Traitor's Moon

9 INTO AURENEN

The sound of small wings woke Seregil the next morning. Opening his eyes, he saw a chukaree perched on the windowsill, its green plumage shining like Bry'kha enamel work as it preened its stubby tail. He willed it to drop a feather, but it had no gift for him today; with a liquid trill, it fluttered away.

Judging by the brightness of the window, they'd overslept. The distant jangling of harness warned that Beka's riders were already making ready to go.

Yet he lay quiet a moment longer, savoring the feeling of Alec's warm body still wound contentedly around his own, and the comfort of a proper bed. They'd made good use of it, he thought with sleepy satisfaction.

His fragile sense of peace slipped away all too quickly. The coat thrown carelessly over a chair caught his eye like an accusation, bringing with it the memory of Torsin's words and those of Riagil. As the khirnari had so succinctly pointed out, life among the Tir had forced him to grow up far more quickly than the friends he'd left behind. He'd known more of death and violence, intrigue and passion than most 'faie twice his age. How many of the youngsters he'd played with had killed anyone, let alone the uncounted numbers he had in his years as Watcher, thief, and spy?

He stroked the arm draped over his chest, smoothing the fine golden hairs. Most 'faie his age hadn't even left the family hearth yet, much less made such a bond with anyone.

Who am I?

The question, so easy to ignore all those years in Rhiminee, was staring him in the face now.

Sounds of morning activity grew louder outside their window. Sighing regretfully, he ran a finger down the bridge of Alec's nose. "Wake up, tali."

"Morning already?" Alec mumbled blearily.

"There's no fooling you, is there? Come, it's time to move on."

The central courtyard was filled with people and horses. Urgazhi and Akhendi riders were busy loading a string of packhorses; others were gathered around smoking braziers where Gedre cooks were serving a hasty breakfast. Nyal clearly had his hands full, Seregil thought, watching the man with growing dislike.

"It's about time!" Beka called, seeing them. "Klia's looking for you. You'd better grab something to eat with us while you can."

"No one woke us," Seregil muttered, wondering if the slight had been intentional.

Begging fry bread and sausage at the nearest brazier, he and Alec ate as they wandered among the riders, picking up details.

Two of Mercalle's six remaining riders, Ari and Marten, were remaining behind with Corporal Zir to serve as dispatch couriers, carrying messages that would come by ship from Skala. The others would do the same from Sarikali.

Braknil was short a few riders as well; Orandin and Adis had been too badly burned at sea to continue and had remained aboard the Zyria for the return voyage.

The remaining members of Urgazhi Turma seemed out of sorts.

"Did you hear?" Tare grumbled to Alec. "We have to ride blindfolded parts of the way, for hell's sake!"

"It's always been that way for foreigners, even before the Edict," Seregil told him. "Only the Aurenfaie and Dravnian tribesmen who live in the mountains can pass over freely."

"How are we supposed to get over a mountain pass blind?" Nikides muttered.

"I'll just move my patch over to my good eye," Steb offered with a grin.

"He won't let you come to any harm, Corporal," Seregil assured Nikides, pointing to the Akhendi clansman sitting his horse nearby. "It would blemish his honor."

Nikides glowered at his escort. "I'll be sure to beg his pardon when I'm falling to my death."

"He's worried about falling," Alec explained to the Akhendi.

"He can ride double with me," the man offered, patting his horse's rump.

Nikides scowled, needing no interpreter. "I'll manage."

The man shrugged, "He can suit himself, but at least get him to accept this." Pulling a piece of wild gingerroot from a belt pouch, he tossed it to Nikides, who examined it distrustfully. "And tell him my name is Vanos."

"Some get queasy riding blind," Seregil explained. "Chew this if you do. And you might thank Vanos here for the consideration."

"The word is 'chypta'," Alec added helpfully.

Nikides turned rather sheepishly to his escort and held up the root. "Chypta."

"You welkin," Vanos replied with a friendly grin.

"Looks like they'll have lots to talk about," Alec chuckled. "Hope you brought some of that root for me."

Seregil took a piece from a wallet at his belt and presented it to him. "A disgrace to one talimenios is a disgrace to both. It would reflect poorly on me if you showed up covered in puke. And don't worry, most of the time you'll ride with your eyes open."

Riding to the head of the column, they fell in behind Klia and her hosts.

"My friends, we now begin the last leg of your long journey," Riagil announced. "It's a well-traveled route, but there are dangers. First among these are the young dragons, those larger than a lizard but smaller than an ox. Should you meet with one, be still and avert your eyes. Under no circumstances must you hunt or attack them."

"And if they attack first?" Alec whispered, recalling what Seregil had told them aboard the Zyria.

Seregil motioned him to silence.

"The youngest ones, fingerlings we call them, are fragile creatures," Riagil continued. "If you kill one by accident, you must undergo several days purification. To willfully kill one invokes the curse of its brethen, and brings that curse on your clan unless your people see to it that you are punished.

"Any animal that speaks is sacred and must not be harmed or

hunted. These are the khtir'bai, inhabited by the khi of great wizards and rhui'auros."

"If we're not supposed to harm anything, why are you all armed?" Alec asked one of their escort, who carried bows and longswords.

"There are other dangers," he told him. "Rock lions, wolves, sometimes even teth'brimash."

"Teth' what?"

"People cut off from their clan for some dishonor," Seregil explained. "Some of them turn outlaw."

"I'm honored to guide you," Riagil concluded. "You are the first Tir to visit Sarikali in centuries. Aura grant that this be the first of many journeys shared by our people."

The road into the mountains started out broad and level, but as it left the foothills and twisted along the edge of a jagged precipice, Alec began to share Nikides's doubts about riding blind. Looking up, he could see the gleam of snow still clinging to the sides of peaks.

Seregil had other concerns.

"I'd say a bond was forming there, wouldn't you?" he asked under his breath, his expression neutral as he nodded slightly toward Beka and the interpreter.

