Shadows Return Part 29

There was no question that it was focused on him now, though. As he stole to the outer door to listen, it followed right behind on bare silent feet.

There were guards somewhere outside. He could hear them talking. No use going out the front door, then.

It would have been helpful if the place had a window into the smaller garden, but no such luck. The skylights were no more help, either; there were bars across them now. When had that happened? Perhaps it was a night barrier, set in place when the alchemist finished for the day? The rhekaro followed him like a lost pup as Alec hastily searched further, looking for any other way out.

In the process he found a cupboard containing a few of Yhakobin's stained work robes. They were a bit large, but had sleeves and were not slave garb. There was a pair of worn shoes, too.

He paused, keeping one ear attuned to the door, and took stock. So far he had access to clothing, knives, tea, a dye he didn't know how to use, and a lock pick that worked.

And no idea where Seregil was.

He paused by the athanor, watching the contents boil sluggishly. It still looked like mud to him.

"What is he up to, I wonder?" he murmured.

Cold fingers closed around Alec's wrist. Surprised, he looked down to find the rhekaro staring up at the retort as well, and it had a hand pressed to its chest, just as he had when he'd tried to make it understand his name.

"What? You have a name?"

As expected, there was no answer except that it lowered its hand.

"You want a name?"

That little hand went back to its chest, over its heart-a.s.suming it had one.

"Can you tell me what you mean, or is that just something you saw me do?" he wondered. "But I should call you something, I guess. I've never named anyone before, except a horse." He studied the little creature for a moment, then said, "How about Sebrahn?" It was the Aurenfaie word for moonlight. He touched the rhekaro on the chest. "Sebrahn. That's you. What do you think?"

The rhekaro looked at him a moment, then slowly pointed at the retort and then at itself, and held up a finger, showing him the white line of a scar.

Alec held its hand a little closer to the waning glow of the fire. A scar? And it had healed without the help of his blood, too. He looked at the roiling ma.s.s, then back at the creature. "He put something of you in there, didn't he? He made you from me, and now he's trying to make something from you."

Sebrahn went to the knife drawer, selected a small, sharp blade, and brought it to Alec, then held out its hand.

Alec put it back and closed the drawer. "No. I won't do that to you."

Just then he heard a louder voice outside: Yhakobin, speaking with the sentries.

Alec looked frantically at all the open cupboards and drawers. He'd let himself get distracted by the rhekaro, forgetting that the alchemist worked all hours!

Cursing silently, he flew around the room, trying to put everything back to rights. It was only when he stumbled over Sebrahn that he realized that the rhekaro was still following him. The voices were getting closer now. Ahmol was with his master.

Alec took the rhekaro by its thin shoulders and whispered, "Tend the fire!" then bolted for the stairs. A final glance found the creature squatting by the athanor again with its basket of chips, but it was looking at him.

Alec just managed to get the stairway door pulled shut when he heard the workroom door open. It hadn't been locked!

d.a.m.ning himself for all kinds of fool, he crept back to his room and locked himself in with shaking hands. It took several tries, and he had just gotten the pick hidden in the mattress when he heard steps on the stairs outside his room. He braced for the worst, but they continued on downstairs to the cellar.

Alec quickly moved the pick, since Khenir already knew that hiding place. Reaching under the bed, he wedged the bra.s.s pin between the mattress and the bed ropes. That done, he sagged back across the bed, limp with relief, until he heard the rhekaro's first thin squeal of pain from the cellar. It took every ounce of will he had not to pick the lock again and dash down to stop whatever was going on. Instead, he pounded on the door, yelling, "Leave him alone. Stop hurting him, d.a.m.n you!"

It did no good, of course. The cries continued for a little while, then stopped just as abruptly. He kicked the door in frustration. "You heartless b.a.s.t.a.r.d! He's just a child. How can you do that?"

He jumped back quickly as a key rattled in the lock. The door swung open and there was the alchemist, whip in hand and furious. Ahmol stood just behind with Sebrahn's limp little body in his arms.

"You killed him!" Alec snarled.

Yhakobin strode in and grabbed Alec by the hair, dragging him back to the doorway.

"Him, you say? Look at its hand," he ordered, giving Alec's head a hard shake, and then shoving him to his knees for a closer look.

The rhekaro's left arm hung limply down, and Alec saw that its entire hand had been cut off this time. Something was dripping from the terrible wound, but it wasn't blood. As with the last one, it was thicker, and almost clear.

"You are a fool, Alec, if you think this thing thing is in any way human," the alchemist said sternly. "And you are a greater fool to insult me. I've no patience with you-or it-tonight." is in any way human," the alchemist said sternly. "And you are a greater fool to insult me. I've no patience with you-or it-tonight."

