Shadows Return n-4

by Lynn Flewelling

  The night air was cold enough that they could see their breath in front of them. It was poor country for shelter or hiding. Trees were sparse, and the few villages they passed were mean little places.

  Seregil was grim, and Khenir wisely kept his mouth shut, though he was obviously in pain. Alec could feel the tension crackling between the two of them. And no wonder, if he’d understood Ahmol and Yhakobin correctly. He tried to keep his mind on the way in front of them, but his heart was in turmoil. This wasn’t how he’d envisioned his reunion with his talimenios; Seregil was distant and clearly upset by Sebrahn’s presence, as well as his obvious loathing of Khenir.

  Alec felt betrayed. Hadn’t there been signs enough that Khenir had lied to him? But deep down inside, he was also sorry to have his worst suspicions about the man realized.

  When Khenir began to lag behind, however, it was Seregil who fell back and took his arm to support him.

  “Are you going to kill me now?” Alec heard Khenir whisper.

  “Shut up and keep walking,” Seregil growled back.

  They’d gone another mile or so when he heard the sound of moving water. Veering to the right, he soon found a small spring. Alec put Sebrahn down to the ground and stretched, easing his stiff shoulders. Ilar collapsed where he was, shaking with exhaustion.

  The spring water was sweet and cold. Each drank his fill, then sat a while to rest. Seregil settled beside Alec and hugged him close, obviously not caring what the others might think. Alec hugged him back. Khenir watched them with an almost hungry expression.

  Alec glared back at him. “All that time, you knew, and you lied to me.”

  “I–I didn’t dare tell you,” Khenir stammered. “Not while we were still in that house. Once Ilban had freed me, I would have explained.”

  “I’m sure you would have, and enjoyed it, too,” Seregil said, in that dangerously calm tone that always boded ill for someone. “There’s a lot you didn’t tell him, isn’t there? Alec, I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of mine. This is Ilar í Sontir.”

  For a long moment Alec felt numb. Then the pieces began to fall into place. “Then…why is he still alive?”

  Seregil sighed. “When I figure that out, I’ll let you know.”

  Alec barely heard him. He jumped to his feet, sword drawn, and advanced on the cowering slave. “Ilar? Ilar? You bastard! The spoon, and those walks…You played with me and lied to me, and all the time…”

  Seregil caught him before he lunged at Ilar, locking his arms around Alec’s chest as he fought to get loose. “Listen to me! Right now we need to find somewhere to hide before the sun comes up.” Seregil held him fast and brought his lips close to Alec’s ear. “Trust me, too, talí.”

  Alec lowered his sword, but any compassion he’d felt for his false protector was gone. Ilar was now his betrayer, too.

  Seregil took Alec by the arm and drew him away from the others.

  “Let it go, talí,” Seregil whispered. “Ilar’s a silky customer, and always was. Whatever happened between you-”

  “You think something happened?” Alec sputtered, stung by the notion.

  “I saw you two down in the garden, by the fish pool,” Seregil told him, sounding pained to have to speak of it.

  Alec took his hand. “He tried to seduce me. Even though I trusted him then, I wouldn’t betray you. I wasn’t even tempted.”

  Seregil raked his fingers back through his shorn hair, the way he did when he was particularly uncomfortable or exasperated. “It’s all right. But I remember what he was like-what he’s still like.”

  “And yet you didn’t kill him?”

  “You stopped me, remember?”

  Alec clenched his fists in frustration. “And now we have to anyway, or keep dragging him along so he doesn’t betray us.”

  Even in this light he could make out Seregil’s strained little half smile. “I’ve never been much for killing in cold blood, and neither are you. I suppose we’re stuck with him, at least until we’re far enough away from Yhakobin that it doesn’t matter.”

  “I still don’t understand. You always said you’d kill him on sight!”

  Seregil shook his head. “I’ve seen his scars, talí, and what’s been done to him all these years. He’s not the man I remember. He’s-broken.”

  “You pity him?”

  “You’re no more surprised than I am. But what could I do to him that his life here hasn’t done already?”