"He's a handsome man, and a friendly one." Alec rather liked the garrulous Ra'basi, in spite of Seregil's reservations. For Beka's sake, he hoped that his friend's celebrated intuition was off its mark this time. "How old would you say he is?"

Seregil shrugged. "Eighty or so."

"Not so old for her, then," Alec observed.

"By the Light, don't go marrying them off yet!"

"Who said anything about marriage?" Alec teased.

Beka waved and rode over to them. "I've been bragging up your archer's skills all morning, Alec."

"Is this the famous Black Radly?" Nyal asked.

Alec passed the bow to him, and Nyal ran a hand over its long limbs of polished black yew.

"I've never seen a finer one, or such wood. Where does it comes from?"

"A town called Wolde, up in the northlands beyond Mycena." Alec showed him the maker's mark scrimshawed on the ivory arrow plate: a yew tree with the letter R woven into its upper branches.

"Beka tells me you destroyed a dyrmagnos with it. I've heard legends of these monstrous beings! What did it look like?"

"A dried corpse with living eyes," Alec replied, suppressing a shudder of revulsion at the memory. "I only struck the first blow, though. It took more than that to destroy her."

"To harm such a creature at all is a wizard's task," Nyal said, handing the bow back. "Perhaps someday you will tell me of it, but I believe I owe you a tale today. A long ride is a good time for a story, no?"

"A very good time," Alec replied.

"Beka tells me you did not know your mother or her people, so I'll begin at the beginning. Long ago, before the Tir came to the northern lands, a woman named Hazadriel claimed to have been given a vision journey by Aura, the god you call Illior in the north."

Alec smiled as he listened. Nyal sounded just like Seregil, launching into one of his long tales.

"In this vision a sacred dragon showed to her a distant land and told her she would make a new clan there. For many years Hazadriel traveled Aurenen, telling of her vision and calling for followers. Many dismissed her as mad, or chased her off as a troublemaker. But others welcomed her until eventually she and a great army of people sailed from Bry'kha; they were never heard from again and given up as lost until many generations later when Tir traders brought tales of 'faie living in a land of ice far north of their own. It was only then that we learned they had taken the name of their leader, Hazadriel, as their own. Until then, they were simply referred to as the Kalosi, the Lost Ones. You, Alec, are the first to ever come to Aurenen claiming kinship with them."

"Then I can't trace my family to any one Aurenen clan?" Alec said, disappointed.

"What a pity not to have known your own people."

Alec shook his head. "I'm not so sure. According to Seregil, they didn't take much of Aurenfaie hospitality with them."

"It's true," Seregil told him. "The Hazadrielfaie have a reputation for enforcing their own isolation. I had a brush with them once, and almost didn't live to tell about it."

"You never told me that!" Beka exclaimed indignantly.

Nor me, Alec thought in surprise, but held his tongue.

"Well, it was a very brief brush," he admitted, "and not a pleasant one. The first time I traveled to the northlands, before I met Beka's father, I heard an old bard telling tales of what he called the Elder Folk. Alec here grew up hearing those same stories, never suspecting it was his own people they were talking about.

"I hounded the poor fellow for all he knew, along with every other storyteller I met for the next year or so. I suppose that was the beginning of my education as a bard. At any rate, I finally got enough out of the tales to trace them to a place in the Ironheart Mountains called Ravensfell Pass. Hungry for the sight of another 'faie face, I struck off in search of them."

"That's understandable," Nyal threw in, then gave Beka an embarrassed look. "I mean no insult."

Beka gave him a wry look. "None taken."

"I'd been in Skala for over ten years and was terribly homesick," Seregil continued. "To find other 'faie, no matter who they were, became an obsession. Everyone I talked to warned that the Hazadriel-faie killed strangers, but I figured that only applied to Tirfaie.

"It was a long, cold journey and I'd decided to go alone. I started through the pass in late spring, and a week or so later finally came out in a huge valley and saw what looked like a settled fai'thast in the distance. Certain of a warm welcome, I headed for the closest village. Before I'd gotten a mile down the valley, though, I ran into a group of armed horsemen. All I saw at first was that they were wearing sen'gai. I greeted them in Aurenfaie, but they attacked and took me prisoner."

"What happened then?" Beka demanded as soon as he paused.

"They held me in a cellar for two days before I managed to escape."

"That must have been a bitter disappointment," Nyal remarked kindly.

Seregil looked away and sighed. "It was a long time ago."

The column had slowed steadily as they talked, and now came to a complete halt.

"This is the first hidden stretch," Nyal explained. "Captain, will you trust me as your guide?"

Beka agreed just a tad too readily, Alec noted with amusement.

Skalan riders paired off with Aurenfaie, handing over their reins and tying white cloth blindfolds over their eyes.

A pair of Gedre riders approached Alec and Seregil.

"What's this?" asked Seregil as one of the men sidled his horse up next to Seregil's and held out a blindfold.

"All Skalans must ride blind," the man replied.

Alec choked down a hard knot of resentment, almost grateful when his own blindfold hid the scene. How many more little ways would the 'faie find to underline the fact that Seregil was returning as an outsider?

"Ready, Alec i Amasa?" his own guide asked, clasping his shoulder.

"Ready." Alec gripped the saddlebow, feeling off balance already. Renewed grumbling among the Skalans came from all sides, then a brief chorus of surprise as a peculiar sensation came over them, a tingle on the skin. Unable to resist, Alec lifted a corner of the blindfold just enough to peek out from under it, then pulled it hastily back into place as his eye was assaulted by a stinging burst of swirling color that sent a bolt of pain through his head.

"I wouldn't do that, my friend," his guide chuckled. "The magic will hurt your eyes, without the covering."

To make amends to their guests, or perhaps to drown out the complaining, someone began to sing and others quickly joined in, voices echoing among the rocks.

Once I loved a girl so fair, with ten charms woven in her hair. Slim as the tip of the newborn moon, Eyes the color of a mountain sky. For a year I wooed her with my eyes And a year with all my heart. A year with tears unshed, A year with wandering feet, A year with silent songs unsung, A year with sighs replete.

