The White Road

CHAPTER 34 Mistrust

BY THE TIME the Green Lady made anchor at Beggar’s Bridge, the flesh around Rieser’s wound had turned dangerously dark and taken on a sickly sweet odor. Alec and Seregil sat with him while the drysian changed his dressings one last time before they went ashore.

Konthus shook his head. “You should be well healed by now, with all the broths and magic I’ve poured into you.”

“You did the best you could, and I am thankful,” Rieser replied, his cheeks pale except for the red fever patches. “At least I will live long enough to return to my people.”

Konthus made a blessing over him and took his leave.

“I hope you do,” murmured Seregil, wrinkling his nose at the foul odor of the wound.

“Just get me back to Hâzadriën.”

“Or Sebrahn,” said Alec.

“No, Hâzadriën!” Rieser gasped, and there was rare alarm in his voice.

“Why are you so scared of Sebrahn?”

Rieser stared up at the cabin ceiling for a moment before answering. “Because he’s not a true tayan’gil. Please, honor my request. It could be my last.”

“Suit yourself,” Alec said.

They reached Ero Harbor in the morning, and readied to leave. The longboats were packed, and Rhal and his men were armed and ready. They took their leave on deck, shaking hands with Nettles.

“I’ll expect the ship to be still afloat when I get back,” Rhal said with a grin as he clapped the mate on the shoulder. “And provisioned. It’s hunting season again.”

“And I’ll expect you to come back safe and sound, Captain.”

I hope so, too, thought Seregil as he joined Alec and Micum in the longboat and helped lift Rieser onto a pallet spread in the bottom. He wasn’t sure giving up Sebrahn would be enough to satisfy the Ebrados, and Rieser had refused to say one way or the other.

There was nothing Rieser could do about the sailors who were coming along. He hoped Turmay could handle that many people at once, if it came to a fight.

He held on in silent misery until they were rowed in, but collapsed as soon as they were ashore. He awoke in a clean bed in a sunny room with no idea how he’d gotten there. His shoulder burned like fire, and stank so bad it was making him even sicker.

“I think it’s your Hâzad blood,” said Seregil, the only other occupant of the room at the moment. He was sprawled in an armchair beside him, bare feet propped on the edge of the mattress.

“I think you may be right,” he croaked. “These Tírfaie healers aren’t much good to me. Are there any ’faie?” He was mortified to show such weakness in front of his companions, especially the Tír. It put him at their mercy, and that was something he’d never experienced before.

“They heal me well enough,” Seregil told him. “But I’m not of your blood. Do you have healers among your people, or do you just depend on your tayan’gils?”

“Both. What the healers can’t cure, the tayan’gils can.”

“That must make you a very long-lived people.”

“No more than you, I expect. We just don’t die young as often.”

The Bôkthersan was quiet for a moment. “It’s a shame, how they have to be made. In their way, the tayan’gils are a real gift.”

“Our gift and our curse. It cut us off from your people long ago.” He paused. “My ancestors were Bôkthersans.” Why am I telling him at all? he wondered, even as he said it.

“So you said, soon after we met.”

Did I? My mind is wandering. It must be the fever talking. It was far better to tell himself that than admit that he’d come to admire Seregil and his friends—even Micum Cavish. It was hard not to, when you’d fought for your very lives together.

He was beginning to doubt he’d live long enough to die among his own people.

Alec left Seregil to tend Rieser at the inn they’d taken for the night and went to the Sea Horse with Micum to see about the horses they’d boarded there. The stable hand had kept his word, or the fee they’d paid had been high enough. Either way, Patch and the others were sound and glossier than they’d been when they left. Seregil had offered to buy Rhal’s men horses, but apart from their captain, none of them were horsemen.

Patch was glad to see Alec, and gave his belt a good nip before she nuzzled the apple from his pocket.

“There’s a small cart out in back,” Micum told him. “I don’t think Rieser will make it any other way—What are you frowning about?”

