Traitor's Moon n-3

by Lynn Flewelling

  "It's all right," he said, clasping her hand.

  Klia's fingers closed over his in a punishing grip. Her mouth moved, forming soundless words.

  "What is she saying?" asked Alec, crouched beside him.

  Seregil leaned down, ear close to her lips.

  "No—no vengeance," she managed. No teth—"

  "No teth'sag?"

  She nodded. "My order. The treaty—all that matters."

  "We understand, Commander," Beka grated out. "I'll bear witness to it."

  "And so will I," Mercalle rasped, tears coursing down her lined cheeks.

  Unable to move or say more, Klia searched each of them out with despairing eyes, as if to impress her will on them.

  Seregil had once seen a fellow traveler swept beneath the ice of a river. It had been clear but too thick to break through. Still alive, the man had stared up into Seregil's eyes with the same burning desperation for an instant before the current dragged him away.

  Klia went limp, and he felt anxiously at her throat for a pulse.

  "Her heart is still strong," he told the others, reluctantly letting go of her hand. "Where's Emiel? Teth'sag or not, he's going to answer for this."

  "Just behind us, under guard," Beka replied.

  Seregil drew Klia's dagger from its sheath. "She didn't have time to defend herself."

  "I noticed that." Alec dismounted and leaned unsteadily against his horse's side. "He must have taken her by surprise."

  Beka bowed her head. "I failed her."

  "No, Captain, the guilt lies on my clan," Nazien i Hari told her, his voice hollow with grief. "Your princess should have needed no protection among my people."

  "There'll be time enough for all that later. Get her inside!" Seregil ordered.

  Thero met them in the hall and took charge. "Here, lay her on the table. There's no time to be lost. The rest of you, get back. Give her air." He bent over Klia and pressed his hands to her temples, throat, and chest.

  Meanwhile, Seregil opened the front of her tunic to inspect the wounds there more closely. The skin between her chin and the breast band she wore beneath her linen shirt was scored with shallow scratches.

  Braknil came to the door, helmet in hand. "How is she?"

  "Alive," Alec told him.

  "Ah, thank the Four! We've got the Haman under guard in the stable yard."

  "I'll be out shortly," said Seregil, still focused on Klia.

  Mydri hurried in with Kheeta on her heels. "By the Light, what's happened?"

  "Alec will explain," Seregil told her. Leaving Klia to those who could best help her, he headed for the yard.

  Good for you, Alec, he thought again, seeing Emiel's battered face. The young Haman sat on a low stool, ignoring the armed soldiers surrounding him. The rest of the Haman hunting party stood dourly behind him. Braknil's riders had their swords drawn and looked as if a single word from their sergeant would be all the orders they needed to cut the accused to pieces.

  Nazien stood a little apart, grey with shame.

  You've worn your hatred for me like a mark of honor, Seregil thought with satisfaction. Perhaps now you'll savor my family s shame a bit less.

  The accused was another matter. Emiel showed his usual contempt as Seregil came to a halt just in front of him.

  "Alec i Amasa says he saw you attack Princess Klia," Seregil said.

  "Must I speak to this exile, Khirnari?"

  "You will, and truthfully!" Nazien snarled.

  Emiel turned back to Seregil with distaste. "Alec i Amasa is mistaken."

  "Take off your tunic and shirt."

  Standing, Emiel undid his belt with exaggerated slowness, then pulled off the two garments together and tossed them down on the

  stool. For all his bravado, however, he flinched at Seregil's touch as he examined Emiel's hands and arms. There were a few fresh scratches on the backs of his hands. Otherwise, the callused fingers and palms showed only the soil of a long day's hunt. His chest, neck, and throat were also unmarked.

  "He was seized immediately after the attack?" Seregil asked.

  "Yes, my lord," Braknil assured him. "Alec said this man was still choking her when he found them."

  "She fell. I was trying to help her," Emiel retorted. "Perhaps it was a fit of some sort. The Tir are prone to disease, or so I hear. You'd know more about that than I."

  Seregil resisted the urge to slap the arrogant sneer off the man's face. The arrival of Alec and Kheeta at the kitchen door provided a welcome distraction.

  "What does he say?" Alec demanded, striding over to them.

  "That he was trying to help her."