A year until she was the wife of another and my safety was complete.

The play of sun and shadow across Alec's skin told him that the trail twisted sharply and it wasn't long before he dug in his pouch for the root Seregil had given him. It smelled of moist earth, and the pungent juice made his eyes water, but it did settle his stomach.

"I didn't think I'd be sick," he said, spitting out the stringy pith. "It feels like we're riding around in circles."

"That's the magic," said Seregil. "Whole miles of the pass are like this."

"How are you doing?" Alec asked softly, thinking of Seregil's frequent difficulties with magic.

Warm, ginger-scented breath bathed his cheek as Seregil leaned close and confessed, "I'm managing."

The blind ride went on for what seemed like a dark, lurching eternity. They traveled beside rushing water for a time, and at others Alec sensed walls closing in around them. Riagil finally called a halt, and the blindfolds were removed. Alec

rubbed his eyes, blinking in the afternoon brightness. They were in a small meadow bounded on all sides by steep cliffs. Looking back, he saw nothing but the usual terrain.

Seregil was bathing his face at a spring that bubbled up among the rocks a few yards away. Joining him, Alec drank as he studied the stunted bushes and clumps of tiny flowers and grasses clinging in clefts of rock. A few wild mountain sheep clattered among the rocks overhead.

"Would fresh meat be welcome tonight?" Alec asked Riagil, who was standing nearby.

The khirnari shook his head. "We have food enough with us for now. Leave these creatures for someone who needs them. Besides, I think you'd have a hard time making such a shot. They are a good distance off."

"I'd bet a Skalan sester he can shoot that far," Seregil told him.

"An Akhendi mark says he can't," Riagil countered, producing a thick, square coin seemingly out of thin air.

Seregil gave Alec a mischievous wink. "Looks like it's up to you to defend our honor."

"Thanks," Alec muttered. Shading his eyes, he looked up at the sheep again. They were still on the move, at least fifty yards away now, and the breeze was uncertain. Unfortunately, a number of people had heard the challenge and were watching him expectantly. With an inward sigh, he went back to his horse and pulled an arrow from the quiver slung behind his saddle.

Ignoring his audience, he took aim in the general direction of the hindmost sheep and released purposefully high. The shaft glanced off the rocks just over the large ram's head. The creature let out a bleat and sprang away.

"By the Light!" someone gasped.

"You'll make a living for yourself with that bow in Aurenen," Nyal laughed. "Archery's a betting sport here."

Objects of some sort were changing hands around the circle of onlookers.

Several men showed Alec their quivers, where masses of small ornaments strung on thongs hung from bosses set into the sides. Some were carved from stone or wood, others cast in metal or fashioned from animal teeth and bright feathers.

"These are shatta, betting trophies, used only by archers," Nyal explained, plucking one made of bear claws from his own considerable collection and tying it onto Alec's quiver strap. "There, that shot of yours should earn you something. This marks you as a challenger."

"You may not be able to lift that quiver of yours before we head home again, Sir Alec," said Nikides. "If they let us bet for drinks, I'll be laying my luck on you every time."

Alec accepted the praise with a shy grin. His shooting was one of the few things he'd been proud of growing up, though more for the success it had brought him as a hunter.

As he returned to the spring to drink, he felt glad of those skills again. In patches of soft ground around the spring he saw the marks of panther and wolves, together with several larger tracks he didn't recognize.

"Just as well we missed him," Seregil remarked.

Looking where his friend pointed, Alec saw a splayed, three-toed print twice the length of his foot.

"A dragon?"

"Yes, and of the dangerous size."

Alec placed his hand in the track, noting the deep imprint of talons at the end of each toe. "What happens if we meet one of these while we're blindfolded?" he asked, frowning.

Seregil's impassive shrug was less than reassuring.

The trail grew narrower still from here, barely wide enough in places for a horse to pass. Alec was pondering what it must be like to venture through here in the winter when something landed on the turned-back hood of his cloak. He reached back, expecting to find a clump of dirt. Instead, something slithered elusively beneath his fingertips.

"There's something on me," he hissed, praying to Dalna that whatever it was wasn't poisonous.

"Hold still," Seregil cautioned, dismounting.

Easier said than done, Alec thought as whatever it was scrambled up through his hair. The tickle of tiny claws assured him that it wasn't a serpent. He kicked a foot free of the stirrup, and Seregil stepped in and pulled himself up for a closer view.

"By the Light!" he called out in Aurenfaie, clearly delighted by what he'd found. "First dragon!"

The cry was taken up by the Aurenfaie, and those that could crowded around to see.

"A dragon?" Alec turned his head to see.

"A fingerling. Careful now." Seregil gently disentangled it and placed it in Alec's cupped hands.

The little creature looked like a manuscript illustration come to life. Perfectly proportioned in every respect, it was scarcely five inches long, with batlike wings so delicate he could see the shadow of his fingers through the stretched membranes. Its golden eyes had slitted pupils. Spiky whiskers fringed its narrow jaws'. The only disappointment was the color; from snout to tail, it was mottled brown like a toad.

"You're the luckbringer today," Riagil told him, emerging from the crowd of soldiers with Amali, Klia, and Thero.

"It is a custom we have, going over the pass," Amali told him, smiling. "The first traveler to be touched so by a dragon is the luckbringer, and anyone who touches you before it flies away shares the luck."

Alec felt a bit self-conscious as the others crowded around to touch his leg. The fingerling seemed in no hurry to go. Wrapping its whip-end of tail around his thumb, it poked its bristly head under the edge of his sleeve as if investigating a potential cave. Its soft belly was fever-hot against his palm.

Klia reached up to stroke the dragon's back. "I thought they'd be more colorful."

"The laws don't extend to hawks and foxes," said Seregil. "These little ones take on the color of their surroundings to hide. Even so, only a few survive, which is probably a good thing. Otherwise we'd be hip deep in dragons."

