Shadows Return (52 page)

“Is he dead?” asked Micum.

“Hard to tell,” Seregil murmured.

“It’s not,” Thero said. The little edge of light around the rhekaro grew brighter as it fed on Alec’s blood.

Seregil turned and surveyed the scattered dead. “They didn’t know.”

“Know what?”

“What Sebrahn can do. Not any of them. Yhakobin would never have charged blindly at us the way he did if he’d suspected what might happen, or this necromancer, either. They knew we had him, but they didn’t fear him.”

Alec let out a small sigh of relief as Sebrahn stirred. “Yhakobin kept saying the ones he made were failures.”

“There are others?” asked Thero.

“One, and he destroyed it, trying to figure it out. He was looking for something else. Ilar said something about a poison, but he was probably lying.”

And there was that name again. “What else did he say, about it being wrong?” asked Thero.

Alec though a moment, stroking Sebrahn’s wan cheek with his thumb as the thing continued to feed. “When the first one was made, Yhakobin was concerned that it didn’t have wings.”

“Wings?”

“Never mind that,” said Seregil. “Two groups have found us, so there’s no reason to think there won’t be others. We need to get to that boat of yours, and fast.”

“I can ride,” said Alec, though he was still the weaker of the two.

Thero looked back at the fallen soldiers again, then down at the exhausted creature curled in Alec’s lap. “We couldn’t hold off another attack like that one.”

“Then come on!” Seregil struggled up to his feet and clutched at Micum’s shoulder to steady himself. “Someone tie me onto a horse.”

Sanctuary  

T
HEY WAITED UNTIL nightfall to leave the gully. A cold half-moon silvered the scudding clouds and made the frosty ground sparkle.

Seregil hadn’t been joking about being tied to his horse. His wounds and Alec’s were healing, thanks to Sebrahn, but the flesh was still fragile. He still tired quickly, but Alec was critically weak, and rode double with Micum, tied in place against the man’s back. Sebrahn hung in his sling on Thero’s back. The rhekaro had not woken up since the battle, though he had taken nourishment several times in his sleep.

They reached the desolate bay just before dawn as rain rolled in off the water. Thero had sent word ahead to the captain, and they found a pair of lookouts from the Gedre ship waiting for them in the bushes above the shingle.

When everyone was safely aboard at last, Seregil finally collapsed, and woke up sometime later, tucked into a narrow bunk in a small cabin. Another bunk was built into the opposite wall and he could just make out Alec’s pale braid and a long hank of Sebrahn’s silvery hair above the blankets.

Every joint and muscle protested as Seregil went to them and slipped in behind Alec, wrapping an arm around both of them.

Alec gave him a sleepy smile over his shoulder. “There you are, talí.”

“Here I am, talí. You do know that Sebrahn is going to have to learn to sleep in a bed of his own?”

Alec wasn’t amused. “I’m worried about him. He’s so still.”

“He’s made from magic, Alec, and he’s used a lot of it, helping us.”

“You think he can use himself up?”

“I don’t know. He probably just needs more rest.”

Alec found Seregil’s hand and grasped it tightly. “You’re really all right with me keeping him?”

Seregil kissed the back of Alec’s head, glad that the thick braid had been spared after all. “I owe him my life, and yours. Whatever he really is, he stays with us. You have my word.”

He listened as Alec’s breath slowly evened out, but found he wasn’t sleepy anymore. He stayed where he was, thankful that they were finally safe enough for him to savor the feeling of Alec’s body, whole and alive, pressed close to his. His hand rested on Sebrahn’s shoulder. The rhekaro’s skin felt colder than usual, and had since it faced down the demon creature.

After a little while, however, Sebrahn sat up, the blanket slipping from his narrow shoulders.

The bones of his chest and shoulders stood out in harsh relief under his white skin. He regarded Seregil for a long moment, then touched Alec’s cheek and whispered in his faint, scratchy little voice, “Ah-lek.”

“He’s sleeping,” Seregil whispered.

“Sleeeee-ping.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Seregil blinked up at him, wondering if it was only his imagination that Sebrahn looked somehow more real, more ’faie.

They reached Gedre without incident other than bad weather. Sebrahn did not speak again, not even to Alec.

As they sailed into port in the rain, Seregil was glad to see Magyana and his sisters, Adzriel and Mydri, waiting there with the khirnari to meet them.

“Oh my dear boys!” Adzriel exclaimed, kissing first Seregil, then Alec. “And you, as well.”

She smiled at Thero and Micum. “You have the thanks of my clan for bringing them back.

Come, let’s get you in out of the weather.”

Alec was still a little unsteady, so it was Micum who carried Sebrahn off the ship, closely muffled in a cloak.

Seregil stayed close to Alec. Thero and Magyana hung back, talking quietly.

Riagil had sent a carriage for them and soon had them all safely behind closed doors in the clan house.

