Traitor's Moon

27 MORE GHOSTS

Seregil woke before daybreak on the final day of mourning, once again trying to grasp a dream before it faded. It had started out with the same familiar images. This time, however, he seemed to recall the rhui'auros, Lhial, standing in the corner of the room, trying to tell him something very important in a voice too low to make out over the crackling of the flames.

There was no panic this time, but he knew where he had to go; he could feel the pull of the place like a hook under his breastbone. With a sigh, he slipped out of bed, wondering if he could make it back before the day's visitors began to arrive.

Someone was singing a dawn song from an upper window of the Nha'mahat as Seregil approached on horseback. Flocks of tiny dragons whirled around the building, their drab bodies turned to dusky gold by the first rays of morning.

"Maros Aura Elustri chyptir," he whispered, not sure what the reason for the prayer was, except that he suddenly felt grateful for the sight before him and the fact that he was here in this blessed place to witness it.

Donning a mask at the door, he followed a guide into the main chamber. A few dreamers

already lay there. "I'd like to speak with Lhial, if I may," Seregil told the girl.

"Lhial is dead," she replied.

"Dead?" he gasped. "When? How?"

"Almost forty years ago. It was a wasting illness, I think."

The floor seemed to shift subtly under Seregil's feet. "I see. May I use a dhima?"

She prepared a firepot for him and gave him a handful of the dreaming herb. He accepted these with a respectful bow and hurried down to the cavern below. Choosing one of the little huts at random, he stripped and crawled under the door flap, welcoming the steamy closeness this time. Settled on the rush matting, he threw the herbs onto the coals and waved a hand to mix the smoke and steam.

Taking deep, rhythmic breaths, he slowly relaxed as the mildly narcotic smoke took hold.

His first thought was the realization that he felt no fear, and had felt none from the moment he'd impulsively decided to come here. He was not choking. He'd come here of his own volition, without fear or resentment.

Seregil closed his eyes, pondering this as sweat collected inside the mask, tickling his nose. The smoke from the herbs seared his lungs, making him light-headed, but he welcomed the sensations and waited.

"You begin to understand, son of Korit," a familiar voice said.

Opening his eyes, Seregil found himself sitting on sun-washed stone overlooking the dragon pool in the mountains of Akhendi fai'thast. Lhial sat beside him, his eyes golden again.

"I'm not certain I do, Honored One," Seregil admitted, shivering a little as a chill mountain breeze blew across his bare skin.

The rhui'auros picked up a pebble and threw it into the pool below. Seregil followed it with his eyes, then looked back to find Nysander sitting there in Lhial's place. Somehow, the transformation didn't surprise him. Instead, he felt a rush of the same inexplicable gratitude the sight of the dragonling swarm had given him.

Nysander sat cross-legged, looking out over the water, his plain face serene. He wore one of his threadbare old coats, and the toes of his worn boots were wet, as if he'd been walking through dew-laden grass. The curling white hair that edged his bald pate stirred in the breeze, and Seregil could see a smudge of ink in his close-cropped beard. Not once since Nysander's death had Seregil dreamed of Ms old friend. When he remembered him waking, no matter how he

tried, the sight of Nysander's bloody, dead face rose in his mind's eye to obscure any happier memory.

He looked away quickly, bracing for the vision to shift. A gentle hand cupped his chin, turning him back to face the wizard.

"Open your eyes, Seregil."

He did, and nearly wept with relief to find Nysander, unchanged.

"You have a stubborn mind sometimes, dear boy," he said, patting Seregil's cheek. "You can track a black cat on a moonless night, yet so much of your own heart is still unknown to you. You must pay better attention."

Nysander took his hand away, and Seregil saw that the wizard now held one of the mysterious glass orbs. With a careless flick of his wrist, he tossed it up into the air. It glittered a moment in the sunlight, then fell to shatter on the rocks at their feet. For one terrible instant Seregil was back on the windswept Plenimaran ledges, blood—Nysander's blood—dripping from his ruined blade. Just as quickly, the image was gone.

"Didn't it make a lovely sound?" the wizard asked, smiling down at the tiny shards.

Seregil blinked back tears, trying to make sense of what he was being shown. "The rhui'auros said I have to keep them."

But Nysander was gone, and Lhial sat in his place again, shaking his head. "I said they were yours, son of Korit. But you know that. You knew it before you ever came to me."

"No, I don't!" Seregil cried, but with less conviction now. "What am I supposed to do?"

