Shadows Return n-4

by Lynn Flewelling

  Notis slapped Micum on the shoulder, rocking on the bench. “You got you a fine companion, friend. He talks like a priest, all stiff like a dead fish.” He stood and locked his arms at his sides, shuffling drunkenly from foot to foot, much to the amusement of his friends.

  Why am I always compared to fish? Thero wondered, nonetheless relieved by this reaction.

  “What sorts of things do you bring back over the water?” Micum asked, giving Thero a wink.

  “Iron, copper, spirits mostly. This time we also bring back some ’faie.”

  “Aurënfaie?”

  “Freed slaves. Bunch of rubbish, you ask me, all beaten down and branded. Better off throwing ’em into the sea. But we get paid by the head, so we took good care of them. Only lost one.”

  “You got paid to bring slaves out of Plenimar?” Micum shook his head. “I never heard of such a thing!”

  “Ransom,” the Zengat said, licking his lips. “Pays better than slaving sometimes. Trouble is, so many of the freed ones kill themselves before we can get them back.”

  “So that’s the agreement?” Thero asked.

  “Keep your voice down, fish priest!” the man hissed, looking around nervously. “You want to get us lynched? It’s all-how do you say it?”

  “Under the table,” Notis explained with a wink. “No one in this port takes slaves from Virésse, and there’s a good bounty for any brought home again. Been going on for years.”

  “Ulan í Sathil ransoms his people back?” Thero whispered. “But if he knows they are being taken, why does he trade with you at all?”

  “He only does business with those who bring him word of his people in Plenimar. And with the Zengati clans he’s got treaties with.”

  “So you carried a load of that cargo recently?” asked Micum, filling Notis’s mug again.

  “Good raiding. Full load! And good ones, too.”

  “Except for those we had to leave behind…” the other Zengat muttered, and was elbowed into silence by one of the others.

  “Lots of gold to go around this time,” the scar-faced one said, grinning.

  “Then you must have had a good time in Benshâl, I’d guess!” laughed Micum.

  “Not Benshâl! Riga, I told you.” Notis gave Micum a bleary grin. “I think you are drunk, friend. How ’bout you, fish priest?”

  Thero did his best to smile, but in reality he wanted to throttle the bastard until he told them what had happened to their friends. But the pressure of Micum’s knee against his own under the table made him hold his tongue.

  “What was so special about this load?” Micum asked casually.

  “Lots ’faie. Special ones, too,” Notis whispered.

  “But I thought those always went to Benshâl?” said Thero, casually as he could manage.

  Notis was deep in his cups now. Leaning heavily across Micum, he whispered loudly, “Special raid, fish man, just for two. Killed a damn lot of others we could have sold, but orders are orders. You see? Just the two, and no witnesses. Sent a voron to catch ’em, too.”

  A necromancer. That explained the damage to the swords.

  “Who sent the voron?” Thero asked, gripping his wine cup tightly with both hands.

  Notis shrugged. “Who cares? Our captain orders. We go. And then?” He patted his purse again.

  “What was so special about them?” Micum demanded drunkenly. “Pretty ones? Big trai?” He raised his hands like he was cupping a pair of breasts.

  Notis and the others laughed. “When you ever see big trai on a ’faie? Can’t hardly tell the boys from the girls half the time!”

  “Not that it much matters,” one of the others said, giving Thero a leer that made his skin crawl.

  “No, just a couple of poor bastards.”

  “The dark one was a westerbok,” the unscarred Zengat opined solemnly.

  “Oh, how do you know that?” one of the Plenimarans challenged.

  “All my family great slavers, way back!” the Zengat bragged, poking the other man in the chest. “I can tell ’em all apart. Don’t even need those head rags to tell. But the other one, he was different, a mongrel with yellow hair.”

  “Yellow hair, eh? That sells good?” asked Micum.

  Notis shrugged. “To some, but the rich customers generally want ’ em pure. This one didn’t look like much, compared to your southern stock, but they kept him apart from the others and I seen the captain’s own slaves goin’ in to him.”

