The White Road

CHAPTER 16 Old Friends

THE BÔKTHERSAN SHIP glided safely into Silver Bay as twilight painted the western clouds gold and pink. A tidy little town spread out around the harbor, with rolling hills beyond. Firelight glowed warmly from a hundred windows, gleaming across the water and making Alec feel a bit homesick for Rhíminee, less than a day’s sail away.

Seregil used one of the remaining message sticks to alert Thero to their arrival, and tell him to meet them at an inn called the Bell and Bridle in a few days. It was on the highroad north of Rhíminee. Magyana knew the place and could direct him.

“It’s been a while since we passed this way,” Micum noted.

Seregil nodded. “Ten years? Twelve?”

“Something like that.”

“I could do with a clean room and a decent bath,” Alec put in hopefully. “It’s too late to keep going, anyway.”

“I’m of the same mind,” said Micum, glancing up at the first stars of the night. “Where shall we put up? The Codfish?”

Seregil thought a moment, then shook his head. “That will do for our trusty sailors. I’d rather take leave of them here and stay with Madlen, if she’s still around. Sorry, Alec, the bath will have to wait.”

Micum laughed. “I never thought I’d hear you say that!”

They said their farewells to the captain, carried their packs down the gangway to the torchlit wharf, and set off through the dark streets.

“Who is Madlen?” asked Alec.

Seregil held up his hand and made the Watcher sign—left thumb curled over his forefinger. For centuries Watcher members had been scattered all over Skala and Mycena, and some in the northlands beyond, too: wizards, merchants, innkeepers, even drysians, all of whom were well paid through various channels to keep their secrets from all but their leader, and some of them had no idea who that was. Since Nysander’s death, it was Thero. In spite of Phoria’s orders, the organization was still in place. The queen had no idea of the breadth of it, assuming it was just Seregil and a few others in Rhíminee.

Seregil paused in a tiny market and looked around. “I don’t remember this being here.”

Micum scratched at the thick, greying stubble on his cheek, looking thoughtful again. “I hate to think we’ve lived long enough to forget our way.”

After some casting about, Seregil got his bearings again and led the way down several muddy streets to a little back lane near the forest’s edge. There were only a few houses here, and they continued on to the last one, which stood apart from the others. Alec was heartened to see firelight through its two windows. As they approached, two huge hounds emerged from the shadows, growling with their heads lowered and hackles up.

Seregil held out his left hand and did the dog trick. As usual, the hounds went from growling menace to happy tail wagging in an instant. Seregil gave them both a good scratching behind their ears, then moved to the door and tapped out a pattern. A moment later a muffled voice demanded, “Who is it?”

“Luck in the shadows,” Seregil whispered.

They heard the bar lifted inside. The door swung open to reveal a plump old woman in a nightgown and shawl. “And in the Light!” she whispered back. “I should have known when the dogs went quiet! It’s been years, and you look just the same, you shameless bastard. What brings you here after all this time? And Micum! By the Maker, but you’ve aged.”

Micum laughed and kissed her on the cheek.

“And who’s this pretty young thing?” she demanded, looking Alec up and down.

Seregil fought back a grin. “This pretty young thing is our friend Alec. He’s one of us, so you can speak your mind in front of him.”

Madlen gave Alec the Watcher sign. When he returned it, she seemed satisfied.

“Well, I’m glad to meet you, Alec.” Then she caught sight of Sebrahn as he peeked out from behind Alec’s legs. His hood had fallen back, and his eyes and the wide silvery streaks in his hair shone like metal in the firelight. The white patch on his cheek looked pink.

“And a little one!” Madlen exclaimed before Alec could muffle him up again, not seeming the least put off by Sebrahn’s odd appearance. “Dear me, what have you boys been up to?”

“Not what you think,” chuckled Micum.

She gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. “You may be a bit greyer, but you haven’t lost that sparkle in your eye.”

Seregil gave Alec the nod to unwrap the rhekaro. Madlen’s eyes widened for an instant at the sight of him; then she scooped him up against her ample bosom before Alec could stop her and carried him over to the hearth.

