The White Road n-5

by Lynn Flewelling

  “Yes, hidden over there.”

  “Good. I need your sword.” He glanced down at the smooth, egg-shaped rocks he was kneeling on. “And your shirt.”

  “I’m coming with you!”

  “No, you’re going to row out and signal the ship any way you can. You saw the direction I came from? If we don’t come back, have Rhal send a force up the road to a little cottage over that rise, on the seaward side of the road. He can make up his mind what needs to be done once he gets there.”

  Quentis watched unhappily as Seregil buckled on the sword. “What are you going to do, my lord?”

  “Whatever I can.”

  “How many do you make it now?” Alec asked, leaning against the barred door.

  “Closer to thirty, and there are archers among them,” said Micum, peering out. Their pursuers had reined in on the road. Some dismounted and came running forward with swords drawn. They made easy targets.

  “All right, then.” Alec threw open one shutter at the other window and set an arrow to his bowstring. He took down three before the rest retreated, and two more still on horseback. A moment later, an arrow sang past his cheek and embedded itself in the wall behind him. Others followed, and Alec stepped back into cover. Picking up a fallen shaft, he looked at it closely.

  “What do you make of it?” Micum asked.

  “’Faie made, I’d say. That’s a relief of sorts,” Alec replied. “If we are captured, I’d rather it be by Ulan.” The head was chipped, but he sent it speeding back the way it had come anyway. His range was longer than they’d guessed. Another man fell. “That’s six, but not a kill.”

  Micum grinned over at Rieser. “How does it feel, fighting beside a Tírfaie?”

  Reiser hardly spared him a glance. “Necessary. They’re flanking us.”

  He was probably right. There were more missing out there than Micum could account for by the dead. The archers were apparently well supplied, for they continued for quite a while. Alec finished the last of his arrows and those he could salvage, then slammed the shutter closed and barred it again. In the midst of it all they heard a commotion in back of the house.

  “There go the horses,” said Micum, checking through the shutters.

  “Now what?” Rieser asked.

  “Attack or parley, I expect,” said Micum.

  “Yes, here comes a man holding up a white scarf,” Alec told them. “It’s a parley.”

  A moment later a man called out to them, “You in the house. We outnumber you and have no desire to kill you. Surrender now.”

  “Who are you and why should we?” Micum called back.

  “My name is Urien, captain of Ulan í Sathil’s personal guard. I speak for Ulan í Sathil of Virésse.”

  “What does this Ulan fellow want with us?” Micum drawled back, stalling for time, trying to estimate if Seregil could possibly be on the way back yet. Most likely not. “We’re just humble travelers making our way, until you lot put Bilairy’s wind up our ass.”

  “If that is so, then you should have no fear of showing yourselves.”

  “No fear?” Micum scoffed. “With more arrows around us than sprills on a hedgehog’s back? Oh, no! You’ll kill us first and make certain of us afterward.”

  “If you are innocent, then why did you run?”

  “Where I’m from, the only men who ride around in gangs are bandits and soldiers, and they can both be trouble to travelers. As you have only just proven, I might add. It’s an outrage! And what, may I ask are Aurënfaie doing gadding about the Plenimaran countryside?”

  “That’s no concern of yours, if you are what you say you are,” Urien retorted, sounding a little amused now. “You have some things that belong to the khirnari and he wants them back. Three books and a boy with blue eyes. Give those over and you’re free to go.”

  “Books!” Micum feigned disbelief. “Who in their right mind busts into the house of a—what do you call it—Keer-nair-ey, and steals books? Don’t tell me you mistook us for scholars, too? And boys?”

  Darkness was falling and torches were being lit.

  “Send out Seregil the Bôkthersan!” a different, slightly higher voice called out.

  “No one here by that name,” Micum called back. “Really, this is getting damned tiresome.”

  “I know that voice,” Alec whispered, looking out through the shutters to be sure. “That’s Ilar!”

  “The traitor who fancies your lover?” asked Rieser.

