Traitor's Moon

16 AN EVENING'S ENTERTAINMENT

Thero kept to his bed through the next day. Having been bitten himself, Alec couldn't share Seregil's amused attitude and was happy enough to keep Thero's secret. He was thankful when Klia decided that he was of more use wandering at large than at the Iia'sidra. Aurenfaie deliberation was conducted at a glacial pace, every issue seemingly tied to centuries of history and precedent. Except for occasional visits to stay abreast of developments, he found other ways to occupy himself.

As a result, he saw little of Seregil during the day, and the evenings were taken up by a seemingly endless number of banquets with clans major and minor, each fraught with unspoken undercurrents of influence and will.

When they finally did reach their room again, sometimes only a few hours before dawn, Seregil either fell asleep immediately or disappeared up to the colos to pace in the dark. Alec had seen enough already to know the rejection Seregil faced each day. In public, all but a few avowed friends kept their distance. Members of the Haman clan made no secret of their animosity. As always, however, Seregil preferred to battle his demons alone. Alec's love might be welcome; his concern was not. Adzriel noted her brother's withdrawal

one night during a visit with Klia, and Alec's muted pain. Putting an arm about his shoulders, she hugged him and whispered, "The bond is there, tali. For now, let it be enough. When he's ready he will come to you."

Alec had no choice but to heed her advice. Fortunately, he had work of his own to do. As he became more familiar with his surroundings, he went more often alone and soon formed a few alliances of his own—and among the class he'd always been most at home with.

While the Iia'sidra and influential clan members spent their days in solemn debate, the lesser members of the various households frequented the city's makeshift taverns and gaming houses. Alec's bow was as good as a letter of introduction in such company. Unlike Seregil, most Aurenfaie were consummate archers and loved to argue makes and weights as much as any northland hunter. Some favored longbows; others carried gracefully reflexed masterpieces of wood and horn. But none had seen anything quite like his Black Radly, and curiosity almost always led to friendly shooting contests.

Alec had fashioned a few shatta from Skalan coins, and these were much sought after, but he generally won more than he lost and he soon had a respectable collection dangling from his quiver strap.

Such pastimes bore other fruit, giving him access to that most useful of resources, the careless chatter servants exchange out of their masters' hearing. Gossip was gold to any spy, and Alec quietly took note. In this way, he learned that the Khatme khirnari, Lhaar a Iriel, had taken an interest in Klia's occasional evening rides with the young Silmai horseman, Taanil i Khormai. Alec even managed to sow a few rumors about that himself, though the truth was that Klia found the man something of a bore.

Alec also picked up reliable rumors that the khirnari of several key minor clans supposedly aligned with friendly Datsia had been seen visiting Ra'basi tupa under cover of night.

Perhaps his most important discovery, however, was that the khirnari of Lhapnos had quarreled with his supposed ally, Nazien i Hari, over support for Skala, and that several of the Haman's own people had taken the Lhapnosan's side. Principal among the dissenters was Alec's nemesis, Emiel i Moranthi.

"This is a new development," Lord Torsin remarked as Alec made his nightly report to Klia.

The princess gave Alec a wink. "You see, my lord? I told you he'd earn his keep."

Their tenth night in Sarikali brought a welcome respite. For the first time since their arrival they had no outside obligations, and Klia sent word for the evening meal to be a simple, communal affair in the main hall.

Alec was in the stable yard passing the time with some of Braknil's men when Seregil returned from the Iia'sidra alone.

"Had a good day, did you, my lord?" Minal called out.

"Not especially," Seregil snapped, not slowing as he disappeared into the house.

With an inward sigh, Alec followed him up to their chamber.

"Aura's Fingers, I was never meant to be a diplomat!" Seregil burst out as soon as they were alone. A button flew across the room as he yanked off his coat. He flung it into a corner and the sweat-soaked shirt beneath quickly followed. Grabbing the ewer from the wash-stand, he stalked out onto the balcony and emptied it over his head.

"You might have been a bit more pleasant to poor Minal," Alec chided, leaning against the doorframe. "He thinks a lot of you, you know."

Ignoring him, Seregil slicked the water from his eyes and pushed past him into the room. "No matter what Klia or Torsin says, someone manages to twist it around into a threat. 'We need iron. 'Oh, no, you want to colonize the Asheks! 'Let us use a northern port. 'You would steal Ra'basi's trade routes?