  “I told you, they was wizards!” a younger Plenimaran piped up. “Put the branks on ’em, didn’t they? And the cuffs.”

  The Zengats both made some sort of hand sign, as if to ward off evil.

  “How much did they fetch?” Micum asked.

  “We unload ’em at the docks and that’s the last we see of ’em.” Notis grinned wider, showing the gap where his tooth had been knocked out. Thero hoped Alec had done that to him.

  To Thero’s dismay, the conversation turned to other things as Micum continued to buy round after round. And although he seemed to be drinking as much as the rest of them, when the last of the slavers fell asleep with their heads on the table, Micum sat back and said quietly, “Time we were moving on, Thorwin.”

  “What about them?” Thero whispered, gesturing around at the drunken slavers.

  Micum shook his head. “Don’t make a fuss. No sense getting noticed.”

  With a last glare at Notis and his compatriots, Thero followed Micum out into the dark street.

  It was a cloudy night, with a cold breeze in off the sea. Thero shivered, feeling a little ill. He hadn’t had enough of the strong turab to be drunk, really. No, he thought, it’s leaving those men alive that sickens me.

  “Where to now?” he asked.

  “Well, as much as I hate to disappoint poor Rosie, I think this would be a good time to take our leave. Unless you’d care to spend a night with her?”

  “I think I’ll take my chances in the woods.”

  They made their way back through the crooked streets, meeting no one but a few drunken sailors and a would-be footpad, who thought better of it when Micum showed his sword.

  No one challenged them at the stables when they came for their horses. The tavern windows were dark now.

  Thero drew a sigh of relief when they were finally away from the city and in the cover of the trees again. “So this is what you did, you and Seregil, when you were out on the road for Nysander?”

  “In part.”

  “And the parts that gave you all those scars?”

  “This was an easy night, Thero. You were quick-witted back there, by the way. Not bad, for a wet-behind-the-ears tower wizard.”

  Pleased, Thero took that for the compliment it was.

  CHAPTER 40 Silver Eyes

  JUST BEFORE SUNRISE, Seregil and the others found shelter in the ruins of an abandoned stone barn. The house it had served had fallen into the foundation hole and there were no signs of life about the place, just ruined fences and a dry well.

  The barn had been struck by lightning and half the roof had burned and fallen in. Rats and bats had taken over, and seemed none too pleased to entertain unexpected guests. A rodent half the size of Ruetha leaped from the shadows and snapped at the little bundle of food Alec had brought.

  Ilar let out a startled cry and tried to run, but Seregil dragged him into the shadows by the back wall. “Behave yourself, or this can be your permanent resting place. It’s your choice.”

  Ilar went sulky and made a great show of scraping the ground with his foot to clear away the various droppings before he sat down.

  Alec kept the rhekaro with him as he and Seregil made a survey of the place. A brightening sky showed through the large holes in the roof.

  “Yhakobin is bound to come looking for us,” Alec murmured, peering out through the broken doorway.

  “Us, or you and that?” Seregil asked, pointing at the rhekaro. “Ilar told me it was you that he was after when we were ambushed. Because you’re from the Hâzadr
iëlfaie line.”

  Alec nodded slowly. “He needed my kind of blood to make the rhekaro. He even tried to treat me well, sometimes, because of it.”

  “Only sometimes?”

  “I didn’t like him or the things he did to me.”

  “Like what?”

  “No, nothing like that. It was just-Can we talk about this later? I’m so tired.”

  “Of course!” Seregil embraced him as best he could and felt Alec go limp against him for a moment, resting his head on Seregil’s shoulder. It was the first proper embrace they’d been able to share, and he didn’t want to let him go. “After the ambush, for the longest time, I was so afraid you might be dead.”

  Alec’s arms tightened around him. “I thought the same, until I saw you on the deck of that ship at Riga. I knew then that I had to stay alive and find you again.”

  “I’m not sure who found who, in the end, but here we are.” He kissed Alec and reluctantly released him.

  Turning his attention to the landscape outside, he saw no sign of pursuit but doubted that would last. Who knew what sort of powers an alchemist had for finding lost slaves? Or the slave takers, for that matter.

