“Come on, you!” Micum ordered roughly, cuffing Seregil on the ear. Seregil scuttled quickly under his arm to join the others on the far side of the gate. They were out, free and—
“Hold on there!” one of the guards called after them. “You, trader.”
Micum shot Seregil a tense look, then settled his features into a look of mild impatience as he turned back. “Yes, what is it?”
The guard waved them back, and Seregil’s heart sank as the man held out the knife. “Is this yours?”
“It is!” Micum exclaimed without missing a beat as he felt at his belt in surprise. “Sakor’s Flame!”
The guard glanced back at his companions. “Told you the slave was up to something.” Then, to Micum, “You were too hasty with your dog, there. He was trying to fetch it for you.”
Micum looked at Seregil. “Is that so?”
Seregil bowed his head and nodded mutely.
Micum patted his head roughly, as if he were a dog, then pushed him off toward the others again. “Thank you, Sergeant. That was a gift from my late wife. I’d have been sorry to lose it.”
“Glad to help, trader. Good journey to you! Take care on the road. Say, where are you headed at this early hour?”
Can’t you just let us go? Seregil thought furiously.
“Oh, I’ve got a friend up the road with a warm bed waiting. I meant to be off earlier, but luck was with me at a gaming table,” Micum told him with a chuckle. He threw back his cloak, showing off his sword and Alec’s bow. “And I fear no man on the road, or off it.”
The guard grinned and waved him on. “Good luck to you then.”
The four of them walked on in silence for some time, until Rieser finally broke the silence. “You are an accomplished liar, Micum Cavish.”
Micum grinned. “Many thanks.”
There was no time for complacency, though, knowing that word of them was likely to spread fast, given the bounty. They walked on, passing by houses and hamlets, and then farmsteads. It was dangerously close to dawn now; the houses were dark, but farm householders were notoriously early risers. Coming across one at last with horses in a corral, Seregil went in first to deal with the dogs; then they helped themselves. As they were leading them away, however, a man suddenly shouted behind them and they heard the sound of several people running in their direction. As one they sprang onto their horses’ backs, grabbed them by the manes, and kicked them into a gallop down the road, followed by cries of “Thief!” And, before too much longer, the sound of more horses galloping after them.
“It’s going to be a damn poor end to this journey if we end up hanged for horse thieves,” Micum shouted to the others.
“Rhal should be back,” Alec noted. “If we can just get there—”
If. Seregil tried not to think about what that turnip farmer had told them.
Suddenly he heard a horse scream and looked back over his shoulder just in time to see Rieser’s horse throw him and stagger off on a broken leg.
Alec happened to be the hindmost and saw Rieser’s horse step in the rabbit hole and founder. Rieser was on his feet already. Reining in, Alec gave the man a hand up. Rieser took it and sprang up behind him, then grasped the back of Alec’s shirt as he galloped off after the others. Not a word of thanks, of course.
Micum was in the lead now, and Alec leaned over his mount’s neck, urging it on to catch up. Seregil was looking back, gesturing for him to hurry. Alec checked back over his shoulder and saw the farmer and his men gaining on his more heavily laden horse.
“Oh, Illior, give this horse wings,” he muttered, then started as he saw the foremost rider fall, then another. Micum had stopped and was shooting, his eye as sharp and his hand steady as Alec’s. One by one, he picked off the lead riders until the rest turned tail and rode back the way they’d come.
Alec let out a triumphant whoop and urged his horse on to reach the others as Rieser clung on behind. “It’s about time someone used that bow!” he called out with a laugh.
Micum slung it over his shoulder and took stock of the arrows left in the quiver as he rode. “Less than a score now.”
“Well lost, though,” said Alec. “I didn’t much fancy getting hung from the nearest tree, or having my guts torn out back in the city.”
“But there’s some more people who’ve had sight of us,” Seregil pointed out, not happy about that. As escapes went, this one was a mess. “We’ve got to get off the highroad. We might as well wear signs on our backs, otherwise.”
They left the road and continued cross-country toward the sea, riding more carefully for the horses’ sakes and eating the cheese and dry sausage Micum had thought to bring with him last night, knowing the rest might not have a chance to go back for their packs.
The sun was well up when they struck a track that ran close along the shoreline.
“This must be the other end of the fork we saw when we came in,” said Micum.
“A way less traveled by the look of it,” said Seregil. “What do you say?”
They took it, and found themselves on a winding track that followed the crenellated coastline. They passed one small fishing hamlet and a few lonely houses, but soon the dry, open countryside was deserted, sloping ever down to the rugged sea ledges where the glass-green waves came crashing in with great gouts of white spume. Gulls cried overhead and ospreys soared above, while sea ducks bobbed out beyond the breakers. Tiny yellow and white flowers blossomed along the ledges, and clumps of sea lavender, clinging to what soil there was. The air was sweet with their perfume yet left the taste of salt on Alec’s lips. But for the lack of forests, it was hauntingly similar to the stretch of Plenimaran coastline where Duke Mardus had brought Alec.
