"How could you have foreseen a slaver raid, this far east?" Thero replied kindly. "Seregil and Alec will hold no grudge against your house, rest a.s.sured."

"I understand a few things were recovered from the site of the attack?" Mic.u.m asked.

Riagil motioned to a man standing nearby, who went to fetch a large wooden tray. On it were half a dozen Zengati arrow points, a broken silver neck chain, several scarves bearing Zengati clan designs, and a bone b.u.t.ton.

"That's all?" Thero asked, disappointed.

"There were more arrows, but they were all the same."

"And the bodies?"

"Buried, of course. They'd already begun to bloat when we found them."

"Of course," Mic.u.m murmured, examining each item closely. Seregil was the best of them at reading a corpse. Thank the Flame his or Alec's hadn't been among the dead.

Distracted by such thoughts, he very nearly missed a detail. He picked up the b.u.t.ton again and looked more closely at it. "This isn't Zengati work. See how it's drilled with four holes rather than two, and the way the edges are rubbed smooth? It's from Plenimar, or Skala."

"Any Zengati could have eastern clothing, either from trade or slave taking," Thero pointed out.

"Perhaps, but it's too soon to rule out anyone yet," Mic.u.m replied. "If the Zengat could make such a raid, anyone could have been with them."

Yhali gave him a perplexed look. "Why would a Skalan mean them any harm?"

Mic.u.m exchanged a quick glance with Thero. It wouldn't be politic to admit that the person they most suspected was the Skalan queen.

CHAPTER 31 31.

A Change in the Wind

SOMETHING WAS WRONG.

Yhakobin was as polite as always when Alec came upstairs each day, as long as Alec was docile and cooperative, but there was a tension in the air that hadn't been there before. He had no doubt it had something to do with the new rhekaro and the cries that still occasionally came down from the workshop.

Yet unpleasant as the circ.u.mstances now were, Alec was glad to get upstairs for any time at all, if only to break up the boredom of the day. It was good to see if the sun was shining or the rain was falling, good to smell the wintry breeze through an open window and hear the sounds of Yhakobin's children playing outside in the gardens.

Over a week had pa.s.sed since the making of the new rhekaro. Each day Alec was brought up to feed it, and each day he was sent back to his little cell immediately afterward, with nothing but new books to amuse himself. Yhakobin had little time for him anymore, which in itself seemed a blessing. The smaller furnaces around the room were cold now. Only the athanor was stoked and it burned continuously, heating some greenish-brown mess in the large retort atop it.

While the rhekaro fed each day, Alec looked it over carefully, hoping the alchemist would not notice. At first there were only the bodkin p.r.i.c.ks on its pale fingertips, but as the days went by, bandages slowly appeared on both its arms and legs. The memory of the bucket by the door, with that bit of hair hanging out, made his heart race and his guts roil.

Whatever this creature was, Alec could not deny the fact that he was connected to it by blood. Even if it was a monster, no creature deserved to be cut up alive, as the first one had been.

Or deserved to be kept naked in an iron cage, either. It reminded him too much of that nightmarish journey his first time in Plenimar, creaking along in that filthy bear cage.

There was no waste bucket in there, or any water. Did it need such things, he wondered? With its strange eyes and skin, and stranger blood, it simply wasn't a real child. Except for the way it looks at me. Except for the way it looks at me. Those silvery eyes locked on his face each day as it sucked hard at his fingertip, and he was almost certain now that he saw some sign of intelligence there. And though it was hard to tell with it huddled over all the time, he thought it looked larger than it had at first, too. Could it be growing, on nothing more than a few drops of blood a day? Its hair was certainly longer. The long, silvery tresses pooled about it like a shimmering cloak. Those silvery eyes locked on his face each day as it sucked hard at his fingertip, and he was almost certain now that he saw some sign of intelligence there. And though it was hard to tell with it huddled over all the time, he thought it looked larger than it had at first, too. Could it be growing, on nothing more than a few drops of blood a day? Its hair was certainly longer. The long, silvery tresses pooled about it like a shimmering cloak.

It's not a child! he reminded himself time and again, but each day he wondered more and more what it really was. he reminded himself time and again, but each day he wondered more and more what it really was.

Alec hadn't seen Khenir in all that time, but one afternoon as he sat reading on his bed, the door opened and there he was. Alec regarded him with a new coldness, convinced that he'd taken the horn picks. But his heart ached a little, too, torn between conviction and regret.

Khenir noticed the change in his demeanor at once, of course. With a sigh, he sat down on the bed beside him. "You're angry with me?"

"I think you know why."