  Alec lunged for Emiel, but Seregil wrestled him back. "Don't do this," he muttered, close to his ear. "Go back inside and wait. We have to talk." Alec quit struggling, but didn't back off.

  "If she dies, Haman, there'll be no dwai sholo for you!" Alec hissed.

  "Enough. Go!" Seregil nodded to Kheeta, and the Bokthersan took Alec by the arm, drawing him back inside.

  "Do you have anything more to say?" Seregil asked Emiel.

  "I've nothing to say to you, Exile."

  "Very well. Sergeant, search this man and his saddlebags." He paused, then without looking at Nazien i Hari, added, "Search all the Haman who went today and bring me whatever you find. They're to be held here until you hear differently."

  Silence followed him back into the house. Kheeta had Alec cornered in what had been the mourning chamber.

  "Klia has been moved to the women's bath," Kheeta told him. "Mydri ordered that a small dhima be set up for her there."

  "Say nothing of what you saw out there for now, all right?"

  Kheeta nodded and slipped out.

  Finally alone, Seregil summoned what little patience he had left and turned his attention to Alec. "I need you to calm down."

  Alec glared at him, eyes dark with fear and anger. A soul-deep pain radiated from him; Seregil could feel it tightening his own throat. "Maker's Mercy, Seregil, what if she dies?"

  "That's out of our hands. Tell me exactly what you saw. Everything."

  "We stopped at a clearing in the hills at midday. We ate a meal and waited for the heat of the day to pass. Emiel offered to show Klia some pools along a stream."

  "You heard the invitation?"

  "No, I was—distracted," Alec admitted, shamefaced. "Some of his friends challenged me to a shooting match. Klia and Emiel were sitting in the shade talking the last I noticed. After the match they were gone. Beka had seen them, knew where they'd gone. She'd offered to go with them, but Klia said no. She must have been hoping to win Emiel over. Anyway, they couldn't have been alone more than half an hour when I found him wrestling with her on the ground. Her hair and tunic were wet and she was fighting hard. By the time I'd gotten him off her she was having trouble breathing. I got her on a horse and we came here as quickly as we could."

  Seregil considered all this, then shook his head, the words he was about to speak already bitter ashes in his mouth. "There's a chance he's telling the truth."

  "I saw him! And you've seen the marks on them both."

  "The marks on her neck aren't right. There should be bruises, finger marks, but there aren't."

  "Damn it, Seregil, I know what I saw!"

  Seregil ran a hand back through his hair and sighed. "You know what you think you saw. How did Klia's face look when you first reached her? Was it pale or dark?"

  "Pale."

  "Damn. There's no bruising on her neck, and the bones here—" He touched a finger to his larynx. "They're undamaged. If she was being strangled, her face would have been dark. I'm not saying he's innocent, just that he didn't choke her. You've got to let go of that, or you'll be no use to me at all."

  "But those scratches on her neck?"

  "There's blood under her nails, but not his. She did that to herself, clawing at her throat in panic. It's a common reaction to choking. Or poison."

  "Poison? We all ate from the same bowls. I shared a wineskin
with her myself. It still comes back to Emiel doing something to her down by the water."

  "So it would seem. Are you certain no one else was there with them?"

  "The ground was so soft in places mice had left tracks. If there'd been anyone else down there in the past two days, I'd have seen signs of them."

  "Then let's hope Braknil finds something for us to hang an accusation on, although Emiel doesn't strike me as the type to leave empty poison flasks in his pockets. In the meantime, we've got to be careful what we say."

  Alec sank his head into his hands. "Beka's right. We failed. Hell, how could I have been so stupid? An archery contest!"

  Kheeta opened the door and looked in. "Alec, Mydri needs you. You're to come right away."

  Four riders of Rhylin's decuria were on guard at the bath-chamber door. Beka and Rhylin stood just inside. A scene of quiet chaos lay beyond, but at first all Alec could focus on was the sight of Thero and Seregil's two sisters at work over Klia.

  The princess was wrapped in a clean linen robe and lay on a pallet next to one of the small sunken tubs, which had been converted into a fire pit. An iron tripod had been set over the flames, supporting a large, steaming kettle. Thero knelt motionless beside her, eyes closed, holding one of her hands between his.

