Traitor's Moon n-3

by Lynn Flewelling

  He scanned the crowd, seeking one more familiar face beneath a Ra'basi sen'gai. Nyal was nowhere to be found.

  "I cannot tell you why he left, Khirnari. Perhaps the strain of his situation here took more of a toll than any of us realized."

  "Nonsense!" snorted Brythir. "Your queen and your princess both vouched for him as a man of character. I have judged him to be the same. He would not simply run off! You must answer to the Iia'sidra regarding this. I'll expect to see you and your household there at once!"

  "Forgive me, Khirnari, but that is not possible." An ugly murmur spread through the crowd, and Thero was glad suddenly for the soldiers at his back. "Princess Klia lies close to death, poisoned by an Aurenfaie hand. We now have reason to believe that Torsin's death was not a natural one, either. I will attend the Iia'sidra as soon as they can be assembled, but I cannot in good conscience allow any other member of this household to leave here as long as she remains in danger."

  "Torsin murdered?" The old khirnari blinked up at him. "You said nothing of this before."

  "We believed the murderer might reveal himself by his own guilty knowledge."

  "Do you know who this murderer is?" the Khatme khirnari demanded, looking skeptical.

  "I can say nothing of that, as yet," Thero replied, letting the others take that as they would, and hoping it would deflect attention from Seregil's disappearance.

  "Come then, Wizard," Brythir told him, motioning for Thero to follow.

  "You don't mean to go alone?" Sergeant Braknil whispered, moving in beside him.

  "Stay here, all of you," Thero told him calmly. "Klia's safety is all that matters now. Send the Bokthersans back to Adzriel with my

  thanks, and then set siege guard." He paused, halfway down the stairs. "Release Sergeant Mercalle back to duty, too. We need everyone we can get."

  "Thank you, my lord. She's loyal to Skala, whatever else you may think of her actions." Raising his voice, Braknil added, "Take care, my lord. Send word if you need us—for anything."

  "I'm sure that won't be necessary, Sergeant." Going down the stairs, Thero joined the khirnari. Adzriel lingered with the others in front of her own door, but gave him a small smile as he passed. Encouragement, perhaps, or complicity?

  Most of the Iia'sidra were waiting in the great chamber when they arrived. For the first time, Thero took the seat of honor in the circle, marooned in silence. Those around him spoke in low tones or behind their hands, casting occasional glances in his direction.

  Ulan i Sathil was there but appeared uninterested in the whole affair. A great crowd of Haman had accompanied Nazien, and Thero recognized a good many of Emiel's companions among them. They looked to be out for blood.

  Adzriel entered last with a contingent of twenty, taking her place in the circle with her husband at her side.

  There was no ceremony or ringing of chimes today; this was a private matter between Skala and Haman. The others had gathered only to witness.

  Nazien i Hari stepped forward as soon as the last of the khirnari had taken their seats, and to his credit displayed little satisfaction as he announced, "Before this body, I claim teth'sag against Seregil the Exile, formerly Seregil of Bokthersa, and against all those who aid and abet him. He has violated vows given for his return and I claim the vengeance that is Haman's right."

  "How convenient for you," sneered Iriel a Kasrai of Bry'kha. "Seregil might have found proof of your nephew's guilt if he'd stayed around a bit longer."

  "Silence!" snapped Brythir. "It is as Nazien i Hari says. The Iia'sidra itself could not deny them this right. Seregil knew this. He has made his choice and his former clan must make good their vow of atui."

  "The guilt or innocence of Emiel i Moranthi has no bearing on this," Nazien proclaimed. "As khirnari of Haman, and as the grandfather of the man the Exile murdered, I have no choice. I demand that the Bokthersans administer justice under the law."

  Adzriel stood, pale but unbowed. "Justice shall be yours, Khirnari." Mydri and Saaban remained stoic, but behind them, Kheeta and several others covered their faces.

  The Silmai turned next to him. "Now, Thero i Procepios, I demand that you explain Seregil's disappearance. Why did he leave, and who helped him?"

  "I regret that I can tell you nothing," Thero said again, and took his seat amid the expected outcry.

  A lone figure detached itself from the shadows near the door and entered the circle. Here was Nyal at last.

