Ilar sighed. “You’re right. I would be. But I don’t hold that against Seregil. How could I, after what I did to him, and to you?” He gestured out at the barren, broken land around them. “If not for your mercy, I’d be dead or in the hands of another cruel master. If not for your forbearance, I wouldn’t be sitting here now, a free man.” He looked sidelong at Alec and smiled. “Well, almost free. Do you really think we’ll get away?”
“We always do.”
“I’ve heard a bit of your adventures. A kinsman of Vargûl Ashnazai is a good friend with Il—with Yhakobin. Is it true that you were the one who killed him?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“So you’re a reluctant killer, too? Did Seregil teach you that as well?”
“We’re not assassins, just nightrunners.” Alec left unsaid the fact that before he’d taken up with Seregil, he’d never killed anyone.
“There’s a difference?”
“For those who know,” Alec replied, teeth chattering in spite of the cloak he had pulled over him and Sebrahn.
Ilar shifted this way and that, then leaned closer, pressing against his side. Alec bristled at that, but there was no denying that it was warmer that way. He was too tired and too cold to argue the matter right now. His eyelids felt heavy as books.
Ilar was still talking softly when he fell asleep.
Seregil’s eyes burned from staring into the distance. He longed for the cover of night and the feel of his feet eating up the distance that separated them from freedom with every pace.
The others were sheltered between two large boulders. As he passed, he heard the murmur of voices, and guessed that Alec was not enjoying the situation much. When he passed again later, however, he saw that he was fast asleep against Ilar’s shoulder. The other man was awake, and nodded slightly, acknowledging Seregil’s presence.
Seregil wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. But at least Alec wasn’t going to die of a chill.
When his own watch ended and he woke them, Alec looked surprised and none too pleased at his own position. Standing up unsteadily with the rhekaro in his arms, he glared down at Ilar for a second, then walked stiffly away.
“You should leave Sebrahn with me,” Seregil offered. “You’re going to end up a hunchback, lugging it—him—around all the time.”
“It doesn’t bother me,” Alec replied, preparing to nick another fingertip; they were all red and stippled with scabs now, except for his thumbs, and looked sore.
“I wonder if he could heal those for you?”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
Seregil walked over to him. From here Ilar was hidden in the lee of the rocks. “Talí, talk to me.”
Alec gave him a weary look. “I told you, I’m fine. I just wish we trusted Ilar enough for him to take a watch now and then. But I don’t, and now you have to go sleep with him.”
“I won’t enjoy it, I promise.”
“I know. Go on. You look like hell.”
“So do you, love. Just keep thinking of the baths in Gedre. That’s what keeps me going these days.”
That actually won him a laugh. “I believe it. Micum always says you could go through fire and ice and shit without a complaint, but deny you a hot bath at the end of it, and—”
“Yes, yes, I know the rest.” Seregil gave him a mock scowl and went to join Ilar.
That night’s march was a bit better. They began to see a few big-eared rabbits, and some other small, furry nocturnal creature that would do in a pinch. Alec went off on his own, armed with nothing but a makeshift sling and a handful of pebbles, and came back with two conies and a long snake.
“That’s a rock adder. Is it safe to eat?” Ilar asked, disgusted.
“So long as you chop off the first third or so, that gets rid of the poison sacs,” Alec explained, doing exactly that and tossing the head away. “Do we dare make a fire?”
“My belly says yes,” Seregil said.
Cobbling together a tiny fire from what brush there was, they cooked the meat and the coney livers until they were black on the outside, and mostly raw inside, but warmed through. When it was done, Seregil sliced it all up in three equal parts and doled out a few sips of water.
“Meat!” Alec laughed, ripping a mouthful off a leg bone with his teeth. “By the Four, Yhakobin was stingy with that. How about you?”
“My master was kinder,” Seregil said with a smirk, plucking the tiny bones from a chunk of snake meat. “I got a bit now and then.”
