Nightrunners 03 - Traitor's Moon (56 page)

"Fine. I assume the other khirnari will insist on being there?"

"Brythir i Nien, at least. Any accusations at Sarikali must be made before him. Give me time to call the assembly. An hour at the very least."

Seregil was already halfway to the door. "I'll meet you there. There's someone else I need to speak with first."

I'm getting to be a regular visitor here,
he thought as he came in sight of the Nha'mahat. Dismounting at a safe distance, he crossed the

dew-laden grass, keeping an eye out for fingerlings. There were plenty about at this hour, frisking and flapping over the morning offerings in the temple porch.

"I wish to speak with Elesarit," he told the masked attendant who met him at the door.

"I am he, little brother," the old man replied, ushering him inside.

To Seregil's considerable relief, the rhui'auros bypassed the stairs to the cavern, taking him instead up to a small, sparsely furnished room. On the open terrace Seregil saw breakfast laid for two on a little table. Several fingerlings had worried a loaf of dark bread to bits across its polished surface. Laughing, the rhui'auros shooed them away and tossed the crumbs after them.

"Come, you have had nothing to eat in almost a day," he said, uncovering dishes containing Skalan cheeses and hot meats. He filled a plate and set it before Seregil.

"You were expecting me?" Seregil's belly growled appreciatively as he speared a sausage with a knife and wolfed it down. The food suddenly seemed to stick in his throat, however, as he noticed a platter of oat cakes dripping with butter and honey. Nysander had always served them at his extravagant morning meals.

"You miss him a great deal, do you not, little brother?" asked Elesarit, his own food untouched before him. He'd removed his mask, revealing a lined face both kindly and serene.

"Yes, I do," Seregil replied softly.

"Sometimes sorrow is a better guide than joy."

Nodding, Seregil took a bite of oat cake. "Did you send Nyal to me this morning?"

"He came, did he not? "

"Yes. If it hadn't been for him, we might not have figured out what was wrong with Klia, or how to help her."

The rhui'auros's brows arched dramatically. Under different circumstances, the effect would have been comical. "Someone has harmed your princess?"

"You didn't know? Then why did you send Nyal?"

The old man eyed him slyly and said nothing.

Seregil fought back his impatience. Like the Oracles of Illior, the rhui'auros were said to be possessed by the madness that came of being touched by the divine. This fellow was clearly no exception.

"Why did you send him to me?" he tried again.

"I did not send him to you."

"But you just said—" Seregil broke off, too tired to deal with subtle games and riddles. "Why am I here, then?"

"For the sake of your princess?" the man offered, seeming equally mystified.

"Very well, then. Since you were expecting me, you must have had
something
to say to me."

A dragon the size of a large cat crawled out from under the table and leapt into the rhui'auros's lap. He stroked its smooth back absently for a moment, then looked up at Seregil with vague, unfocused eyes.

Pinned by that strange gaze, Seregil felt an uneasy chill crawl slowly up his back. The dragon was watching him, too, and there was more intelligence in its yellow eyes than in those of the man who held it.

Elesarit suddenly thrust his clenched fist across at Seregil, who recoiled instinctively.

"You'll be needing this, little brother."

Hesitantly, Seregil held out his hand, palm up, to receive whatever the man was offering. Something smooth and cool dropped into his hand. For an instant he thought it was another of the mysterious orbs from his dreams. Instead, he found himself holding a slender vial fashioned of dark, iridescent blue glass and capped with a delicate silver stopper. It was exquisite.

"This is Plenimaran," he said, recognizing the workmanship with a thrill of anticipation, even as another part of his mind piped in,
too easy.

"Is it?" Elesarit leaned over for a closer look. "He who has two hearts is twice as strong, ya'shel khi."

Only half listening to the man's nonsensical ramblings, Seregil uncapped the vial and took a cautious sniff, wishing he'd thought to ask Nyal what apaki'nhag venom smelled like. The acrid aroma was disappointingly familiar. Tipping out a drop, he rubbed it between a thumb and finger. "It's just lissik."

"Did you expect something else?"

Seregil replaced the stopper without comment. He was wasting his time here.

"A gift, little brother," Elesarit chided gently. "Take what the Lightbearer sends and be thankful. What we expect is not always what we need."

Seregil resisted the urge to sling the bottle across the room. "Unless that dragon of yours is about to bite me, I'm not certain what to be thankful for, Honored One."

Elesarit regarded him with a mix of pity and affection. "You have a most stubborn mind, dear boy."

Cold sweat broke out across Seregil's shoulders; Nysander had

said these very words to him during his last vision. Seregil glanced at the oat cakes again, then back at the rhui'auros, half hoping to catch another glimpse of his old friend.

Elesarit shook his head sadly. "Seldom have we seen one fight his gifts as you do, Seregil i Korit."

Disappointment shot through with vague guilt settled in Seregil's gut like a bad dinner. He missed Nysander terribly, missed the old wizard's quick mind and clarity. He might have kept secrets, but he never spoke in riddles.

"I'm sorry, Honored One," he managed at last. "If I do have some gift, it's never worked for me."

"Of course it does, little brother. It is from Illior."

"Then tell me what it is!"

"So many questions! Soon you must begin to ask the
right
ones. Smiles conceal knives."

The right questions?
"Who murdered Torsin?"

"You already know." The old man gestured at the door, no longer smiling. "Go now. You have work to do!"

The dragon spread its wings and bared needle-sharp fangs at him, hissing menacingly. The unsettling sound followed Seregil as he beat a hasty retreat into the corridor. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw with alarm that the creature was in fact chasing him. A peal of laughter rang out behind him from the open doorway.

Getting down three flights of stairs with a dragon, even a small one, slithering after you was not a pleasant experience. On the second landing Seregil turned to shoo it away and the creature flew at him, snapping at his outstretched hand.