Seregil caught his breath, exchanging a worried look with Alec, but Sebrahn just settled in her arms and looked back at Alec.

“The poor little thing is cold as ice!” she scolded. In the firelight, Sebrahn’s eyes didn’t look so unnatural. “Just feel his poor little hands. Whose child is this, if he isn’t yours, and what are you doing with him?”

“The less said, the better,” Micum told her.

“We didn’t kidnap him,” said Alec. “He’s mine.”

Madlen pulled back to look at Sebrahn’s face. “Of course. He favors you. But how did a young one like you come to have a child this old?”

“As Micum said,” Seregil told her, “the less you know, the better. Can you give us a safe place for the night?”

“You know you’re always welcome here, though if you stay away this long again, I’ll be in my grave next time you come by. And now, since I have such strong men here, I’m going to take advantage. Can you fetch me in some firewood from the byre?” She pointed to the empty wood box near the hearth. “I’ve got some nice fish chowder I can heat up for you, if it hasn’t curdled.”

“We’ll do it for the joy of your company,” Micum replied. “But your chowder is always much appreciated.”

It took several trips, and some explaining as to why Sebrahn had to help, but when they came with the last load of wood, stamping snow from their boots, they found supper laid out for them on Madlen’s polished wood table. Seregil’s mouth watered painfully as he took in the steaming bowls of milky chowder with bits of fried salt pork floating on top, accompanied by mustard pickles, brown bread, and butter.

Alec used some quick sleight of hand to make it appear that he was feeding Sebrahn bits of bread, then ate a spoonful of chowder with a chunk of fish in it and groaned with pleasure. “We’ve been living on ship’s fare. This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted!”

Madlen grinned and gave his braid a playful little tug. “Compliments like that will earn you seconds. Now, don’t let your little one go hungry.”

Seconds led to thirds and Seregil was feeling content and dozy by the time he pushed back his bowl. It was damn good to be back on land and under a friendly roof again.

Once Madlen was satisfied that none of them could eat another mouthful, she eyed their stained Aurënfaie tunics. “You’ll be needing proper clothes. I’ll go see what I have.”

She came back a few minutes later with an armload of tunics, coats, and trousers. They sorted through them and found some that fit—even a tunic and a cloak Sebrahn’s size.

“What news of the war?” Seregil asked.

The old woman threw up her hands. “According to the heralds, Queen Phoria has the upper hand for now. It’s stretched on far too long, if you ask me. Shortages of everything. The sutlers have bought up meat, flour, sugar, horses, leather, even candle wax! All carried across the sea for the soldiers. From what I’ve heard, the jewelers in Rhíminee can’t find gold to work with anymore, or silver. I don’t imagine the nobles are too happy about that. But the worst of it is the conscription. There isn’t a young man left in the village here, and some of the young women, too—all gone off to war.”

Micum shook his head. “My oldest daughter, too. This war’s already cost us a good queen. If Phoria’s killed, there’s only that green niece of hers, unless one of the others steps in.”

“It ought to be Princess Klia,” said Madlen. “First a barren queen, and then a child heir? Mark my words, if—Lightbringer forefend—the queen is killed, there will be some unrest.”

“That might not be a bad thing,” said Seregil.

They talked a bit longer about the war, then Madlen bid them good night and retired to a bed behind a curtain at the far end of the room. Seregil and the others climbed up a ladder to the loft and settled in among the cobwebs and mice.

“That was a nice bit of fooling you did down there,” Micum noted as Alec shook little pellets of bread from his sleeve and shared them around.

“I had a good teacher.” When he was done, Alec pricked his finger and gave Sebrahn a proper feeding.

“My heart about stopped when Madlen grabbed him up like that,” whispered Micum.

“So did mine,” said Seregil. “He seems to have a good sense of who is a friend and who isn’t. Most of the time, anyway.”

“It’s good to hear that Phoria’s winning,” said Alec.