Ilar took a tentative bite of underdone rabbit. He gagged on it at once and spat it out.
“Don’t go wasting that,” Alec warned. “Those were hard to come by, and we may not get any more for a while.”
“It’s dreadful!”
“Better than starving, though,” Seregil told him, chewing happily. He passed Ilar his portion of the coney liver. “Here, try this.”
The man nibbled hesitantly at the dark morsel, then ate the rest. “That isn’t quite as bad.” He cast a longing glance at Alec’s portion.
Alec popped his into his mouth and chewed loudly. “Mmmm. Delicious!”
When their scant meal was over Alec stamped out the fire and buried the remains of it and the bones. Then, still hungry and thirstier than ever, they continued on.
A few hours before dawn, Seregil was carrying Sebrahn when the rhekaro suddenly grew restless, squirming in his sling and clutching at Seregil’s shoulders.
Seregil put him down, in no mood for any complications.
As soon as his feet touched the ground, Sebrahn clasped Alec’s hand and tried to pull him in a more easterly direction, heedless of the stony ground on his bare feet. It was the first time Seregil had seen the rhekaro show this much initiative.
“What do you think he wants?” he asked, intrigued in spite of himself.
“I don’t know. He’s never done this before.”
Seregil turned to Ilar. “Do you have any ideas about this?”
Ilar looked baffled, too. “No.”
“Well then, I guess we’ll have to follow him.”
Set loose, Sebrahn tugged at Alec’s arm like a dog on a leash and he led them down into a deep gully Alec had been trying to avoid. Tough little plants lined a dry creek bed at the bottom. Alec sniffed the air, then plucked a sprig and nibbled carefully at one thin leaf.
“I thought so! This is teawort. Chew it, and it will keep your mouth wet.”
It tasted a bit like pine, a bit like rosemary, and made the spit well under their tongues, making the dry air easier to bear as they hoarded the last of their water.
But Sebrahn didn’t let them stop for long. Taking Alec’s hand again, he continued on to where the gully let out onto a small valley.
“Well, look at that!” Seregil exclaimed. Less than a mile on, they saw the warm, square glow of firelight through a window.
As they came closer, they could make out the shape of a low stone cottage ringed with a stone enclosure. The wind carried the scent of water, and goats.
“How could he have known that was there?” wondered Alec.
Seregil gave the rhekaro a grudging smile. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s part divining rod.”
They approached the place with caution, but all was silent.
“Doesn’t anyone in Plenimar keep dogs?” whispered Alec.
“They’re considered dirty creatures here, good only for coursing, and for fighting,” Ilar explained.
“Fighting what?” asked Alec.
“Each other, or slaves.”
“Let’s hope they don’t keep that kind here,” said Seregil. “Ilar, keep quiet and follow our lead.”
Skirting the house, they stole a few knobby turnips from a rocky garden patch and discovered a large, strong-smelling cheese in a covered bucket let down the well to stay cool. They pulled up the water bucket and drank thirstily, slaking their dry throats.
Alec wiped his mout
h on his sleeve, then looked around in alarm. “Where’s Sebrahn?”
The rhekaro had stayed right beside him, as always. Now he was nowhere to be seen.
“Shit!” Seregil pointed toward the house, where the front door now stood open, letting out a long bar of firelight. “Ilar, stay here. Alec, let’s go fetch your—him.”
They stole up to the open door and peered inside.
The house was a humble one, just a single room, with stretched skins on the walls and chunks of dried meat hung from the rafters. Apart from a few crude stools, there were no furnishings, and it appeared that the family had been asleep on pallets on the floor. Now a man and his wife and several small girls were sitting up among their blankets, staring in terror at Sebrahn.
The rhekaro was kneeling beside the only occupied pallet. His headcloth had come off and his long hair fell in tangled disarray down his back. The ruddy light of the fire made it look more blond than white and lent his face a little color, but there was no mistaking his strangeness. The man made a sign against evil with two fingers and muttered the word “urgha,” thinking the rhekaro was a demon or ghost.