  Ilar was waiting sullenly for them, curled up in a ruined stall now and shivering in his stolen cloak.

  Alec sat down some distance from him and fed the rhekaro again. Seregil made himself watch, figuring he might as well get used to it, though it still struck him as obscene.

  Doing his best to hide his revulsion, he sat down beside Alec and opened the bundle. “Let’s see what you stole for food. My belly thinks my throat’s been cut.”

  The three of them ate sparingly, sharing a bit of bread around and paring hard cheese thin on slices of apples taken from the orchard the night before. As always, the rhekaro ate nothing and didn’t seem interested in the water, either. According to Alec, the rhekaro had been given only a few drops of Alec’s blood each morning to live on, and nothing more.

  Seregil took the first watch, sitting in shadows of the barn door with his back to a beam and a good view of the western barrens. Alec stretched out beside him with his head on Seregil’s thigh. Ilar remained in his corner, snoring softly.

  The rhekaro seemed to have no more need of sleep than it did of food, but it curled up beside Alec, as if seeking the warmth of another body like a cat would. Or a serpent, Seregil thought, eyeing it warily as he stroked Alec’s hair.

  The rhekaro stared back at him. Those unnerving silver eyes weren’t blank, but the kind of intelligence they might hold eluded him.

  After a moment it turned away and looked down at Alec’s sleeping form. Then it lay down beside him in a similar position, and closed its eyes.

  It’s trying to act like a real being, thought Seregil, surprised. He waited a few minutes, then shuffled his feet a little to make a noise. Those silvery eyes snapped open and it looked around, identifying the source. Seregil moved his feet again to show it. It stared at him for a moment, and Seregil felt the hair on the back of his neck prickling, strong as if there was lightning in the air. Apparently deciding that he was either no threat or very uninteresting, it returned to its semblance of sleep.

  The light was stronger now, showing Seregil something he’d missed before; there was no mistaking the resemblance. Pale and unnatural as it was, the creature truly had Alec’s face, or at least the face as it might have looked when Alec was a child. As he compared the two, he noticed something else. Alec looked different somehow, and it wasn’t just from dust and exhaustion.

  He looked more ’faie.

  He shook his head. “What did they do to you, talí?”

  Alec slept on, and Seregil returned his attention to the horizon as the day grew warmer, watching for dust rising against the sky. He wasn’t looking forward to the conversation they were going to have when Alec woke up.

  A few hours later Alec yawned and sat up. The rhekaro rose, too, and huddled close to Alec, as if it sensed what was coming. Behind them, Ilar was still sound asleep.

  “Alec, you know we can’t keep this creature,” Seregil said, getting right to the point.

  “What are you talking about? Of course we can!”

  “Oh, yes. He won’t raise any eyebrows when we get to Aurënen, with those looks, now will he?”

  “Seregil- ”

  “Or in Rhíminee. What sort of explanation will we give there, eh? That he didn’t get enough milk as a babe, or enough sun? Alec, I’m no wizard, but even I can feel a strangeness around this thing.”

  And there was that sudden stubborn set of the jaw again. “I don’t know what we’ll tell them, but we’ll think of something. We always do! And he’s not a ‘thing.’ His name is Sebrahn, I told you.”

  Seregil sighed. “This isn’t some stray kitten, Alec. It’s not even a child.”

  “Then what do you suggest? Just leaving him here to die?”

  “Of course not. That would be cruel. I’ll take care of it for you.”

  Alec sprang to his feet and put the rhekaro behind him. Then he did something he’d never done before: he drew his sword on Seregil. “You’re not going to kill him!”

  Seregil rose slowly and held his hands out by his sides, making no effort to protect himself, though his heart was hammering in his chest and he felt sick to his stomach. “You’d choose that over me? So all that’s happened between us comes to no more than this?”

  Alec lowered his sword at once, eyes brimming with tears. “No! I mean-Don’t make me choose!”

  “It’s unnatural! For all we know, it’s dangerous, too.”

