Shadows Return (44 page)

The land grew drier and more desolate as they went and Seregil began to worry about his travel estimations. Their water was nearly gone and so was the food. It was colder tonight, with a hint of frost in the air. Walking kept them warm but left them thirsty. To spare Alec’s strength, Seregil took turns carrying the rhekaro. It weighed very little and hung in its sling without wiggling or any sign of discomfort. Several times, though, Seregil felt it touching his hair with its cold little fingers. It was a disconcerting feeling, but it occurred to him that if the rhekaro could learn, then perhaps it could be curious, as well, and wondering at the fact that Seregil’s hair was a different color than Alec’s. He also noticed that whenever they stopped to rest, regardless of who had been carrying it, it always went to Alec’s side.

A child of no woman, Seregil thought again. And the oracle claimed it was a blessing. His mind and heart both rebelled at such a thought; how could this unnatural thing be a blessing?

And yet, it had healed Ilar’s lip.

The days grew steadily colder, and the wind never dropped. The further south Alec led them, the rougher the way became and he couldn’t seem to find a way that was easier.

As far as the eye could see, the land fell steadily to the south. The ever-present wind cut deeply, sculpting the landscape into strange shapes and deep canyons they had to scramble around. It was slow going, and all of them suffered a fall or two. Alec found a small spring that night, but no food. When dawn came, they slept huddled in the shade of an outcropping, with Seregil and Alec trading short watches. Exhausted and a bit feverish, Ilar slept fitfully.

It was a miserable time, and made more so when Alec was forced to rely on Ilar for warmth while Seregil was walking about on watch. He wasn’t certain which was worse: having to be so close to the man or seeing Seregil with him like that when Alec was on watch. It was some comfort that Seregil didn’t appear to be enjoying the situation any more than he was, so Alec kept his bitter thoughts to himself, hating the whispers of jealousy at the back of his mind.

When it was his turn to rest, he had no choice but to sit close beside Ilar, with Sebrahn, who never showed any sign of being cold, on his lap. Unlike Ilar, the child gave off no more heat than a newt, but it was still good to have the weight of another body against his-one that he didn’t detest, anyway.

“Keep still,” he snarled as Ilar shifted around, trying to get comfortable on the stony ground.

“I’m helping you stay alive. If you were out here alone, you’d die.”

“I’ve managed before,” Alec muttered. “Don’t talk to me.”

“How long are you going to hate me?”

Alec rested his cheek against Sebrahn’s cool hair. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“I know how it all looks to you, the way things were at Yhakobin’s, but what choice do you think I had? The man owned me, body and soul. My life was in his hands.”

“And your comfort,” Alec reminded him. “The way I heard it, you had an easy life there. If it wasn’t for Seregil escaping, you’d still be there, wouldn’t you, Ilban’s pet slave?”

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 Vargыl 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 mouth 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.