“When we first met him, he’d have killed you without a second thought. I never expected to see you two friends.”

“I wouldn’t call us friends, exactly. But he’s a brave man and a good fighter. I was glad to have him at my back when things got tight back at the cottage. What that will count for once we get him back to his people, though? I’m not going to assume too much.”

“Did Seregil tell you what I decided about Sebrahn?”

“No, but judging by that long face, you’ve decided to give him up.”

“Yes. So there’s just the matter of whether they’ll let me go. Rieser won’t give me a straight answer about that, but maybe it’s not completely up to him. It’s a good thing Rhal and the others are coming with us.”

Micum rubbed a hand over his short beard. “I’ve been wondering that myself. But I figure we’ll have better luck if we show up with their leader alive.”

Seregil had said the same.

The cart was cheaply got. Seregil put Star between the traces and saddled Cynril. The long rest aboard the Lady and the drysian’s good care had him nearly mended, and he was able to ride without much discomfort.

They made Rieser as comfortable as they could with their packs and bedrolls, but every bump and jolt took its toll. Micum drove the cart and Alec and Seregil rode beside it, watchful for trouble. With Rhal and his men strung out behind them on foot, they made a respectable-looking force.

Rieser lay very still, his sunken eyes closed most of the time. As the day wore on he spoke less and less, and the fever spots in his pale cheeks spread in angry patches.

They made camp that night beside a stream, but Rieser wouldn’t drink, not even the tinctures Konthus had sent with them to ease his pain. Seregil was sitting in the wagon with him late that night when the man woke with a start and grabbed his arm.

“Promise me—” he whispered through cracked lips.

“What?” asked Seregil, leaning down to hear.

“If I die—I had a dream. Don’t let your tayan’gil bring me back if I die.”

Seregil didn’t bother arguing with him. There was a good chance the man wouldn’t see another sunrise. “Why not?” he asked, curious.

“It’s not—not meant to be that way. It’s wrong.”

“But why wouldn’t you want to live if you could? Alec is no different than he was before.”

Rieser stared up at him with fever bright eyes and rasped, “Honor this request. That’s all I ask of you.”

Seregil touched the man’s hot hand. “You have my word, Rieser í Stellen.”

He wasn’t sure if Rieser heard him or not. Seregil sat with him for some time, pondering Rieser’s words. He’d never questioned whether it was right or wrong to bring Alec back from Bilairy’s gate. All he cared about was that Alec was still with him.

And let’s not wonder if a tayan’gil’s magic wears off, like Thero’s did on Sebrahn.

Was there something more than simple superstition behind Rieser’s request? He wondered if Rieser would tell him his dream. Of course, if the man died tonight, then he’d never know.

But Rieser did live through the night, though he remained unconscious as they set out for the Ebrados camp, rousing just often enough to take water to keep life in his body.

They approached the forest’s edge late that afternoon and spotted masked riders. Instead of coming to greet them, however, they turned and disappeared up the trail to the waterfall.

Micum reined Star to a halt. “I guess they can count at a distance.”

“Or they have a special welcome for us,” Seregil said with a frown.

“We should ride ahead and explain,” said Alec.

“Not you, Alec. Rhal, will you come with me?”

The captain drew his sword with a grin. “I’d be glad to.”

“You’d better have Rieser with you,” Micum advised.

“True. All right, you come with us. Alec, you and the rest stay well back from the trees for now. One of us will come back for you, or yell if we’re in trouble.”

Alec took an arrow from his quiver and set it to the string, resting the bow across the saddlebow. “We’ll be ready, but I’ll only wait an hour. It will be almost dark by then.”

“Good. See you soon!” Seregil took the lead ahead of the wagon, with Rhal in the rear.

“I don’t see any sign of archers,” Micum said in a low voice, scanning the forest on either side as they entered the trees.

“It’s the ones I don’t see that I worry about.”

No one challenged them until they reached the clearing at the waterfall.