Alec's little passenger rode with him for over an hour, exploring the folds of his cloak, burrowing through his long hair, and resisting all efforts to be passed to anyone else. Suddenly, however, it scrambled around to his left shoulder and bit him on the earlobe.

Alec let out a yelp of pain and it fluttered away, clutching a few strands of his hair in its claws.

Their Aurenfaie escorts found this highly amusing.

"It's off to make itself a golden nest," Vanos declared.

"A kiss to welcome you home, Kalosi!" said another, thumping him on the shoulder.

"It stings like snakebite!" Touching his ear, Alec felt the first signs of swelling and swore.

Vanos produced a glazed vial from a pouch slung from his belt and tapped out a few drops of viscous blue liquid.

"Don't worry, the venom's not much worse than a hornet's at that size," he said, holding out his finger. "This is lissik. It takes away the pain and heals the wound faster."

"It's also pigmented to permanently color the teeth marks, like a tattoo," Seregil said behind him. "Such marks are highly prized."

Alec hesitated, thinking of the ramifications of such an unusual distinguishing mark for someone in his profession.

"Should I?" he asked Seregil in Skalan.

"It would be an insult not to."

Alec gave a slight nod.

"There you are," Vanos said, dabbing lissik on the wound. It was oily and smelled bitter, but it cooled the burning instantly. "That'll be a real beauty mark once it heals."

"Not that he needs one," said another 'faie, giving Alec a friendly wink as he showed him a similar mark at the base of his right thumb.

"Your earlobe looks like a grape," Thero observed. "Odd that the creature took such a dislike to you."

"Actually, a fingerling's bite is considered a sign of Aura's favor," said Nyal. "If that little one survives, it will know Alec and all his descendants."

Other riders showed off their own marks of honor on hands and necks. One named Syli laughed as he proudly displayed three on each hand. "Either I am greatly loved by Aura, or I taste good."

"Known to a dragon, eh?" Beka let out a whistle of admiration. "That could be useful."

"To the dragon, perhaps," Seregil remarked.

They made camp at a way station that stood at the meeting of two trails. It was unlike any structure Alec had seen in Aurenen so far. The squat, round tower was at least eighty feet in diameter and had been built into the uneven rocks that rose around it like a mud swallow's nest. It was topped with a conical roof of thick, dirty felt and entered by a sturdy wooden ramp leading up to a door halfway up the tower. A few dark-eyed children watched their approach from the top of a low stone wall that fronted it. Others could be seen behind them, laughing as they chased black goats and each other up the tower ramp. A woman appeared at the door, then came out accompanied by two men.

"Dravnians?" asked Thero.

"They are, aren't they?" said Alec, who'd recognized them from Seregil's stories. Shorter than the 'faie, and more heavily built, they had black, almond-shaped eyes, bowlegs, and coarse black hair slicked back with grease. Their sheepskin clothing was richly decorated with colorful beading, animal teeth of various types, and painted designs. "I didn't expect to see them this far east."

"They wander the whole Ashek range," Seregil told him. "These mountains are their home; no one knows more about how to survive the snows. This traveler's lodge has stood here for centuries and probably will forever, with the occasional new roof. The 'faie share the use of it with the local tribes."

Though Alec couldn't understand their language, there was no mistaking the welcoming smiles the Dravnians gave Riagil and the others. Tethering their horses in the stone enclosure, they all trooped up the ramp.

The upper floor was a single large room with a smoke hole in the center of the floor. Stone stairs followed the curve of the wall down to the lower room, which doubled as hearth room and byre. More Dravnians were at work down there, mucking out from the winter. One of the younger woman waved up at them, flashing a shy smile.

"That custom you told us about, of having to sleep with their daughters—?" Thero asked nervously, wrinkling his nose at the pungent odors wafting up from below. Seregil grinned. "Only at a home hearth. It's not expected here, though I'm sure they'd be flattered if you offered."

The girl waved again, and Thero retreated quickly, his wizard's celibacy evidently safe for the moment.

The evening passed in relative comfort, though the frequent howls that drifted to them on the night wind made Alec and the others doubly grateful for the tower's thick walls and stout door. The Dravnians, he learned, called this time of year the end of the hungry season.

Though stark by Aurenfaie standards, the tower was warm and the company good. They traded some of their bread for Dravnian cheese and ended up making a communal meal of it. The evening was passed trading tales and news, with Nyal and Seregil interpreting for the Skalans.

After several hours, the Ra'basi excused himself and went outside for a breath of air. A few moments later Seregil did the same, giving Alec the surreptitious signal to follow in a moment. Assuming he was offering a brief moment of privacy, Alec counted to twenty, then slipped out after him.

But Seregil had something else in mind. Just outside the door he

touched Alec's arm and motioned toward two dark figures barely visible up the trail. "Nyal and Amali," he whispered. "She went out a few minutes ago and he followed."

Alec watched the pair disappear around a bend in the trail. "Should we follow them?"

"Too risky; no cover and these rocks echo every sound. We'll just sit here and see how long they're gone."

Walking down the ramp, they sat down on a large flat rock by the enclosure wall. Above them, sudden laughter rang out from the doorway.

They must have found themselves another interpreter, thought Alec. A moment later he heard Urien strike up a soldier's ballad.

Staring out into the darkness, Alec tried without success to gauge his companion's mood. The further they ventured into Aurenen, the more distant Seregil became, as if he were listening ever more closely to some inner voice only he could hear.

"How come you never told me about getting captured by the Hazadrielfaie?" he asked at last.

Seregil laughed softly. "Because it never happened, at least not to me. I heard the story from another exile. The bit about collecting the legends was true, and I was homesick enough to consider making the journey, but the man to whom the tale belongs talked me out of it, just as I did you once, if you recall."

"So you do think Nyal's a spy?"

"He's a listener. And I don't like how quickly he's cozied up to Beka. If you were a spy, what better place to be than at the side of Klia's protector?"

"So you gave him a false story?"

"And now we wait to see if it resurfaces, and where."