  "I think you will find it was Alec i Amasa and the Skalan captain who accompanied Seregil," he announced, not looking in Thero's direction.

  You skulking cur! the wizard thought, sick with rage. So that was how the Haman had gotten word so quickly.

  Ulan i Sathil rose, and a hush fell over the chamber. Tarnished as his honor might be, he still commanded respect. "Perhaps the more immediate question we should be asking is why he left," he said. "This sudden and inexplicable flight makes no sense. Though I have no great love for the man, even I must admit that the Exile has acquitted himself well since his arrival here. He has won the respect, perhaps even the support, of many and enjoyed the company of his former kin. Why then, in the midst of his own investigations against my clan and the Haman, should he suddenly commit so gross an act of disloyalty?" He paused, then added, "Why, indeed, unless he or the Skalans have something to hide?"

  "What are you implying?" demanded Adzriel.

  Ulan spread his hands. "I merely speculate. Perhaps Seregil knows of something that takes precedence over the outcome of his current mission here."

  For an instant, Thero forgot to breathe. Had Ulan's Plenimaran spies found out so soon of Korathan's ill-timed attack, or had Nyal somehow managed to betray them in this, as well? Rising, he said, "I can assure you, Khirnari, nothing is more important to Seregil or any of us than the success of our labors here." Even in his own ears, this scrap of truth sounded far less convincing than any lie he'd told so far.

  "I do not mean to impugn Thero i Procepios's honor when I point out that we have only his word for that," Ulan said smoothly. "Nor when I also point out that it was Seregil himself, a proven traitor and murderer, who possesses the greatest knowledge of the device he claims was used to poison Klia. It was he himself who so easily and

  fortuitously found the ring in my house, thereby discrediting Skala's staunchest opponent."

  "Are you suggesting that he poisoned Klia?" asked Brythir.

  "I suggest nothing, yet she is not dead, is she? Perhaps a man who knows so much about poisons would also know how to administer them so as to not quite kill, thereby creating the semblance of a botched murder attempt?"

  "That's ridiculous!" Thero retorted, but his protest was drowned out by the renewed burst of exclamations from all sides. People were out of their seats, shouting and arguing, crowding out onto the chamber floor. Even Brythir i Nien could not make himself heard over the din.

  Thero shook his head, marveling at the ease with which the Viresse khirnari could manipulate an audience. Still, there was more than one way to get people's attention. Climbing up on his chair, he clapped his palms together over his head, forgetting, in his haste, to make allowances for the strange energy of the city.

  Daylight failed for an instant, then a deafening clap of thunder rocked the chamber, rumbling around the room for the space of several heartbeats.

  The result was nearly comical. People clutched at each other, clapped hands over their ears, or fell dumbstruck back into their seats. Ears ringing, Thero groped for the chair's back to keep his balance.

  "Whatever Seregil has done, for whatever reasons, the matter of teth'sag lies between him and the Haman," he declared. "The greater wrong remains that done to Princess Klia, who lies insensible at the heart of a city she believed held no violence. Hunt him down if you must, but do not let the actions of one man destroy all we have worked toward during these long weeks! By all the sacred names of the Lightbearer, Klia has acted with nothing but honor, and been rewarded with injury, yet she demands
no vengeance. I pray you remember that when the vote is cast—"

  "How can you speak of a vote?" Lhaar a Iriel demanded, gathering herself up from the floor and shaking off anyone who tried to assist her. "You see what comes of oaths made by the Tir. Cast them out and be done with it!"

  "The vote will go forward," Brythir declared. "In the meantime, let the Exile be found and returned to face judgment."

  Adzriel took the floor. "My fellow khirnari, Klia has labored long and honorably among us, as did Lord Torsin. They have been

  wronged; to cast the vote while she is unable to speak for herself would wrong her further. Until she recovers and the confusion that enfolds us has been lifted, I call upon the Iia'sidra to show mercy and postpone their decision. A few more days or weeks, what is that to us compared to what it may mean for Skala?"

  "Let the Exile be brought back!" Elos of Golinil called out, casting a dark look Thero's way. "I say we postpone the vote until he has answered for his actions. Only then will any doubts regarding Skala's true intentions be resolved."