Nowen and Sorengil came to meet them with swords drawn. Behind them Rane, Relian, Morai, and Allia had bows at the ready, and Turmay stood by the fire, oo’lu in hand. The other four were missing. Seregil wondered how many other bows were aimed in his direction. There was an air of tension here that seemed out of proportion with the situation.

“Who are those men you brought with you, and where is Captain Rieser?” Nowen demanded.

“Those men are our bodyguard,” Seregil replied. “We left them behind as a show of good faith, but I’d be happy to go and get them. As for Rieser, he’s here in the wagon and needs your healer badly.”

The archers he could see lowered their bows and followed Nowen to the side of the cart.

“Did they do this to you, Captain?” she asked, shocked.

“He’s beyond hearing you,” Seregil told her. “And if we had, we wouldn’t be bringing him back to you, would we?”

Hâzadriën and Sebrahn climbed into the cart while the youngster named Rane fetched a bowl of water and a knife.

Seregil and Rhal dismounted and watched with the others as Hâzadriën drew his knife and slit his finger. He made half a dozen yellow lotus flowers and arranged them in a ring on Rieser’s shoulder. Each one melted away in turn, and their sweet scent mixed with the rank odor of pus and proud flesh.

“By the Old Sailor!” Rhal exclaimed softly as he watched.

“But it’s not enough,” said Nowen.

Sebrahn reached for the knife, but before he could make his dark flowers, Seregil climbed in to stop him.

“No,” he said firmly, holding Sebrahn by the wrist.

“What’s this?” asked Nowen.

“Rieser told me he didn’t want any of Sebrahn’s healing. I gave my word. Let your tayan’gil go on.”

Nowen motioned for Hâzadriën to continue. At last the flowers began to take effect. The infection began to fade from the flesh, and the wound opened and oozed bloody yellow pus.

“You’re bringing those men here?” Nowen asked, still suspicious. “If you come in peace, then why do you need them?”

“They are my men,” Rhal told her. “We’re just here to ensure the safety of our friends. We mean you no harm.”

“Is Alec with them?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Go get your people and bring him with you.”

Rhal exchanged a quick, questioning look with Seregil.

“It’s time you went back.” The sun was nearly touching the tops of the peak now, and long shadows were stretching across the clearing. Rhal mounted Windrunner and galloped off down the track.

A few moments later Rieser came to with a sudden gasp and stared up at Sebrahn crouched beside him with a mix of awe and horror. “Nowen! Was I—Was I dead?”

“No, but as good as,” Seregil told him. “And don’t worry. It was your tayan’gil who healed you. How do you feel?”

Rieser flexed his shoulder. More pus streamed from the wound. Rane handed him a cloth and Rieser pressed it to the wound with a grimace of disgust. “Better than I was, except for this mess.”

Nowen felt his forehead. “The fever’s gone down a bit.”

Rieser smiled at Hâzadriën—the most genuine smile Seregil had ever seen on the man. “Thank you, old friend.”

Hâzadriën just looked at him and twitched his shoulders slightly. Seregil could see the outline of the wings press out against the back of the rhekaro’s tunic and wondered what kind of garment he normally wore.

“The small tayan’gil has great power,” Turmay replied, “but Seregil would not let the little one touch you. Why not, if it can heal, too?”

“I prefer the tayan’gil who is my friend,” Rieser told him. “Now let’s see if I can hold myself up.”

He climbed unsteadily from the back of the cart, then gripped it to stay on his feet.

“Good to have you back, Captain,” Nowen said, helping him over to a log seat by the fire. It was clear he was in no condition to fight.

“How are things here?”

“Not good. Some Retha’noi are massing on the heights. I don’t know how many, but more than we have, I’d say. They don’t want us here and we won’t get through without a fight. Kalien and the rest are on guard duty in the woods. That man Rhal has gone back for his men, and Alec. I hope I did right, letting him go?”

“You did. They only came to make certain of their friends’ safety, which I have sworn to.”

“Did you find the book?”

“We did, thanks to Seregil and Alec. Seregil, show them.”

