Nightrunners 03 - Traitor's Moon (37 page)

"Ah, yes, your spies in the ranks. What do they say? Will the Iia'sidra give us what we ask?"

Phoria's mouth set in a harsh, unyielding line. "One way or another, we shall have what we need. I want you in Rhiminee, my brother."

Going to him, she took one of his large hands in hers and tugged a ring from his finger, the one set with a large black stone carved with a dragon swallowing its own tail. Smiling, she slipped it on the forefinger of her left hand. "Be ready, Kor. When this dragon comes back to you, it's time to go after another."

21

Rhui'auros

It won't take much acting to play the recovering invalid, will it?" Alec said as he helped Seregil dress the third morning after the beating. His friend's body showed a
 
shocking
 
array
 
of purple
 
and
 
green bruises where it wasn't bandaged, and he still wasn't eating much except broth and Nyal's infusions.

"The act will be to convince them that I
am
recovered." Seregil let out a strangled groan as he eased his arms into the sleeves of his coat. "Or to convince myself."

Seregil still refused to divulge what had really happened to him that night. The fact that he seemed in better spirits since the attack bothered Alec almost as much as his friend's stubborn silence on the matter.

No sooner do I rake a few old secrets out of him than he goes and takes on a load of new ones.

"I'll come with you today," he said. "It's almost gotten interesting. The khirnari of Silmai has been taking Klia's part openly, and she's convinced the Ra'basi are about to tumble our way. You missed the banquet with them last night; most cordial, and the Viresse noticeably absent. Do you think Nyal had a hand in that?"

"He claims not to have been asked his

opinion. It could be that Ra'basi is getting tired of being under Viresse's sway." Seregil limped to the small mirror over the washstand. Evidently satisfied with what he saw there, he stretched his arms tentatively and let out another pained gasp. "Oh, yes, I'm
much
better!" he muttered, grimacing at his white-faced reflection. "Help me downstairs, will you? I think I can manage after that."

The others were at breakfast in the hall. Klia sat poring over a stack of new dispatches.

"Feeling better?" she asked, glancing up.

"Much," Seregil lied. He eased into a chair next to Thero and accepted a cup of tea he had no intention of drinking. The wizard was frowning over a letter.

"From Magyana?" he asked.

"Yes." Thero passed it to him and Seregil skimmed the contents, holding it so Alec could see, too.

" 'The third of Klia's dispatches reached us here yesterday. Phoria said little, but her impatience is clear,' " Alec read aloud. " 'Surely some small concession can be coaxed from the Iia'sidra? otherwise, I fear she will recall you—' "

"Yes, we've already seen that," Torsin told him. "A small concession, she asks for. What else have we been laboring for all these weeks?"

Seregil saw the quick glance Alec shot the envoy and knew he was recalling the man's night visit to Khatme tupa.

"I get hints of the same threat from my honored sister," Klia growled, tossing aside the letter she'd been reading. "Let her come down and see what I'm up against. It's like trying to argue with trees!" She turned to Seregil with a grimace of frustration. "Tell me, my adviser, how to make your people hurry! Time's running short."

Seregil sighed. "Let Alec and I do what we're best at, my lady."

Klia shook her head. "Not yet. The risks are too great. There must be another way."

Seregil stared into the depths of his cup, wishing his head was clear enough to think of one.

The ride to the council chamber was a tense affair. Ignoring Seregil's muttered warnings, Alec helped him mount and dismount, claiming he looked faint. By the time Seregil was finally seated in

his place just behind Klia, he was pale and sweating, but seemed to recover a little once he'd gotten his wind back.

Alec scanned the faces around the circle. Reaching the Haman contingent, he stopped, a sudden knot of tension tightening his belly. Emiel i Moranthi was grinning openly at Seregil. Catching Alec's eye, he gave him a slight, sardonic nod.

"It was him, wasn't it?" Alec grated under his breath.

Seregil merely glanced at him as if he didn't know what Alec was talking about, then motioned him to silence.