Alec sighed. "Will you say anything to Klia?"

Seregil shrugged. "There's nothing to report yet. I'm more worried about Beka just now. If he does turn out to be a spy, it will reflect badly on her."

"All right then, but I still think you're wrong." Hope you 're wrong, he amended silently.

They'd kept watch for perhaps half an hour when they heard the sound of returning footsteps in the darkness. Moving into the deeper shadow below the ramp, they watched as Nyal reappeared supporting Amali with one arm. Their heads were close together in conversation, and neither seemed to notice Alec and Seregil in the shadows.

"Then you'll say nothing?" Alec overheard her whisper to Nyal.

"Of course not, but I must question the wisdom of your silence," he replied, sounding worried.

"It is my wish." Releasing his arm, she walked up the ramp.

Nyal watched her go, then wandered back up the trail alone, apparently lost in thought.

Seregil's hand closed over Alec's. "Well, well," he whispered. "Secrets in the dark. How interesting."

"We still have nothing. The Akhendi support Klia."

Seregil frowned. "And the Ra'basi may not."

"I still say you're jumping at shadows."

"What? Alec, wait!" Seregil hissed.

But Alec was already gone, ambling noisily up the trail. Stones crunched and tinkled under his boots. He hummed aloud for good measure.

He found the interpreter sitting on a rock beside the trail, looking up at the stars.

"Who's that?" Alec called out, as if startled to find someone there.

"Alec?" Nyal jumped to his feet.

Guiltily? Alec wondered, unable to make out the man's expression at this distance.

"Oh, there you are!" Alec said lightly, striding up to him. "Did the Dravnians wear you out already? There are stories going untold for lack of you."

Nyal chuckled, his voice deep and rich in the darkness. "They'll go on all night whether we understand them or not. Seregil's throat must be raw by now, left alone with them so long. What are you doing out here all alone?"

"Had to tap the hogshead," Alec said, patting the lacings of his breeches.

Nyal looked blank for a moment, then broke into a broad grin. "Piss, you mean?"

"Yes." Alec turned aside to make good his claim.

Nyal chuckled behind him. "Even when you speak my own tongue, you Skalans are not always easy to understand. Especially the women." He paused. "Beka Cavish is your friend, isn't she?"

"A good friend," Alec replied.

"Has she a man of her own?"

Still facing away, Alec heard the hope in the man's voice and felt an irrational twinge of jealousy.

His own fleeting attraction to Beka in the early days of their

friendship had been no match for her determination to follow a military career. No doubt the difference in their ages had played a larger part in her mind than his, too. Nyal, on the other hand, was man-grown and handsome besides. There was no faulting Beka's choice on that account.

"No, no man of her own." Tugging his breeches closed, Alec turned to find Nyal still smiling at him. The man was either a consummate actor or more guileless than Seregil cared to believe. "Don't tell me you fancy her?"

Nyal spread his hands, and Alec suspected he was blushing. "I admire her very much."

Alec hesitated, knowing Seregil would disapprove of what he was about to do. Stepping-closer to the 'faie, he looked him in the eye and said gravely, "Beka admires you, too. You asked if I'm her friend. I am, and her almost-brother as well. You understand? Good, then as her almost-brother, I'll tell you that I like you, too, though I don't know you well. Are you a man she can trust?"

The Ra'basi squared his shoulders and made him a respectful bow. "I am a man of honor, Alec i Amasa. I would bring no harm to your almost-sister."

Alec stifled an undignified chortle and clapped Nyal on the shoulder. "Then why don't you go and keep her company?"

Grinning, Nyal strode off toward the tower. Alec hoped the man's celebrated hearing wasn't acute enough to hear his own strangled snort of laughter. Another of a more nervous variety escaped as he stopped to think what his fate would likely be if Beka ever learned that he'd appointed himself the defender of her honor. He hoped the talkative Ra'basi had enough discretion to keep his mouth shut about their little chat. He'd just started back when Seregil emerged from the shadows.

"I thought you said it was too risky to sneak up on people out here?" Alec gasped, startled by his sudden appearance.

"Not with all the noise you were making," Seregil retorted curtly.

"Then you heard?"

"Yes, and you're either brilliant or a damn fool!"

"Let's hope it's the former. I don't know what he was up to with Amali, but if he's not really love-struck for Beka, then I am a fool."

"Ah!" Seregil held up an accusing finger. "But he didn't happen to mention the good lady Amali, now did he?"

"He wouldn't, would he? We heard him promise to keep silent about something."

"Clearly a man of honor, your Ra'basi friend," Seregil observed

dryly. "To his credit, I think you're right, at least about his feelings for Beka. Let's go keep an eye on him."

It was clearly Beka who occupied the interpreter's thoughts that night and the following morning, although she continued to greet his attentions with apparent bemusement.

The second day was much the same as the first. The air grew colder, and when the breeze shifted, Alec felt the chill kiss of glacial air on the back of his neck. Just after midday, the pitch of the trail begin to drop. Riding blind, Alec found it hard not to doze off. His chin was slowly sinking on his breast when a sudden warm gust of damp, acrid mist brought him awake.

"What is that?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Dragon breath!" an Aurenfaie exclaimed.

He was already grasping the edge of the blindfold when someone gripped his wrist. Laughter broke out around them.

"A joke, Alec," his escort assured him, sounding like he was sharing in it. "It's just a hot spring. There are lots of them on this side of the mountains, and some smell even worse than this."

Alec smelled the strange odor again just as the hated blindfolds finally came off later that afternoon.

A few miles ahead, an ice field hung in a valley high between two peaks. The pass was wider here, and in places along its sloping sides clouds of white steam boiled from the ground, or wafted off the faces of little pools between the rocks.

Below lay a small tarn, its brilliant blue surface shimmering like a shard of Ylani porcelain beneath a shifting pall of vapor. Deep azure at its center, the waters gradually lightened to a pale turquoise toward the shore, where the rocks were a dull yellow. Rocky ground surrounded it, devoid of vegetation. A line of darker stone ran down the slope to the water's edge and beyond, like a stain.