  Alec paused, trying to take that in. “Were you with him, all the time we were apart?”

  “No, not for the first part. There was an old woman who looked after me while I was sick.”

  “I saw you, on the ship. At first I thought you were dead.”

  “I damn near did die from the magic they put on me. I don’t know how long I slept, or what he did to me while I did, but when I woke up it was just the old woman for a long time. Ilar showed up later, after he made sure I saw you two together in the garden.”

  “That bastard!” he hissed. “How was he with you?”

  “He had me at his mercy, and he enjoyed it.”

  Alec thought he caught just the slightest hint of uncertainty in his lover’s voice. “Did he force you-”

  “You saw what they did to him. But if that had been what it took to get to you, I would have, without a second thought.” Seregil pulled him close again. “Would you have hated me for that?”

  Alec looked deep into his own heart. “No,” he murmured, and felt Seregil’s sigh of relief.

  “Besides, I attacked him the first chance I got,” Seregil added, clearly pleased at that. “After that, he knew I’d kill him the minute he let his guard down. Whatever else Ilar is, he’s no fool. Come on, now. We’ve got to find someplace to lie up before the sun rises.”

  “How far to the Strait?”

  “I’m not sure, but if we turn south tomorrow, we’re bound to strike it.”

  “And then?”

  Seregil gave him a crooked grin. “We take what the Lightbearer sends. Hopefully in the form of a nice swift little boat, eh? Luck in the shadows, Alec. It hasn’t failed us yet.”

  “And in the Light,” Alec murmured, hoping the Immortal in question was listening.

  As they moved on, Seregil half expected Alec to drop the rhekaro and attack Ilar again.

  Instead, when Ilar fell behind, Alec resumed their earlier conversation. “So, who do you think betrayed us to Yhakobin in the first place? The queen, or Ulan í Sathil?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe both. But having had a good long time to ponder the matter, I’d say that if the queen was looking for an excuse to cast doubt on her sister’s loyalty, our disappearance with the only missive might be a good starting point.”

  “What about Prince Korathan? Would he do something like that to you?”

  Seregil frowned. “I wouldn’t have said so, but who knows? If things are really that bad, there isn’t much point in going back to Skala.”

  “Do you think Micum knows we’re in trouble yet? Thero must have figured out there was something wrong when the messages didn’t come.”

  “We don’t know that they didn’t get them, Alec. Whoever caught us might have figured the sticks out and used them. There’s no way of telling. It’s just us, talí. We’re on our own.”

  Alec shrugged. “Well, we’re free, and we’re together. That’s a start.”

  Seregil’s grin was all the answer he needed.

  CHAPTER 39 Thero Turns Nightrunner

  LED BY THERO’S sightings, he and Micum entered Virésse as travelers and lost themselves in the crowds of one of the seedier dock wards. They soon located the tavern with the dragon and serpent sign-a low, dirty place frequented by Skalan and Plenimaran sailors, Zengati traders, and other rough sorts. There were no ’faie there, apart from the proprietor-a one-eyed Golinil clansman named Wharit. He was as dirty and disreputable as his clientele, distinguished only by his lack of facial hair and his filthy brown-and-white sen’gai. The barmaids a
nd potboys were all foreigners, as were the whores plying their trade there.

  Micum stopped just inside the door and wrinkled his nose at the stink of smoke and unwashed bodies, then said softly, “This isn’t quite how I pictured Aurënen.”

  “Virésse port is a meeting place for all sorts.”

  Micum adjusted his sword belt for the benefit of anyone taking his measure. “That’s all right, then. I know how to act here.”

  They sat down at a small table and Micum called for a pitcher of turab from a passing barmaid, holding up a silver half-sester piece and giving her a rakish smile. The woman’s smile was bright and false as brass, but she brought them their beer and settled on Micum’s knee.

  “You got the sound of a Skalan, my dear,” she purred, eyeing the silver piece. She had a Riga accent and dark, sharp eyes.

  Micum tucked the coin between her ample breasts and squeezed her thigh, while Thero looked on with poorly concealed surprise. “I’m a long way from home, my girl, and always glad to see a pretty face. Even if she is too young for me.”

