Nightrunners 03 - Traitor's Moon (6 page)

"But they didn't do that to you."

"No." —
the choking heat, the darkness, the words that flayed
—

Seregil gripped the cup. "I was exiled instead."

"What about the others?"

"The small cell and two bowls, as far as I know. All except for Ilar. He escaped the night I was caught. And he'd accomplished his purpose. The Haman used the scandal to wreck the negotiations. Everything my family and others had worked decades to accomplish was swept aside in less than a week's time. The whole plot had hinged on duping the son of Korit i Solun into betraying the clan's honor. And you know what? "

His voice was suddenly husky, so husky that he had to take another gulp of wine before he could finish. "The worst of it wasn't the killing or the shame, or even the exile. It was the fact that people I should have trusted had tried to
warn
me, but I was too vain and headstrong to listen." He looked away, unable to bear Alec's look of sympathy. "So there you have it, my shameful past. Nysander was the only other person I ever told."

"And this happened over forty years ago?"

"By Aurenfaie reckoning, it's still last season's news."

"Has your father ever forgiven you?"

"He died years ago, and no, he never forgave me. Neither did my sisters except for Adzriel—did I mention that Shalar was in love with a Haman? I doubt very many of my clan who've borne the burden of the shame I brought on our name will be in any hurry to welcome me back, either."

Talked out, Seregil knocked back the last of his wine as images from that final day in Viresse harbor flashed unbidden through his mind: his father's furious silence, Adzriel's tears, the scathing jeers and catcalls that had propelled him up the gangplank of a foreign ship. He hadn't wept then and he didn't now, but the crushing sense of remorse was as fresh as ever.

Alec waited quietly, hands clasped on the table in front of him. Stranded in silence by the fire, Seregil suddenly found himself aching for the reassuring touch of those strong, deft fingers.

"So, will you go?" Alec asked again.

"Yes." He'd known the answer since Beka had first told him of the journey. Framing the question he hadn't yet dared to ask, Seregil forced himself across the bit of floor that separated them and extended a hand to Alec. "Are you coming with me? It may not be very pleasant, being the talimenios of an exile. I don't even have a proper name there."

Alec took his outstretched hand, squeezing it almost to the point of pain. "Remember what happened the last time you tried to go off without me?"

Seregil's relieved laugh startled them both. "Remember? I think I've still got some of the bruises!" Tightening his own grip, he pulled Alec out of his chair and onto the bed. "Here, I'll show you."

Seregil's sudden demand for lovemaking surprised Alec less than the wildness of what followed. Anger lurked just beneath his lover's frenzied passion, anger not meant for him, but that still left a scattering of small bruises across his skin to be discovered by tomorrow's sun.

Alec didn't need the heightened senses of the talimenios bond to tell him that Seregil was trying to somehow burn all memory of that hated first lover from his own skin, or that it hadn't worked.

Locked sweaty and breathless in Seregil's arms afterward, Alec listened as the other man's ragged breathing slowed to normal and for the first time felt empty and uneasy instead of sated and safe. A black gulf of silence separated them even as they lay heart against heart. It frightened him, but he didn't pull away.

"What became of Ilar? Was he ever found?" he whispered at last.

"I don't know."

Alec touched Seregil's cheek, expecting to find tears. It was dry. "Once, just after we met, Micum told me that you never forgive betrayal," he said softly. "Later, Nysander told me the same. They both believed it was because of what happened to you in Aurenen. It was him, wasn't it? Ilar?"

Seregil took Alec's hand and pressed the palm to his lips, then moved it to his bare chest, letting him feel the quick, heavy beat of his heart. When he spoke at last, his voice was thin with grief.

"To give someone your love and trust—I hate him for that! For robbing me of innocence too early. Spoiled and silly and willful as I was, I'd never had to hate anyone before. But it taught me things, too: what love and trust and honor really are, and that you can never take them for granted."

"I suppose if we ever met I'd have to thank him for that, at least—" Alec murmured, then froze as Seregil's hand suddenly tightened around his.

"You wouldn't have time, tali, before I cut his throat."

4

New Journeys

Seregil found Beka alone by the corral the next morning. "When does this expedition of yours leave for Aurenen?" "Soon." She turned and gave him an appraising look. Damn, she looked like her father. "Does that mean you're coming?"

"Yes."

"Thank the Flame! We're to meet Commander Klia in a little fishing town below the Cirna Canal, by the fifteenth of the month."

"What route is she taking to Aurenen?"

"I don't know. The less information she gives out ahead of time, the less there'll be for Plenimaran spies to pick up."

"Very wise."

"If we push, we can be in Ardinlee in three days. How soon can you be ready?"

"Mmmm, I don't know." He looked around the place as if taking stock of some vast holding. "Is a couple of hours soon enough?"

"If that's the best you can do."

Watching her stride briskly off toward the tents, he decided she had a good deal of her mother in her, too.

Alec slipped his black-handled dagger into his boot and settled his sword belt more comfortably against his left hip. "Don't forget this." Seregil took their tool

rolls from a high shelf and tossed Alec's over to him. "With any luck, we'll be needing them."

Alec unrolled the black leather case and checked the slender implements stored in its stitched pockets: lock picks, wires, limewood shims, and a small lightstone mounted on a knurled wooden handle. Seregil had made everything; these weren't the sort of tools you found in the marketplace.

Satisfied, Alec slipped it inside his coat, where it lay against his ribs with a comfortably familiar weight. That left only his bow, some clothes, a bedroll, and a few personal effects to pack. He'd never had much in the way of belongings; as Seregil was fond of saying, the only things of real value were those you could take away with you in a hurry. That suited Alec and made packing a simple matter.

Seregil had finished with his own gear and was looking rather wistfully around the room. "This was a good place."

