The White Road (44 page)

Urien hurried out with his men, already shouting orders.

Ilar stayed behind, fidgeting with the hem of one sleeve as he hesitated by the door. He was trembling.

Ulan fixed him with his sharp gaze. “Tell me, Ilar. How did Seregil know where the books were?”

The younger man fell to his knees, covering his face with his hands, and remained like that in damning silence.

“I see. Very well, then. You will go with Urien to make certain of the books. I wouldn’t put it past Seregil to substitute false ones and hide the others.”

Ilar looked up with mingled anguish and gratitude. “I will, Khirnari. Can you ever forgive my weakness?”

Ulan regarded him a moment longer, until the man began to wilt again. “Come back with the books, Ilar, or don’t come back at all.”

Their days of reconnoitering had not been in vain. Seregil led the way through the dark streets, moving steadily in the direction of the waterfront.

But it was well guarded at night, and there were no small boats moored in close enough to steal. Guards of one sort or another were posted on every quay.

Seregil, Alec, and Rieser tied on their veils and put up their hoods in the shadow of a chandler’s shop.

“We could book honest passage,” Rieser suggested.

“Always a last resort, but I suppose we could try,” Seregil said.

“You three stay here,” said Micum. “I’ll go see what I can find.”

The others watched from their hiding spot as Micum spoke to the guard on one jetty, and then another. He was heading for the third when a mounted man suddenly clattered into view, holding up a lantern.

“Oy, you lot!” he cried out, voice echoing down the waterfront. “I’m looking for four fugitives—a big northerner and three slaves. They’re thieves and there’s a good bounty on their heads.” He wasn’t ’faie, but the spy who’d followed them that first day in Riga hadn’t been, either. Ulan’s money had bought him a few Plenimarans, it seemed.

“Shit!” Seregil muttered. “Well, that’s the end of that.”

“And now Micum’s been seen!” whispered Alec.

If Micum had run for it then, or even turned from his task, it would probably have raised suspicions, but he coolly continued on his way, and Seregil saw money change hands on the fifth jetty. Micum waved to the guards and walked calmly back into the maze of streets at the head of the harbor.

Seregil saw Rieser shake his head and guessed he was more impressed than he’d willingly let on. What they’d just witnessed took a level head and steady nerves that few possessed—traits that made Micum a fine Watcher.

Seregil and the others remained where they were, and Micum soon appeared from the shadows behind them.

“What did you tell them?” asked Alec.

“That I would be back at dawn with my wife and children. The fare wasn’t cheap but it’s bought us some time.”

Ghosting away, they made for the south gate, hoping word of them hadn’t spread that far.

It hadn’t. Micum showed their documents, and the other three submitted to the inspection of their collars and brands.

It wasn’t until one of the guards turned to him that Seregil registered the weight of the tool roll and dagger against his belly under his shirt. Making a show of fumbling with the strings of his bundle and the bag holding the books, he got the knife free and hid it under the bags as he set them down
beside Micum. The bored guard glanced at the marks on his arm and leg, matching them against those on the document, then waved them on. Seregil gathered the bags, using his cloak to mask his movements as he tried to kick the knife out of sight between two nearby barrels stacked against a wall, but it had landed point-out and he nearly skewered his foot. One of the curved guards caught between the barrels, leaving most of the thing in plain sight.

“Come on, you!” Micum ordered roughly, cuffing Seregil on the ear. Seregil scuttled quickly under his arm to join the others on the far side of the gate. They were out, free and—

“Hold on there!” one of the guards called after them. “You, trader.”

Micum shot Seregil a tense look, then settled his features into a look of mild impatience as he turned back. “Yes, what is it?”

The guard waved them back, and Seregil’s heart sank as the man held out the knife. “Is this yours?”

“It is!” Micum exclaimed without missing a beat as he felt at his belt in surprise. “Sakor’s Flame!”

The guard glanced back at his companions. “Told you the slave was up to something.” Then, to Micum, “You were too hasty with your dog, there. He was trying to fetch it for you.”

Micum looked at Seregil. “Is that so?”

Seregil bowed his head and nodded mutely.