Khenir nodded slowly. "That day I saw that the spoon was missing and realized my mistake in leaving it behind. If Ilban had found out?" He shuddered. "You put us both at a terrible risk with such a foolish act. If you got away because of my carelessness, it would have been my life in payment."

"I was planning to take you with me," Alec told him.

Khenir stared at him in disbelief. "You'd really do that?"

"Of course!"

"That was very good of you. I never guessed-But you don't think those splinters could really have worked in the lock, do you?"

Alec kept to himself the fact that they'd worked perfectly well. "Why are you here?"

"I've been worried about you! I was afraid Ilban was taking his anger out on you, as he has on me more frequently." He lifted the hem of his robe and showed Alec a few red stripes across the backs of his calves.

"What's he so upset about? He's got his white creature and I'm keeping it fed for him. And those cries?" Alec hugged himself, feeling miserable and helpless. "By the Light, does he make them just to torture them? What is it he wants?"

Khenir sighed. "He's pursuing a great secret, Alec. The rhekaro made from Hazadrielfaie blood are said to yield the necessary elements for a perfect elixir."

"To do what? Heal the Overlord's child?"

"Yes. That's what he told me, at least."

Alec narrowed his eyes at the older man. "You think there's something else it does?"

"I have no idea, but I do know that he's made many healing elixirs over the years without going to such lengths."

"Say all you want about 'alchemy' it all looks like necromancy to me, and it causes suffering."

"But for a higher purpose."

Alec shook his head and looked away.

Khenir squeezed his shoulder and gave him a little shake. "I'm sorry about taking your things, but it was to protect you as much as myself. I keep telling you, you haven't been a slave long enough to understand the danger."

"And how would I, shut up in a cell for weeks on end?"

"I know it's difficult for you. If only Ilban's experiments work, things will surely change. In the meantime, I'll ask if you can go out in the garden with me again."

Alec had expected to work harder than this to get another chance at the garden. "Thank you. I'd like that."

"Then you forgive me?"

Alec forced a grudging smile. "Forget about it. It doesn't matter anyway. I guess I'll have to settle for another walk on my chain, eh?"

CHAPTER 32 32.

On the Hunt

MIc.u.m AND THERO found horses saddled for them at the head of the escort waiting by the courtyard gate. There was a stone mounting block near the gateway, and Mic.u.m swallowed his pride and used it. Once he was on horseback, he was any man's equal. found horses saddled for them at the head of the escort waiting by the courtyard gate. There was a stone mounting block near the gateway, and Mic.u.m swallowed his pride and used it. Once he was on horseback, he was any man's equal.

The khirnari was the next to use the block, climbing stiffly into the saddle of a fine chestnut mare. "I will be your guide."

Thero bowed in the saddle and Mic.u.m did the same, glad of more time to get to know the man. Seregil had always spoken fondly of him.

They rode along a coastal road until dusk, and guested at a lonely farmstead. The farmer and his family were clearly honored to have their khirnari under their roof and made their Skalan guests welcome with every comfort they had.

The following morning they turned up into the wooded hills, following a well-traveled road. Mic.u.m kept one eye on the trees, but the khirnari a.s.sured him that bandits were rare in these parts. Mic.u.m nodded, but kept watch anyway; this was perfect country for an ambush. Wasn't that why they were here?

They reached the ravine that afternoon and Riagil led them down to the spot where the bodies had been found. Thero seated himself on a rock by the stream and closed his eyes, intent on seeking any lingering energies that might be here. Mic.u.m left him to it and walked slowly up and down the bank of the stream. The soft ground was still marked by footprints, but not from a battle. It looked more like the bodies had simply been dumped here after they were killed.

"Why would they have turned aside?" wondered Thero. "That water doesn't look good to drink, except perhaps for the horses."

"Why indeed?" Mic.u.m dismounted stiffly and walked slowly up and down the side of the ravine. It had been weeks since the attack-weeks of rain and wind, but he could still tell that the attack hadn't happened here. There was no sign of a fight.

Leaving his horse with one of the 'faie, he grabbed his stick and worked his way slowly back up to the road, following the faded signs that were left. The Gedre had mucked up much of it when they came for their dead, but he could still make out some drag marks, and the deep impressions left by men carrying a burden.

The trees were thick on either side of the road and would have provided ample cover for archers. Given the number of arrows found in the bodies, that must have been the main type of attack. Beginning with the ravine side of the road, he limped slowly into the forest, gaze and stick sweeping the ground. Fortunately, there wasn't much undergrowth, and he soon found numerous groups of small depressions, where the archers had stuck handfuls of arrows into the ground, in easy reach as they shot. The tree cover had protected footprints better in here, and he guessed there had been at least thirty ambushers.

Going to the far side of the road, he found similar signs and a rusted knife of Skalan make, which he pocketed.