  "You speak wisely, Khirnari, as does Nazien i Hari," said Nyal, speaking up again. "I know the Exile and his companions better than any of you and would not see them brought to harm. They're most likely on their way north to Gedre, or west to Bokthersa. You all know that I'm accounted a skilled tracker, and I know that country well. With the Iia'sidra's consent, I will lead a search party."

  An angry outcry went up from the Bokthersans, but Brythir stilled them with one upraised hand. "I accept your offer, Nyal i Nhekai, assuming Nazien i Hari has no objections."

  "He may do as he likes," the Haman retorted. "I sent searchers west and north as soon as I learned of Seregil's escape."

  Bowing, Nyal left the floor without looking in Thero's direction, and the wizard's fingers itched for magic to strike the man down.

  Glaring at the Ra'basi's back, Thero vowed silently, I'll give you teth sag. If any harm comes to my friends through you, no law or magic will be enough to protect you!

  The Skalan guest house had become a fortress in Thero's absence. Armed guards stood at every door, and others paced the roof. Hurrying inside, he managed to make it to a chair near the door before his legs gave out. The sergeants and a handful of Urgazhi were waiting for him in the hall, together with several of the servants.

  "What are you still doing here?" he asked the Bokthersans.

  Kheeta's mother shrugged. "Klia is still Adzriel's kin, and her guest. We do not desert our guests."

  The wizard gave her a grateful nod, then quickly sketched out the debacle he'd just witnessed.

  "Nyal's gone against us?" asked Corporal Nikides, stunned. "How can he do that to the captain? I'd have sworn—"

  "What, that he loved her?" Sergeant Braknil let out a snort. "It's

  the oldest trick in the book, damn him! And he was good at it, too. He fooled me, and I've been out of the barn a time or two."

  "He fooled us all," Thero admitted sadly. "I just hope Seregil and the others have had enough of a start to get through."

  Gathering what strength he had left, he climbed the stairs to Klia's chamber.

  41 REVELATIONS IN THE RAIN

  A gentle drizzle dogged Alec and Seregil through the day, growing heavier and mixing with brief spates of sleet as afternoon slowly wore toward evening. "This is a useless sort of rain," Seregil griped, shivering as he pulled his damp cloak around him. "It's not coming down hard enough to wash away our tracks."

  "It's easier to stay warm in a snowstorm than in this," Alec agreed, chilled himself. His cloak and tunic had already soaked through at the shoulders and across the tops of his thighs. Now he could feel the wetness spreading. Waterlogged clothing wicked heat away from the body; even this late in the spring a man could take a killing chill from it. To make matters worse, the route Seregil had chosen ascended into the mountains sooner than the main road. The peaks in the distance ahead showed patches of white where snowfields still blanketed the summits. The dull outline of the sun, just visible through the mist, was sinking steadily in the west, stealing back the scant warmth of the day.

  "We're going to have to stop soon," he said, chafing his arms with his hands. "Somewhere we can make a fire."

  "We can't risk it yet," Seregil replied, scanning the road ahead.

  "Dying of the chills will slow us down worse than getting captured, don't you think?"

  Seregil urged his horse up a steep stretch of trail. They were still in the trees, but a wind was rising, adding to their discomfort. When the ground leveled out enough for them to ride abreast again, he turned to Alec, who knew at once by his slight frown and distant expression that he hadn't been thinking of rain or shelter.

  "Even if Emiel is out to supplant Nazien, killing Klia would almost certainly work against him, don't you think? Emiel's a violent bastard, and no mistake, still—" He broke off, rubbing ruefully at the latest bruise on his jaw. "It's just a gut feeling, but after talking with him in the barracks that night, I can't imagine him risking the loss of honor."

  "After all he did to you?" Alec growled. "I still say he's the most likely one. What about Ulan i Sathil?"

  "Do you really think that man would make such a silly botch of the whole business? Would a man who knows how to foment civil war in another country have hidden the ring in his own courtyard like some common blackmailer keeping his dirty little collection of letters under his mattress?

  "No, he's too smart for that. If he had done it, we'd never have found him out. Besides, why would he do such a thing if Torsin was attempting some compromise in Viresse's favor. Which leaves us looking elsewhere. You recall what I said about the 'faie?"