The wind blew colder. He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, trying to warm himself. He felt movement next to him and saw that Lhial had been replaced this time by a young dragon the size of a bull. Its eyes were gold, and kind.

"You are a child of Aura, little brother, a child of Illior. The next step in your dance is at hand. Carry only what you need," the dragon told him, speaking with Lhial's voice. With that, it spread leathery wings with a sound like summer thunder and rose to blot out the sun.

Seregil was drowned in darkness. The hot, acrid atmosphere of the dhima closed around him like a fist. Fighting for breath, he found the door flap and scrambled out, then collapsed gasping on the warm, rough stone outside.

There was something beneath his left hand. Even without the faint light filtering down to him from the main cavern, he knew what it was; recognized the curve of cool, slightly rough glass

under his fingers. Swaying to his feet, he weighed the sphere on his palm for a moment; it was heavy, too heavy for something no bigger than a raven's egg. It was precious, loathsome; his to do with as he wished.

Carry only what you need.

With sudden vehemence, he flung it against the far wall. There were no visions this time, just the sharp, satisfying chink of breaking glass.

The sun was still low over the eastern horizon when he emerged from the Nha'mahat. His body hurt and he was as tired as if he really had journeyed to the mountains and back on foot.

Back at the guest house, he found Alec still abed, a pillow over his head. He woke as Seregil closed the door, emerging sleep-tousled and yawning.

"There you are," he said, raising himself on one elbow. "Out early again? Where'd you go this time?"

No words would come. Seregil sat down on the edge of the bed and ruffled Alec's tangled hair. "Just wandering," he said at last. "Come on. We've got a busy day ahead of us."

The Haman were among the last to pay their respects to Klia. Warned of Nazien i Hari's arrival, Seregil tactfully withdrew with Alec to a side chamber, where they could watch the proceedings from behind the door.

The khirnari was accompanied by ten of his clan, including Emiel i Moranthi.

"Suppose Nazien knows where his nephew was last night?" whispered Alec.

Seregil found himself hoping in spite of himself that Nazien did not. Proud and arrogant the Haman might be, but Klia had clearly taken a liking to the man and it seemed to be reciprocated.

Nazien and the others laid their little cedar bundles on the brazier and bowed to Klia.

While Nazien chatted quietly with her, Seregil watched his nephew's face for some betraying expression. Emiel merely looked distant, and a bit bored.

When the initial greetings had been dispensed with, Klia leaned forward and regarded the old man earnestly. "Tell me, Khirnari, will

the Iia'sidra vote soon on my petition? I long for my homeland, and to do proper honors at the grave of my mother."

"It is time," Nazien agreed. "You have been most patient, though I wonder if you will be pleased with the outcome."

"Then you think it will fail?"

Nazien spread his hands "I cannot speak for all the others. For myself, regardless of my feelings toward your kinsman, the Exile, I wish you to know that I have never supported the stringent measures the Edict of Separation have forced on us."

Standing behind his uncle, Emiel said nothing, but Seregil thought he saw him tense.

"I'm an old man, and perhaps a wishful one," Nazien went on. "Now and then I almost think I see a glimpse of my friend Corruth in you, my lady, as I last saw him. You are like him in many ways: patient, forthright, and quick of wit. I think perhaps you possess his stubbornness, as well."

"How strange," Klia said softly. "Corruth i Glamien is a figure of legend to me. His body, before it was destroyed, was a preserved relic of ancient days. Yet to you he will always be the friend of your youth, unchanged, as Seregil is to me. What is it like, I wonder, to be 'faie or wizard, to live long enough to span such memories? My life is so brief in comparison, yet it doesn't seem so to me."

"Because you use it well," Nazien replied. "But I fear your time in Sarikali grows short and I fear we may not meet again. I would be most honored if you would hunt with me before you depart."

"The honor would be mine," Klia replied warmly. "Viresse is hosting a great gathering tomorrow night; perhaps the following morning?"

"As you like, Klia a Idrilain."

"Perhaps you should warn her that we Haman take the hunt most seriously," Emiel put in pleasantly. "Tradition dictates that the feast be made up of whatever is caught that day. There's always the chance you and your people will have to sup on bread and turab with the rest of us."

"You're fortunate in my choice of companions, then, Emiel i Moranthi," Klia laughed. "Alec i Amasa can probably supply us all with ample meat."

Seregil nudged Alec in the ribs as several Haman covered shocked looks. "Sounds like you're invited, at least."