"Ulan i Sathil is the worst, though he seldom speaks. Oh, no! He just sits there, smiling as if he agrees with everything we say. Then, with a single well-chosen comment, he throws everyone into an uproar again and sits back to watch the fun. Later, you see him gathering the uncertain ones around him, whispering and wagging his finger. Bilairy's Balls, the man's smooth. I wish to hell he was on our side."

"What can you do?"

Seregil snorted. "If it were up to me, I'd challenge the whole damn lot of them to a horse race and settle the matter! It's been done before, you know. What are you laughing at?"

"You. You're raving. And dripping." Alec tossed him a cloth from the washstand.

Seregil gave him an apologetic grin as he toweled off. "And how did you do today? Anything new?"

"No. It seems I've gleaned all I can among the friendlier folk, and

I still haven't found a way to wiggle in among the Haman or Khatme." He decided not to share how often his presence had drawn challenging stares and whispers of «garshil» in certain quarters. "In Rhiminee, all I had to do was change clothes and blend into the crowd. Here they mark me as outlander and guard their words. I think it's time I did a little nightrunning."

"I've broached the subject to Klia but she says to wait, honorable woman that she is. Be patient, tali."

"You counseling patience? That's a first!"

"Only because I don't see any other choice just now," Seregil admitted. "At least we have a night off. However shall we pass the time?"

Most of the others were already seated by the time they came downstairs for supper. Long tables had been set up, Skalan style, in the main hall, and Beka waved them over to seats at the end of Klia's table.

"I wondered where she'd gotten off to all day," Seregil muttered, seeing Nyal at her side.

"Behave yourself," Alec warned.

"You can thank your captain for the fine desserts and cheese we're having tonight," Nyal announced as they sat down.

"Me?" Beka laughed. "He got word yesterday of a trader's caravan coming in from Datsia. We met it outside the city and haggled the best pickings out of them before anyone else was the wiser. You've never tasted such honey, Alec!"

"I thought you looked like you'd found something sweet," Seregil remarked blandly.

Alec used Thero's fortuitous arrival to mask the kick he dealt him under the table.

Klia stood and raised her wine cup, as if they were all comrades in a plain soldier's mess. "We've no priests among us, so I'll do the honors. By Sakor's Flame and Illior's Light. May they smile on our endeavors here." Turning, she sprinkled a few drops on the floor as a libation, then took a long drink. The others did the same.

"What's the word at the Iia'sidra, Commander?" Zir called from the next table. "Should we keep our packs tight, or settle in?"

Klia grimaced. "Given our reception so far, Corporal, I'd say you might as well get comfortable. Time seems to mean a great deal less to the 'faie than to us." She paused, saluting Seregil and Alec with her cup. "Present company excepted, of course."

Seregil returned the salute with an ironic chuckle. "If I ever had any Aurenfaie patience, I've long since lost it."

The windows and doors had been thrown open to let in the soft breeze; evening birdsong provided the meal's music as the shadows crept slowly across the floor. The only discordant notes were Torsin's occasional fits of coughing.

"He's getting worse," Thero murmured, watching the envoy dab at his lips with a stained napkin. "He won't admit it, of course— claims it's the climate here."

"Could it be that fever you had?" Beka asked.

Thero looked blank for an instant, then shook his head. "No, not that. I can see a darkness hovering about his chest."

"Will he survive the negotiations?" asked Alec, gazing over at the old man with concern.

"By the Light, the last thing we need is him dying in the midst of all this," muttered Seregil.

"Why wouldn't he let his niece come in his place?" Beka whispered. "Lady Melessandra knows as much of the 'faie as he does."

"This is the crowning achievement of a long and distinguished career," Seregil replied. "I suppose he couldn't bear not to see it through to its conclusion."

As the meal ended Klia wandered down to their end of the table. "We've been given the luxury of doing nothing tonight, my friends. Kheeta i Branin says the colos offers a pleasant view of the sunset. Anyone care to join us?"

"We'll make an Aurenfaie of you yet, my lady," Seregil said, rising to accompany her.

"Good. You and Alec can be our minstrels for the evening."

"If you will excuse me, my lady, I must retire early," Torsin said, still seated.

Klia laid a hand on the old man's shoulder. "Of course. Rest well, my friend."