  The woman, who was most assuredly not too young for anyone, wiggled suggestively and stroked his stubbled cheek. “You’re a charmer. Will you want a room for sleeping, you and your friend?” She gave Thero a sloe-eyed look that made the younger man blush.

  “Indeed we will,” said Micum. “But not until we’ve had some hot food and a decent wash.” He produced another coin and held it up. “Can you help us with that?”

  “We have good food, and a tub in the yard out back.” She eyed the coin meaningfully. “For men I like, I can get you hot, fresh water.”

  Micum laughed and gave her another squeeze and the coin. “Ah, you’re honeycomb, girl, sweet as can be. What’s your name, my dove?”

  “Rose to you, handsome.”

  “Well, then, Rosie my love.” He set her on her feet and gave her a playful smack on the bottom. “Whatever you’ve got cooking back there, bring us the best of it and tell ’em to warm up that tub!”

  She laughed and flounced off toward the kitchens.

  “No wonder Kari wants you kept at home!” Thero exclaimed under his breath.

  Micum sipped his turab, smiling. “Time and place, my friend. All that dolly really wants is my silver.”

  “But what if she wants more?”

  “Well, Seregil generally used to handle that end of things when the need arose. But you’re welcome to step in, seeing as he’s not here.”

  “I don’t have the right sort of healing spells to risk it!”

  “Don’t be unkind. You don’t know the life she’s had, stuck in a place like this. She’s probably somebody’s grandmother by now, three or four times over. Now, as to why we’re here, about to risk a dose of slop belly on the food?”

  Thero palmed the tooth and closed his eyes. “He’s close, but not in this tavern.”

  “Well, then, let’s enjoy our dinner and this fine beer.”

  The turab was good, in fact, and so was the food, much to Thero’s amazement. Razor clams boiled with wine and herbs was the specialty of the house, and the floor was strewn with the long, narrow shells. They were a rarity in Skala, and seldom seen this time of year.

  Rose came back with a few hot, spiced bread rolls for them in a napkin. Thero was impressed until he tore one open and found a few weevils baked inside among the raisins. Micum ate his share with relish, though, picking out the bugs without a care.

  “Now then, Rosie my love, I wonder if you know a man I’m looking for?” asked Micum, pulling the woman into his lap again.

  “What you wanting a man for when you got me?” she teased, then nodded at Thero. “Or him? He’s a bit on the stringy side, but I like his face. Does he always scowl like that?”

  Micum laughed. “Most of the time, yes. And I’ll see to you later, but this fellow I’m after owes me money and I’ve a mind to collect.”

  “Well, I know a lot of men,” she drawled coyly.

  Micum reached into his purse and held up another coin. “The whoreson’s name is Notis.”

  “That one!” She laughed and shook her dark curls. “By the Sailor, he’s a terror! Drinks himself silly, then pukes on the floor so he can drink some more. Wharit’s thrown him out half a dozen times, but he’s got the money to come back in when he sobers up.”

  “That’s good news. I could use some of that good Plenimar coin in my pocket.”

  “Then you’re out of luck, love,” she told him, then burst out laughing. “For all his money is ’faie, stamped with the Virésse seal, every penny of it.”

  “Well now, I guess that spends just as good. How’s that tub coming along? And what do I have to do to get some soap with it?”

  Rose was in good humor, it seemed, for all it cost was a kiss from Thero. She smelled of old beer and cooking smoke but he made a decent job of it and she pinched his cheek.

  Micum gave him first go at the tub. It was splintery and in plain sight of the kitchen door, but he was anxious to show Micum he could act his part as well as the next man. He stripped off and climbed hastily into the tub while Micum sat on a barrel and smoked. As he soaped his hair, it occurred to him that he was being given a glimpse of the sort of life Micum and Seregil had shared all those years, out in the world, while his world had still extended little further than the Orëska gardens.

  “I’m afraid I’m a poor substitute for him,” Thero said, knowing Micum would know whom he meant.

  Micum smiled around his pipe stem. “You’re not so bad.”

