Nightrunners 03 - Traitor's Moon (10 page)

"Magic is more common there, as well," Thero added with mock severity. "You'd all better mind your manners; the 'pretty young maids' might answer an insult with more than clever words."

A few of the riders exchanged worried looks at this.

"A strange land with strange folk in it," Braknil mused around his pipe stem. "As I hear it, they're handy with their swords and bows, too. But you only have to look at Lord Seregil to see the truth in that. Or did, anyway. And perhaps it's what makes you such a fine archer, eh, Alec?"

"More like having an empty belly if I didn't shoot true."

Someone brought out dice, and Alec joined in a friendly game. The

soldiers were a gregarious lot and even managed to pull Thero into the circle despite his initial reticence. There was much joking about the wisdom of dicing with a wizard, but Thero managed to allay their worries by losing every toss. Eventually people began to wander off to find their beds for the night—some alone, some in pairs.

Alec felt a pang of envy as Steb slipped an arm around Mirn on their way below. Seregil had been distracted by other concerns lately, and the lack of privacy here hadn't helped matters. Stretching out on the hatch cover, he resigned himself to a few more days of abstinence.

To his surprise, Thero joined him. Crossing his arms behind his head, the wizard hummed a few bars of the song, then said, "I've been watching Seregil. He seems apprehensive about returning to Aurenen."

"There are plenty of folks who won't welcome him."

"I felt the same, going back to the Oreska House that day we all returned from Plenimar," Thero said softly. "Nysander saw to it that my name was cleared before he left that last time, but there'll always be doubts in some people's minds as to how much my—" He paused, as if the words were as distasteful as the memory. "How much my affair with Ylinestra had to do with the attack on the Oreska House that night. Even I'll never be certain."

"Better to look forward than back, I guess."

"I suppose so."

They fell silent again, two young men gazing into the infinite mystery of the night sky.

The next few days passed quietly enough. Too quietly, in fact. Bored and at loose ends, Alec found himself missing their lost solitude, just as Seregil had predicted.

Quarters belowdecks were too close for Seregil's taste, the air too pungent with the smell of oil and horses. Curtained alcoves had been hastily knocked together for the passengers of rank, but these afforded little more than the illusion of privacy. Taking advantage of the fair weather, he and Alec claimed a sheltered section of deck beneath the overhang of the forward castle. It was comfortable enough there—for sleeping.

Not one to stand on rank, Klia lolled about with the rest of them, sharing tales of the war.

"I don't suppose you two would consider joining the Horse Guard?" she asked, giving Seregil and Alec a pointed look as they

sat in the shade of the sail with There and Braknil. "Men with your talents are in short supply these days. I could use you."

"I never expected it to last this long," Alec said.

"Something's changed since the new Overlord took over," Klia said, shaking her head. "His father kept the treaties."

"This one's been fed on tales of lost glories," Braknil said around the stem of his pipe.

"By his uncle Mardus, no doubt," Seregil agreed. "Still, it was bound to happen."

"What makes you say that?" asked Thero.

He shrugged. "Peace follows war. War follows peace. Necromancy is suppressed, only to grow in secret, until it bursts like a boil. Some things are eternal, like the pattern of the tides."

"Then you don't think a lasting peace can ever be achieved?"

"It depends on your point of view. This war will end, and maybe there'll be peace through Klia's lifetime, perhaps even that of her children. But wizards and Aurenfaie live long enough to see that sooner or later it all starts again—the same old pull and haul of greed, need, power, and pride."

"It's like a great wheel, always turning, or the changes of the moon," mused Braknil. "No matter what things look like today, change is always coming, for good or ill. When I was a lad, new to the regiment, my old sergeant used to ask us if we'd rather live a short time in peace or a long time in war."

"What did you say?" asked Seregil.

"Well now, as I recall I always wanted more choices than that. Thank the Flame, I think I got 'em. But it's true what you said, though I often forget it. You and these two young fellows will see more turns of that wheel than any of us. Someday when you look in the mirror and see as much grey in your hair as I've got, drink a pint to my dusty bones, won't you?"

"I forget sometimes, too," Klia murmured, and Alec saw her study Seregil's face, and then his own, an indefinable expression in her eyes that was neither sadness nor envy. "I'll do well to keep it in mind once we get to Aurenen, won't I? I understand negotiating with them is something of a challenge."

Seregil laughed softly to himself. "Well, their concept of hurrying will certainly be different than ours."

Alec was pacing the deck their third afternoon out when a lookout suddenly shouted down, "Plenimaran ship to the southeast, Captain!'

Seregil was up on the aft castle with Klia and Captain Farren, and Alec hurried up to join them. Everyone was scanning the horizon. Shading his eyes, Alec squinted across the water and found an ominous shape against the late-afternoon glare.

"I see her," Captain Farren said. "She's too far off yet to tell if she's spotted us."

"Is it the Plenimarans?" Thero asked, joining them at the rail.

"Time to earn your keep," Klia told him. "Can you keep them from seeing us?"

Thero thought a moment, then plucked a loose thread from his sleeve and held it up. Alec recognized the trick; he was testing the wind's direction.

Satisfied, Thero raised both hands in the direction of the enemy vessel and chanted in a high, faint voice. Drawing a wand of polished crystal from the folds of his coat, he flung it toward the distant ship. Glittering like an icicle, it spun end over end and disappeared below the grey-green waves. Tendrils of mist immediately curled up where it fell.

Thero snapped his fingers; the wand sprang out of the water and into his hands like a live thing, trailing a thick rope of mist in its wake. Pulled by the wizard's spell, heavy fog spread with supernatural speed into a thick bank that shielded their vessel from sight.