Seregil pulled his share of the halved, salt-warped volumes from his pack.

“You have already tried to destroy them,” Turmay said with evident approval.

“Not quite. We’re splitting them,” Seregil replied. “No one will have a complete book. We take half and the Ebrados take half and they’ll never come together again.”

“No, they must be burned!”

“They won’t burn, thanks to the alchemist’s magic. It’s better this way,” Seregil explained.

“Then cast them into some deep, dark place!”

“That’s for our khirnari to say, Turmay. You know that,” Rieser said.

“But the small tayan’gil? You will destroy it?” asked Turmay.

“No! That was never our intent. You know we honor tayan’gils.”

“This is not like the others. You know what it can do. It’s already killed one of your people.”

“We’re taking him back with us, to protect him, like the books,” Rieser said firmly. “You’ve guided us well so far, but you have no say in this.” He gestured at the heights where watch fires were burning. “What is the meaning of all this?”

“They don’t like outsiders,” Turmay replied, but Seregil caught the hint of untruth in his words, and the way he glanced around at the surrounding forest as he spoke.

“You’ve agreed to give up Sebrahn?” Nowen asked Seregil, evidently not noticing.

“It was Alec’s decision,” said Seregil. “It won’t be easy for him, when the time comes, but Sebrahn will be yours.”

“I see.” Turmay was frowning now.

“There’s one more thing, though,” Seregil said, turning to Rieser. “You have the tayan’gil and the books, or parts of them anyway. In return, I need your word, on your honor, that Alec will be free to go.”

Rieser hesitated, then nodded. “You have my word.”

“Those were not our orders!” Nowen said.

“I am taking responsibility for that. I’d never have found the books without them. And they saved my life twice over. No, Alec will go his way in peace, and we will not hunt him again.”

“What will you tell the khirnari?”

“Just what I have told you. It’s a debt of honor and I take full responsibility. I have seen what these men are capable of. Alec will not be caught and used again.”

Seregil looked around at the others, watching the different emotions play out there: doubt, anger, acceptance.

Meanwhile, Hâzadriën had made a few more flowers for Rieser’s shoulder. Rieser waited until he was finished, then reached out and stroked Sebrahn’s hair. “And this little one will be treated with honor and kindness.”

“He’s unnatural,” said Turmay.

“Aura’s white road runs in his veins, however mixed. He’s not an abomination.”

“That’s for the khirnari to decide,” Sorengil warned.

“No, it has been decided!” cried a voice above them.

The witch Naba stood above the waterfall with several other Retha’noi men, all with oo’lus poised to play. Behind him Retha’noi archers were taking aim, and two other witch men were there with their horns.

“This can’t be good,” muttered Micum.

“If any of you move, the archers will find you,” Turmay warned. “Rieser í Stellen, you were sent to find this tayan’gil, and to destroy the ya’shel. I was sent to destroy both, and the Mother has given me the means and brought me to my brothers of the south.”

“This is treachery!”

“Please, Rieser, you must listen to me,” Turmay pleaded. “I have no desire to see Hâzad blood spilled.”

“Then you have chosen the wrong friends!” Rieser growled.

At that moment the witches on the heights began to play. First Rane, and then Relian slumped to the ground, dead or unconscious; it was impossible to tell.

Micum fell to his knees. Seregil could feel the effects creeping over him as he knelt in front of Sebrahn and shouted, “Sing, damn it! Sing!”

And Sebrahn did.

Seregil carefully refrained from touching Sebrahn, but he still felt the rush of power strike through him, banishing the effects of the horns. A swirling wind blew up from nowhere at the center of the clearing, scattering gear and blowing the fire to pieces. Neither the Ebrados nor the Retha’noi fell, and Seregil guessed that the wind must be Sebrahn’s magic colliding with that of the hill folk. He’d never seen anything like it, but the Retha’noi were still on their feet. Ducking a flying branch, he crawled over to Micum and felt for a pulse. He was alive, and woke when Seregil shook him.

