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.
CHAPTER 30
The Cottage by the Sea
BY LATE AFTERNOON they’d struck the highroad and Alec’s belly was complaining loudly again.
Micum pointed forward to a familiar headland as they stopped by a spring. “I believe the cove is just beyond there.” It was no more than a mile on.
“Good.” Seregil yawned widely.
“Don’t start that,” said Micum, then succumbed to one of his own. “We don’t have that much farther to go.”
“I just hope Rhal is actually—” Suddenly Seregil went very still, head cocked slightly. “Do you hear that?”