"Unless they have a wizard of their own aboard, they'll think we're just a bit of weather," he said, drying the wand with the edge of his cloak.

"But we can't see them, either," said the captain.

"I can," Thero replied. "I'll keep watch."

The ruse worked. Within half an hour Thero reported that the Plenimaran ship had disappeared over the horizon. He ended the spell and the fog bank fell behind them like a hank of wool torn from a distaff.

The sailors on deck let out a cheer, and Klia gave Thero an approving salute that brought a flush to the young wizard's cheeks.

"That's as nice a bit of magic as I've ever seen," Farren called from the stern.

From across the deck, Alec saw Seregil stroll over to the wizard. He was too far away to hear what passed between them, but Thero was smiling when they parted.

Shouts of landfall woke Alec at dawn the next day.

"Aurenen already?" he said, scrambling from beneath the blankets. Seregil sat up and rubbed his eyes, then rose to join the crowd already gathered at the port rail. They could just make out a distant line of low islands on the western horizon.

"Those are the
Ea'malies,
the 'Old Turtlebacks,' " Seregil said, stifling a yawn.

Klia eyed the close-lying islands distrustfully. "A likely place for an ambush."

"I've sent up extra lookouts," Farren assured her. "We should reach Big Turtle by this afternoon. We'll put in there for fresh water, then it's just another day to Gedre."

This day seemed longer to Alec than all the rest put together. Bows slung ready over their shoulders, he and Seregil took their turn on watch, scanning the surrounding water. In spite of Klia's concerns, however, they reached the outlying islands without incident and set a course toward the largest.

Sitting atop the forecastle with Thero and Seregil, Alec studied the islands for signs of life. But they were arid, little more than domed masses of pale, sun-baked stone scattered over with patches of sparse vegetation.

"I thought you said Aurenen was green," said Thero, clearly less than impressed.

"This isn't Aurenen," Seregil explained. "No one claims them, really, except sailors and smugglers. Gedre is dry, too, as you'll soon see. The winds sweep up from the southwest across the Gathwayd Ocean and drop their rain as they go over the mountains. Across the Asheks the green will hurt your eyes."

"Sarikali," Thero murmured. "What do you remember of it?"

Seregil leaned his arms on the rail. Though his gaze was on the passing islands, Alec could tell that his friend was seeing another place and time.

"It's a strange, beautiful place. I used to hear music there, just coming out of the air. When it was over I couldn't remember the tunes. Sometimes people hear voices, too."

"Ghosts?" asked Alec.

Seregil shrugged. "We call them
Bash 'wax,
the Ancients. Those who claim to have seen them always describe them as tall, with black hair and eyes, and skin the color of strong tea."

"I've heard there are dragons there, too," said Thero.

"Just fingerlings, mostly, but they're common as lizards. The

larger ones keep to the mountains. A lucky thing, too. They can be dangerous."

"Is it true that they're magical from the start, but that they don't develop speech and intelligence until they're quite large?"

"That's right, which means you're more likely to be killed by one the size of a hound than those bigger than houses. Only a few of the fingerlings survive and they move up into the mountains as they grow. If you do happen to meet one of any size, always treat it with respect."

"Then there's the
khtir'bai
—" Alec began, but was interrupted by another warning cry from the lookout.

"Enemy vessels off the port bow!"

Jumping to their feet, they spotted two sets of striped sails rounding a point of land no more than a mile ahead. Alec's hands tightened around his bow; the sight of those sails brought back ugly memories.

"Something tells me they knew we were coming," Seregil muttered.

"Are they showing the battle flag?" Farren called up to the lookout.

"No, Captain, but they've got fires lit."

"Run up the battle standards!"

Sleek and fast as lion hounds, the great ships cleared the point and wheeled in their direction. Plumes of black smoke trailed in their wakes.

"Too late for tricks," said Thero, halfway to the castle ladder already.

"At least we outnumber them," said Alec.

Seregil shook his head. "They're bigger, faster, and more heavily armed than our ships. And probably crawling with marines."

"Marines?" Alec's mouth set in a hard line. Dodging through the throng of sailors and soldiers scrambling to their posts, he led the way to the port rail and joined the line of archers already positioned.

Sailors struck the mizzen, slowing the
Zyria
to allow the other ships to engage the enemy first. As the
Wolf sailed
past, Alec saw Beka among those hurrying around the deck with weapons and jars of Benshal Fire. Busy shouting orders, she didn't see the luck sign he made in her direction.

The
Wolf was
the first to attack, striking one of the enemy vessels amidships with canisters of Benshal Fire. Oily smoke billowed up, but the ship held its course and sent a volley of arrows in return as it swept past to bear down on the
Zyria.

On Alec's left, Minal shifted nervously. "We're in for it now."

"Archers at the ready!" Klia shouted from the forecastle deck. "Shoot at will!"

Alec chose a man on the foredeck of the enemy vessel, drew the Black Radly's bowstring to his ear, and released the first shaft. Not pausing to see if it struck home, he drew one arrow after another and sent them speeding across the water. Beside him, Seregil and the archers of Urgazhi Turma did the same, each setting their own grim rhythm as the great ship closed in on them.

Enemy shafts were flying around their ears now, thudding into the deck and the wooden shields mounted on the rail. The hissing song of string and shaft was soon joined by the first cries of the wounded.

As the ship loomed ever closer, Alec spotted what appeared to be the bronze heads of some sort of monster mounted below her forecastle rail. The placement seemed too strategic to be mere decoration, but he couldn't imagine what they could be.

He was about to point them out to the others when Seregil let out a startled curse and staggered back, struck in the right shoulder by a blue-fletched Plenimaran arrow.

"How bad?" Alec demanded, pulling him to shelter against the rail.