The Retha’noi fell silent first, then Sebrahn. Seregil heard shouting on the heights, and a sudden scream from the trees behind them.

“They’re flanking us,” said Nowen.

“Aura’s Light, that sounded like Kalien!” Morai exclaimed even as she took aim and let fly.

Nowen and several of the others who were still on their feet pushed the cart onto its side to shield them as the Retha’noi shouted what were probably war cries—he hoped to hell they weren’t some new magic—and the Retha’noi archers shot back. Arrows thudded into the bottom of the cart and embedded themselves in the trees behind them.

“Will you be able to fight, if it comes to that?” Seregil asked Rieser.

The man shrugged. “I will do what I can.”

Some of the Ebrados scrambled for their bows while Nowen and Sorengil chanced death to drag Rane and Relian to safety. They were nearly there when Relian was struck in the neck. Seregil and Micum ducked out and helped bring them in. Rieser quickly inspected Relian’s wound and shook his head. Blood was pulsing out around the shaft and he was wheezing bloody foam. Sebrahn was with him in an instant, but there was no water for him to use.

Seregil pulled him away. “Leave him. There’s nothing you can do for him right now.”

“I wish Alec was here with his bow,” said Micum, crouched beside Hâzadriën and Rieser, sword drawn.

“So do I,” said Seregil.

Taegil burst from the woods at their back and ran for cover. “They’re in the trees! I think they killed Kalien!”

“How many?” Rieser demanded.

“I don’t know. At least a dozen.” Taegil fell to his knees, gasping for breath. “We heard that awful noise, then suddenly they were there. We both ran but—”

“You have a bow,” Rieser snapped. “Use it!”

Seregil looked up at the darkening sky. “Alec won’t wait much longer.”

It was only then that he realized that Sebrahn was gone.

Looking around frantically, he saw that the rhekaro had left the shelter of the cart and was making for the pool with the bowl Hâzadriën had dropped. Sebrahn filled it, but as he turned to come back, an arrow struck him in the side. He staggered, but kept going. Another struck him in the leg and this time he fell.

Seregil dashed out and grabbed him, pulling the rhekaro to safety. Ignoring his own wounds, Sebrahn immediately reached for the bowl and looked up at Seregil, the message plain. Seregil filled it from a fallen waterskin and helped him over to Relian. Sebrahn didn’t have to cut a finger; using the white blood from his own wounds, he made a dark flower and pressed it to the wound in the dying man’s neck.

“It’s no use,” Seregil told him, but Sebrahn made another, and another. His wounds were still bleeding, and Seregil saw that the rhekaro was taking on a shrunken look; his already thin arms were noticeably smaller.

He pulled Sebrahn away, and over to Rieser. “Sebrahn needs strong blood!”

The Hâzad cut his finger and stuck it in Sebrahn’s mouth. The rhekaro latched on to his hand and sucked desperately.

Then the sound of the oo’lus began again. Dropping Rieser’s hand, Sebrahn jumped to his feet and began to sing again.

“It’s been too long,” Alec said, watching as the sun sank toward the peaks in front of them.

“I don’t like it, either,” said Skywake. “We haven’t heard a damn thing. I say we go find them.”

Alec hobbled Patch and took up his bow. “Come on.”

“Wait, I hear a horseman,” said Skywake.

A moment later Rhal burst from the trees, an arrow bobbing from his horse’s shoulder.

“The camp’s under attack,” he shouted. “I was on my way back for you all and suddenly someone was shooting at me!”

Just then they heard a distant droning.

“What is that?” Skywake exclaimed.

“Oo’lus. Lots of them,” Alec began, then another piercing, unmistakable sound joined it. “And that’s Sebrahn. Come on!”

“Don’t run off alone,” Rhal called after him. “Your man will never forgive me if I let you get yourself killed.”

“Then you better hurry up!” Alec called back, sword in his right hand and his bow in the left.

