Lynn Flewelling - The White Road

Alec was in no condition to argue.

“Mydri and I will stay, too,” Adzriel sat down on the edge of the bed and took Alec’s bloodstained hand in hers. Her hands were trembling.

Seregil paused in front of Riagil. “I am sorry we brought this trouble into your house.”

“I regret that I did not keep you safe,” Riagil replied. As Seregil hurried off after Micum, Riagil turned to Alec. “Who were these assassins?”

“That’s what Seregil and Micum are trying to find out. It all happened so fast, and their faces were covered. If they’d spoken, I might have known the accent, but no one did. But they were damn good, whoever they were. If they had managed to kill Seregil before he woke up, Sebrahn and I would probably be gone.” Unless they’d uncovered Sebrahn’s mouth, of course, and that really would have been the end of their secrets. Too many people had witnessed Sebrahn’s healing, and word was probably spreading through the house.

“I see. Then I will leave you and see what your friends can find.” He rose and gave Adzriel a small bow. “I give my regrets to you and your clan, as well, Khirnari.”

“The fault is not yours, I’m sure,” she replied graciously, and Alec suspected the exchange had something to do with Aurënfaie honor, because Riagil looked relieved as he went out.

The dead were laid out in a row just outside the gates. Men held torches for Seregil and Micum as they began their examination. With help from some of Riagil’s men, they stripped the bodies and studied the clothing.

Riagil joined them, looking on intently.

“They’re certainly not ’faie,” Seregil said. These men had hairy chests and were too bulky in their build. Seregil shook his head, wondering how Alec had managed to hold off so many of them in his weakened state.

“Pretty damn plain,” said Micum, looking over one of the leather vests.

“Let me see the stitching.” Seregil turned it inside out, then checked some of the other clothing. “Most have crossed stitches instead of slanting. That could be Mycenian work, or north Plenimaran.”

“The knives may be Plenimaran, too.”

They turned their attention to the bodies now, looking for any sort of guild mark or other tattoo that would indicate who they were or where they had come from.

None of them carried a purse, so there were no coins to tell them anything, either.

Seregil took one of the lamps and held it close to one of the dead men’s faces. “The lower portion of the face is considerably lighter.”

“He shaved his beard.”

“Yes.”

Several of the others showed the same pale jawline.

“Looks like Plenimarans to me,” said Micum.

“There are dark-haired, bearded, hairy-chested men in Skala, too, and Mycena.”

“True.”

Micum examined the man’s hands. “Callused, but no dirt ground into them or under the nails. And more callused on one hand than the other. They were swordsmen by trade.”

Seregil did the same with several others, inspecting palms and fingers. “This one was left-handed. And this one was an archer.”

“If they were assassins, then why didn’t they kill Alec and Sebrahn, as well?” asked Riagil.

“Because they weren’t,” Seregil replied, still at work. “They were kidnappers, and very well-informed ones, too. They not only knew that we’re in Gedre; they knew which room we were in. And they meant to kill me, not take me. You probably have a spy in your house, Riagil.”

“I will make inquiries, of course.”

Good luck with that , thought Seregil. If your spy is good enough not to be noticed before, then he’s likely to just lay low now . “Have you had anyone new come to live in your household in the past month? A guest? A new servant?”

“No.”

“It could be someone who visits the house,” said Micum.

“We’re a trade port. People come and go every day!”

Seregil stood up and wiped his hands on his breeches. “Well, if I had to wager on it, I’d say they were Plenimarans who somehow managed to track us here, sent by someone who knew the alchemist. I think it may be time for us to move on.”

Yhali had the tubs set up in the kitchen, and Alec was forced to swallow his modesty in front of the servants as they tended to him and the others. Sebrahn remained calm when a pretty young maid gently sponged the blood from his face and chest, though he wouldn’t let go of Alec’s hand.

By the time they returned to their room, someone had cleared away the wreckage of the fight. The carpet was gone, too. Micum came in as they settled into the freshly made bed with Sebrahn safely between them.

Seregil fell back against the pillow beside Alec with a groan.

“Does it still hurt where Sebrahn healed you?” asked Micum.

“A bit. His flowers work wonders, but it’s not an instant cure.”

Micum was quiet for a moment, looking pensively at Sebrahn. “Do you think he could do something for this game leg of mine?”

“Probably,” said Alec. Someone had left a cup of water on the righted night table. He handed it to Sebrahn. “Show him the scars, Micum.”

Micum stripped down his leather trousers, showing him the ropy mass of scar tissue the dyrmagnos had made of the back of his thigh and calf.

“Go help him, Sebrahn,” Alec coaxed. “Can you heal his leg?”

Sebrahn slipped from the bed and squeezed blood from his cut finger into the cup. It took a lot of flowers.

“I wonder why he didn’t try to heal him sooner?” said Seregil.

“I don’t think he notices old wounds,” Alec replied, holding out his left palm, the one with the round shiny scar in the middle. “He’s never paid any attention to this. That first girl he healed had an infected foot, and you were covered in blood tonight. I don’t know—maybe he knows by smell. Is it working, Micum?”

Sebrahn sat back. Micum flexed his leg, then stood up. “By the Flame, sprout, that’s a damn sight better!” The scars remained, but it was clear that Micum had more use of that leg than he had before. He picked Sebrahn up and kissed him on the nose, then put him back in bed with Alec. “Well, I’m past sleeping tonight. If you two don’t mind, I’d like to sit here for a while.”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Seregil said with a yawn. “I’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

The following day Seregil and Micum went out with Riagil’s men to continue the search along the waterfront. Just after midday they found an abandoned longboat at the far end of the beach to the west of town. It was of Skalan make. Leaving the Gedre men to make inquiries in the area, Seregil and Micum walked back to the clan house, sunk in thought and frustration.

“Well, what do you think?” Micum asked as they neared the house.

“The boat could have drifted off from any Skalan warship or trader that’s dropped anchor here. Or it could be like the clothing—something to throw us off.”

“I still think the assassins are from Plenimar.”

“So do I, but how did they get here? Fly?”

“Never mind that. Who sent them?”

“Someone who knows about Sebrahn, obviously. The alchemist’s kin? The Overlord?”

“The Overlord? If that’s true, my friend, you’ve really put your foot in it this time, and deep!”

“Then let’s hope I’m wrong. Still …” He rubbed at the healing wound on his side. “Yhakobin knew the secret of making them. What if he’s not the only one?”

“And that person would know what Sebrahn really is.”

Seregil walked on in silence, hands clasped behind his back. It looked like they hadn’t quite escaped, after all—which made their presence here a continuing danger.