"One of your 'mirrors of the sky'?" asked Alec.

"Yes," said Seregil. "It's the largest hot spring along this trail, a very sacred spot."

"Why is that?"

Seregil smiled. "That's Arnali's tale to tell. We're in Akhendi fai'thast now."

They made camp upwind of the tarn. It was warm in the little vale; the ground gave off heat they could feel through the soles of their boots. The foul odor was stronger here, too, like eggs gone bad. The yellow coloration Alec had noted earlier turned out to be a crusty rime built up just above the waterline.

"Sulfur," Thero said, taking a pinch between his fingers and igniting it in a puff of orange flame.

Despite the smell, most of the 'faie were already stripping off to bathe in it. Amali a Yassara dipped up a cupful and presented it to Klia.

"Odd sort of spot to call sacred, don't you think?" asked Alec, eyeing the gently roiling water distrustfully. "It can't be poison, though. Everyone's drinking it."

Testing the water, he found it hot as a bath. He scooped up a small amount in one cupped palm and took a sip. It was an effort to swallow; the flat, metallic flavor was not something that invited deep drinking.

"A mineral spring!" Thero noted, wiping his lips—though not discreetly enough to escape Amali's notice.

"You are perhaps wondering why we revere such a place?" she asked, laughing at the wizard's expression. "I will show you in a little while. In the meantime, you all should bathe, especially you, Alec i Amasa. The waters are healing and would do that ear of yours good."

"Is my talimenios welcome, as well?" Alec asked, keeping his tone respectful even as his gut tightened.

Amali colored, but shook her head. "That I cannot grant."

"Then I thank you for the offer." He gave her a slight bow and strolled off to the cluster of tents nearby. Seregil followed.

"You didn't have to do that!"

"Yes, I did. I can't stand them all fussing over me while they slap you down at every opportunity."

Seregil pulled him to a halt. "They aren't doing it to insult me, you damn fool!" he whispered angrily. "I brought this on myself a long time ago. You're here for Klia, not me. Any insult you offer to our hosts reflects on her."

Alec stared at him a moment, hating the resignation that underlay his friend's hard words. "I'll try to keep that in mind," he mumbled, pulling his pack down from the saddle and carrying it into the tent assigned to them. He waited, expecting Seregil to come in. When he didn't, Alec looked out through the tent flaps and saw him back at the water's edge, watching the others swim.

Seregil kept up his air of cordial distance, speaking little but making no effort to retreat from the main company. When Amali invited the Skalans to walk along the shore that evening, he joined in without comment or apology.

She led them up to the outcropping of dark stone. Bulging up from the surrounding stone and skree, it spread like an ink stain to the edge of the lake.

"Look closely," she told them, running her hand over a curving slab.

Examining it, Alec saw nothing out of the ordinary except the peculiar smoothness of the weathering in places.

"It's skin!" Thero exclaimed from the other side of an upthrust slab. "Or at least, it was. And here's the ridge of a spine. By the Light, was this a dragon? It must have been over three hundred feet long, if we're seeing all that there was of it."

"Then it's true what I've read," Klia mused, climbing around to where the crumbling edge of what might have been a wing bone jutted from the ground. "Dragons do turn to stone when they die."

"This one did," Amali replied. "But it is the only one of this size ever found. How they die, just as how they are born, remains a mystery. The little ones appear; the great ones disappear. But this place, called Vhada'nakori, is sacred because of this creature, so drink deeply, sleep well, and attend carefully to your dreams. In a few days, we will be in Sarikali."

Seregil knew the Akhendi woman had not meant to include him in her invitation at the Vhada'nakori; she'd been unfailingly distant since Gedre. Perhaps her ill will accounted for his poor sleep that night.

Curled beside Alec in the tent they shared with Torsin and Thero, he tossed restlessly through a dream of uncommon vividness, even without aid of the waters.

It began like so many of his nightmares had over the past two years. He stood again in his old sitting room at the Cockerel, but this time there were no mutilated corpses, no heads gummed in their own blood on the mantelpiece chattering accusations at him.

Instead, it was as he remembered it from happier days. The cluttered tables, the piles of books, the tools laid out on the workbench beneath the window — everything was just as it should be. Turning

to the corner by the fireplace, however, he found it empty. Alec's narrow cot was gone.

Puzzled, Seregil walked to the door of his bedchamber. Opening it, he found himself instead in his childhood room at Bokthersa. The details here were equally clear and achingly familiar — the cool play of leaf shadow on the wall above his bed, the rack of practice swords near the door, the rich colors of the corner screen in the corner — painted by the mother he'd never known. Toys long since lost or packed away were there, too, as if someone had collected all of his most treasured belongings and laid them out for his return.

The only discordant element were the delicate glass orbs strewn across the bed. He hadn't noticed these when he'd first come in.

He was taken by their beauty. Some were tiny, others the size of his fist, and they gleamed like jewels, multihued and translucent. He didn't recognize them, but in the strange way of dreams, knew that these, too, were his.

As he stood there, smoke suddenly seeped up through the floorboards around him. He could feel heat through the soles of his boots and hear the angry crackle of flames from below.

His first thought was to save the orbs. Try as he might, though, a few always slipped away and he had to stop and pick them up again. Looking around frantically, he knew that he couldn't save everything; the fire was bursting up through the floor in earnest now, licking at the corners of the room.

He knew he should run and warn Adzriel. He longed to save familiar mementos but could not decide what to take, what to sacrifice. And all this time, he was still trying to gather the glistening spheres. Looking down, he saw that some had turned to iron and threatened to smash the more fragile ones. Others were filled with smoke or liquid. Confused and frightened, he stood helpless as smoke boiled up around him, blotting out the light —

Seregil woke drenched in sweat, with his heart trying to hammer its way out of his chest. It was still dark, but he had no intention of sleeping again in this place. Finding his clothes, he slipped out.

The stars were still bright enough to cast faint shadows. Dressing quickly, he climbed up to the dragon stones overlooking the water.