A gaunt young woman lay on the pallet in front of Sebrahn. Seregil could hear her labored breathing from here, and smell the sickly-sweet odor of diseased flesh.
As he and Alec watched, Sebrahn pulled the lower end of a tattered blanket away, exposing a foot that was dark and grossly swollen.
“He wants to heal her, like he did Ilar’s lip,” Alec whispered, moving for the door.
Seregil grabbed him by the arm and signed, Stay here. Keep watch. I’ll do the talking. Making sure his sleeves were well pulled down to hide the slave brand, he stepped inside, hands raised to show he meant no harm.
“Who are you?” the man demanded in thickly accented Plenimaran as his wife hastily turned away and covered her head with a shawl. He had the curly hair and swarthy skin that spoke of mixed blood, probably Zengati. The little girls had curly hair, too, but were fair-skinned.
“Just a wayfarer,” Seregil replied, knowing his own Plenimaran spoke of western cities. “We were so glad to see your light. I’m sorry if my companion there has troubled you, but he’s a healer.”
“That pale little thing?” the man growled. “What does he care about my daughter? How did you come here?”
“We were lost, up in the highlands.”
The man remained suspicious, but Seregil pressed on. “My little friend here smells disease and follows it like a hound.” Actually, he suspected that wasn’t much of a lie. “If you’ll allow it, I think he can make her well.”
The man started to object, but his wife muttered something low and urgent and he softened as he looked over at the dying girl. “Well, I don’t suppose he could do her much harm as she is.”
“What happened to her?”
“Rock adder bit her last night as she was bringing in the flock. She screamed most of the night, ’til she wore out. If your little fellow can help her, or give her an easy passing, you can ask of us what you will.”
“I need a cup of water.”
“She can’t take none.”
“I know, but he needs it for the healing.”
One of the little girls hurried to dip a cracked bowl in a bucket. Seregil took it with a reassuring smile and set it down beside Sebrahn.
“Give me your hand,” he whispered, drawing his poniard.
The rhekaro immediately shrank back from him, eyes fixed on the long pointed blade.
“What are you playing at?” the man demanded, reaching for a cudgel on the floor beside him.
Alec came in and went to Sebrahn. “Let me do it.”
The woman peered at them from the folds of her shawl and let out a trembling cry. She uncovered her head and turned her face to the firelight.
“You’re Aurënfaie,” Seregil said, in that language. Worn and hollow-eyed from hard living, she still had the fine features of his kind. She also had a large bruise under one eye.
“I was,” she whispered. “I thought you must be, and now I see the boy.” She held out her right forearm, showing them an elaborate, flower-shaped brand mark there, as well as bruises left by rough, large fingers. “I’m a freedwoman. This is my man, Karstus. I’m Tiel. Please, can you really help my girl?”
“I hope so.” Alec pricked the rhekaro’s finger and let several drops fall into the bowl. Two dark blue flowers floated up. When Sebrahn placed them on the affected foot, they both disappeared as soon as they touched the hot, discolored flesh. He held his finger over the bowl again and made another. This one he placed on her mouth, where the same thing happened, but this time her eyes opened and she looked up at him in sleepy confusion. “Where’s Mama?”
Her mother let out a happy sob and crawled over to take her daughter’s hand.
But Sebrahn was still busy, making more flowers and putting them on the girl’s foot and leg. A sweet fragrance filled the air as, one by one, they disappeared.
Ilar crept in and knelt just inside the door, making the husband a humble bow.
“How many of you are there?” Karstus growled, suspicious again.
“That’s all of us,” Seregil replied, shooting Ilar a dark look.
“Oh, look!” Tiel exclaimed, with no eyes for anyone but her daughter. The swelling was already noticeably lessened, and the angry red streaks that had extended up her shin were fading. “Oh, thank Aura.”
“Don’t cry, Mama. It doesn’t hurt so much now,” the girl said.