  “Yhakobin said he could heal. He was making him for the Overlord, to cure his son. And he is alive, not just some-thing. He can learn. Yhakobin taught him to do simple tasks around the workshop. He understood me when I asked him to bring me things. Look, I’ll show you!” He tapped the rhekaro on the shoulder and said, “Bring me the cheese.”

  It immediately went into the barn and returned with the scant remains of the cheese.

  “What else does it-er, he know?” asked Seregil, surprised.

  “I’m not sure, but I think if you show him something and name it, or how to do something, he remembers. You try.”

  “All right. Hey you, Sebrahn, bring me the bundle.”

  The rhekaro just stared at him.

  Alec retrieved the bundle and put it in the rhekaro’s hands. “Bundle.” Then he carried it a few yards off and Seregil repeated the command. The rhekaro fetched it and brought it back to him, setting it at his feet.

  Alec touched his chest. “Alec.” He touched Seregil’s arm. “This is Seregil. Go to Seregil, Sebrahn.”

  The rhekaro stood and walked to Seregil.

  “See? I told you, he has a mind. He learns.”

  “So it seems. Can he speak?”

  “I’ve heard him cry out in pain, but never words.”

  Seregil tried again to imagine what it would be like, trying to sneak unobtrusively through a village or port with this thing in tow. “So, are you ready to tell me why you’re so attached to him?”

  “The alchemist made him from me.”

  “I guessed as much, when I saw you in that cellar.”

  “I don’t remember you there. How often did he bring you?”

  “Just once. Ilar was quite happy for me to see you like that.”

  “I’ll bet. Anyway, that’s why Sebrahn can only drink my blood, I think. He needs it to live.”

  Seregil reached out and cupped his hand under the rhekaro’s nose and mouth. “No breath.” He pressed his hand to its chest. “And no heartbeat, either.”

  Alec felt for himself. “Well, he acts like he’s alive, so I guess he is.”

  “So, how was he made?”

  “Well, from parts of me-my blood, piss, hair and-Well, other things like that. Yhakobin put it all in a sheep’s stomach with some other things and buried it in that cellar.”

  “What other things?”

  “Salt, quicksilver…That’s all I remember.”

&n
bsp; “And you in that cage, your blood dripping down on it,” Seregil murmured. “Is that why you look different?”

  “You see it, too?” Alec touched his face self-consciously. “Yhakobin did something to me. He claimed it was some kind of purification, to get rid of my human blood. It took days, and when it was over, I looked like this.”

  “It suits you. It’s just a bit startling, that’s all. I didn’t think something like that was possible.”

  “I hate it!” Alec hissed angrily. “It’s like he took my father away from me.”

  “No, Alec, never think that. You’ll always be his son.” Seregil grinned and kissed him. “And the one I love. No doubts there.”

  “It might wear off. He had to do the purification again before he made the second rhekaro.”

  “Well, then, there you go. Don’t worry about it.” He stretched out on the ground with his head in Alec’s lap. “Wake me when you get tired.”

  “Then you promise not to hurt him?”

  Seregil looked up at Alec. “As long as he stays as he is, then he has nothing to fear from me. But Alec, if he turns dangerous-”

  “He won’t!”

  Seregil caught his hand and held it firmly. “If he does, then you’re going to have to make that choice, aren’t you?”

  “I will.”

  “And if it comes to a choice between that, and me?”

  Alec raised their joined hands and pressed his lips to the back of Seregil’s. “You. But I won’t let that happen.”

  Seregil closed his eyes and was glad to feel Alec’s hand on his forehead. As he drifted off, however, he thought he felt cold silver eyes watching him, too.

  CHAPTER 41 Blood and Flowers

  IT WAS AFTERNOON when Seregil woke up to find his head pillowed on the bundle, with one of the musty cloaks draped over him. Alec sat a little way off, with his sword across his knees and the rhekaro beside him, staring over at Ilar, who was pacing at the back of the barn, trying to ignore Alec.

  “Any sign of trouble?” asked Seregil.

  “I’d have woken you.”

  Seregil sat up and stretched. “You should have woken me anyway. Do you want to sleep some more?”