Lynn Flewelling - The White Road

“They don’t like outsiders,” Turmay replied, but Seregil caught the hint of untruth in his words, and the way he glanced around at the surrounding forest as he spoke.

“You’ve agreed to give up Sebrahn?” Nowen asked Seregil, evidently not noticing.

“It was Alec’s decision,” said Seregil. “It won’t be easy for him, when the time comes, but Sebrahn will be yours.”

“I see.” Turmay was frowning now.

“There’s one more thing, though,” Seregil said, turning to Rieser. “You have the tayan’gil and the books, or parts of them anyway. In return, I need your word, on your honor, that Alec will be free to go.”

Rieser hesitated, then nodded. “You have my word.”

“Those were not our orders!” Nowen said.

“I am taking responsibility for that. I’d never have found the books without them. And they saved my life twice over. No, Alec will go his way in peace, and we will not hunt him again.”

“What will you tell the khirnari?”

“Just what I have told you. It’s a debt of honor and I take full responsibility. I have seen what these men are capable of. Alec will not be caught and used again.”

Seregil looked around at the others, watching the different emotions play out there: doubt, anger, acceptance.

Meanwhile, Hâzadriën had made a few more flowers for Rieser’s shoulder. Rieser waited until he was finished, then reached out and stroked Sebrahn’s hair. “And this little one will be treated with honor and kindness.”

“He’s unnatural,” said Turmay.

“Aura’s white road runs in his veins, however mixed. He’s not an abomination.”

“That’s for the khirnari to decide,” Sorengil warned.

“No, it has been decided!” cried a voice above them.

The witch Naba stood above the waterfall with several other Retha’noi men, all with oo’lus poised to play. Behind him Retha’noi archers were taking aim, and two other witch men were there with their horns.

“This can’t be good,” muttered Micum.

“If any of you move, the archers will find you,” Turmay warned. “Rieser í Stellen, you were sent to find this tayan’gil, and to destroy the ya’shel. I was sent to destroy both, and the Mother has given me the means and brought me to my brothers of the south.”

“This is treachery!”

“Please, Rieser, you must listen to me,” Turmay pleaded. “I have no desire to see Hâzad blood spilled.”

“Then you have chosen the wrong friends!” Rieser growled.

At that moment the witches on the heights began to play. First Rane, and then Relian slumped to the ground, dead or unconscious; it was impossible to tell.

Micum fell to his knees. Seregil could feel the effects creeping over him as he knelt in front of Sebrahn and shouted, “Sing, damn it! Sing!”

And Sebrahn did.

Seregil carefully refrained from touching Sebrahn, but he still felt the rush of power strike through him, banishing the effects of the horns. A swirling wind blew up from nowhere at the center of the clearing, scattering gear and blowing the fire to pieces. Neither the Ebrados nor the Retha’noi fell, and Seregil guessed that the wind must be Sebrahn’s magic colliding with that of the hill folk. He’d never seen anything like it, but the Retha’noi were still on their feet. Ducking a flying branch, he crawled over to Micum and felt for a pulse. He was alive, and woke when Seregil shook him.

The Retha’noi fell silent first, then Sebrahn. Seregil heard shouting on the heights, and a sudden scream from the trees behind them.

“They’re flanking us,” said Nowen.

“Aura’s Light, that sounded like Kalien!” Morai exclaimed even as she took aim and let fly.

Nowen and several of the others who were still on their feet pushed the cart onto its side to shield them as the Retha’noi shouted what were probably war cries—he hoped to hell they weren’t some new magic—and the Retha’noi archers shot back. Arrows thudded into the bottom of the cart and embedded themselves in the trees behind them.

“Will you be able to fight, if it comes to that?” Seregil asked Rieser.

The man shrugged. “I will do what I can.”

Some of the Ebrados scrambled for their bows while Nowen and Sorengil chanced death to drag Rane and Relian to safety. They were nearly there when Relian was struck in the neck. Seregil and Micum ducked out and helped bring them in. Rieser quickly inspected Relian’s wound and shook his head. Blood was pulsing out around the shaft and he was wheezing bloody foam. Sebrahn was with him in an instant, but there was no water for him to use.

Seregil pulled him away. “Leave him. There’s nothing you can do for him right now.”

“I wish Alec was here with his bow,” said Micum, crouched beside Hâzadriën and Rieser, sword drawn.

“So do I,” said Seregil.

Taegil burst from the woods at their back and ran for cover. “They’re in the trees! I think they killed Kalien!”

“How many?” Rieser demanded.

“I don’t know. At least a dozen.” Taegil fell to his knees, gasping for breath. “We heard that awful noise, then suddenly they were there. We both ran but—”

“You have a bow,” Rieser snapped. “Use it!”

Seregil looked up at the darkening sky. “Alec won’t wait much longer.”

It was only then that he realized that Sebrahn was gone.

Looking around frantically, he saw that the rhekaro had left the shelter of the cart and was making for the pool with the bowl Hâzadriën had dropped. Sebrahn filled it, but as he turned to come back, an arrow struck him in the side. He staggered, but kept going. Another struck him in the leg and this time he fell.

Seregil dashed out and grabbed him, pulling the rhekaro to safety. Ignoring his own wounds, Sebrahn immediately reached for the bowl and looked up at Seregil, the message plain. Seregil filled it from a fallen waterskin and helped him over to Relian. Sebrahn didn’t have to cut a finger; using the white blood from his own wounds, he made a dark flower and pressed it to the wound in the dying man’s neck.

“It’s no use,” Seregil told him, but Sebrahn made another, and another. His wounds were still bleeding, and Seregil saw that the rhekaro was taking on a shrunken look; his already thin arms were noticeably smaller.

He pulled Sebrahn away, and over to Rieser. “Sebrahn needs strong blood!”

The Hâzad cut his finger and stuck it in Sebrahn’s mouth. The rhekaro latched on to his hand and sucked desperately.

Then the sound of the oo’lus began again. Dropping Rieser’s hand, Sebrahn jumped to his feet and began to sing again.

“It’s been too long,” Alec said, watching as the sun sank toward the peaks in front of them.

“I don’t like it, either,” said Skywake. “We haven’t heard a damn thing. I say we go find them.”

Alec hobbled Patch and took up his bow. “Come on.”

“Wait, I hear a horseman,” said Skywake.

A moment later Rhal burst from the trees, an arrow bobbing from his horse’s shoulder.

“The camp’s under attack,” he shouted. “I was on my way back for you all and suddenly someone was shooting at me!”

Just then they heard a distant droning.

“What is that?” Skywake exclaimed.

“Oo’lus. Lots of them,” Alec began, then another piercing, unmistakable sound joined it. “And that’s Sebrahn. Come on!”

“Don’t run off alone,” Rhal called after him. “Your man will never forgive me if I let you get yourself killed.”

“Then you better hurry up!” Alec called back, sword in his right hand and his bow in the left.

Running in the lead, Alec was the first to see the body of a dark-haired man lying facedown in the road, two arrows in his back. The clothing wasn’t Seregil’s, but Alec still had to stop and roll him over, just to be certain. It was Kalien.