Alec looked back at Emiel, thinking,
Just let me and a few friends catch
you
in a dark street some night soon. Or just me alone, come to that.
He hoped the thought showed on his face, whatever the cost.

Seregil saw the Haman's appraising leer, but steadfastly ignored him. It was easier to carry on with the pretense that he had recognized no one in the darkness that night.

And just who are you trying to fool?

He pushed the thought aside with practiced ease. There were more important things to be dealt with right now.

Alec had been correct about a shift in the Ra'basi's stance. Moriel a Moriel took it upon herself to contest a point being put forth by Elos of Golinil about certain Skalan shipping practices. Whether it represented full support remained to be seen.

Satisfied that Seregil was back on his feet, Alec returned to his ramblings through the city the next day. At Klia's request, he commandeered Nyal and set out to ingratiate himself among the Ra'basi in the hope of gleaning both goodwill and useful information.

It proved an easy task. Alec soon found himself welcome at a makeshift tavern, known for its ready supply of strong beer and spiced eggs. Not only was it a popular meeting, place for people of various clans, but Artis, the brewer who ran the place during the day, was a servant of one of the Ra'basi khirnari's closest advisers. He'd set up shop on the street level of a deserted house, serving his customers through an open window that overlooked a walled garden. Archery, dice, and wrestling were the sports of choice to pass the time.

The beer proved passable, the eggs inedible, and the results of Alec's spying meager. After three days of loitering and drinking, he'd added nearly a dozen shatta to his collection, lost his second-best

dagger to a Datsian woman who outwrestled him, and learned only that the khirnari of Ra'basi had some sort of falling out with the Viresse a week before, though no one seemed to know the details.

Lounging there with Nyal and Kheeta after a shooting match, Alec decided that he'd probably learned everything there was to be learned among the Ra'basi. He was about to leave when he overheard Artis launch into a tirade against the Khatme. Evidently he'd had a run-in with a member of that clan the night before over a keg of beer he'd sold. Still smarting from his own failure among that strange clan, Alec sauntered over to hear more.

"Arrogant bunch of stargazers, that's what I say," Artis fumed as he served beer from his window perch. "Think they're closer to Aura than the rest of us."

"They don't take to outsiders much, I've found," Alec ventured. "Or ya'shel, for that matter."

"They've always been a strange, standoffish bunch," the brewer muttered.

"What do you know of the Khatme?" a Golinil woman scoffed.

"As much as you do," he drawled, passing out cups of murky new beer. "They keep to themselves and they serve themselves, for all their talk of Aura."

"I hear they make fine wizards," Alec put in.

"Wizards, seers, rhui'auros," the brewer allowed grudgingly. "But magic is a gift meant to serve and that's something the Khatme don't do willingly. Instead, they stay up in their eagles' nest of a fai'thast, dreaming their strange dreams and handing down proclamations."

"You know, in all the time I've been here, I haven't seen much magic used. Where I come from, folks imagine the 'faie throwing it around left and right."

Several of Alec's companions snickered.

"Look around, Skalan," Artis said. "Do you see any need for magic? Should we fly through the air instead of using our own feet? Or knock birds out of the sky instead of learning archery?"

"This beer of yours could use a bit of magicking," a boy laughed.

Artis gave him a hard look, then wove a brief sigil over their cups. The beer foamed slightly, giving off a strong, malty odor.

"Taste that, then," he challenged.

The contents of Alec's cup were certainly clearer than before. Impressed, he took a drink, but immediately spat it out.

"It tastes like swamp water!" he sputtered.

"Of course," Artis declared, laughing now. "Beer has its own magic. It doesn't need any help, as any brewer knows."

"And so knowing, takes it too much for granted," said a new voice.

A grey, wizened little rhui'auros stepped from the shadows of a cul-de-sac next to the building.

Kheeta and the others raised their let) hands and gave the man a respectful nod. In turn, he raised a tattooed hand in blessing.

