to see you again, my l—”

“No names here, Dani,” Seregil ordered, keeping his voice down.

“Well, welcome anyway, sir. And you, sirs!” He nodded to Alec and Micum, then gave Rieser a curious look. The Hâzad turned away with a grunt and glared around at the crowd, clearly uncomfortable being in such close quarters with so many Tírfaie.

“How’s your captain?” Seregil asked the boy.

“He’s fine, sir. He sends his regards. I’ll row you out now, if you like.”

“Is Tarmin still doing the cooking?” asked Micum.

“Aye, sir.”

“Then I say we take our chances here.”

Seregil chuckled at that. “Not a bad idea.”

The house’s jellied eel pie was not a disappointment, and a far cry from what Alec recalled of the bland fare favored by Rhal and his largely Mycenian crew. When they were done, they left the stable boy with enough silver to ensure that their horses would be well cared for until they returned. Giving the horses a few last apples and some affectionate scratching, they set out along the dark street with their packs and saddlebags slung over their shoulders.

Beggar’s Bridge had no piers or jetties, just a line of dinghies upended on the beach. Dani and Alec dragged their boat down to the water’s edge.

“What has the Lady been up to since we last saw you?”

Dani gave him a gap-toothed grin. “We took thirteen carracks this winter, and one of them was loaded with north country gold baps. Another had Aurënfaie wine and silks and all sorts of lady’s things. There were even some slaves, and we carried them all the way home to Aurënen. We lost two, though. They threw themselves overboard. Damned if I know why.”

“The Lightbearer will bless you all with luck for your kindness to those who made it home,” said Seregil.

Dani manned the oars and they were soon skimming along past the fishing boats and out toward the broad mouth of what had been Ero Harbor.

The Green Lady’s two masts cast writhing double lines of black across the water; Alec could just make out the shape of her figurehead. The “green lady” pressed one hand to her ample bosom, the other to her rounded belly. The flowing folds of her dark hair and gown shone silver and black in the moonlight.

Lanterns glowed fore and aft, and the windows of the cabins at the stern were lit up. Dani put his fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle as they approached. With a crew of forty men one step up from being pirates, it was better not to surprise anyone.

The boy’s whistle was answered with another and was followed by the rattle and splash of the rope ladder being let down for them.

Rhal—together with his helmsman, Skywake, and Nettles, the first mate—was there to meet them as they climbed aboard. “Welcome, my lords. And Micum Cavish, too! Well met, sir. It’s been a while. How’s the leg?”

“I manage,” Micum laughed, clasping hands with Rhal.

The captain was dark and stocky, and going a bit bald, but still rakish enough to attract women in any port. He was northern-born, like Micum and Alec, and with his black beard he could pass for a Plenimaran. On occasion, he had. He greeted Seregil and Alec warmly, then turned to Rieser and extended his hand. “I haven’t had the pleasure, sir.”

Rieser ignored the hand. “I am Rieser í Stellen.”

“I can’t place your accent.”

“No need to,” Seregil told him.

“Fair enough.” Rhal was used to secrets. “It’s been a long time since you’ve called for me.”

“We had a bit of trouble.”

“You have a ‘bit of trouble’ more often than not,” Rhal noted as he led them belowdecks to the small guest cabin. “What was it this time? Angry wizards? Plots against the queen? An outraged wife? Or did you get caught in the wrong house with your fingers in the jewel box?”

“Slavery, actually,” Alec told him.

Rhal shook his head. “Well, that’s a new one.”

“You are lords and thieves?” asked Rieser.

“Depends on the company,” Seregil replied.

Their cabin was more luxurious than Alec recalled. The wide bunk was fitted out with a red velvet coverlet with silver fringe, and an ornate lantern on the hook overhead cast fretwork shadows across the small polished table, the velvet tufted chairs, and the silver cups and crystal decanter in a fancy leather box on the narrow sideboard.

“What happened here?” asked Seregil. “It looks like a Street of Lights whorehouse.”

“We’ve had good fishing,” Rhal replied with a wink as he poured them cups of fine Zengati brandy.

“So Dani said. Have you given the queen her share?”

“Of course, but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep the best back for myself. And you, of course, as our patron. I’ve sent your share in coin to your man in Wheel Street.”

“Thank you.”

Alec knew that Seregil never asked for an accounting; he had more gold than he knew what to do with in various Rhíminee money houses, under various names. He did the same with clothing and traveling gear; he had caches all over the city in sewer tunnels and abandoned houses, always ready for a quick change or escape.

Rhal and Rieser remained standing as the others found places on the room’s two chairs and the bed. “So, where are we bound this time?”

“Riga,” Alec told him.

Rhal raised an eyebrow. “That’s a tall order. The Overlord has half his navy anchored there, and most of the ships are full of marines.”

“You can put us ashore outside the city where you’ll draw less attention,” said Seregil.

“It still means changing the sails. We’ll have to put in at one of the Strait Isles for at least a day.” He’d captured a set of striped Plenimaran sails soon after the Lady first sailed and often used them to slip into enemy waters. “I can have you across in a week, if the winds cooperate. In the meantime, if the shape in that bag of yours is what I think it is, perhaps you and Lord Alec can provide us with some entertainment during the crossing.”

Seregil reached into the bag at his feet and took out the harp Adzriel had given him. He plucked a few notes and grimaced. “After a bit of tuning.”

Alec reached into his own bag and took out one of the iron collars. “We need another of these, too.”

“I’ve got a collection of them, taken off the poor bastards we found on some of the ships we’ve taken,” said Rhal. “Now, for accommodations. There isn’t room for all of you in here.”

“I’ll berth with the crew, if they have an extra hammock,” said Micum.

“There’s no need for that. Take the third cabin, next to mine.”

“I will sleep on the deck,” Rieser told him.

“You don’t know ships,” said Micum. “You’d be lucky not to get washed overboard if a storm comes up. You take the cabin. I’ll stay with the crew.”

Alec couldn’t tell if Rieser was more surprised by Micum or himself as he nodded slightly and muttered, “Thank you.”

Morthage had a been a crew member on the Lady for over a year now, and liked his captain and the work. So he felt a bit guilty as he slipped below to his billet and took out one of the bespelled message sticks his other employer supplied him with. Breaking it, he whispered, “Lord Seregil and Alec have returned to the ship—”

When he was done, a little ball of magic light sped away through the thick planking of the hull.