Admitting defeat, he fled. More laughter, eerily disembodied now, sounded close to his ear.

His fiesty pursuer gave up somewhere between the last stairway and the meditation chamber. He stole frequent glances over his shoulder all the same until he was outside again. Fingerlings frisked around his feet, chirping and fluttering. Picking his way gingerly past them, he hurried to his horse. It wasn't until he reached to undo the hobble that he realized he was still clutching the vial of lissik.

Did I really expect the rhui'auros to hand me the murderer's weapon?
he thought derisively, pocketing it.

Cynril's steady pace calmed him. As his mind cleared, he slowly began combing Elesarit's ravings for whatever message lay concealed there. In his heart, Seregil knew better than to dismiss the words of any rhui'auros as nonsense; their madness masked the face of Illior.

"Illior!" he murmured aloud, realizing that Elesarit had used the

Skalan name for the god rather than Aura. It was like finding the free end in a tangled skein—knots began to unravel as he followed it.

He who has two hearts is twice as strong, ya'shel khi.

Ya'shel khi.
Half-breed soul. The words filled him with an odd mix of dread and elation.

He returned to the guest house to find the place in an uproar.

"Klia's awake!" Sergeant Mercalle told him as he hurried in. "She can't move or speak, but her eyes are open."

Seregil didn't wait to hear more. Bounding upstairs, he found Mydri, Thero, and Nyal bending anxiously over the bed.

"Thank Aura!" he exclaimed softly, taking her hand in his. It was bandaged, he noticed, and smelled of herbs and honey. She looked up at him, her eyes aware and full of pain.

"Can you hear me, Klia? Blink if you understand."

Klia's discolored eyelids slowly raised and lowered. The left moved more than the right, which sagged alarmingly.

"Does she know all that's happened, what we've learned so far?" he asked Thero. "Can you tell who did this?"

"Her thoughts are still too confused."

"I'm going to find out," Seregil promised, stroking her cheek. "I swear I'll see teth'sag invoked against them in the Iia'sidra."

Klia gave a small, hoarse groan and her eyes closed.

He motioned the others into the corridor and closed the door. "Does this mean she'll live?"

"It's a hopeful sign," Nyal replied, clearly still cautious. "It could be days before she can speak."

"What about her hand?"

"The area around the wound is spreading," Mydri said.

"You think she could lose it?"

"If the flesh rots, as Nyal expects, then yes. But we must give the poultice time to work."

"Do whatever you have to, short of amputation," Seregil pleaded. "Thero, I need you. Can you come with me to Ulan's?"

The wizard looked at Mydri, who nodded. "Yes, Thero, you've done all you can for now. Go do what you must."

Seregil and Thero arrived at the Iia'sidra to find a solemn gathering awaiting them. It was the right of any khirnari not directly involved to witness the questioning of another, and close to a dozen had

opted to claim the right, among them Khatme, Akhendi, Lhapnos, Golinil, and Ra'basi, Bry'kha, and several lesser clans. Escorted by a small honor guard of Silmai, they proceeded on foot to Viresse tupa. From the outset, Seregil was careful to be seen deferring to Thero.

Ulan greeted them with surprising cordiality. "I would offer you a meal, but given the circumstances, the usual gestures seem inappropriate."

Prepared in advance by Adzriel, Thero bowed slightly and gave the expected response. "Your offer of hospitality is understood, Khirnari. Aura grant that you be proven innocent."

"My house is a large one, as you know," Ulan said, leading them to the garden where the banquet had been held. "Do you mean to search the entire place?"

"Seregil will assist me as I scry," Thero replied.

"Scry?" said Elos. "How do you mean to do that?"

"I shall employ this." The wizard produced a square of stained ■ linen. "This is blood from the wound on Klia's hand," he explained, not adding that some of Torsin's was there, as well.

"Blood magic? Necromancy!" Lhaar a Iriel hissed, making a sign in Thero's direction.

The Khatme was not alone in her disapproval, Seregil noted, watching the others uneasily.

"Brythir i Nien, how can you allow such an abomination?" Moriel a Moriel exclaimed.

"The use of blood is only incidental. It's not necromancy of any sort," Thero assured them. "If Klia was stuck with a sharp object, as we suspect, then some of her blood and the poison remains on it, as it does on this cloth. It's nothing but a finding spell, like calling to like."

"The 'faie have similar magicks," Brythir said, leaning on Adzriel's arm. "Unless my fellow khirnari intend to demand a vote, I say you may do so, Thero i Procepios."

"I pray you, grant him leave to proceed," Ulan added. "I have nothing to hide."

"Thank you, Khirnari," said Thero. "First, was an Akhendi charm found anywhere in your tupa after the banquet?"

"No, nothing of that sort."

"Very well." Going to a stone bench that stood nearby, Thero spread the stained cloth out and wove a spell over it with his wand. The others watched with growing interest as the colored patterns twisted in and out of existence at his command.

Seregil quietly turned his attention to the immense garden. The trappings of the banquet had been cleared away, of course. Recalling how the various tables had been set up, he began a methodical search of the area, hoping to find the lost charm, if nothing else.

Unfortunately, Ulan's servants had been thorough in their tidying up, He didn't find so much as an overlooked mussel shell or lost knife.

"I have the sense of something lying in that direction," Thero announced at last, motioning vaguely to the wing of the house where the khirnari's rooms lay.

They moved on, passing along the same corridors Seregil and Alec had walked a few nights earlier. Seregil guided Thero, who walked with eyes half closed, his wand held out before him between his upraised palms.

The wizard's face registered nothing but detached concentration until they reached the garden court where Ulan's private chambers lay. Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he looked around, brow furrowed. "Yes, there's something here, but it's still very faint."