Coming up behind him, Alec wrapped an arm around his waist and rested his chin on Seregil's shoulder. "A very good place," he agreed. "But if it hadn't been this moving us on, there would have been something else."

"I suppose so. Still, we're spoiled with privacy," Seregil said, pressing back against him with a lewd grin. "Just wait until we're trapped aboard some ship, cheek by jowl with Beka's soldiers. You'll wish we were back here and so will I."

"Hey in there, are you ready yet?" Beka demanded, appearing suddenly in the doorway. Seeing them together, however, she halted uncertainly.

Alec jumped back, too, blushing.

"Yes, we're ready, Captain," Seregil told her, adding under his breath, "What did I tell you?"

"Good." Beka covered her own embarrassment brusquely. "What about all this?" She gestured around the little room. Except for their clothes and gear, the cabin looked much as it had last night. The fire was banked, and clean dishes lay drying on a shelf by the window.

Seregil shrugged and headed for the door. "It'll be of use to someone."

"He's still not wearing a sword?" Beka asked Alec when Seregil was gone.

"Not since Nysander's death."

She nodded sadly. "It's a shame, a great swordsman like that."

"There's no point in arguing with him," Alec said, and Beka guessed from his tone that this was a battle he'd lost with Seregil more than once.

They set off at midmorning, following the road south.

Despite Seregil's misgivings, it felt good to be riding with Micum again. Every so often the two of them would find themselves out ahead of the others, and for a while it was like old times: the two of them off on a mission for Nysander, or pursuing some harebrained quest of their own for the sheer hell of it.

But then the sun would strike silvery glints in his old friend's hair, or he'd catch sight of Micum's crippled leg, stiff in the stirrup, and Seregil's exhilaration evaporated again into a twinge of guilty sadness.

Micum's was not the first generation he'd outlive, but it didn't get any easier with experience. In Skala, among these Tir he loved, only the wizards endured, and even they could be killed.

Now and then he caught Micum watching him with a bemused expression that suggested he was having similar thoughts, but he seemed to accept the situation. It was Seregil who'd quietly drop back to find Alec, like a cold man seeking a fire.

The roads grew drier as they turned west the next day, and the rolling plains were already thick with crocus and yellowstar. Trusting the clear nights, they rode long and slept rough, letting the horses forage as they went.

Except for the number of troops they met, Seregil found it hard to imagine the terrible war that was being waged on land and sea. Talking with Beka's riders soon brought the reality of the situation home to him, however. He recognized only four of Rhylin's ten riders: Syra, Tealah, Tare, and Corporal Nikides, who'd aged into a man since they'd met, as well as acquiring a jagged white scar down his right cheek. The other six were new to the turma, replacements for those who'd fallen in battle.

"Well, Beka, I always knew you'd amount to something," Seregil said as the group sat around the fire their second night on the road. "Right hand to Commander Klia? That's a mark of real favor."

"It gets them out of harm's way for a bit, too," Micum added.

Beka shrugged noncommittally. "We've earned it."

"We've lost a lot of people since you last saw us, my lord," Sergeant Rhylin remarked, stretching the day's stiffness from his

legs. "You recall the two men who were planked? Gilly lost a hand and went home, but Mirn healed up fine; he and Steb are in Braknil's decuria now."

"We lost Jareel at Steerwide Ford a day after we got back," Nikides put in. "And remember Kaylah? She died scouting an enemy camp."

"She had a lover in the turma, didn't she?" asked Alec, and Seregil smiled to himself.

Alec had been more taken with the idea of soldiering than he'd ever let on and had formed quite a bond with Beka's riders in the short time they'd known one another in Rhiminee, and later during the dark days in Plenimar.

Nikides nodded. "Zir. He took it hard, but you have to go on, don't you? He's Mercalle's corporal now."

"Sergeant Mercalle?" Seregil looked up in surprise. Mercalle was an experienced old soldier, one of the sergeants who'd helped train Beka and then requested the honor of serving with her when she was given a command. "I thought you lost her in the first battle of the war?"

"So did we," replied Beka. "She went down under her horse and broke both arms and a leg, along with a few ribs. But she tracked us down again before the snow flew that fall, ready to fight."

"We were lucky to get her back," said Corporal Nikides, "She fought with Phoria herself in their younger days."

"She and Braknil have seen us through some dark days," Beka added. "By the Flame, their lessons have saved us a time or two!"

Never one to waste valuable time, Seregil spent much of the journey drilling Alec and anyone else who cared to listen on the clans of Aurenen: their emblems, customs, and most importantly, their affiliations. Alec took in the information with all his usual quickness.

"Only eleven principal clans?" he'd scoffed when someone else complained at the complexities of Aurenfaie politics. "Compared to dealing with Skalan nobility, that's no worse than your mother's market list."

"Don't be too certain," warned Seregil. "Sometimes those eleven feel more like eleven hundred."

Beka and the others also saw to it that Alec brushed up his swordplay. He was soon bruised but happy to be reclaiming his hard-won skills.

Seregil pointedly ignored the hopeful glances they cast in his direction during these sessions.

They met with columns of soldiers more frequently as they neared the coast and from them learned that Plenimaran ships now controlled much of the Inner Sea's northeastern waters, and that raids on eastern Skalan were increasing. Skala still held crucial control of the isthmus and canal, but the pressure was mounting.

News of the land battles was more encouraging. According to an infantry captain they met just north of Cirna, Skalan troops held the Mycenian coastline as far west as Keston, and had pushed east to the Folcwine River. As Seregil had long ago predicted, however, the Plenimaran Overlord had extended his influence into the northlands and was gradually seizing control of the trade routes there.

"Have they taken Kerry?" Alec asked, thinking of his home village in the Ironheart Mountains.