Traitor's Moon

2 AN UNEXPECTED SUMMONS

Beka Cavish paced the ship's foredeck, scanning the western horizon for the first dark line marking Skala's northeast territories. It had been a week since they'd ridden out from Idrilain's camp; it might be another before they rejoined Klia for the voyage south and she didn't take well to inactivity. She plucked absently at the new gorget hanging at the throat of her green regimental tunic. The captain's brass seemed to sit more heavily against her chest than the plain steel crescent of lieutenant. She'd been perfectly content leading her turma and they'd made a name for themselves as raiders behind the enemy's lines: Urgazhi, "wolf demons" — bestowed on them by the enemy during the early days of the war. They wore the epithet as a badge of honor, but it had been dearly bought. Of the thirty riders under her command today, only half had come through those days and knew the truth behind the silly ballads sung across Skala and Mycena, knew where the fallen bodies of their comrades lay along the Plenimaran frontier.

The turma was at full strength now for the first time in months, thanks to this mission. Never mind that some of the newer recruits had only just lost their milk teeth, as Sergeant Braknil liked to say. Perhaps, Sakor willing,

they could be taught a thing or two before they all found themselves back in battle.

Less than a month before, Urgazhi Turma had been slogging through frozen Mycenian swamps, and even that was better than some fighting they'd seen.

Fighting across windswept sea ledges, the waves red with blood about their feet.

Beka leaned on the rail, watching a school of dolphins leaping ahead of the prow. The closer she came to seeing Seregil and Alec again, the more the memories of their last parting after the defeat of Duke Mardus rose to haunt her.

That brief battle had cost her father the use of his leg, Nysander his life, and Seregil his sanity for a time. Months later she'd had a letter from her father, saying that Seregil and Alec had quit Rhiminee for good. Now that she knew the reason, she wasn't so sure arriving with a decuria of riders was the best way to coax them home.

She gripped the rail, willing those thoughts away. She had work to do, work that for at least a little while was sending her back to those she loved best.

Two Gulls was barely large enough to merit the title of village. One poor inn, a ramshackle temple, and a dicer's throw of shacks clustered around a little dent of a harbor. Micum Cavish had spent a lifetime passing through such places, wandering on his own or on Watcher business with Seregil.

These past few years he'd stuck close to home, nursing his bad leg and watching his children grow. He'd enjoyed it, too, much to his wife's delight, but this journey had reminded him just how much he missed the open road. It was good to find out that he still knew instinctively where to show gold and where to guard his purse.

Five days earlier a mud-spattered messenger had ridden into the courtyard at Watermead, bearing news that the queen required his service and that of Seregil and Alec. It fell to him to talk his friends out of their self-imposed exile. The best news, however, had been that his eldest girl, Beka, was alive, whole, and on her way home from the war to act as his escort.

Within the hour, he was on the road with a sword at his side and pack on his back, heading for a village he'd never heard of until that day.

Just like old times.

Sitting here now on a bench in front of the nameless inn, hat brim

pulled down over his eyes, he considered the task ahead. Alec would listen to reason, but a whole troop of soldiers wouldn't be enough if Seregil dug his heels in.

"Sir, sir!" a reedy voice called. "Wake up, sir. Your ship's coming in!"

Micum pushed his hat back and watched with amusement as his excitable lookout, a lad of ten, came scampering up the muddy street. It was the third such announcement of the day.

"Are you sure it's the right one this time?" he asked, then winced as he stood. Even after a day's rest, the scarred muscles behind his right thigh ached more than he cared to admit. The wounds left on a man by a dyrmagnos went deep, even after the flesh healed.

"Look, sir. You can see the banner," the boy insisted. "Crossed swords under a crown on a green field, just like you said. There's Queen's Horse Guard aboard, all right."

Micum squinted out across the cove. A few years back, he wouldn't have had to.

Damn, I'm getting old!

The boy was right this time, though. Taking up his walking stick, Micum followed him down to the shore.

The ship dropped anchor in deep water and longboats were lowered. A small crowd had gathered already, chatting excitedly as they watched the soldiers row in.

Micum grinned again as he caught sight of a redheaded officer standing in the prow of the lead boat. Old eyes or not, he knew his Beka when he saw her. She spotted him, too, and let out a happy whoop that echoed across the water.

