The Retha’noi people had been here already, but they kept to the heights with their herds and witches, and welcomed the lowlanders when the Hâzad proved to them they meant no harm.
Turmay didn’t drink, but instead sprinkled spring water on his oo’lu.
“Why are you doing that?” asked Rane.
Turmay rubbed his wet hand up and down the long horn. “So your moon god will help me find the white child, too. My Mother doesn’t mind if I pray to your Aura for guidance, since it is one of your kind that we seek.”
“You call it a child. Why?”
Turmay shrugged. “Because it’s small like a child.”
“You can tell what it is, even without the wings?”
“The Mother knows and she tells me.”
This was very strange. The last tayan’gil they had hunted down had been tall and winged, like all the others.
The younger riders talked excitedly among themselves as they began the long ascent. This hunt, their first, would lead them far beyond the world they knew, perhaps all the way back to Aurënen. Rieser himself felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of seeing that lost homeland, even if their purpose in going there was a grim one.
Rieser glanced over at Hâzadriën, riding to his left as always. The glamour was a good one; he looked as normal as the others and would be safe while it held. “Ready for the hunt, old friend?”
It was habit, of course. Hâzadriën never answered or smiled, or showed any emotion for that matter. He just twitched his shoulders, settling pale, leathery wings more comfortably under his loose tunic. The glamour hid the rest.
CHAPTER 5
Luck and Deep Water
THE DAY of their departure from Gedre, dark rumpled clouds hung low on the horizon and the cold wind promised rain and swift sailing. The wind whipped their cloaks around their legs and pulled at their hoods as Alec and the others said their farewells to the khirnari. It had been a week since the assassins’ attempt, and there had been no trouble since.
“Thank you for the chances you’ve taken, harboring us here,” Seregil said, pressing a hand to his heart. “And for the care and friendship you’ve extended to my talímenios. If ever you need our help, we’ll be here like the wind.”
“If you can manage not to get yourselves killed in the meantime,” Riagil said.
Holding a closely bundled Sebrahn by the hand, Alec managed a grin. “We have so far.” The khirnari seemed happier today; Alec suspected Riagil was glad to see the back of them. “And thank you again for this,” he added with genuine gratitude. Riagil had given him a bow and quiver when he learned that Alec’s famous Black Radly had been lost to the slavers. It was a flat bow made of lemonwood from southern Aurënen and backed with vellum. It was as fine a one as he’d ever handled, well balanced and as light as it was strong. The limbs pulled evenly and true, with nearly the same weight as the Radly.
With the last of the farewells said and gifts given, they boarded the ship and soon got under way. The salt-laden breeze caressed Alec’s face and pulled little tendrils from his braid as he stood at the prow with Seregil, Sebrahn between them, savoring the familiar tug of excitement as the clustered white houses and then the harbor slid away into the mist behind them. The start of any journey filled him with anticipation, and this time he was going to Bôkthersa.
Seregil covered Alec’s gloved hand with his own and leaned close. “Deep thoughts for deep water?”
“Not really. I’m just excited to finally be—”
“Don’t say it!” Seregil exclaimed, grey eyes going comically wide. “You’ll jinx us.”
Alec grinned. “Well, I hope Astellus will smile on this voyage. How’s that?”
“I wouldn’t tempt fate.”
“You don’t believe in fate.”
Seregil stared out at the flock of red-winged terns winging along beside them. “Maybe I’m changing my mind about that. I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened in Plenimar.”
“It’s over, talí,” Alec murmured, raising Seregil’s hand and kissing the back of it—a bold move for the reticent northerner, here on deck where anyone could see.
“Not the enslavement and humiliation, Alec; how we got there in the first place. A man I knew nearly five decades ago, the man who changed the entire course of my life—and there Ilar was in Yhakobin’s house, at the center of the web that caught us!” He plucked one of Sebrahn’s long hairs from Alec’s shoulder. “And the bastard has changed my life again, hasn’t he?” He let the wind take the strand. “And yours.”
“I’ve been thinking about Ilar a lot, too. The first time you ever told me about him, you swore you’d kill him on sight, but in the end you took pity on him instead.”
Seregil rested his elbows on the rail and heaved a weary sigh. “Are you still jealous? Do you think I was weak for saving him?”
“Weak? No, you were merciful. I know I was angry at the time, talí, but looking back, I’m glad.”
Seregil raised a skeptical brow. “So you’re not jealous anymore?”
It was Alec’s turn to stare out across the waves. “That pathetic eunuch? What is there to be jealous of?”
“As I recall, you weren’t so philosophical at the time.”
“Not when I caught him trying to kiss you down there by that stream. And he betrayed me, too, just like he did you, after making me trust him all that time in Yhakobin’s house.”
“But before you knew the truth? What did you think of him when you still thought he was ‘Khenir’?”
Alec looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he had liked the man. But only because Ilar had been kind to him—a seeming friend in a friendless place. “He was still lying,” he said, stubbornly shaking off the thought. “So what do you think? Is he alive?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe he died with Yhakobin and the others when Sebrahn sang. He couldn’t have gotten that far away.”
Seregil looked down at Sebrahn thoughtfully. “Maybe. We still don’t know what Sebrahn’s range is. Either way, I doubt we’ll be seeing Ilar again. Let it go, talí.”
Alec turned and looked landward. The mist was thinning, and he could make out a line of jagged, snowcapped peaks. The Ashek range followed the northern curve of Aurënen, embracing the deep blue Osiat like a giant’s necklace. Bôkthersa lay deep in the mountains to the west, a fai’thast of green valleys and sweet water. The sen’gais Adzriel and Mydri wore were that same green, the long tails of them fluttering in the wind.
“How many tries does this make?” Micum asked as he joined them at the rail.
“This makes three,” said Alec.
Micum grinned. “Three’s a lucky number. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to make an offering. A coin over the right shoulder for Astellus should do the trick.”
Alec fished a sester coin from his purse and held it a moment on his open palm, letting the sunlight catch the finely stamped design. A crescent moon with five rays cradled a flame: moon and fire; Ilior and Sakor, the patrons of Skala and the royal family. The first time he’d seen one of these was soon after he and Seregil had met, and Seregil had taught him some sleight of hand. He smiled to himself as he rolled it expertly across the backs of his fingers, then palmed it and shot it up his sleeve.
Micum chuckled. “No wonder you are such a terror at the gaming tables.”
Alec cast the coin over his shoulder into the water.
Seregil produced a small owl feather from his purse and let the wind take it. “Luck in the shadows.”