Thero nodded to Alec. “It’s time to show them.”

As Alec unwrapped Sebrahn and smoothed his tousled hair, Magyana said nothing but regarded the rhekaro for a long time in silence.

“He can heal?” she asked at last.

Alec filled a cup with water and showed her the trick. She lifted the blue flower from the water and smelled it, then set it aside without comment. Taking the rhekaro’s hand in hers, she stroked the hair back from his face.

“Well?” he demanded, unnerved by her silence.

“In all my travels, I’ve never encountered such a thing,” she replied. Rising, she left the room, gesturing for Thero to come with her.

Thero followed her into the next room and closed the door. She cast a seal on it, ensuring that they would not be overheard.

“What do you see when you look at it?” she asked.

“I see an aura of light, and the hint of another form.”

Magyana nodded, pressing her folded hands under her chin and closing her eyes.

“What do you see?” Thero asked, as the surge of her power filled the room.

Without opening her eyes, she replied softly, “I don’t understand how it is possible, but I see a dragon.”

WINTER CAME EARLY this year, before the end of Erasin. Looking out from the shelter of the domed colos on the roof of the clan house, Seneth д Matriel Danata Hвzadriлl admired the way the moonlight glistened on the new fallen snow. From here she could see the entire valley below, her beautiful fai’thast, and the warm glimmer of lights in the villages and steadings. Her lands stretched from the head of the long valley to the gleaming peaks of the Ravensfell Pass far to the south. Here and there, in the highlands above, distant fires marked the villages of their neighbors, the Retha’noi.

How long had it been, since she’d slept a whole night through? Weeks, it seemed. Night after night she woke from a sound sleep, feeling like she’d forgotten something very important. She usually ended up here, while the household slumbered below.

Tonight she found her gaze straying to the Pass again. Twin watch fires burned there, steady and bright, but the sight gave her little comfort.

Just then Uri knocked at the doorframe behind her. “Khirnari, you have a visitor.”

“At this hour?” She turned and found her old friend, the seer Belan д Talia, standing just behind the servant, and with her a stooped little Retha’noi man. Seneth did not know him, but recognized the witch marks that covered his face and neck under his wild grey curls. The shoulders of their cloaks were dusted with snow, and the hems heavy with little ice balls. Both of them were shivering.

“My friends, come warm yourselves!” Seneth urged them downstairs to the great hearth in the hall. “Uri, fetch shawls and hot mead for our guests.”

“Thank you, Khirnari,” the Retha’noi said as he warmed his bony little hands over the flames.

More witch marks, the gift of the Retha’noi mother goddess, covered them and what she could see of his arms. She’d never seen so many on one witch, and wondered how she’d never met him before.

Uri hurried back with one of the young cousins of the house, carrying the shawls and steaming cups. Seneth wrapped both her guests up snugly on the bench closest to the hearth.

Belan wrapped her hands gratefully around the mug of honey wine. “I would not have disturbed you at such an hour, Khirnari, but I’ve had strange dreams lately, and tonight this witch man, Turmay, came to me with the same vision.” She paused, and Seneth saw that her hands were shaking. “I believe a white child has been made in the south.”

For a long moment Seneth could only stare at her friend; this was the last thing she’d ever expected to hear.

“And so I saw,” Turmay said, nodding emphatically. “It meant nothing to me, but the Mother guided me to friend Belan.”

“What did you see?” Seneth asked.

“A child that is not a child, Khirnari. One with a dragon in its eyes.”

Seneth clasped her hands together in her lap. “How? How did this happen?”

Belan looked away uneasily. “I can think of only one possibility, Khirnari.”

Seneth closed her eyes as old pain gripped her heart. Twenty years had passed since Ireya д

Shaar’s name had been spoken aloud in this valley. She could not bring herself to say it now. “It isn’t possible! The blood was mixed in half parts.”

“But I believe something has happened,” Belan told her. “What shall we do, Khirnari?”

Seneth gathered her will and hardened her heart. “The Ebrados must hunt again.”

LYNN FLEWELLING’S ONGOING Nightrunner series and her Tamír Triad have received worldwide acclaim and are, at last count, in print in thirteen countries.

Peripatetic Maine natives that they are, she and the love of her life, Dr. Doug, have currently come to rest in Redlands, California, where they have developed a deep appreciation for palm trees, feral parrots, earthquake monitoring, and going to the mailbox barefoot in February. When not slaving over a hot computer, she can be found at her Live Journal, and at the Flewelling Yahoo! Group. In addition to sundry ramblings, she frequently posts updates, cruelly teasing snippets of works in progress, and answers to readers’ questions about the books, including how to pronounce those words she makes up.

Website: www.sff.net/people/Lynn.Flewelling

Live Journal: otterdance.livejournal.com

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06.07.2008