At a distance, it was easy to see the girl she'd been when she'd left home to join the regiment, all long legs and enthusiasm. From here, she looked too slight to bear the weight of chain mail and weapons, but he knew better. Beka had never been frail.

As the longboat drew closer, however, the illusion dissolved. A mix of authority and ease emanated from her as she shared some joke with a tall rider standing just behind her.

She has what she always wanted, he thought with a rush of bittersweet pride. Just shy of twenty-two, she was a battle-scarred officer in one of Skala's finest regiments, and one of the queen's most daring raiders.

It hadn't given her airs, it seemed. She was out of the boat before it ground up on the shingle.

"By the Flame, it's good to see you again!" she cried, throwing her arms around him, and for a moment it seemed that she wasn't going to let go. When she did finally step back, her eyes were bright

with unshed tears. "How are Mother and the children? Is Watermead just the same?»

"We're all just as you left us. I have letters for you. Illia's is four pages long," he said, noting new scars on her hands and arms. Freckles still peppered her face, but two years of hard fighting had sharpened her features, stripping away the last vestiges of childhood. "Captain is it?" he said, pointing at the new gorget.

"In name, at least. They gave me Wolf Squadron, then sent me and my turma home. You remember Sergeant Rhylin, don't you?"

"I always remember people who save my life," Micum said, shaking hands with the tall man.

"As I recall, it was as much the other way 'round," Rhylin replied. "You took on that dyrmagnos creature after Alec shot her. I don't think any of us would be standing here if you hadn't."

The comments drew curious stares from the bystanders and Micum quickly changed the subject.

"I only count one decuria here. Where are the other two?" he asked, waving a hand at the ten riders who'd come ashore with them. He recognized Corporal Nikides and a few of the other men and women, but most were strangers, and young.

"The rest sailed with Klia. We'll meet up with them later on," Beka told him. "This lot should be enough to get us safely where we need to go."

She glanced up at the afternoon sky, frowning slightly. "It'll take a while to ferry our horses in but I'd like to cover some ground before nightfall. Can we get a hot meal in this place before we go? One that doesn't include salted pork or dried cod?"

"I've had a word with the innkeeper," he replied, giving her a wink. "I think he can come up with dried pork or salted cod."

"So long as it's a change," Beka said, grinning. "How long will it take us to reach them?"

"Four days. Maybe three if this good weather holds."

Another look of impatience creased Beka's brow. "Three would be better." With a last restless glance at the ship, she followed him up to the inn.

"Whatever happened to that young man you wrote us of last year?" Micum asked. "That lieutenant what's-his-name? Your mother's beginning to get notions about him."

"Markis?" Beka shrugged, not looking at him. "He died."

Just like that? Micum thought sadly, sensing there was more to the story. Ah, well, war was a harsh business.

The weather held fair, but the roads grew worse the further north they went. By the second day, their horses were sinking to the fetlocks as they plodded along what passed for roads in this stretch of wilderness.

Easing his bad leg against the mud-caked stirrup, Micum scanned the jagged peaks in the distance and thought wistfully of home. Little Illia, just turned nine, had been picking daffodils in the pasture below the house the day Micum left. Here, in the shadow of the Nimra mountains, snow still lingered in dirty drifts beneath the pines.

Beka still hadn't explained the exact reason for their journey, and Micum respected her silence. They rode hard, making use of the lengthening days. At night, she and the others recounted battles, raids, and comrades lost. Lieutenant Markis was not mentioned around the campfire, so Micum made it his business to get Sergeant Rhylin aside one morning when they'd halted to water the horses.

"Ah, Markis." Rhylin glanced around, making certain Beka was out of earshot. "They were lovers all right, when they found the time. Cut from the same cloth, too, but his luck ran out last autumn. His turma ran into an ambush. Those who weren't killed in the fight were tortured to death." Rhylin's eyes got a pinched, distant look, as if he were squinting into harsh light. "A lot's made of what they do to our woman soldiers, but I tell you, Sir Micum, the men fare just as badly. We found the remains—Markis hadn't been among the lucky, if you take my meaning. The captain didn't speak for two days after that, didn't eat or sleep. It was Sergeant Mercalle who finally brought her out of it. Mercalle's buried more than her share of kin over the years, so I guess she knew what to say. Beka's been fine since, but she never speaks of him."