Servants carried wine, cakes, and cushions up to the colos. Seregil made a quick detour to their room for his harp. By the time he joined the others, they'd settled in to enjoy the cool of the evening. The lingering green glow of sunset was fading quickly on the western horizon. To the east, a ruddy full moon was already rising over the city.

He and Alec were laughingly given the place of honor across from Klia. Beka and Nyal sprawled on the floor near the door, their backs to the wall.

A sudden lump rose in Seregil's throat as he struck the first notes

of "Softly Across the Water"; from where he sat he could see the colos on Adzriel's house, where he'd played for his family on so many evenings like this. Before he could halt or falter, Alec took up the melody, catching his eye with a small, questioning lift of an eyebrow. Fighting off the unexpected rush of sadness, Seregil focused all his attention on the intricate fingering of the song and came in with harmony on the refrain with the others, letting their voices cover any lingering unsteadiness in his own.

It still amused Alec to find himself consorting with royalty. Not so long ago he'd thought it a treat to sit next to a smoking hearth in some filthy tavern, back in the days when the 'faie were still, creatures of legend rather than his own kin.

Seregil cheered up as the evening wore on, and the two of them acquitted themselves admirably as minstrels. When their throats went dry, Thero took over with a pretty collection of illusions he'd picked up in his travels with Magyana.

"The wine's run low," Kheeta announced at last.

"I'll lend a hand," Alec offered, wishing his bladder felt as light as his head. He and Kheeta gathered the empty jugs and made their way downstairs toward the servant's stair at the end of the second-floor corridor. This took them past Torsin's chamber, and Alec saw that the door was slightly ajar. The room beyond was dark. Poor old fellow, he thought, gently pulling the latch shut. He must have been sicker than he let on to retire this early.

"She's a great lady, your princess," Kheeta observed warmly as they headed down to the kitchen. He'd had his share of the wine and was slurring his words a little. "It's sad…"

"What's sad?"

"That the 'faie blood has run so thin in her," the Bokthersan replied with a sigh. "You don't understand yet how fortunate you are, being ya'shel. Just you wait a few hundred years."

The cooks had propped the kitchen door open to catch the breeze from the yard. Passing it, Alec caught sight of a cloaked figure hurrying out the postern gate. Something in the sloped set of the man's shoulders made him pause; a familiar, muffled cough made him thrust the still empty wine jugs into his companion's arms and follow.

"Where are you going?" Kheeta called after him.

"I need some air." Alec sprinted across the yard before the other man could question him.

The guards by the watch fire took no more notice of him than they had of Torsin. Why worry about one of their own going out when it was folk creeping in they were set to guard against? Outside the gate Alec paused, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. A cough nearby guided him to the left.

He'd acted on pure instinct until now, but suddenly he felt rather foolish ghosting along after Klia's most trusted adviser as if he were a Plenimaran spy. What was he going to tell her when he got back, or say to Torsin if the old man caught him tailing along behind him? As if in answer, a large owl—the first he'd seen since they'd left Akhendi—glided past, flying in the same direction Torsin had gone.

I can claim I had an omen, he thought.

Ill or not, Torsin moved as if he had a purpose more serious than taking the night air. The taverns were busier than ever, and music seemed to come from all directions. Aurenfaie were out in pairs and groups, enjoying the night. He stopped now and then to exchange a greeting with some person he knew but didn't linger to chat.

Leaving Bokthersa tupa, he led Alec down a succession of streets that took them past boundary markers of Akhendi and Haman. When he slowed at last, Alec's heart sank. This street was marked with the moon symbol of Khatme. Thankfully, there were fewer folk abroad here, but Alec was careful to keep to the shadows of doorways and alleys. He wasn't nightrunning, he told himself, hoping he never had to justify that to anyone else. He was just keeping an eye on an ailing old man.

Torsin stopped at an imposing house Alec guessed rightly to be the house of Lhaar a Iriel. A brief slice of candle glow from inside illuminated the old man's face as he entered, and Alec was close enough to read what looked like resignation on Torsin's haggard features.

There were no obvious ways into the house, even for Alec. The well-guarded villas of Rhiminee possessed a comforting symmetry of design by comparison. There might be walls to climb, dogs to avoid or charm his way past, but you could almost always find some aperture to wiggle through if you knew your business. Here there were only barred doors and windows out of reach.