He barked out an order and two strapping men appeared and held Alec while Yhakobin drove the bodkin into Alec's finger and yanked his hand to the rhekaro's slack lips. After a moment the lips closed around it and it sucked weakly, but its eyelids didn't even flutter.

Yhakobin shoved Alec's face closer to the severed wrist and he saw five little nubs protruding from the stump, the same sort as he'd seen when Yhakobin had cut the fingers off the first rhekaro he'd made. It was the beginning of a new hand.

If it was healing, then perhaps it wasn't dead, after all.

His relief was short-lived. Yhakobin handed his whip to one of the men. "Good night, Alec. Pleasant dreams."

The beating that followed involved not just the whip, but fists and boots as well. By the time it was over Alec was spitting blood and both eyes were swollen shut. They left him on the floor. The last thing he heard was the door locking after them.

As consciousness spun away, he comforted himself with the knowledge that his new pick was still hidden. Freedom was his when he chose to grasp it. Next time he wouldn't hesitate.

CHAPTER 34 34.

The Watchers Go Forth

THE WEATHER TURNED rotten before Mic.u.m and Thero could set sail from Gedre. Lashing rain and high seas held their vessel in port for three days, then the wind was against them, forcing the captain to tack endlessly to make any progress at all. The Osiat was deeper than the Inner Sea, and the storms fiercer, especially heading north toward the Strait. But the ship was a st.u.r.dy, sleek little caravel, lateen-rigged and well ballasted, under the command of a Gedre named Solies. rotten before Mic.u.m and Thero could set sail from Gedre. Lashing rain and high seas held their vessel in port for three days, then the wind was against them, forcing the captain to tack endlessly to make any progress at all. The Osiat was deeper than the Inner Sea, and the storms fiercer, especially heading north toward the Strait. But the ship was a st.u.r.dy, sleek little caravel, lateen-rigged and well ballasted, under the command of a Gedre named Solies.

It took nearly a week to reach Viresse. Thero used the tooth to keep track of their quarry; so far Notis was still in the harbor town. The Gedre khirnari had given them letters of introduction, but Mic.u.m seemed increasingly uneasy as they neared the port.

"Would it be fair to say that Seregil and Ulan i Sathil aren't exactly on cordial terms?" he mused as they sat in the galley, trying to keep their salt meat and turab from sliding off the table as the ship pitched and rolled.

"I've been thinking the same," Thero admitted. "And if Seregil were here, I think he'd be reminding us that he's never one to go in the front door when he has a chance to do otherwise."

Mic.u.m grinned. "Are you turning nightrunner on me, too?"

"I wouldn't go that far, but there's much to be said for caution."

"Can you magic us somehow, so we don't stick out in the crowd?"

"I could, but remember where we are going. My magic is more likely to call attention to us than it is to shield us. I think an attempt at stealth might be the better plan."

"Well then, I guess we'd better ask Captain Solies if he knows of any back doors."

As it happened, the captain did, and put in that evening at a secluded inlet a few miles west of Viresse harbor. Sailors swam their horses ash.o.r.e for them, and Captain Solies went with Mic.u.m and Thero as they were rowed ash.o.r.e, looking less than pleased with the plan.

"Keep those letters with you in case you're challenged," he warned. "I'll be left explaining our anchorage here if anyone comes asking."

"We'll be back in a few days," Thero promised. "And I'll do my best to send you word if it all goes wrong."

They spent the night under tall pines, wrapped in their blankets against the damp chill.

"I had my first taste of this with Alec, when the Plenimarans took us," Thero admitted, huddled near the little fire Mic.u.m had coaxed to life. "I must admit, I miss my tower rooms at times like this. Nysander and Magyana were better at this sort of thing."

"You've hardened up nicely, though." Mic.u.m lifted the little kettle of tea off the coals and poured Thero a cup, then took out his pipe for a smoke. Settling with his back to a tree trunk, he took a few puffs. "It's been a while for me, too. Feels d.a.m.n good to be sleeping rough again."

The following morning found the forest thick with fog. Thero would have been hopelessly lost, but Mic.u.m, who seemed to have an infallible sense of direction, soon found a narrow cart track leading in the right direction.

Mic.u.m kept up the horses at good pace through the morning as the mist burned off under the rising sun. By the time they dismounted by a roadside spring to eat, Thero noticed that his limp was more p.r.o.nounced.

"I think I can help you with that," Thero offered. "Nysander taught me a bit of healing, and I learned more from Mydri in Bokthersa."

Mic.u.m sighed. "I can't say no to that, I suppose. What should I do?"

"Just sit on that rock there. I'll have to put my hands on you."

"Go on, then." Mic.u.m sat down and stuck out his bad leg.

Thero knelt beside him and carefully pressed a hand to the front and back of Mic.u.m's thigh. He'd never laid hands on a man before, and felt a little awkward, but Mic.u.m just watched with interest and showed no sign of discomfort.