  Mydri was supervising half a dozen servants around the room.

  "Is the infusion steeped yet?" she called to a woman working over a nearby brazier. "Morsa, Kerian, finish with that dhima and get it heated!" This last was directed at several men who were struggling to stretch a thick felt cover over a wooden frame.

  Kneeling beside Klia, Alec listened to the faint, steady whistle of breath in her throat. Her face had taken on a bluish pallor, and the dark circles around her eyes had deepened alarmingly.

  "Look at this," said Seregil, lifting Klia's free hand. The flesh beneath her fingernails had turned a dusky blue. Her bare feet showed the same discoloration up to the ankles, and were icy to the touch.

  "She shows signs of poisoning," Mydri said doubtfully, "yet it's like none I've ever seen. None of the usual remedies alleviate her stupor, but still she lives."

  Alec looked at Thero again. The wizard was sweating and drawn. "What's he doing?"

  "I tried a divining trance," Thero said without opening his eyes. "Some magic blocked my vision, which suggests that whoever did this covered his tracks. Now I'm just lending her strength. Magyana and I did the same for her mother."

  The woman at the brazier brought over a cup and began patiently spooning its contents between Klia's lips, a few drops at a time. The workmen finished with the dhima and lifted it to cover Klia, the woman, and the makeshift fire pit.

  "From the time you first met with Klia this morning, what did you see her eat?" Mydri asked Alec.

  "Almost nothing before we left," Alec replied. "She complained of being wine sick."

  "So Beka said, but she did eat later. Just list it off. Whatever you saw the whole day."

  "A little bread, an apple. I picked some wintergreen leaves for her in the woods to settle her stomach. I think she nibbled a bit of that. And I'm sure that's what it was. I tasted it myself to be sure.

  "By the time we stopped for the midday meal she. seemed better. She shared part of a roast kutka with Beka and me, drank a little wine—" Alec closed his eyes, picturing the meal. "Nazien offered her cheese and bread. But I saw him eat from the same portions."

  "The poisoning could have been accidental," said Mydri. "Did she eat anything wild besides the wintergreen? Berries, mushrooms? The scent of caramon buds is tempting, but they're dangerous even in small amounts."

  Seregil shook his head. "She knows better than that."

  The sound of retching came from inside the dhima and went on for several minutes. When it subsided the woman nursing Klia handed a basin out to Mydri. She inspected the contents closely, then passed it to another servant to carry away. "It appears you are correct, Alec."

  "What about snakebite?" suggested Thero.

  "There are no snakes in Aurenen, only dragons," Seregil said.

  Mydri shrugged. "The sweating and purges should help. That and some strengthening magic are all we can do for now. She's survived this long. Perhaps this will pass."

  "Perhaps?" Alec rasped.

  Sergeant Mercalle entered hesitantly, dispatch pouch in hand. "Captain? I was about to send this when we got the news about Lord Torsin, so I held it for the Commander's return." She cast a mournful look at the dhima. "It's sealed and ready to go, but shouldn't someone write Queen Phoria about what's happened?"

  Beka looked over at Seregil and the others. "Who do I take orders from now?"

  "That would be you, Thero," said Seregil. "You're the last Skalan standing with any noble blood in him. The Iia'sidra certainly won't deal with me."

  " Thero nodded gravely. "Very well. Send it as it is, Captain. We'll inform the queen of her sister's illness when we have determined the cause. It's unwise to risk spreading rumor without facts."

  Mercalle saluted. "And the Haman, my lord?"

  Thero looked to Seregil. "You're my adviser now. What do we do with them?"

  "Hold Emiel, but let Nazien and the rest go back to their tupa under pledge of honor. Don't worry. He won't go anywhere, and if any of his people make a dash for it, we'll know who our poisoner is. Beka, station some of your people to keep an eye on them, but discreetly."

  "I'll see to it myself," she assured him.

  31 DEATHWATCH

  A sense of foreboding enveloped the household. All through the night the servants went quietly on about their business, cooking food that went uneaten, turning down beds no one slept in. Lord Torsin lay forgotten for the moment.

  Leaving Klia in Mydri's care, Seregil enlisted Alec, Thero, and Adzriel to go over every flask, knife, and piece of jewelry confiscated from the Haman. Neither sharp eyes nor magic turned up any evidence of poison.