As they spelled their horses at a freshet by the roadside at midday, Alec noticed that Micum dismounted a bit awkwardly and stood clutching the horse’s mane a moment. Alec had noticed signs of his leg paining him when they’d stopped earlier, too. Riding without a saddle or stirrups put a strain on anyone’s legs. When Micum led his horse to drink, he was limping noticeably, but he didn’t say anything, so neither did anyone else.
Rieser walked over to Seregil and held out his hand. “I want to see the books.” Seregil unshouldered the bag and undid the strings. Three large leather-bound books slid out. Seregil, Micum, and Alec each took one. Seregil’s shirt hung awry and Alec saw an angry red line where the string had rubbed Seregil’s skin raw during their ride.
The slimmest of them was bound in worn brown leather and stamped with faded gold. It was written in Plenimaran, but Seregil and Micum could make it out. Seregil paged through it to a picture of what looked like a winged naked being, sexless like Sebrahn. “It talks of various elixirs you can make with different sorts of blood, including rhekaro, but I don’t see any recipes.”
“That’s probably in this one,” said Alec, holding up the largest, bound in red leather, with a whole page filled with drawings of winged rhekaros. “This is the book I saw.”
Rieser leaned over Alec’s shoulder and traced a line of text with one grimy finger, not quite touching the page. “So this holds the means of the making?”
“So does this one,” Micum said, holding up the third, to show them another engraving of a rhekaro. “Where were they? How did you find them?”
Seregil looked up at him and sighed. “Ilar. Again.”
“Him?” Alec felt a sinking feeling in his belly. “How did he turn up here?”
“I don’t know. He’s under Ulan’s protection now, but he betrayed him to help me.”
“Why would he do that?” asked Rieser. He might know nothing of Ilar, but betraying a khirnari was a serious matter.
Seregil and Alec both ignored the question.
Instead, Alec raised a skeptical eyebrow. “He told you, and then just let you go?”
“I told him he could come with me. He told me where the books were. I knocked him out and left him to explain himself to Ulan.”
“He’ll just lie his way out of it
.”
“Probably. But he’s not our problem now.”
Alec turned his book to show them elaborate engravings of alchemical equipment in various arrangements—flasks, athanors, crucibles, and the like. “I recognize some of these. I saw them being used in Yhakobin’s workshop.”
“It will be useful to someone,” said Seregil.
“No, it will not!” Rieser snapped. “I am taking those back to my people, and no one will use them.”
“We only have your word for that, don’t we?” said Seregil. “I have a better idea. Micum, lend me your knife.”
Taking it, he opened the brown book halfway through and sawed through the binding, splitting it into two parts. “You can have your pick of which half you want, Rieser, but you can’t have it all. I get to pick the next one, and Alec the third.”
Rieser watched in silence as he cut the others, then sighed. “I suppose it’s as good a solution as any.”
“Why not just throw them into the sea?” asked Micum.
“Because things like these have a way of surviving,” Seregil told him. “Let’s try something.”
He gathered enough twigs and dry plants to start a small fire. When it caught, he held the corner of one page to the flame. It didn’t catch fire. None of the books would. “As I expected, you don’t keep such important information in an ordinary book.” He put them back in the bag. “Half of these are yours. We won’t fight you for them. But you know what we want in return.”
Rieser gave them no reply, just walked off down the ledges.
“That was your best solution?” Micum whispered.
“It’s better than fighting over them, assuming that the other Ebrados agree,” said Alec.
Seregil gave them both a crooked grin. “I may not be able to read the code, but I can tell where one chapter ends and another begins. I wouldn’t say I cut each one exactly in half, and I made sure we got what looked like the best parts. They may not be enough to tell us the whole story—”
“Assuming you figure out the code,” said Micum.
“How many times have you seen me fail at that sort of thing?”
“Not often,” Micum admitted.
“And if you can’t, then perhaps Thero can,” said Alec. “He’s handy at that sort of thing.”
“He should be,” said Seregil, giving him a wink. “We had the same teacher. Let’s go.”
“Wait.” Alec cut a piece from his saddle blanket, folded it into a sort of pad, and put it between the bag’s strings and Seregil’s shoulder.
“Thanks, talí,” Seregil murmured.
CHAPTER 30
The Cottage by the Sea
BY LATE AFTERNOON they’d struck the highroad and Alec’s belly was complaining loudly again.
Micum pointed forward to a familiar headland as they stopped by a spring. “I believe the cove is just beyond there.” It was no more than a mile on.
“Good.” Seregil yawned widely.
“Don’t start that,” said Micum, then succumbed to one of his own. “We don’t have that much farther to go.”
“I just hope Rhal is actually—” Suddenly Seregil went very still, head cocked slightly. “Do you hear that?”
The soft breeze carried the distant sound of riders—more than a few and coming on at a gallop.
“They couldn’t have tracked us through the city,” said Rieser. “Someone must have seen us at the gate. Micum Cavish is a hard man to mistake in this land.”
“Too true,” said Seregil. “Rieser, you ride with me for now, and give Alec’s horse a rest.”
Alec went to Micum’s horse and laced his fingers into a stirrup. Micum’s limp was more pronounced now, and a stiff leg could mean a bad fall.