Thero hadn't seen Mic.u.m's wound since it had healed, but he could easily trace the long, uneven ridges of scar tissue through the thin leather of Mic.u.m's breeches. They ran from behind his knee to just below his b.u.t.tock. Closing his eyes, Thero whispered the healing charm Magyana had taught him to take away pain. The tense muscles under his hands relaxed a bit and he heard Mic.u.m's grateful sigh.

"That's a bit better."

"Wait a little." This time, Thero summoned the deeper healing Seregil's sister had taught him-one he'd used often to help Klia through the long, painful days of healing, when her remaining fingers threatened to curl permanently into withered claws. As the spell took hold, he could feel the rush of blood through muscle and the tension of tendon along bone. He imagined warm sunlight and sent the heat of it deep into the flesh.

"By the Light!" Mic.u.m murmured.

Thero held on until he felt the thick, hardened skin loosen under his fingers, then sat back and opened his eyes. "I can do more later. Do you think you can ride some more?"

Mic.u.m stood and tried the leg. "h.e.l.l, I think I can run! Now, is our friend Notis still there?"

Thero took the tooth from a pouch at his belt and pressed it between his palms. "Yes, and he's ash.o.r.e, too. I think I can find him now that we're closer."

They reached the outskirts of Viresse that afternoon. The sprawling white city embraced a deep, broad port, and was protected at its back by mountains. Pausing on a hill overlooking the harbor, Mic.u.m sat on a stone fai'thast marker and counted well over a hundred ships of all sizes moored there, and not a few of them carrying the striped sails of Plenimar.

"It's no secret that the eastern clans trade with them," Thero observed. "Still, it's a bit daunting, seeing so many of them here."

"I see a good many Skalan vessels there, too. We should be able to pa.s.s unnoticed if we don't call attention to ourselves."

Thero took out the tooth again and cast the seeking spell and a wizard's eye at the same time. The result was a quick, dizzying mental flight to a tavern inn at the waterfront. The signboard in front bore no words, but showed a dragon wrestling with a sea serpent.

"That shouldn't be too hard to spot," said Mic.u.m, rubbing absently at his game leg. "Let's hope their food and ale are good. How's your Plenimaran, by the way?"

"I can make myself understood, though I'm sure to be known for a Skalan as soon as I open my mouth."

Mic.u.m nodded. "I've still got my northland accent. Better let me do most of the talking until we get our man cornered. It'll draw less attention."

CHAPTER 35 35.

The Good Slave

ILAR'S VISITS WERE becoming more frequent, and more varied. There were still whippings now and then-sometimes when Seregil let his careful mask slip, sometimes at Ilar's own strange whim-but only at Ilar's own hands now, and those Seregil could easily bear. becoming more frequent, and more varied. There were still whippings now and then-sometimes when Seregil let his careful mask slip, sometimes at Ilar's own strange whim-but only at Ilar's own hands now, and those Seregil could easily bear.

Ilar came earlier in the day and stayed longer, too. Seregil played his role with increasing ease. As long as he kept Alec in his heart, he could feign obedience to Ilar with ease, pour wine for him without spitting in it when Ilar wasn't looking, and even manage to converse with the man, listening again and again to Ilar's version of the days they'd spent together. He learned of the man's family and, when Ilar had had more wine than usual, his regrets at the shame he'd brought on his kin and clan. Seregil even shared a little of his own past, when pressed, and took a certain degree of dark pleasure in recounting his exploits in Skala, for the pain and envy it kindled in Ilar's eyes.

As the days pa.s.sed and they grew more accustomed to each other's company, Seregil sensed that, despite Ilar's cool facade, he was increasingly troubled. Seregil guessed it had something to do with the fact that there had been no more mention of Ilar's freedom. Intrigued, he bided his time and chose his moment carefully.

One evening, when Ilar seemed especially tense, Seregil poured the wine and brought it to him. Standing respectfully beside his chair, he reached out, and then pulled his hand back as if reconsidering the action.

"What is it?" Ilar demanded irritably.

"You seem out of sorts, Master." Ilar relished hearing that word from his lips, and Seregil used it as often as possible, playing the obedient slave.

"And what if I am?"

Seregil slipped his hand under Ilar's long hair to stroke the nape of his neck. "Yes, you're very tense. If I may, Master?"

Ilar glanced up warily. "Stay where I can see you."

Ilar was no fool, and still had a healthy distrust of Seregil, but it had also become obvious that he was starved for touch in this house. If approached carefully, Ilar was particularly susceptible to the slightest show of kindness. So Seregil chanced it now, kneading the back of Ilar's smooth neck with expert fingers.

The man was slow to relax. He sat stiffly, still drinking, one eye on Seregil.

"It would be easier if I stood behind the chair, Master," Seregil suggested, sliding his fingers down the neck of Ilar's robe to ma.s.sage between his shoulder blades.