  Pleased, Thero ducked his head and climbed out to dry himself with the threadbare towel Rose had left for them. As he reluctantly pulled his dirty clothes back on, Micum took his turn in the tub. As he stripped, Thero looked sidelong at the numerous scars that covered the man’s body, including a thick rope of raised white flesh that wrapped around his chest to his hip. Seregil had many, too, and even Alec. He saw them as proof of the bond between the three-marks left by the lives they’d chosen.

  Micum sank up to his chin in the water, pipe still clenched between his teeth. “That’s a long face. What’s the matter with you? I was only joking about Rose, you know.”

  Caught out, Thero smiled and waved aside his concern. “Just worried about them. I’ll be happier when we find what we’re looking for.”

  Notis did not make an appearance at the Serpent and Dragon that night, so Thero took the tooth in hand again and sighted for him along the dark, malodorous streets of the harbor front. They found him at last in a tavern on the far side, drinking with a handful of fellow Plenimarans and a couple of Zengat. None were dressed like soldiers, but they had that same hard, dangerous air about them, and they were all well armed. Among them was the man he’d seen. As he laughed with the man beside him, Thero saw the gap where he’d lost the tooth.

  “Should we lure him outside?” he whispered to Micum. This place was even dirtier than the Serpent.

  “No need,” Micum assured him, and walked right over to them. Thero hung back, sure he was about to witness a knifing, but Micum said something that made them all laugh, and before Thero knew it, they were all drinking together.

  Since Notis was already drunk, and Micum was liberal in standing more rounds for them, he had no trouble loosening the man’s tongue. Micum started off arguing good-naturedly about horses with them, but somehow steered the conversation around to their trade.

  Micum, whom Thero had never suspected of being such a consummate actor, pretended surprise when he heard what their business was. “What are you doing here, then? Aurënfaie don’t deal in flesh.”

  “Shhhhh! We don’t bring that here,” Notis explained, leaning on Micum’s shoulder. “We carry the poor buggers to the Riga markets, then take on cargo for here. You get the money here, get more flesh and round and round we go! The khirnari don’t care, so long as we got no slaves aboard when we drop anchor here.”

  “Is that the best port for it? Riga?”

  “Unless we got something real special. That we take to
Benshâl. Good money in Riga, but best money in Benshâl. The Overlord? I hear he’s got five hundred of the best in his private collection. And that’s just the bedders. All the household slaves? They got to be perfect, too. No marks ’cept for the brands. Especially on the face.”

  “Not even what the clothes cover up?” asked Micum.

  “Not even,” Notis assured him.

  “Do you get many of those?”

  “No, damn the luck! We’ve not been up that way for months. Just come back from Riga, though.” Notis slapped his purse down on the tabletop with a respectable jingle of coin.

  “By the Flame, there must be good money in it,” Micum exclaimed, slurring a little now himself. “How’s a man get into that business, anyway?”

  Eyes narrowed around the table at that. “You asking, Skala?”

  “Do I sound like a Skalan to you?” Micum scoffed, offended. “I’m a northlander! No queens for me. No sir, I’m a free man, free to do as I please. And…” He paused and gave them a knowing wink. “Making money always pleases me. Only I’m wondering, if old Ulan knows the cargo you carry, why does he let your ships anywhere near his fai’thast, eh?”

  A Zengat with a scar across the bridge of his nose leaned in and whispered, “That is because of the agreement.”

  “What agreement?” Thero asked, speaking up at last.

  Notis and the others went silent and suddenly all eyes were on Thero, and not looking too friendly.

  “That’s a Skalan you’re with,” Notis growled.

  “Him?” Micum jerked a thumb at Thero. “Don’t mind him. I met him on the ship coming over and he’s been buying the drinks. What do you say, Thorwin? You too proud to earn your living?”

  It took Thero only a second to realize that he was Thorwin, and that a great deal rode on the proper response. “Since my father cast me out, I’ve made my own way just fine,” he shot back, trying to match the coarse, off-hand way Micum had been speaking. “One country’s silver spends the same as another’s, in my experience.”

  The others stared at him a moment, then they all burst out laughing, and Micum with them.