"Welcome, Honored One," said Artis, coming out to offer him beer and food.

The others made room for the old man and he sat down, wolfing down the eggs and bread as if he hadn't eaten in days and dribbling his beer down the front of his already none-too-clean robes.

When he'd finished he looked up and pointed to Alec. "Our little brother asks about magic and you scoff, children of Aura?" Shaking his head, he picked up a bow lying near his feet and placed it in Alec's hands. "Tell me, what do you feel?"

Alec rubbed his palm over the smooth limbs. "Wood, sinew—" he began, then gasped as the rhui'auros touched a finger firmly to the center of his forehead.

A cool sensation swept the skin between his eyes, like the kiss of a mountain breeze. As it spread deeper, the bow seemed to subtly vibrate in his hands, reminding him of the time he'd touched a drysian's staff and felt the surge of power through the wood.

"I feel—I don't know. It's like holding a living thing."

"It is Shariel a Malai's magic you feel, her khi," the rhui'auros replied, pointing to the Ptalos woman who owned the bow. He motioned for Kheeta to give Alec the knife from his belt.

Gripping it, Alec felt similar sensations from the metal. "Yes, it's there, too."

"Our khi suffuses us the way oil soaks a wick," the rhui'auros explained. "Everything we touch takes on a bit of it, and from it comes all our gifts. Shariel a Malai, take up Alec i Amasa's bow."

She obeyed, eyes widening in surprise as the man touched her brow. "By the Light, the khi is strong as a storm wind in it!"

"You shoot well, do you not?" the rhui'auros asked, noting the collection of shatta on Alec's quiver.

"Yes, Honored One."

"Better than most?"

"Perhaps. It's just something I'm good at."

"Good enough to strike a dyrmagnos?"

"Yes, but—"

"
He
fought a dyrmagnos?" someone whispered.

"It was a good shot," Alec admitted, recalling the strange, dreamlike calm that had come over him when he took aim at his hated tormentor. His bow had trembled strangely in his hands as he'd let fly, but he'd always put those sensations, indeed even his success, down to the spells Nysander had woven around it.

"Little brother, when will you visit me?" the rhui'auros chided. "Your friend Thero comes to the Nha'mahat often now, yet for you I wait and wait."

"I'm sorry, Honored One. I—I didn't realize I was expected," Alec stammered, taken aback by this revelation about Thero. The wizard had never mentioned it. "I've been wanting to, but—"

"You must bring Seregil i Korit, as well. Tell him to come tonight."

"The Exile no longer bears that name," an Akhendi reminded him.

"Doesn't he?" the rhui'auros asked, turning to go. "How forgetful of me. Come tonight, Alec i Amasa. There is so much you must tell me."

Tell you?
thought Alec, but before he could question the man further the rhui'auros blurred before his eyes, disappearing like a design of colored sand in a strong wind.

"Well, at least you can't complain of not seeing magic," said Artis. "Now what's this about you killing a dyrmagnos?"

Alec's first thought was to find Seregil and tell him about the rhui'auros's strange summons, but his drinking companions wouldn't let him go without hearing the tale of the battle against Irtuk Beshar and Mardus. Struck by a sudden inspiration, he played heavily on Seregil's role in the fight, reasoning that stories of the "Exile's" heroism could only do Seregil good in reclaiming his place among his people. As he recounted his own part that day, however, the rhui'auros's words kept coming back to him, making him wonder if there actually had been more than experience guiding his hand that day.

Afternoon sunshine lit the eastern half of the Iia'sidra chamber and threw the other half into near darkness. When Alec slipped in, a member of the Khatme delegation was pacing the open floor at the center of the room, haranguing the assembly with an extensive list of the historic depredations of outlanders.

Many in the audience were nodding approval. Just visible behind Klia, Thero appeared angry, Seregil bored and tired. Braknil and his honor guard loomed behind them, faces duty-blank. Wending his way through the minor clans, Alec took a seat beside Seregil.