“By the Flame,” her father grunted, gripping the cudgel in both hands now. “What sort of sorcery is this?”
“What’s he saying? Why is he still angry?” Alec whispered.
“Stay calm,” Seregil told him quietly. Then, to the man, “It’s a healing, that’s all. See? Your girl is better. She’ll be up tending the goats for you before the next full moon.”
“That may be, but I still don’t like the look of your little one, there. I’ve never seen a natural child do such things, or look like that. He’s a demon, sure enough. How do I know you’re not a pack of necromancers, come for my soul?”
Seregil held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “No, we’re not. I swear it by Sakor.”
“What does it matter what they are? He healed our Saria!” his wife cried, clinging to her daughter’s hand. The younger girls had retreated to a corner and were clinging to each other there, watching Seregil and their father with wide, frightened eyes.
“What now?” Alec murmured, staying close to Sebrahn; he didn’t have to understand the words being spoken to tell that the situation was going sour.
“Let me handle it,” Seregil muttered back in Skalan. “Master Karstus, we’ve done you a good turn tonight, and we ask nothing in return but a scrap of food and some directions. We’re making for the coast.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “So that’s how it is, is it? If I was to look at your right arm, what would I see, eh?”
Seregil glanced at the bruised and fearful wife. “You were a slaver yourself?”
“Never!” Karstus pushed back his right sleeve and showed Seregil a large double brand, gone white with age. Then he shifted on his pallet and stuck out his left leg. It was just a stump. “I was born to slavery, me, and kept until I was no use anymore. I found my woman starving on the road after her kind master freed her and turned her out with nothing.” He pushed himself up on his good leg with the help of the cudgel. “Do you think you’re the first escaped slaves to break for the Strait?”
Seregil looked sharply over his shoulder at Ilar. “Did you know?”
“No, I swear it.”
“For what that’s worth,” Alec muttered.
“How far is it to the coast?” Seregil asked the man.
“Two or three days, maybe.”
“Any towns?”
“Just steadings like this one, far as I know. Goats are the only things that thrive out here. Goats and freedmen.”
Seregil retrieved his bundle from Ilar and took out a
few pieces of the silver jewelry he’d found in the attic, and one of the little gold lockets. “If slavers come by here, will this be enough to make certain you never saw us?”
“That sword of yours is enough,” Karstus replied, scowling.
Seregil tossed the trinkets on the closest pallet. “For your girls, then. And any advice you’d give.”
“Due south should bring you to the coast. There’s a little port along there somewhere, called Vostaz. Slave takers’ll be thickest there. South and west will get you to the ocean in three days or four, maybe. There are some fishing villages ’round there. If you’re handy at stealing and sailing, you might get off. The takers’ll be watching there, too, but there’s less of ’em.”
“Is there no better way?” Ilar demanded.
“Not for any purebloods like you two, or that yellow-haired boy. Or that.” He made another sign at Sebrahn.
Seregil held out his branded arm. “Do you know anyone who can fix this?”
Karstus shook his head. “There ain’t enough money in that pack of yours to buy that of anyone in this part of the world. We’ve seen too many drawn and quartered who tried.”
His wife leaned close and whispered in his ear. He scowled at her, then shook his head. “Do what you will, woman!”
Tiel went to the makeshift kitchen at the back of the room and placed a loaf of coarse bread and some sausages into a clean rag.
Alec went to her and held out the cheese they’d stolen. “I’m sorry we took this without asking.”
But she only raised an eyebrow at him, then cut half and added it to the bundle. Knotting it, she put it in Alec’s hands. “We’ve enough to spare, brothers. Thank you for saving my daughter. I’ll always be grateful, and so will she.”
“What clan are you, sister?” asked Seregil.
“Akhendi.”
“I know the khirnari there. Can I bring any word to your people?”
She gave him a sad smile and shook her head. “Tell them that Tiel ä Elasi is dead.”
Her words haunted them as they set out again.