Running in the lead, Alec was the first to see the body of a dark-haired man lying facedown in the road, two arrows in his back. The clothing wasn’t Seregil’s, but Alec still had to stop and roll him over, just to be certain. It was Kalien.

“We’re deer in a meadow here,” he told the others as they caught up. “Get into the trees. Rhal, you take that side of the road, I’ll go left.”

Five of the sailors followed Alec as he plunged through the shadowy wood. In a matter of minutes a small dark form leapt out at him with a long knife. Alec struck him down before he was in reach, and the one right behind him. There were more and suddenly he and his men were in the middle of a melee. From the shouts and ringing of steel nearby, Rhal had met with the same welcome.

They dispatched the men with knives, only to find themselves targeted by unseen archers. One of the sailors—it was too dark under the trees to be certain which one—was struck in the arm, and another fell.

“Keep going!” Alec shouted. They could hear more shouting from the direction of the waterfall, and now he could smell wood smoke.

Illior must have been still pleased with him; Alec reached the edge of the clearing without losing anyone else. A few trees on the far edge of the clearing were in flames, making it easier to see in the gathering gloom.

The droning started again, and Sebrahn’s answering song rose to mingle with it. Alec gritted his teeth against the sound, watching a violent wind whip up near the waterfall.

Rieser and some of the Ebrados were just in front of him, hunkered down behind the overturned cart. A few others were in the woods, shooting at the enemy on the high ground above the falls. Micum and Seregil were in the act of chasing after Sebrahn, who stood in the open, singing.

There were a lot of men up there, and some of them had oo’lus, but they had gone silent when Sebrahn began to sing. “We’re here!” Alec shouted to Seregil, then sheathed his bloody sword and raised his bow, aiming for the witches.

He struck two of the five in quick succession before the others ducked from sight, then turned his attention to the armed men streaming down through the trees in their direction.

“Over here!” Alec called over to the others as he took aim at the Retha’noi.

“How many?” asked Micum.

“Two score or more, but that’s what I see.”

There were short arrows scattered everywhere, and the cart looked like a tailor’s pin pillow, but the archers had stopped. They were probably among those coming down after them.

Then the remaining witches began to play again and Sebrahn answered them with a new, even more earsplitting note.

Alec staggered toward him, then fell to his knees as the combined sound of Sebrahn and the horns threatened to overwhelm his senses.

They are going to kill us all, thought Alec. His head felt like it was going to explode and his vision went red. The mingled sounds of the oo’lus and Sebrahn’s song were unbearable, and a sudden wind knocked him flat on his back, making it impossible to get to Sebrahn, who was exposed now, standing beside the cart, pale hair whipping wildly around his head.

Just when he thought he would die or go mad, the air was suddenly filled with the sound of wings. Looking up, he saw owls—hundreds of them—some swirling overhead while others dove toward the Retha’noi.

Sebrahn is calling them! His “owl dragons.” Illior’s sign. If only there were real dragons in this part of the world!

But the huge flock descending on the men on the heights might equal a dragon; the oo’lu song faltered and stopped and there were cries of pain and dismay from the forest to their left, some dangerously close.

Sebrahn stopped singing and fell to his hands and knees, his hair dull now, and dragging in the dirt. Alec crawled the short distance to him, aware that Seregil was shouting for him to get to cover. He grabbed up the rhekaro and staggered behind the cart with the others.

Sebrahn clung to Alec, croaking his name. Here in the shadow of the cart, Alec couldn’t see Sebrahn well enough to be sure of any injuries, but he could feel how depleted that little body was. Cutting his finger on the edge of his sword, he fed him and was relieved when Sebrahn sucked eagerly.

The owls were still diving and clawing at the Retha’noi, looking like avenging demons in the glare of the spreading forest fire. But that didn’t stop more armed men from bursting from the trees and falling on Seregil and the others. Entrusting Sebrahn to Hâzadriën, Alec waded into the fight.