Chin on chest, he walked the roadside for nearly an hour, searching for old signs along the verge while the others milled about, trying to stay out of his way. He found nothing more on the far side of the road, so he crossed over and tried again on the ravine side.

He had better luck here. The gra.s.s was longer between the road and the trees and looked to have been trampled some time ago. He used the tip of his stick to brush it this way and that, looking for tracks. Instead, the tip struck something that gave back the clink of metal. Feeling around, his hand caught on something sharp enough to cut his fingertip. He drew back, then let out a low whistle of satisfaction. It was the hilt of a sword, and one he recognized by the curled, fern-head ends of the quillons. It was Alec's, or what was left of it; the blade had been shattered. The remains of it, no more than a few inches long, were razor-sharp and darkened to an unusual blue.

A few moments more searching uncovered the hilt of Seregil's sword in the same condition. It was Aurenfaie work, made by Seregil's uncle to replace the one he'd destroyed killing Nysander. Not only was the blade of this one shattered and dark, like Alec's, but the smooth round lozenge of Sarikali stone that had formed the pommel was gone, leaving nothing but the empty bezel.

He crouched for a long time, holding the hilts in his hands; this was where his friends had made their stand.

"Show me something, boys," he murmured, smoothing his mustache thoughtfully. Neither would have gone without a fight; the swords were proof of that. And Seregil at least would have tried to leave him some sign. He always had.

Mic.u.m gave the hilts to Thero and continued his search. A few feet from where Seregil's hilt had fallen, the point of Mic.u.m's stick struck something small and metallic. He went down on both knees and parted the gra.s.s. There, half-buried in a small ants' nest, glinted the ring Klia had given Seregil. He picked it up and polished the red stone on his sleeve, cleaning the dirt from the princess's portrait. Oh my friend. If you let this fall, it must have been very bad indeed. Oh my friend. If you let this fall, it must have been very bad indeed.

A few yards away, he found a few of the message sticks under a clump of wilted clover. Rain had washed away most of the paint. He wondered if the magic had washed away, too, and why neither of his friends had managed to break any of them.

Whatever happened here that day, it happened fast, or they'd have gotten away.

By the time Mic.u.m was done, he'd found an untarnished Plenimaran silver coin mashed into the ground inside a footprint from a Skalan boot, very likely Seregil's from the size. There was also a stained ivory toothpick, and a human front tooth that had been broken off rather than pulled. He carried these to where the others were waiting and lined them all up on the ground beside the hilts.

Riagil looked rather chagrined as he examined the collection. "My men searched this area for two days."

"Mic.u.m has sharper eyes than most and more experience with ambushes of this sort, Khirnari." Thero knelt and pa.s.sed his hands over the items slowly. "The tooth belongs to a Plenimaran soldier named Notis. He was here for the attack. A Silmai trader dropped the toothpick sometime more recently. He was on his way to Gedre. It has nothing to do with the attack."

As his left hand drifted over the sword hilts, however, Thero shivered and picked up Seregil's. Pressing it between his palms, he closed his eyes, lips moving soundlessly in some spell, as Mic.u.m and the others looked on. "Someone set a dra'gorgos on them."

The khirnari's eyes widened. "On Aurenfaie soil? The audacity!"

"And where there's a dra'gorgos, then there's a necromancer, too," said Mic.u.m.

Thero repeated the procedure with Alec's hilt, with the same result.

"Are they dead?" asked Riagil.

"I don't see that. But what this proves is that there were Plenimarans with the Zengat."

Mic.u.m frowned. "Then I'd say that they were taken east, rather than west. Can you use these to find them?"

"Perhaps...." Thero examined Seregil's hiltagain. "If there was a bit of blood, even a drop, I might..." He set Seregil's hilt aside and picked up Alec's. After a pained moment, he looked up. "There's a tiny bit of Alec's blood here."

"You use blood magic?" Riagil asked, surprised.

"It's not necromancy, but something my master's master learned from the hill folk."

"The Retha'noi, you mean?"

"Yes, Khirnari. I believe they are closely related to the Dravnians in your own mountains. Such spells are in my lineage of magic now, though this one is not very powerful. The only thing I use it for is findings."

Thero scratched the bit of dried blood from the hilt and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. With head bowed, he whispered the blood calling to blood spell, then waited silently for the images to appear.

But nothing came to him except a distant blur of light, dancing just out of reach. Alec! Alec, come to me. Alec! Alec, come to me.

But nothing else did, except that strange blur, and it told him only that Alec was probably alive.

He broke off in frustration and opened his eyes to find everyone watching him. "I think he's alive, but I can't place him, or even see him. Something's shielding him, but it's like nothing I've ever encountered."