Micum patted his head roughly, as if he were a dog, then pushed him off toward the others again. “Thank you, Sergeant. That was a gift from my late wife. I’d have been sorry to lose it.”

“Glad to help, trader. Good journey to you! Take care on the road. Say, where are you headed at this early hour?”

Can’t you just let us go?
Seregil thought furiously.

“Oh, I’ve got a friend up the road with a warm bed waiting. I meant to be off earlier, but luck was with me at a gaming table,” Micum told him with a chuckle. He threw back his cloak, showing off his sword and Alec’s bow. “And I fear no man on the road, or off it.”

The guard grinned and waved him on. “Good luck to you then.”

The four of them walked on in silence for some time, until Rieser finally broke the silence. “You are an accomplished liar, Micum Cavish.”

Micum grinned. “Many thanks.”

There was no time for complacency, though, knowing that word of them was likely to spread fast, given the bounty. They walked on, passing by houses and hamlets, and then farmsteads. It was dangerously close to dawn now; the houses were dark, but farm householders were notoriously early risers. Coming across one at last with horses in a corral, Seregil went in first to deal with the dogs; then they helped themselves. As they were leading them away, however, a man suddenly shouted behind them and they heard the sound of several people running in their direction. As one they sprang onto their horses’ backs, grabbed them by the manes, and kicked them into a gallop down the road, followed by cries of “Thief!” And, before too much longer, the sound of more horses galloping after them.

“It’s going to be a damn poor end to this journey if we end up hanged for horse thieves,” Micum shouted to the others.

“Rhal should be back,” Alec noted. “If we can just get there—”

If
. Seregil tried not to think about what that turnip farmer had told them.

Suddenly he heard a horse scream and looked back over his shoulder just in time to see Rieser’s horse throw him and stagger off on a broken leg.

Alec happened to be the hindmost and saw Rieser’s horse step in the rabbit hole and founder. Rieser was on his feet already. Reining in, Alec gave the man a hand up. Rieser took it and sprang up behind him, then grasped the back of Alec’s shirt as he galloped off after the others. Not a word of thanks, of course.

Micum was in the lead now, and Alec leaned over his mount’s neck, urging it on to catch up. Seregil was looking back, gesturing for him to hurry. Alec checked back over his shoulder and saw the farmer and his men gaining on his more heavily laden horse.

“Oh, Illior, give this horse wings,” he muttered, then started as he saw the foremost rider fall, then another. Micum had stopped and was shooting, his eye as sharp and his hand steady as Alec’s. One by one, he picked off the lead riders until the rest turned tail and rode back the way they’d come.

Alec let out a triumphant whoop and urged his horse on to reach the others as Rieser clung on behind. “It’s about time someone used that bow!” he called out with a laugh.

Micum slung it over his shoulder and took stock of the arrows left in the quiver as he rode. “Less than a score now.”

“Well lost, though,” said Alec. “I didn’t much fancy getting hung from the nearest tree, or having my guts torn out back in the city.”

“But there’s some more people who’ve had sight of us,” Seregil pointed out, not happy about that. As escapes went, this one was a mess. “We’ve got to get off the highroad. We might as well wear signs on our backs, otherwise.”

They left the road and continued cross-country toward the sea, riding more carefully for the horses’ sakes and eating the cheese and dry sausage Micum had thought to bring with him last night, knowing the rest might not have a chance to go back for their packs.

The sun was well up when they struck a track that ran close along the shoreline.

“This must be the other end of the fork we saw when we came in,” said Micum.

“A way less traveled by the look of it,” said Seregil. “What do you say?”

They took it, and found themselves on a winding track that followed the crenellated coastline. They passed one small fishing hamlet and a few lonely houses, but soon the dry, open countryside was deserted, sloping ever down to the rugged sea ledges where the glass-green waves came crashing in with great gouts of white spume. Gulls cried overhead and ospreys soared above, while sea ducks bobbed out beyond the breakers. Tiny yellow and white flowers blossomed along the ledges, and clumps of sea lavender, clinging
to what soil there was. The air was sweet with their perfume yet left the taste of salt on Alec’s lips. But for the lack of forests, it was hauntingly similar to the stretch of Plenimaran coastline where Duke Mardus had brought Alec.