Micum sighed. "I don't imagine she likes to be reminded. And there's been no one since?»

"No one to speak of."

Micum had a good idea what that meant. Sometimes the body's needs overrode the heart's pain. Sometimes it was a way to heal.

The road finally grew drier as it wended up into the foothills. By early afternoon of the third day, Beka could see out over the tops of the trees behind them to the lowlands they'd traversed the day be-

fore. Somewhere beyond the southern horizon lay the Osiat coastline and the long isthmus that connected the peninsular country of Skala to her mainland territories. The rest of Urgazhi Turma were probably cooling their heels at Ardinlee by now.

"You're sure we'll reach them today?" she asked her father, riding beside her.

"The way you've driven us, we should get there before supper-time." He pointed out a notch in the hills a few miles ahead. "There's a village up there. Their cabin lies up a track just beyond."

"I hope they don't mind a crowd."

The sun was a few hours from the western horizon when they reached the little hamlet nestled in the cup of a valley. Sheep and cattle grazed the hillsides, and she could hear dogs barking in the distance.

"This is the place," said Micum, leading the way into town.

Villagers gawked at them as they rode into the muddy square. There were no temples or inns here, just a little shrine to the Four, festooned with faded offerings.

Just beyond the last cottage an enormous dead oak spread leafless branches against the sky. A trail wound up into the woods behind it. Following it for half a mile or so, they came out in a high meadow. A stream ran through it, and on the far side stood a small log house. A wolfskin was stretched to dry on one wall, and a spiky row of antlers of varying shapes and sizes decorated the roofline. In the kitchen garden near the door, a few speckled hens scratched among the dead leaves. A little way off, a byre sagged next to a corral. Half a dozen horses grazed there, and Beka recognized Alec's favorite mare, Patch, and two Aurenen horses. The chestnut stallion, Windrunner, had been her parents' gift to Alec during his first stay at Watermead. The black mare, Cynril, Seregil had raised from a colt.

"This is it?" she asked, surprised. It was peaceful. Rustic. Not at all the sort of place she associated with Seregil.

Micum grinned. "This is it."

The sound of an ax came from somewhere beyond the byre. Rising in the stirrups, she called out, "Hello at the house!"

The ax fell abruptly silent. An instant later Alec loped out from behind the byre, his fair, unkempt hair flying around his shoulders.

Rough living had left him as shaggy and gaunt as he'd been the first time they'd met. Gone was the citified finery he'd adopted in

Rhiminee; his tunic was as patched and stained as any stable boy's. He'd be nineteen in a few months' time, she realized with surprise. Half 'faie and beardless, he looked younger to those who didn't know him, and would for years. Seregil, who must be sixty now, had looked like a man of twenty for as long as she remembered.

"I believe he's glad to see us," her father noted.

"He better be!" Dismounting, Beka met Alec in a rough hug. He felt as thin as he looked, but there was hard muscle under the homespun.

"Yslanti bek kir!" he exclaimed happily. "Kratis nolieus i 'mrai? "

"You speak better Aurenfaie now than I do, Almost-Brother," she laughed. "I didn't understand a word of that after the greeting."

Alec stepped back, grinning at her. "Sorry. We've spoken almost nothing else all winter."

The beaten look he'd had back in Plenimar was gone; looking into those dark blue eyes, she read the signs of something her father had hinted at in his letter. She'd asked Alec once if he was in love with Seregil, and he'd been shocked by such a notion. It seemed the boy had finally figured things out. Somewhere in the back of her mind a tiny twinge of regret stirred, and she squelched it mercilessly.

Releasing her, Alec clasped hands with Micum, then cast a questioning look at the uniformed riders. "What's all this?"

"I have a message for Seregil," she told him.

"Must be quite a message!"

It is, she thought. One he's been waiting for since before I was born. "That's going to take some explaining. Where is he?"

"Hunting up on the ridge. He should be back by sunset."

"We'd better go find him. Time's running short."

Alec gave her a thoughtful look but didn't press. "I'll get my horse."

Mounted bareback on Patch, he led them up to the high ground above the meadow.