The Retha’noi outnumbered them, but certainly couldn’t outfight them. They were all small like Turmay, and were armed with nothing but knives or short spears. Alec cut down four of them, and then lost count. It was horrible, like fighting children, and all the while the owls swooped and tore at their scalps and faces. He could see Seregil and Micum a few yards away, and they both wore similar expressions of dismay.

But the Retha’noi kept coming.

The sound of oo’lus behind him startled Alec. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw Turmay there, with Naba, and another witch he didn’t know. They were all looking at him as they played.

An icy hand gripped Alec’s heart and froze the blood in his veins. The sword fell from his numb hand and he staggered, vision going dim as Sebrahn began a song that Alec had heard only once before.

Seregil saw Alec crumpled on the ground and Micum kneeling beside him, pressing a hand to Alec’s chest. Stanching a wound or feeling for a heartbeat? Just beyond, Turmay and Naba stood with another witch, but Sebrahn was there in front of them, singing.

Dropping his bloody sword, Seregil ran to them and fell to his knees beside Alec, hardly noticing when both songs ceased. He took Alec’s face between his hands and felt blood seeping from the younger man’s ears. More ran like tears from beneath Alec’s closed eyelids.

“Alec! Alec, open your eyes, talí!”

After a long terrible moment, Alec’s eyelids fluttered.

“Alec, can you hear me? Say something!” Seregil pleaded.

“Stop—yelling—at me,” he mumbled.

Micum laughed in relief, and so did Seregil, but there were tears on his cheeks.

Alec reached up and brushed them away with one grimy, bloody thumb. “I’m all right.”

“I told you no more dying, damn it!”

“I didn’t, this time,” Alec gasped, then pushed himself up on one arm. “Sebrahn—Where’s Sebrahn?”

Retha’noi and some of the Ebrados lay scattered like forgotten rag dolls all over the clearing and at the edge of the forest. Hâzadriën knelt in the midst of them, tending Morai. There were bodies floating in the pool below the waterfall and—

And Sebrahn lay in a heap near the bodies of Turmay and Naba and some other witch Seregil hadn’t seen.

Struggling to his feet, Alec staggered over to the rhekaro.

The luster was gone from Sebrahn’s pale hair, and when Alec turned him over and gathered him in his arms, Seregil saw that the color of those open, unseeing eyes was as dull as old lead.

Seregil drew his poniard and held it out. Alec drove the tip of his forefinger against the point, piercing it nearly to the bone, then put it between Sebrahn’s slack lips. The rhekaro’s whole small body was withered like a pumpkin vine after a frost.

“Drink, Sebrahn,” Alec urged, squeezing droplets onto Sebrahn’s tongue. “Please drink.”

“Can’t Hâzadriën do something, Rieser?” asked Seregil.

Rieser shook his head sadly. “Tayan’gils can’t heal themselves or each other. Only—”

“Hâzadriëlfaie blood,” Alec finished for him, pressing his thumb against his forefinger to make the blood come faster.

Seregil put an arm around him, saying nothing.

“Please don’t die, Sebrahn.”

Seregil was about to pull him away when Sebrahn’s lips twitched around Alec’s finger and his dull eyes slowly closed. Alec stabbed his left forefinger and squeezed out fresh blood for him. Sebrahn was sucking weakly now; blood ran in a thin trickle from the corner of his mouth.

Rieser knelt down beside him. “Thank Aura. I didn’t think it was possible.”

“Maybe you should feed him, too,” said Alec. “Your blood is pure.”

Rieser nodded and cut his finger, then fed Sebrahn as Alec held him.

Alec leaned against Seregil, not taking his eyes from Rieser and Sebrahn. “He saved us all.”

“Not all,” said Nowen, limping over to them, her sword arm bloody to the elbow.

“How many of us are left?” asked Rieser.

“Rane survived whatever those witches did with their cursed horns, but he’s weak. Taegil has an arrow through his thigh. Relian is weak but alive, thanks to Sebrahn, though he can’t talk. Allia and Morai are dead and Kalien is still missing.”

“So many!” Rieser murmured grimly.