Micum set his foot there and Alec boosted him up onto his horse’s back.
“Can you ride hard?” Alec whispered to him, not wanting the others to hear.
“Of course I can,” Micum scoffed softly, but his smile was tight.
Seregil mounted his own sweating horse. The Hâzad jumped lightly up behind him and gripped the back of Seregil’s shirt.
“We don’t know for certain it’s them,” Alec pointed out as they forced their tired horses into a last gallop. “It could be the man we stole the horses from.”
“It could be slave takers,” said Micum.
“I’d rather not wait around to see!” Seregil replied, taking the lead.
Whoever it was, they couldn’t be too far behind if Alec could hear them over the surf. Sure enough, when he looked back over his shoulder, he caught the glint of afternoon light on metal. “Damn!” Whoever it was behind them, their horses must be fresher, for they were steadily gaining. There were too many to be the horse breeder and his men, unless he’d raised the countryside against them.
“They’re gaining!” shouted Micum, though it hardly needed pointing out.
Their pursuers were close enough now that Alec could make out the pale ovals of faces, but not features yet. Still out of bowshot, hopefully. He didn’t fancy getting shot in the back again. Or anywhere else, for that matter.
And still the riders gained on them.
“We’re not going to make the cove!” Micum shouted.
“No, but we can make it there.” Seregil pointed to a nearby cottage above the ledges, one of the abandoned ones they’d passed when they’d first arrived here.
It wasn’t the best of redoubts. The roof thatching was rotting away on one end, and several shutters were hanging on by a hinge. The remains of a fishing net hung sun-rotted over a drying frame. But there was nothing better in sight.
“Rieser, take the horses around to the back and tie them up somehow,” Seregil ordered.
The door was blocked on the inside, but Seregil and Alec climbed in through one of the windows that flanked it and lifted the warped bar from the rusty staples. A table still stood at the center of the room, and there was one broken bench and an overturned sideboard. A rotting pallet lay in one corner close to the stone chimney.
They let the others in and barred the door again, then set about using the broken furniture to block the windows with broken shutters as best they could. The shutters still on their hinges were warped by the salt air and wouldn’t withstand much of an assault, but they’d be enough to shield them from archers, if it came to that.
“Look what I found,” said Rieser, brandishing a rusty axe.
“Good man!” exclaimed Micum.
Rieser nearly smiled.
Seregil looked around, taking stock. “So, one bow—”
Alec settled the quiver strap over his shoulder.
“I hope you’re as good as he says you are,” Rieser told him.
“He is,” said Seregil. Micum had one of the front windows half open now. “How many, Micum?”
“I’d say twenty at least.”
“Closer to twenty-five,” said Rieser.
“Damn, I don’t like those odds, not the way we’re armed,” Seregil said.
“What about this ship you keep talking about?” asked Rieser. “Can’t one of us go for help?”
Seregil exchanged a look with the others. “It’s not that far. Half an hour round trip, at most.”
“Longer, getting out to the ship to gather the men and get them organized,” Micum pointed out.
“You’re the fastest runner, Seregil,” said Alec. “And the least likely to be seen.”
He was right, of course, and there was no time to quibble.
“Give me the knife,” said Seregil.
Micum handed it to him. “No lollygagging, you.”
“Luck in the shadows,” added Alec.
“And to the rest of you.” Seregil gave him a quick kiss and ducked out the back window.
Seregil could have taken one of the horses, but that would have called too much attention, and at this distance he couldn’t outrun the riders. He could hear them more clearly now, and could tell by their shouts that they were making for the cottage. Crouching as low as he could, he kept th
e house between them until he reached a shallow gully that took him toward the headland and down over the lip of a rise. Out of sight of the cottage at last, he fixed his eye on the distant beach and ran for all their lives.
As he rounded the base of the small headland, however, he found the cove aglow with late-afternoon light, and quite empty.
“No!” He sank to his knees in the dry bladder wrack at the tide line and stared incredulously out across the empty water. Had they gotten the day wrong? Worse yet, had something happened to the Lady?
“Lord Seregil?” One of Rhal’s crewmen—Quentis, Seregil thought—emerged from a patch of bushes, brushing twigs and dead leaves from his jerkin. “Where’s the rest of ’em? The captain set me to watch for you—”
“Where’s the ship?” Seregil gasped, pushing himself to his feet and noting that Quentis was wearing a sword.
“It’s the tide, my lord.” The man hooked a thumb at the water, and Seregil cursed himself for a fool. The tide was out. “It’ll be another hour before there’s draft enough to float the Lady through the shoals.”
“An hour? We don’t have an hour!” The sun was sinking toward the western horizon. Squinting into the glare, he looked for some sign of the ship, but there was none that he could see. “Bilairy’s Balls, man, the others are trapped. Besieged!”
“What are we going to do, my lord?”
Seregil walked down to the waterline and washed the dust from his face and neck, trying to collect his thoughts. Quentis appeared at his elbow with a waterskin. Seregil rinsed his mouth, then took a sparing sip and slung the skin over his shoulder; you couldn’t run on a bellyful. “Do you have a boat?”
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