  Alec turned to him with a shocked, slightly chagrined look.

  Rieser shrugged. “You think I haven’t been paying attention?”

  Micum took a peek himself, wanting a look at this mysterious man from Seregil’s past. He didn’t look like much—a thin, trembling man with a coward’s eyes. “Well then, Captain, since you don’t believe me, and I don’t believe you, I’d say we’re at a bit of an impasse.”

  Meanwhile, Rieser and Alec made the rounds of the room, peering out through the shutters.

  “Well?” Micum whispered.

  “We are surrounded,” said Rieser, “but they’re thinly spread, unless there are others still out of sight.”

  He was proven right in less than a breath. The shutters of the single window in the wall to their right cracked and groaned on their hinges and several swordsmen leapt in. Throwing the bench aside, they lunged at Micum and Alec. Micum had the sword at hand so Alec grabbed the rusty axe. Unarmed, Rieser kept behind them, awaiting his chance.

  The house was a small one and didn’t leave a lot of room for swinging weapons around. Aware that more men were in the process of kicking the door in, Micum caught his opponent’s blade with his hilt and lashed out with his left fist, hitting him squarely in the face. The man dropped his sword as he fell to the floor. Rieser darted forward and grabbed it as Micum jumped over the fallen man and took on another who’d come in through the window, ending up back-to-back with Alec. He could hear the crack of splitting wood as the brackets holding the bar across the door began to give way.

  Seregil heard the sound of fighting before he was in sight of the cottage. At least it wasn’t over, which meant his friends weren’t captured yet, or dead.

  It was easier to approach than it had been to leave, now that it was dark. Or mostly so; Ulan’s men—he knew them by their tack and coats—had very helpfully lit a few torches, making it a simple enough matter to knock down four men from a distance with the lovely rounded beach stones he’d collected in Quentis’s shirt. Several of the men were Plenimarans—Ulan’s hired dogs were relatively loyal, it seemed. He wondered which one of the bastards had been the one to spot them leaving by the city gate. Seregil sincerely hoped he’d brained him.

  He slipped away in the shadows before anyone could tell where the stones had come from, dashing around to the other side of the house where he found half a dozen men all trying to get in through the same window. There was no sound of his friends inside except the clang and thud of a fight.

  “I think they have enough people in there. Why don’t we stay out here in the fresh night air?” Seregil called to the men, drawing the sailor’s sword. They turned on him like a pack of wolves. Seregil could see chain mail glittering at the necks of their tunics. In a fight like this, you struck to break bones, not cut flesh.

  “Micum! Alec!” Seregil shouted as he held off two swordsmen at once. “Rieser!”

  “All here!” Micum shouted back.

  Two men went down with broken pates, and a third with a shattered arm. The other two rushed Seregil at once, trying to bowl him over. He ducked, throwing one over his back, and vaulted in through the open window.

  With his help, they managed to clear the last of Ulan’s men from the room and prop the broken door back into place.

  “About time you got here!” said Micum. He sounded winded.

  “Did you find it?” asked Rieser, not sounding the least bit tired.

  “Fight now. Talk later,” Seregil gasped, locking blades with another swordsman who’d come through
the open window. Alec took on a second man who’d come in at the far end of the room, bringing him down with a blow to the head with the hilt of his sword.

  He doesn’t want to kill them, either, thought Seregil, swinging his left fist at an unwary swordsman. He misjudged, striking him in the forehead instead of the nose, and felt the long bone in his middle finger snap. The pain gave him strength and he surged forward, taking another man in the face with his sword hilt and kicking him backwards out the window. Micum and Rieser tossed out the last three stragglers and slammed and barred the shutters. Alec wedged the table up against the door.

  Thoroughly winded, Seregil took a drink from the waterskin he’d brought and handed it around. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was exhausted, and he could see that the others were, too. “Rhal was delayed by the tide. He should be sailing in about now.”

  “If we run, they’ll cut us down,” Rieser whispered back, “but we’ve thinned them out. I count only eleven men left.”