“It may be too soon to say that,” warned Micum. “She may have the upper hand, but once fighting starts up again soon, it could go either way.”

“A stalemate,” Seregil said, shaking his head. “Both sides will come to ruin if this goes on much longer.”

Micum nodded, looking grim. “And Beka right in the middle of it.”

Putting their trust in Madlen’s hounds, they all slept the night through, and woke late.

“Lazy creatures,” she scolded as they climbed down the ladder. “I’ve had your breakfast ready since sunup, and have already been into town to find you some horses.”

Seregil gave her a kiss on the cheek and sat down to his cold porridge. “I don’t have enough to pay you for the horses.”

“No matter. I’ve plenty put by. We can settle up when you come through again.”

They all knew that it might be never.

Fortunately for Alec, the old woman went out to feed her pigs and chickens, sparing him the need of pretending with Sebrahn. Seregil smiled to himself, imagining Alec trying to hide porridge up his sleeve.

Madlen had found them three sound geldings, with saddles and tack, too.

Seregil raised an eyebrow at the old woman. “You’re very generous.”

“No more than you’ve been to me, in the past. Pass them along to someone who needs them.” She smoothed her chapped hands over the front of her apron. “It’s good to know you two are still about. I’d begun to wonder.”

Micum hugged her. “We’re lucky bastards, don’t you know?”

“You’re courting trouble from the Four, bragging like that. Better bite your tongue.”

Micum laughed and caught his tongue between his front teeth for her to see. “There now. Safe again.”

It was only a joking exchange, but Seregil suddenly felt a superstitious chill run up his spine. “Come on. We’ve a long ride ahead of us.”

They set out with hot roasted yams warming their pockets that would serve as a midday meal later on, when they were cold. Alec was glad of the warmth, as the morning was bitter.

The sky was clear when they set off, but by noon the clouds began to gather, and by the time they reached an inn called the Drover’s Head that evening, most of the stars were blotted out.

“I don’t like the look of that,” Alec said, studying the sky. “It will be hard riding tomorrow.”

“We could just stay put,” Micum suggested. “Thero doesn’t know what day to expect us, if he’s even there by now himself.”

“We’ll see,” said Seregil. “I’d rather keep moving.”

The Drover’s Head was a ramshackle establishment, with poor ale and worse food. The only good thing about that was that there were only a few other patrons, and none who stayed the night.

The dispirited innkeeper gave them a room at the back, off the kitchen, which turned out to be more of a shed, with a few lumpy pallets thrown about on the warped floorboards.

“Hold on,” Seregil warned as Alec went to toss his bedroll on one of them. He nudged the one closest to him with his boot, then slapped at his pant leg. As he’d feared, these poor excuses for beds they had paid a full sester for were jumping with fleas. And where there were fleas, there were probably lice, too.

“No,” he said, regarding the room in disgust.

“No,” Micum agreed.

“Definitely not,” Alec said with a grimace.

Gathering their things, they moved into the dirt-floored kitchen and spread their blankets in front of the broad hearth, where the banked coals were still giving off a nice warmth. Their innkeeper and his servants evidently slept elsewhere; the room was empty.

Taking advantage of that fact, Seregil took a turn around the kitchen and came up with some hard black bread and a jug of sour cider. They sat on their blankets and passed the food around, gnawing a bit of the bread off and taking a swig of the cider to soften it up.

“Another day to the Bell and Bridle, and another two to Watermead,” Micum calculated.

“Do you think Beka and Nyal will still be there?” asked Alec.

“I imagine so,” said Micum.

“How is it, having an Aurënfaie as your daughter’s husband?” asked Seregil.

“He’s a good man.” Micum stared into the fire. “They say they don’t mind the fact that he’ll see her grow old and die, but they’re both young yet.”

“He’ll have their ya’shel children, though,” said Alec.

“That’s true, but it’s not the same as having your wife. It’s not the way things are supposed to be. You two are damn lucky to have found each other when you did.”

In every sense of the word, Seregil thought.