"Aura Lightbearer, send me insight," he whispered, stretching out on his back to wait for dawn.

"Welcome home, Korit's son," a strange little voice replied, close to his ear.

Seregil looked around in surprise. No one was there. Leaning over the edge of the rock, he peered underneath. A pair of shining yellow eyes looked back at him, then tilted as the creature moved its head.

"Are you khtir'bai?" asked Seregil.

The eyes tilted in the other direction. "Yes, child of Aura. Do you know me?"

"Should I, Honored One?" Seregil had encountered only one such being, the khtir'bai of an aunt who'd taken the form of a white bear. This creature was far too small.

"Perhaps," the voice told him. "You have much to do, son of Korit."

"Will I ever be called that again?" Seregil asked as it finally sank in that the khtir'bai had addressed him by his true name.

"We shall see." The eyes blinked and were gone.

Seregil held his breath, listening, but no sound came from under the rock. He lay back again, staring up at the stars as he pondered this new turn of events.

A few minutes later he caught the soft scuff of bare feet on stone. Sitting up, he saw Alec climbing up to join him.

"You should have come sooner. There was a khtir'bai under there, one who knew my name."

Alec's look of disappointment was almost comical. "What did it look like?"

"It was just a voice in the dark, but it welcomed me home."

Alec sat down next to him. "At least someone has. Couldn't you sleep?"

Seregil told Alec all he could recall of his dream: the glass balls, the flames, the childhood memories. Alec listened quietly, gazing out across the mist-covered water.

"You've always claimed to have no magic, but your dreams—!" Alec said when he'd finished. "Remember those visions you had before we found Mardus?"

"Before he found us, you mean? The warnings I didn't understand until it was too late? A lot of good that did us."

"Maybe you're not supposed to do anything about them. Maybe you're just supposed to be ready."

Seregil sighed, thinking again of the khtir'bai's words. You have much to do, son of Korit. "No, this was different. Just a dream. What about you, tali? Any great revelations?"

"I wouldn't call it that. I dreamt about being aboard Mardus's ship with Thero, only when Thero turned around, he was you and you were weeping. Then the ship sailed over a waterfall and into a

tunnel and that was the end of it. I don't think I'd make much of an oracle."

Seregil chuckled softly. "Or a navigator, from the sound of it. Well, they say all answers can be found at Sarikali. Perhaps we'll turn up a few there. How's the ear?"

Alec fingered the swollen skin and winced. "My whole neck hurts. I should have brought the lissik."

"Come on, I know something even better." Rising, Seregil pulled Alec to his feet and led him down to the water's edge. "Get in and give it a good soak."

"No. I already told you—"

"Who's to know?" Seregil challenged with a wink. "Go on now, before I toss you in. The ride ahead of us will be uncomfortable enough. Take what healing you can get."

"Well, did anyone else dream last night?" Klia asked as they stood around the morning fire a few hours later. "I couldn't recall a thing when I woke up, but I never do."

"Neither did I," said Beka, clearly disappointed.

None of the Skalans had anything to report, as it turned out.

"Perhaps the magic doesn't work for Tir? "Alec offered, still pondering his own strange dream.

When Thero emerged at last from the tent, however, he knew he was going to have to reevaluate his theory. The young wizard looked too dark under the eyes to have rested well.

"Bad dreams?" asked Seregil.

Thero gazed out over the pool, looking rather perplexed. "I dreamed of drowning here, with the moon shining in my eyes so brightly it hurt, even through the water. And all the while I could hear someone singing 'home, home, home. »

"You're a wizard," Amali said, overhearing. "Your magic came from Aurenen, so perhaps you are home, in a sense."

"Thank you, lady," Thero said. "That is a more positive interpretation than I was able to come to. It felt very much like a dream of death to me."

"And yet does not water also signify birth among your people?" she asked, strolling away.

Below the Vhada'nakori, the trail grew steeper and the Skalans had to ride most of the morning blindfolded. Chewing doggedly on

a slice of ginger, Alec clung on with thighs and hands; at times it felt as if the horse were about to walk out from under him.

After a few miles of this torture, he swallowed his pride and let an Akhendi named Tael mount in front of him and take the reins. Judging by the muttered epithets he heard on all sides, he wasn't the only one to give in. Even with this help, however, his back and thighs were soon aching again as he clung on behind his guide.

Luckily, his torment was short-lived. Reaching a level patch of ground, the column halted and the hated blindfolds were removed.

Alec blinked, then let out a whistle.

Far below, a rolling green vista dotted with scattered lakes and netted with rivers stretched toward lowlands on the southern horizon.

"So green it hurts your eyes," Thero murmured.

They came down into the foothills through groves of flowering trees so dense it seemed as if they were riding through clouds. Beyond this, a packed-earth road led through the thick forests of Akhendi fai'thast.

Alec's fingertips ached for the pull of a bowstring. Sunlight slanted through the towering trees, illuminating little glades where herds of deer grazed. Flocks of game birds called kutka darted across the trail like startled chickens.

"Doesn't anyone hunt here?" he asked Tael.

The Akhendi shrugged. "Aura is bountiful to those who take only what they need."

The trail met a broader road that led through small, scattered villages. People gathered by the road, staring and waving at the Skalans and calling out to Amali, who was clearly well loved. Men, women, and children alike wore various versions of the familiar tunic and trousers, which some had augmented with colorful openwork shawls or sashes fashioned like fisherman's nets, but elaborate as lace.

"I can't tell the men from the women," said Minal.

"I assure you, rider, those who need to can tell the difference!" Nyal told him, eliciting a round of laughter from his companions.

The dwellings here were similar in design to those at Gedre, but built of wood instead of stone. Many had open-sided sheds nearby, where their owners plied their trades. From what Alec could make

out from the road, woodworking was a common occupation in this part of the country.

Many of the byways that branched off from the main road looked disused and overgrown, he noticed. In the larger villages, many houses stood empty.

