Traitor's Moon

6 LEAVING HOME, GOING HOME

The following day was filled with final preparations for Klia's voyage. A steady stream of baggage carts and dispatch riders raised clouds of dust along the vineyard road all morning.

Alec went with Seregil and Klia down to the shipyard to inspect the three vessels anchored there. Dressed in plain riding clothes and mounted on scrub horses, they passed unnoticed through the waterfront crowds and onto a long quay where a high-prowed carrack was moored. Sailors swarmed over her like ants on a sweetmeat, wielding ropes and tools.

"This is the Zyria. She's a beauty, isn't she?" Klia said, leading them aboard. "And those two out there are our escorts, the Wolf and the Courser?

"They're huge!" Alec exclaimed.

Over a hundred feet long, each ship was easily twice as large as any he'd been on. Their aft castles rose like houses in the stern. The rudders behind were as high as an inn. Square-rigged with two masts and a bowsprit to carry the red sails, their bulwarks were lined with shields bearing the flame and crescent moon crest of Skala. These shields were bright with new paint and gilt work that did not quite hide the scars of recent battles.

The captain, a tall, white-haired man

named Farren, met them on deck wearing a naval tunic stained with pitch and salt.

"How goes the loading?" Klia asked, looking around with approval.

"Right on schedule, Commander," he replied, consulting a tally board at his belt. "The hold ramp for the horses needs a bit of work, but we'll have her ready for you by midnight."

"Each ship will carry a decuria of cavalry and their horses," Klia explained to Alec. "The soldiers will double as ship's archers if the need arises."

"Looks like you're prepared for the worst," Seregil remarked, peering into a large crate.

"What are those?" asked Alec. Inside were what looked like large pickle crocks sealed with wax.

"Benshal Fire," the captain told him. "As the name implies, it was the Plenimarans who discovered how to make it years ago. It's a nasty mix: black oil, pitch, sulfur, nitre, and the like. Launched from a ballista, it ignites on impact and sticks to whatever it hits. It burns even in water."

"I've seen it," Seregil said. "You have to use sand or vinegar to douse it."

"Or piss," added Farren. "Which is what those barrels under the aft platform are for. Nothing goes to waste in the Skalan navy. But we won't be looking for battle this time out, will we, Commander?"

Klia grinned. "We won't, but I can't vouch for the Plenimarans."

Excitement left a hollow void in Alec's belly as he and Seregil joined the others for a final supper in Skala that night. They were dressed once more as Skalan nobility and Klia arched an appreciative eyebrow. "You two look better than I do."

Seregil made her a courtly bow and sat down beside Thero. "Runcer's shown his usual foresight."

Opening their trunks the night before, they'd found the best of the garments they'd worn in Rhiminee: fine wool and velvet coats, soft linen, gleaming boots, doeskin breeches smooth as a maid's throat. Alec's coats were a bit tight through the shoulders now, but there was no time for tailoring.

"Will you be meeting the 'faie as Princess Klia or Commander Klia when we arrive in Gedre?" asked Alec, seeing that Klia was still in uniform.

"It's gowns and gloves for me once we get there, I'm afraid."

"Any news from Lord Torsin?" asked Beka, noting a stack of dispatches at Klia's elbow.

"Nothing new. Khatme and Lhapnos are as insular as ever, although he thinks he senses a hint of interest among the Haman. Silmai support is still strong. Datsia seems to be turning in our favor."

"What about the Viresse?" asked Thero.

Klia spread her hands. "Ulan i Sathil continues to hint that they and their allies in the east would just as soon trade with Plenimar as Skala."

"With the Plenimaran Overlord openly supporting the resurgence of necromancy?" Seregil shook his head. "They suffered more at the hands of the Plenimarans during the Great War than any other clan."

"The Viresse are pragmatists at heart, I fear." Klia turned to Alec. "How does it feel, knowing we set sail at dawn for the land of your ancestors?"

Alec toyed with a bit of bread. "It's hard to describe, my lady. Growing up, I didn't know I had any 'faie in me at all. It's still hard to comprehend. Besides, my mother was Hazadrielfaie. Any Aurenfaie I meet in the south will be distant relatives at best. I don't even know what clans my people came from."

"Perhaps the rhui'auros could divine something of your lineage," suggested Thero. "Couldn't they, Seregil?"

"It's worth looking into," Seregil replied with no great enthusiasm.

"Who are they?" asked Alec.

Thero shot Seregil a look of pure disbelief. "You never told him of, the rhui'auros?"

"Apparently not. I was only a child when I left, so I hadn't had much to do with them."

Alec tensed, wondering if anyone else noticed the edge of anger in his friend's voice. Here were more secrets.

"By the Light, they're the—the—" Thero waved a hand, at a loss for words and too caught up in his own enthusiasm to notice the cool reception he was getting from the one person among them who might have direct knowledge. "They stand at the very source of magic! Nysander and Magyana both spoke of them with reverence, Alec, a sect of wizard priests who live at Sarikali. The rhui'auros are similar to the oracles of Illior, aren't they, Seregil?"

"Mad, you mean?" Seregil looked down at the food he was not eating. "I'd say that's a fair assessment."

"What if they tell me I'm related to one of the unfriendly clans?" Alec asked, trying to draw Thero's attention.

The wizard paused. "That could create difficulties, I suppose."

"Indeed," mused Klia. "Perhaps you should be circumspect in your inquiries."

"I always am," Alec replied with a smile only a few at the table fully understood. "But how could the rhui'auros tell who my ancestors were?"

"They practice a very special sort of magic," Thero explained. "Only the rhui'auros are allowed to travel the inner roads of the soul."

"Like the truth knowers of the Oreska?"

"The Aurenfaie don't have that magic, exactly," Seregil interjected. "You'd do well to keep that in mind, Thero. The punishment for invading another's thoughts is severe."

"My skills in that direction are not particularly strong. As I was saying, the rhui'auros believe they can trace a person's khi, the soul thread that connects us all to Illior."

"Aura," Seregil corrected.

"Being a full half 'faie, Alec, yours should be strong," said Beka, following the conversation with interest.

"I'm not sure that makes any difference," said Thero. "I'm generations away from my 'faie ancestors, yet my abilities are equal to those of Nysander and the other old ones."

"Yes, but you're one of the few younger ones left who possess such power," Seregil. reminded him.

"If all wizards have some Aurenfaie blood, do they know which clans they're related to?" asked Beka.

"Sometimes," said Thero. "Magyana's father was an Aurenfaie trader who settled in Cirna. My line goes back to the Second Oreska at Ero, with generations of intermarried mixed-bloods. Nysander's teacher, Arkoniel, was from the same line.

"Speaking of rhui'auros, Seregil, have you thought of visiting them yourself? Perhaps they could discover why you have such trouble with magic. You've got the ability, if only you could master it."

"I've managed well enough without it."

Was it his imagination, Alec wondered, or had Seregil actually gone a bit pale?