He was further stymied by the fact that this building, whatever it was, abutted several others, all of which presented equally blank faces. He was about to give up when he caught the sound of several voices somewhere overhead.

Looking up, he made out the dark jut of a balcony. The voices

were too soft for him to catch the gist of the conversation, but the erratic punctuation of Torsin's coughing left no doubt in Alec's mind that he'd found his man again.

There were at least two others with him, a man and a woman— Lhaar a Iriel herself, perhaps.

The conference did not last long. The unseen conspirators soon disappeared back into the house. Alec waited a few minutes to see if they'd return, then headed back to the front of the building to wait.

Torsin emerged a few minutes later, but not alone. A man walked with him for several minutes before turning in the opposite direction.

Alec was still trying to decide which one to follow when a familiar shape emerged from the shadows beside him.

"Seregil?"

"You take Torsin; I'll follow this other fellow. Watch out for Khatme along the way. You won't be welcome here." With that, Seregil disappeared as quickly as he'd come.

Torsin led Alec straight back to their own door, the front one this time. After exchanging a few words with the sentries, he went inside.

Looking up at the colos, Alec saw lights still burning there. Not knowing what excuses had been made for his absence or Seregil's, he went in through the stable yard and up the back stair. Halfway up, he heard Klia's voice, and Torsin's.

"I thought you'd turned in already," Klia said.

"A short walk in the night air helps me sleep," Torsin replied. No mention of where he'd been.

Alec waited until he heard two doors close, then continued on to his chamber and settled in to wait for Seregil so they could get their stories straight. That seemed a safe enough plan, far more attractive than being the one to tell Klia that her trusted minister has just been consorting with their opposition behind her back.

Seregil's man was not wearing a sen'gai, but he guessed from the cut of his tunic that he was from one of the eastern clans. He was soon proven right. The man led him to the house of Ulan i Sathil.

Lurking in a nearby doorway, Seregil pondered the possible connections. Intractable Khatme and worldly Viresse; the two clans were divided as much by their ideology as they were by the spur of mountains that lay between their ancestral lands. The only uniting factor he knew of was their opposition to the Skalan treaty.

The greater question was whether Torsin knew of the connection.

He returned to the guest house to find the colos dark, the music stilled. Entering by the back gate, he found Korandor and Nikides on guard duty.

"Has anyone else come or gone this way tonight, Corporal?" he asked.

"Just Lord Torsin, my lord," Nikides replied. "He left a while back and we haven't seen him since."

"I thought he'd turned in for the night."

"Couldn't sleep, he said. Now, I say night air's the worst thing for weak lungs, but there's no telling these nobles anything—begging your pardon, my lord."

Seregil gave the man a knowing wink and continued on as if he'd just been out on a constitutional of his own.

He found Alec pacing impatiently in their room, every lamp blazing. Shadows still clung in the corners, resisting his superstitious efforts to banish them.

"Seems they can't carry on without us." Seregil grinned, pointing up toward the abandoned colos.

"Klia came down about half an hour ago," Alec told him, coming to a rest in the center of the room. "What did they say when I didn't come back?"

"Kheeta had some story about you feeling your wine, but he slipped me the nod. What happened?"

Alec shrugged. "Luck in the shadows, if you can call it that. I just happened to be there when Torsin left. He came straight back here from Khatme tupa after I saw you. Klia met him in the passage as he came up."

"Did she know where he'd been?"

"I couldn't tell. What about your man?"

"Care to guess?"

"Viresse?"

"Smart boy. Too bad we don't know what was said either place."

"Then you didn't learn anything, either." Alec sank into a chair by the hearth. "What do you suppose Torsin was up to?"

"The queen's business, I hope," Seregil replied doubtfully, sprawling in the chair opposite.

"Do we tell Klia?"

Seregil closed his eyes and massaged the lids. "That's the real question, isn't it? I doubt that spying on our own people was quite what she had in mind when she invited us along.". "Maybe not, but she did say she was worried that he might be too sympathetic to Viresse. This proves it."

"It proves nothing, except that he and someone with connections to Ulan i Sathil met at the house of Lhaar a Iriel."

"So, what do we do?»

Seregil shrugged. "Bide our time a little longer, and keep our eyes open."