Beka found herself studying him again as they rode. "Even with your 'faie blood, I thought you'd be more changed," she said at last. "Do I look much different to you?"

"Yes," he replied with a hint of the same sadness she'd sensed in her father when they'd met at Two Gulls.

"What have you two been doing since I saw you last?"

Alec shrugged. "Wandered for a while. I thought we'd head for the war, offer our services to the queen, but for a long time he just wanted to get as far from Skala as possible. We found work along the way, singing, spying—" He tipped her a rakish wink. "Thieving a bit when things got thin. We ran into some trouble last summer and ended up back here."

"Will you ever go back to Rhiminee?" she asked, then wished she hadn't.

"I'd go," he said, and she caught a glimpse of that haunted look as he looked away. "But Seregil won't even talk about it. He still has nightmares about the Cockerel. So do I, but his are worse."

Beka hadn't witnessed the slaughter of the old innkeeper and her family, but she'd heard enough to turn her stomach. Beka had known Thryis since she was a child herself, playing barefoot in the garden with the granddaughter, Cilia. Cilia's father had taught her how to carve whistles from spring hazel branches.

These innocents had been among the first victims the night Duke Mardus and his men attacked the Oreska House. The attack at the Cockerel had been unnecessary, a vindictive blow struck by Mardus's necromancer, Vargul Ashnazai. He'd killed the family, captured Alec, and left the cruelly mutilated bodies for Seregil to find. In his grief, Seregil had set the place ablaze as a funeral pyre.

At the top of the ridge Alec reined in and whistled shrilly through his teeth. An answering call came from off to their left, and they followed it to a pond.

"It reminds me of the one below Watermead," she said.

"It does, doesn't it?" said Alec, smiling again. "We even have otters."

None of them saw Seregil until he stood up and waved. He'd been sitting on a log near the water's edge and his drab tunic and trousers blended with the colors around him.

"Micum? And Beka!" Feathers fluttered in all directions as he strode over to them, still clutching the wild goose he'd been plucking.

He was thin and weathered, too, but every bit as handsome as Beka remembered—perhaps more so, now that she saw him through a woman's eyes instead of a girl's. Though slender and not overly tall, he carried himself with a swordsman's grace that lent unconscious stature. His fine-featured Aurenfaie face was sun-browned, his large grey eyes warm with the humor she'd known from childhood. For the first time, however, it struck her how old those eyes looked in such a young face.

"Hello, Uncle!" she said, plucking a bit of down from his long brown hair.

He brushed more feathers from his clothes. "You picked a good time to come visiting. There've been geese on the pond and I finally managed to hit one."

"With an arrow or a rock?" Micum demanded with a laugh. Master swordsman that he was, Seregil had never been much of a hand with a bow.

Seregil gave him a crooked smirk. "An arrow, thank you very much. Alec's been paying me back for all the training I've put him through. I'm almost as good with a bow as he is with a lock pick."

"I hope I'm better than that, even out of practice," Alec muttered, giving Beka a playful nudge in the ribs. "Now will you tell us what brings you and a decuria of riders clear up here?"

"Soldiers?" Seregil raised an eyebrow, as if noticing for the first time that she was in uniform. "And you've been promoted, I see."

"I'm here on the Queen's business," she told him. "My riders know nothing of what I'm about to tell you, and I need to keep it that way for now." She pulled a sealed parchment from her tunic and handed it to him. "Commander Klia needs your help, Seregil. She's leading a delegation to Aurenen."

"Aurenen?" He stared down at the unopened document. "She knows that's impossible."

"Not anymore." Dismounting with practiced ease, Micum pulled his stick from the bedroll behind his saddle and limped over to his friend's side. "Idrilain squared things for you. Klia's in charge of the whole thing."

"There's no time to lose, either," Beka urged. "The war's going badly—Mycena could fall any day now."

"We get rumors, even here," Alec told her.

"Ah, but there's worse news than that," Beka went on. "The queen's been wounded and the Plenimarans are pushing their way west every day. Last we knew, they were halfway to Wyvern Dug. Idrilain's still in the field, but she's convinced that an alliance with Aurenen is our only hope."

"What does she need with me?" asked Seregil, handing the unread summons to Alec. "Torsin's dealt with the Iia'sidra for years without my help."