  “Are you ready to stop this?” someone called.

  Seregil went to the side of one of the front windows and looked cautiously out. A man with the look of a captain sat on horseback beside a hooded man. Almost a dozen men were still in front of the house, nearly all of them archers. As he watched, two more staggered out of the shadows, clutching their heads.

  That’s what I get for being merciful, Seregil thought—though he had rather assumed he’d killed them with his rock throwing.

  Just then the mounted man next to Ulan pushed his hood back.

  Seregil laughed. “Ilar! I didn’t expect to see you again.” Even from here he could see the dark, swollen bruise on his jaw.

  Alec stepped in beside him, and for an instant Seregil was afraid he was going to charge out after him. Instead, he regarded the other man coldly. “You’re worse than a stray cat at supper time. Always turning up when you’re least wanted.”

  Seregil studied Ilar’s face and the way he sat his horse. The library had been dark; now he had a better look at him, though, and it simply confirmed his impression. This was not the gloating man who’d made Seregil wash his feet and taunted him with fleeting glimpses of Alec during their captivity. Nor was this the same man who’d tried to seduce him once again during their escape. Even at this distance, Seregil could see fear in his face, and his stoop-shouldered, cringing posture. As their eyes met, however, he also saw the hunger in him. Ilar was Ulan’s creature now; no doubt certain promises had been made, which almost certainly did not involve letting Alec or him go.

  “Well now, where are we?” he asked, leaning on the window frame.

  “Surrender, and I assure you, none of you will be killed,” their leader replied.

  “Those are your terms? Not very enticing.”

  “You’re as foolish as your friends. Very well. The khirnari only wants Alec. You have his solemn word that he will be well treated. The rest of you can go.”

  “Even worse!”

  Micum, who’d been standing just behind Seregil, disappeared for a moment.

  “Well treated?” Alec laughed hoarsely. “Then he’s either lying or he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. It’s an abomination. How in Aura’s name can you support this, Captain Urien?”

  When Micum returned his face was dark with fury. “Rieser is gone, and so are the books. All of them.”

  Seregil kept his expression neutral and his attention on the captain.

  “I was ordered to catch a thief and return what was stolen,” Urien told him. “These are the terms I was given. Whatever my khirnari asks of me, I know it is for the sake of Virésse.”

  “Even if it means he becomes no better than a necromancer?”

  “He’s lying to confuse you!” Ilar told him angrily. “Remember your honor, Captain. And the khirnari said to bring Seregil, as well. He’s one of the chief thieves. The others can be killed.”

  Just then they heard a low whistle from behind the house.

  Micum went to the window and looked out between the shutters. “Well I’ll be damned,” he whispered. “Rieser’s back, and he’s brought horses!”

  “Captain, please grant me a few moments with my companions. They may take a bit of—convincing,” Seregil said.

  “Take all the time you like,” Urien replied.

  Seregil closed the shutters and went with the others to the back window. Outside two men lay on the ground, dead or senseless, and Rieser stood over them with four saddled horses and the bag of books slung from one of the pommels.

  One by one they climbed out and took a horse, then began leading them away in the direction of the cove. They hadn’t gotten more than a hundred feet, however, when someone shouted, “There they go! They’re escaping!”

  Seregil gave Micum a quick leg up onto his horse, then leapt into the saddle on his own and followed the others as they galloped for the cove, their starlight shadows coursing like pursuing dra’gorgos beneath them.

  They had a head start and the element of surprise, but Urien and his remaining men were hard on their heels.

  Rounding the headland for the second time that day, Seregil let out a victory cry at the sight of the ocean lapping at the high tide line and the Green Lady riding at anchor. Longboats were skimming in across the glassy surface of the cove, lanterns casting long spears of light toward the beach.

  “Keep going!” Micum yelled as his horse lunged into the water.

  Alec was close behind. “Look out! Archers!” he cried as he slid off his horse into the water, still clutching the pommel.