  "You said yourself they wouldn't keep anything that would give them away," Alec insisted. "I want to go back to that clearing. There wasn't time to look around properly before."

  "If Klia touched the object that contained the poison, I could locate it," offered Thero.

  "You're needed here," Seregil told him.

  "Saaban has the gift," said Adzriel. "He knows the way to the clearing, as well. Shall I ask him to make arrangements?"

  "If we leave before dawn, we'll be back by midday," Alec added.

  "I suppose you'd better," said Seregil. "Where's Nyal, by the way?"

  "I haven't seen him since you got back," said Thero. "Perhaps he's with Beka?"

  "The one time I want the man and he's nowhere to be found," Seregil grumbled,

  suddenly weary beyond words. "Fetch him. He may have heard something of use."

  The night wore on. The three of them sat on the floor beside the dhima, listening to Mydri's soft songs of healing through the felt walls; now and then each took a turn inside.

  Sitting by Klia, hair and clothes plastered damply against his skin, Seregil allowed his mind to wander back to the dhimas beneath the Nha'mahat and the rhui'auros's words to him there: Smiles conceal knives. The Haman had certainly been smiling when they rode out that morning.

  He didn't know he was dozing until Mydri touched his arm.

  "You should rest," she said, yawning herself.

  Thero and Alec were asleep where they sat just outside the dhima. Seregil passed them silently and went to the window to cool his face. Looking out, he saw the dwindling moon disappearing behind the western towers.

  Almost Illior's Moon, he thought. Or rather, Aura's Bow. He was back among his people at last; it was time he started thinking like a 'faie.

  " You 're a child of Aura, a child of Illior," Lhial had told him. Aura Elustri, creator of the 'faie, mother of dragons. Illior Lightbearer, patron of wizards, madmen, and thieves. Light and darkness. Male and female. Wisdom and madness.

  Different faces for all comers, thought Seregil, smiling as he slipped out the window and set
off for the stable yard. Just like me.

  The barracks were heavily guarded, but the long building itself was empty except for Kallas, Steb, and Mirn standing guard over their sullen prisoner. Emiel sat on a pallet in the corner furthest from the door. A clay lamp hanging overhead cast an uncertain light across the prisoner's face. Emiel didn't look up at Seregil's approach but sat staring put a tiny window under the eaves, watching the moon.

  "Leave us," Seregil ordered the guards. When they hesitated, he added impatiently, "Lend me a sword, and stay by the door. I promise you, he won't get past me."

  Steb gave Seregil his sword and moved off with the others.

  Seregil walked slowly over to the prisoner.

  "Here to murder another Haman, Exile?" Emiel asked, as calmly as if inquiring about the weather.

  "I have one too many of your people on my conscience as it is." Seregil rested the blade point on the floor. This was the first time

  since Nysander's death that he'd allowed himself to touch a sword; it felt awkward in his hand. "However, teth'sag is not murder, is it?"

  The Haman's gaze did not waver. "To kill me here would be murder."

  "But for you to kill my kinswoman, Klia a Idrilain, was that teth'sag?"

  "She's dead?"

  "Answer my question. If a Haman killed Klia a Idrilain, would it be teth'sag against Bokthersa? Against me?"

  "No, the tie is too distant." Emiel rose to his feet and faced him. "Even if it weren't, I would never bring shame on my clan for the likes of you. You are dead to us, Exile, a ghost come to haunt a little while. You disturb the khi of my murdered kinsman with your presence, but you'll soon be gone. I can be patient."

  "Patient as you were the night you and your friends met me in Haman tupa?"

  Emiel returned to his contemplation of the moon, but Seregil heard him chuckle.

  "Answer me this, then."

  "I told you before, Exile, I have nothing to say to you."

  Seregil gauged the man before him, then slid the sword away. It clattered and spun across the uneven boards, drawing startled looks from the guards.

  "Stay there unless I call for you," Seregil told them, waving Steb and the others away. He moved closer to Emiel, stopping just inches away and lowering his voice. "The Haman are great bargainers. Here's an even trade for you. Answer my question and earn another taste of teth'sag. Right here. Right now."