"Not like this," Beka replied. "Klia needs you as an additional adviser. Being Aurenfaie, you understand the nuances of both languages better than anyone, and you certainly know the Skalans."

"Given all that, I could end up with neither side trusting me. Besides which, my presence would be an affront to half the clans of Aurenen." He shook his head. "Idrilain actually got the lia'sidra to let me return?"

"Temporarily," Beka amended. "The queen pointed out that since you're kin to her through Lord Corruth, it would be an affront to Skala to exclude you. Apparently it was also made clear that it was you who solved the mystery of Corruth's disappearance."

"Alec and I," he corrected absently, clearly overwhelmed by this news. "She told them about that?"

Before Nysander's death he, Alec, and Micum had been part of the wizard's network of spies and informers, the Watchers. Even the queen had not known of their role in that until he and Alec had helped uncover a plot against her life. In the process, they'd discovered the mummified body of Corruth i Glamien, who'd been murdered by Lerans dissenters two centuries earlier.

"I don't suppose it hurt that your sister is a member of the lia'sidra now," said Micum. "Word is that the faction favoring open trade is stronger than ever."

"So you see, there's no problem with all that," Beka broke in impatiently. If she had her way, they'd be riding back down the mountain before sunset.

Her heart sank when Seregil merely stared down at his muddy boots and mumbled, "I'll have to give it some thought."

She was about to press him when Alec laid a hand on Seregil's shoulder and gave her a warning look. Clearly, some wounds hadn't healed.

"You say Idrilain is still in the field?" he asked. "How badly was she hurt?"

"I haven't seen her. Hardly anyone has, but my guess is it's worse than anyone is letting on. Phoria is War Commander now."

"Is she?" Seregil's tone was neutral, but she caught the odd look that passed between him and her father. The "Watcher look," her mother called it, resenting the secrets that lay between the two men.

"The Plenimarans have necromancers," Beka added. "I haven't met up with any yet, but those who have claim they're the strongest they've been since the Great War."

"Necromancers?" Alec's mouth tightened. "I suppose it was too much to hope that stopping Mardus would put an end to all that. You and your people are welcome to make camp in the meadow tonight."

"Thanks," said Micum. "Come on, Beka. Let's get your people settled."

It took her a moment to realize that Alec wanted time alone with Seregil.

"I expected him to be happy about going home, even if it is only for a little while," she mused, following her father down the trail. "He looked as if he'd received a sentence."

Micum sighed. "He did, a long time ago, and I guess it hasn't really been changed. I've always wanted to know the story behind what happened to him, but he never said a thing about it. Not even to Nysander, as far as I know."

A pair of otters was frisking on the far bank, but Alec doubted Seregil saw them, or that it was news of the war that had left him so pensive. Joining him at the water's edge, Alec waited.

When they'd finally become lovers, it had done much more than deepen their friendship. The Aurenfaie word for the bond between them was talimenios. Even Seregil couldn't fully interpret it, but by then there'd been no need for words.

For Alec, it was a unity of souls forged in spirit and flesh. Seregil had been able to read him like a tavern slate since the day they'd met; now his own intuition was such that at times he almost knew his friend's thoughts. As they stood here now, he could feel anger, fear, and longing radiating from Seregil in palpable waves.

"I told you a little about it once, didn't I?" Seregil asked at last.

"Only that you were tricked into committing some crime, and that you were exiled for it."

"And for once you didn't ask a hundred questions. I've always appreciated that. But now—"

"You want to go back," Alec said softly.

"There's more to it than that." Seregil folded his arms tightly across his chest.

Alec knew from long experience how difficult it was for Seregil to speak of his past. Even talimenios hadn't changed that, and he'd long since learned not to pry.

"I better finish plucking this goose," Seregil said at last. "Tonight, after the others are settled, I promise we'll talk. I just need time to take this all in."

Alec clasped Seregil's shoulder, then left him to his thoughts.

Alone at last, Seregil stared blindly across the water, feeling unwelcome memories rising like a storm tide.

the solid finality of the knife's bloody handle clenched in his fist — choking, suffocating in the darkness — angry faces, jeering —

Bowing his head, he pressed his hands over his face like an eyeless mask and sobbed.