Riding up beside Riagil and Amali, he asked, "My lady, this was a trade road once, wasn't it?»

"Yes, one of the busiest. Our marketplaces saw goods from every corner of Aurenen, the Three Lands, and beyond. Our inns were always filled with traders. But now those same traders go downriver to Bry'kha, or overland to Viresse. Many of our people have moved closer to the routes, even gone to other fai'thasts."

She shook her head sadly. "The village I grew up in stands empty now. It is a shameful thing for any 'faie to be forced against her will to leave the place her family lived in for generations out of mind, to walk away from the house of her ancestors. It has brought our clan ill luck.

"It is even more difficult for my husband, both as our khirnari and as one who has lived so long and remembers what the Akhendi once were. I assure you, he will do all in his power to support your lady's mission, as will I."

Alec bowed, wondering again what she and Nyal had been doing together on that dark trail in the mountains.

Anxious as she was to see Sarikali, Beka found herself wishing they could stay longer in Akhendi. This country reminded her of the rolling forests she'd roamed as a girl, and of the peaceful life she'd taken for granted.

They stopped for the night in one of the larger villages, and their arrival created quite a stir, if a quiet one at first. A few at a time, villagers gathered to greet Amali and gawk at the Tirfaie visitors. Before long, the Skalans were surrounded by a silent, staring throng.

"We're as much creatures of legend here as the 'faie are in the northlands," Beka told her riders. "Come on. Give them a smile!"

A small girl was the first to approach. Pulling free of her mother's hand, she marched up to Sergeant Braknil and stared with unabashed curiosity at his grizzled beard. The old veteran returned the stare with amusement, then presented his chin for closer inspection. The girl dug her fingers into it and burst out giggling. At this, other

children came forward, touching beards, clothing, and weapon hilts with delighted wonder. The adults followed, and anyone who spoke both languages soon had their hands full translating questions back and forth.

Beka's hair and freckles were the focus of especially intent curiosity. Pulling her braid loose, she shook out her hair and sat grinning as children and. adults gently lifted the strands to see the coppery play of sunlight through them. Looking up, she saw Nyal watching her over the heads of the others, his leaf-and-water eyes tilted up at the corners with silent amusement. He winked and she looked quickly away as her cheeks went warm. Turning, she found herself face-to-face with the little girl who'd walked so boldly up to Braknil, who was now accompanied by a young man about Alec's age.

The child pointed to Beka and said something about "making."

Beka shook her head, showing that she didn't understand.

The young man held out his hand, showing her a bundle of colorful leather thongs. He covered them with his other hand, rubbed his palms together, then presented her with an intricately braided bracelet with loose strands at each end for tying.

"Chypta," she said, delighted. She'd watched Seregil do this sort of sleight of hand most of her life.

He gestured that he was not finished. Taking it back from her, he held it by one end and pulled it slowly through the fingers of his other hand. When he was done, a small wooden frog dangled from the middle of the weave.

The little girl tied it around Beka's left wrist, then touched a hand to her scabbard and the bruise on her forehead, talking excitedly.

"It's a charm to help wounds heal," explained Seregil, who'd wandered over with Alec. "She says she's never seen a woman soldier before, but she can tell you are very brave and so probably get hurt a lot. She's not old enough to make charms herself yet, so her cousin here obliged, but the gift was her idea."

"Chypta!" Beka said again, touched by the gift. "Hold on a minute, I want to give her something, too. Damn, what have I got with me?"

Rummaging in her pouch, she found a sack of fancy gaming stones she'd bought in Mycena, jasper lozenges inlaid with silver. "For you," she said in Aurenfaie, placing one in the child's hand.

The little girl clasped the piece in her fist and gave Beka a kiss on the cheek.

"And thank you." Beka looked up at the cousin, doubtful that he'd be impressed by such a reward.

He leaned down and touched a finger to his cheek. Beka took the hint and gave him a kiss. Laughing, he led the little girl away.

"Did you see that performance?" Beka asked Seregil, admiring the bracelet. "It reminds me of tricks you used to do for us after supper."

"What you just saw was magic, not sleight of hand. So is the charm, though not a very powerful sort. The Akhendi are known for their skill with charm making and weaving."

"I thought it was just a trinket! I should have made her a better gift."

Seregil grinned. "You saw her face. She'll be showing that bakshi stone to her great-grandchildren, a gift from a sword-carrying Tirfaie woman with hair the color of—let's see, what would the proper poetic simile be? Ah, yes, bloody copper!"

Beka grimaced comically. "I hope she comes up with something better than that."

Just then a young woman touched Alec on the sleeve and performed a similar trick, producing a bracelet with three red beads worked into it. He thanked her, asked some questions, then laughed and pointed to Seregil.

"What was that all about?" asked Beka.

"It's a love charm," Seregil explained. "He told her that he doesn't really need one of those."

The girl gave some teasing answer, arching a brow coyly in Seregil's direction, then passed the bracelet through her hand again. The beads disappeared, replaced by a dangling wooden bird carved from pale wood.

"That's more like it," Alec said. "This one warns if someone's having evil thoughts about me."

"Perhaps I should get one of those before I face the Iia'sidra again," Seregil murmured.

"What's this?" Beka asked, noticing what appeared to be a polished cherry pit hanging from a beaded thread in Seregil's hair.

"It's supposed to keep lies from my dreams."

Alec exchanged an odd look with his friend, and Beka felt a twinge of envy. There were secrets between these two she knew she'd never share, just as there were between Seregil and her father. Not for the first time, she wished regretfully that Nysander had lived long enough to induct her as a Watcher, too.

Meanwhile, her riders had gotten into the spirit of things. With

Nyal's help, gifts and questions were still being exchanged and everyone was sporting a charm or two. Nikides was flirting with several women at once, and Braknil was playing grandfather to a circle of children, shaking his beard and pulling coppers from their ears.

"It won't all be this easy, will it?" Beka said, watching one of the village elders present Klia with a necklace.

Seregil sighed. "No, it won't."