  Alec grinned. "That they're no good at murder because they don't do enough of it to keep in practice?"

  "Ask the right questions," Seregil murmured, wandering off into his own thoughts again. "We're approaching this as if we're tracking some practiced assassin—it's what we're used to." He let out an exasperated sigh. "Amateurs! They're the worst."

  "The Ra'basi have been cagey about which side of the fence they're on," Alec said, though he was more reluctant than ever to suspect Nyal after all his help with Klia. "The poison is one they're familiar with, and they had a man inside our house. And what about the Khatme? If I were going to pick anyone out for sheer malice, Lhaar and her lot would be it. It's clear they don't regard Tirfaie as equals. Perhaps they wouldn't count killing one or two as any great crime."

  "An interesting thought," said Seregil. "And their religious zeal seems to have grown in my absence. I've seen that wreak more havoc than magic when it comes to war." Still, he didn't sound convinced.

  They spent the night in a ruined hut, huddled miserably together under damp blankets as they ate a cold supper of dried venison, cheese, and rainwater. A wind came up soon after sunset, finding its way through every hole and chink of their paltry shelter, stirring the soaked clothing that lined the hut's one sound wall.

  Pressed shoulder to shoulder with Alec, Seregil rested his head on his knees and tried to ignore the fits of shivering that shook him, and the way the slightest movement sucked cold air in around the edges of the blankets. He wasn't dangerously cold, just miserably uncomfortable.

  As usual, Alec warmed faster. "Come here," he said presently, pulling Seregil to sit between his legs, back to Alec's chest. He rearranged the blankets into a better cocoon around them and wrapped his arms around him. "Better?"

  "A bit." Seregil jammed his hands under his armpits to warm them.

  Alec chuckled next to his ear. "I don't think you'd have survived where I grew up."

  Seregil snorted softly. "I could say the same about you. I had some lean times and harsh lessons, wandering around Skala."

  "The Rhiminee Cat."

  "I was a lot of things before that. Ever wonder why I was so generous to whores, back when you first met me?"

  "Not until just now." Alec's voice carried a note of weary resignation.

  Seregil stared out a hole in the
roof, watching the dark shapes of branches tossing in the wind. "Being back there, in Sarikali—it's like—I don't know, like being there clouded my mind. Considering the shambles we've left behind, I'm not sure how useful I've been to Idrilain, or to Klia." He took a deep breath, fighting down a surge of guilt. "We should have been able to learn more, do more."

  Alec's arms tightened around him. "We would have, but Phoria cocked it up for us. And you're right about us being the only ones who could get to the coast. You're probably right about Emiel."

  "Maybe, but I feel as if I've been sleepwalking since we arrived."

  "I believe I pointed that out to you, not so long ago," Alec noted wryly. "It wasn't just you, though. Aurenen's a damn hard place for nightrunner. Too much honor."

  Seregil chuckled. "Whatever happened to that honest Dalnan lad I took up with?"

  "Long gone, and good riddance." Alec shifted his legs to a more comfortable angle."Do you really think Korathan will listen to you?"

  "Would I be here if I didn't?"

  "That's no answer."

  "I'll have to make him listen."

  They fell silent, and presently Alec's even breathing told Seregil that he'd fallen asleep. He shifted against Alec's shoulder, mind still racing.

  Perhaps he had needed to get clear of Sarikali's powerful aura. The rhui'auros's convoluted words, his own strange dreams, his pathetic efforts to prove himself worthy—where had it all gotten him, except deeper into confusion? He was sick to death of the whole business and longed for the dangerous, straightforward life he'd left behind in Skala. Something Adzriel had said to him, when they'd seen each other so briefly in Rhiminee just before the war, came back to him. Could you ever be content to sit under the lime trees at home, telling tales to the children, or debating with the elders of the council whether the lintel of the temple should be painted white or silver?

  His new sword lay close at hand, and he reached out, running his fingers over the hilt, thinking of how he'd felt, grasping it for the first time. Whatever the rhui'auros or Nysander or his family or even Alec thought, he was good at one thing, and one thing only— being a nightrunner. Courtier, wizard's apprentice, diplomat, honorable clan member, son—failed efforts, all.