“Sebrahn’s not strong enough to bring them back,” said Alec.

“That’s just as well,” said Rieser. “It might be a temptation if he were.”

Rhal came to join them, covered in blood and pressing a hand to a gash on his forearm.

“How many men did you lose?” asked Seregil.

“Not a man. There are some wounds, but nothing we need the rhekaro for. But we’d better get out of these woods. The fire’s spreading.”

The entire clearing was bathed in the shifting red light now, and smoke was drifting over them in a grey pall. The surface of the pool below the waterfall reflected the color of blood; Seregil suspected that it wasn’t just a trick of the light. The wind was to the west, blowing away from the trail, but that could change in an instant.

“Nowen, get the dead tied on their horses,” Rieser ordered.

“Is there time for that?” asked Rhal, and got a cold look from the Ebrados captain.

“Then my men will help,” Rhal told him.

Rieser looked surprised, but nodded.

Hâzadriën tended the wounded while the others dealt with the dead. Rieser saw to it that some of the bodies were doubled on one horse so that Alec could ride out with Sebrahn. Rane, Sorengil, and Taegil slumped in the saddle and had to be tied on, but Nowen and Rieser made a quick job of it.

Meanwhile, Seregil and Micum went to where Turmay and the other witches had fallen. They lay just inside the trees, dead eyes staring up at the night sky, and still gripping the oo’lus. Seregil pulled Turmay’s away and ran his hands over it. “It isn’t cracked.”

“He failed his destiny,” Micum said.

Seregil gave him a tilted grin. “So much for fate. I think I’ll take these with us. Thero and Magyana will find them of interest.”

They left the smoke and firelight behind, moving as quickly as Rhal’s men on foot could, their way lit now by the moon. They stopped only long enough to take up Kalien’s corpse, then hurried on to the edge of the forest.

There was no question of taking the dead home, or burning the bodies without the proper resins and oil. Instead, Rieser and Nowen cut locks of hair for the families, placed the hunting masks each fallen comrade had worn in life over their face, and sewed them into their cloaks. Hâzadriën joined them as they carried the bodies just inside the forest and buried them side by side in the soft loam while the rest sat on the ground and wept. Seregil and the others had offered their help, but Rieser simply shook his head. When they were through, Sorengil and Nowen built tall cairns on top of each grave, then joined with the others in a keening song of loss.

Seregil and the others watched from a respectful distance, then headed back to the night’s campsite.

“Do your people do that, Lord Seregil?” asked Rhal.

“Yes, but the songs are different. They’re guiding the khi to their next life.”

“Khi? Is that a soul?”

“Something like it, but not exactly.”

“You believe there’s something after this life, then?”

Seregil nodded. “I didn’t, most of my life, but an oracle showed me glimpses of my lives to come.”

“Really? And what were they like?”

Seregil gave him a wry smile. “I always have a weapon in my hand.”

They set about making the evening meal. Alec had been silent, and he looked thoughtful as he tended the rabbits and grouse spitted over the fire.

The moon was setting when Rieser and the remainder of his people returned to the camp.

“Come and eat,” Seregil said.

The wounded were healed enough to join them, and they all ate in silence out of respect for the dead.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to go back the way we came,” Rieser said at last. “There will be more Retha’noi, and they don’t count us as friends.”

“There are most likely plenty more of them back in the hills,” said Micum. “I’ve been thinking. It would make your journey home a good deal shorter if you sailed with us. It’s no time at all to cross to Nanta from here, and you can make your way back up the river from there. What do you say, Rhal?”

The captain looked over what was left of the Ebrados. “As long as they leave Lord Alec alone, I’ve no reason to deny them. What say you, Lord Seregil?”

“I think it’s a good idea.”

Rhal offered his hand to Rieser. “Will you clasp hands on it, sir?”

Rieser took it with a weary nod. “You have my thanks.”

Seregil exchanged a secret grin with Micum. Rieser’s opinion of Tírfaie seemed to have softened just a bit.