As they spelled their horses at a freshet by the roadside at midday, Alec noticed that Micum dismounted a bit awkwardly and stood clutching the horse’s mane a moment. Alec had noticed signs of his leg paining him when they’d stopped earlier, too. Riding without a saddle or stirrups put a strain on anyone’s legs. When Micum led his horse to drink, he was limping noticeably, but he didn’t say anything, so neither did anyone else.

Rieser walked over to Seregil and held out his hand. “I want to see the books.” Seregil unshouldered the bag and undid the strings. Three large leather-bound books slid out. Seregil, Micum, and Alec each took one. Seregil’s shirt hung awry and Alec saw an angry red line where the string had rubbed Seregil’s skin raw during their ride.

The slimmest of them was bound in worn brown leather and stamped with faded gold. It was written in Plenimaran, but Seregil and Micum could make it out. Seregil paged through it to a picture of what looked like a winged naked being, sexless like Sebrahn. “It talks of various elixirs you can make with different sorts of blood, including rhekaro, but I don’t see any recipes.”

“That’s probably in this one,” said Alec, holding up the largest, bound in red leather, with a whole page filled with drawings of winged rhekaros. “This is the book I saw.”

Rieser leaned over Alec’s shoulder and traced a line of text with one grimy finger, not quite touching the page. “So this holds the means of the making?”

“So does this one,” Micum said, holding up the third, to show them another engraving of a rhekaro. “Where were they? How did you find them?”

Seregil looked up at him and sighed. “Ilar. Again.”

“Him?” Alec felt a sinking feeling in his belly. “How did he turn up here?”

“I don’t know. He’s under Ulan’s protection now, but he betrayed him to help me.”

“Why would he do that?” asked Rieser. He might know nothing of Ilar, but betraying a khirnari was a serious matter.

Seregil and Alec both ignored the question.

Instead, Alec raised a skeptical eyebrow. “He told you, and then just let you go?”

“I told him he could come with me. He told me where the books were. I knocked him out and left him to explain himself to Ulan.”

“He’ll just lie his way out of it.”

“Probably. But he’s not our problem now.”

Alec turned his book to show them elaborate engravings of alchemical equipment in various arrangements—flasks, athanors, crucibles, and the like. “I recognize some of these. I saw them being used in Yhakobin’s workshop.”

“It will be useful to someone,” said Seregil.

“No, it will not!” Rieser snapped. “I am taking those back to my people, and no one will use them.”

“We only have your word for that, don’t we?” said Seregil. “I have a better idea. Micum, lend me your knife.”

Taking it, he opened the brown book halfway through and sawed through the binding, splitting it into two parts. “You can have your pick of which half you want, Rieser, but you can’t have it all. I get to pick the next one, and Alec the third.”

Rieser watched in silence as he cut the others, then sighed. “I suppose it’s as good a solution as any.”

“Why not just throw them into the sea?” asked Micum.

“Because things like these have a way of surviving,” Seregil told him. “Let’s try something.”

He gathered enough twigs and dry plants to start a small fire. When it caught, he held the corner of one page to the flame. It didn’t catch fire. None of the books would. “As I expected, you don’t keep such important information in an ordinary book.” He put them back in the bag. “Half of these are yours. We won’t fight you for them. But you know what we want in return.”

Rieser gave them no reply, just walked off down the ledges.

“That was your best solution?” Micum whispered.

“It’s better than fighting over them, assuming that the other Ebrados agree,” said Alec.

Seregil gave them both a crooked grin. “I may not be able to read the code, but I can tell where one chapter ends and another begins. I wouldn’t say I cut each one exactly in half, and I made sure we got what looked like the best parts. They may not be enough to tell us the whole story—”

“Assuming you figure out the code,” said Micum.

“How many times have you seen me fail at that sort of thing?”

“Not often,” Micum admitted.

“And if you can’t, then perhaps Thero can,” said Alec. “He’s handy at that sort of thing.”

“He should be,” said Seregil, giving him a wink. “We had the same teacher. Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Alec cut a piece from his saddle blanket, folded it into a sort of pad, and put it between the bag’s strings and Seregil’s shoulder.

“Thanks, talí,” Seregil murmured.