  Seregil, for once in his life, was too slow. Something seared across his back like a hot whip, and then something heavy struck him in the side, knocking him off his horse into the water. His ankle caught in the stirrup and suddenly he was being dragged as the horse churned on, an arrow grinding between his ribs and water going up his nose. He wondered vaguely if he’d bleed to death or drown first. And oddest of all, someone was screaming something about him. It was hard to tell if it was a man or a woman, with his head bobbing in and out of the water, but they sounded hysterical.

  Then a hand was gripping his arm so hard it hurt and another was pulling his caught foot free of the stirrup.

  “Hold on,” Alec said against his ear. “The boats are coming. They’re almost here.”

  Seregil coughed up salt water and gagged out, “Rieser—” He had the books.

  “Micum went back for him.”

  Back?

  Arrows were still coming down in the water around them, but now others were whizzing back the other way from the boats.

  Then rough hands and strong arms were hoisting them both up into a boat, and the arrow was catching on everything until a ham-fisted sailor snapped it off and Seregil allowed himself to scream just that once.

  The voice calling his name was still carrying across the water. “Seregil! Seregil, don’t leave me here! Please! Come back. Take me with you! You know what they’ll do to me!”

  Propped up against Alec’s chest, Seregil saw Ilar pacing back and forth at the water’s edge, wringing his hands and wailing. And that was the last thing Seregil remembered before he fainted.

  CHAPTER 31

  The Green Lady

  “THINGS went wrong, did they?” Rhal asked as Seregil and Rieser were lifted aboard the Lady.

  “We ran into a bit of trouble,” Alec told him, following close behind. “I hope your healer is a good one.”

  “He is.” Turning to the crewmen gawking at them, he snapped, “Get these men below and find Konthus! Nettles, Skywake. Prepare to hoist anchor.”

  Rieser and Seregil were put to bed in their respective cabins as the ship got under way. Seregil was conscious now, but was having trouble breathing.

  “Prop him on his good side,” Micum advised.

  Alec positioned several pillows behind Seregil’s back to keep him lying on his unwounded side, then carefully began easing his wet, bloody shirt off. Seawater mixed with blood spread in a widening stain on the silk coverlet. In
addition to the arrow in his side, Seregil had a thin, deep gash across his back where another arrow had clipped him, which would take sewing up. Seregil lay there, panting, but managed to push himself up enough for Alec to get the shirttail out from under him. Meanwhile, Micum rummaged through the clothes chest at the foot of the bunk and found a clean shirt. Alec pressed it around the remains of the arrow shaft to staunch what he could.

  Seregil grimaced. “Missed my lung, but I think I have some cracked ribs.” He held up his right hand, showing them his swollen middle finger. “This hurts like hell, too.”

  “You’ll have plenty of time to heal up, my friend,” Micum said, patting his foot. “We’re bound for home now, and well earned.”

  Presently a young man in a brown robe hurried in, the bronze serpent lemniscate of his profession swinging against his chest on its chain. “Lord Seregil, I’m honored—”

  “Rieser first,” said Micum. “He’s hurt worse than Lord Seregil.”

  “Are you sure, my lord?”

  “Go!” Seregil gritted out.

  “I’ll go sit with him,” said Micum. He limped away after the healer, leaving the door open behind him.

  Alec wrapped blankets around both of them and sat down on the edge of the bed. “How are you doing?” he asked, smoothing Seregil’s wet, tangled hair back from his face.

  Seregil grimaced, but it was mostly a smile. “Been better. Been worse. What happened to Rieser?”

  “Shot in the chest. He saved our lives back there, not to mention the books. I have to admit, I thought he really had run off.”

  “So did I.” Seregil closed his eyes, shivering. “It’s a good thing for us he didn’t. I wouldn’t want to go back to the Ebrados without him.”

  “No. You’re chilled.” Alec got the rest of Seregil’s wet things off him and got him under the covers, then found dry clothing for himself among the things they’d left on board.

  Seregil was dozing when Micum and the healer returned.

  “How is Rieser?” asked Alec as Konthus set to work looking Seregil over.