Lynn Flewelling - The White Road

“No, it’s not!” He already felt the burning ache of loss in his chest. His “child of no mother” could not be his. Not if he wanted the life he had. Seregil’s arms tightened around him; he knew loss, too. Somehow, that helped.

From Nanta, Rhal set sail for the Cirna Canal, and the little port of Ardenlee nearby. Seregil spent the first day in the cabin with Alec, and Micum let them be. When Alec appeared at supper the following night, his eyes were red and he was very quiet. Micum looked over at Seregil, but his friend shook his head. There was nothing anyone could say to Alec right now that would ease his pain.

Alec was a little better the next day, and by the time they reached Cirna, he seemed nearly himself again, though there’d been no singing or gaming this crossing. Seregil spent a great deal of time poring over the pieces of the stolen books, trying to pierce the code, but with little success. Micum suspected his heart wasn’t really in the task just now. Sebrahn’s absence was palpable between them.

They arrived at midmorning, guided in by twin columns of smoke from the beacon fires above the Astellus and Sakor columns. It had been a few years since Micum had sailed through the great Canal, which connected the Inner and Osiat seas. As they sat at anchor, waiting for the harbormaster to signal their turn, he stood on the deck with Alec and Seregil, taking in the sight of it.

“I’ll never forget the first time I saw this, aboard the Grampus,” murmured Alec.

“While I was busy dying in the hold,” Seregil said with a chuckle.

The ships ahead of them disappeared one by one into the dark maw of the channel, each signaled in by a mirror flash from near the top of the Astellus pillar.

“That’s our signal!” the lookout cried.

It was too dangerous to sail though the narrow channel, so ships like the Lady that were not fitted out with oars were towed through by large longboats.

It was just short of noon now, and they could clearly see the glassy places on the rough, towering walls, signs of the ancient magic used to make this wonder. Freshets of water flowed here and there, their tinkling splash sounding loud in the narrow space.

As they reached the halfway point, Micum saluted the statue of Tamír. “Thanks for the use of your road, Majesty.”

Reaching the far end at last, the longboat cast off and they hoisted canvas and sailed down the rocky coast to Ardenlee.

They’d decided to put in here, rather than Rhíminee, and enter the city as quietly as possible, which for Seregil and Alec meant evading any of the queen’s spies who might recognize them. There were still the pieces of the books to be dealt with before they made their presence generally known.

The sailors swam their horses ashore, and they followed in a longboat with their gear. Rhal came along to bid them farewell.

When they were ashore at last, he clasped hands with each of them and held Alec’s the longest. “Take care, my lords, and see if you can keep out of trouble for a while.”

“Good hunting,” said Seregil.

“And a full hold,” added Micum.

They stayed the night in a small inn, and set off the next day for the Bell and Bridle once again. “It’s good not to be pursued this time,” Micum remarked.

Seregil chuckled but Alec just looked away and said nothing. He’d been carrying Sebrahn the last time they came this way.

They spent the night at the Bell, and Seregil used one of the message sticks to let Thero know of their return. The following morning it was time to finally say another farewell.

“I could ride to Rhíminee with you,” Micum offered as they stood together in the stable yard.

“You’ve made Kari wait far too long already,” Seregil told him. “Give her our apologies, and tell Illia and the boys that we’ll bring presents to make up for your absence.”

“They’ll hold you to that. And see that you come out to Watermead soon.” He wagged a finger at them both. “I expect to see you before the spring foaling’s done.”

“You will,” Alec promised. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Micum embraced them each in turn. “I’ll miss you. I always do.”

Mounting his horse, he turned and headed for home.

Alec and Seregil watched him out of sight, then headed for the stable to get their horses.

“What do you say, Cynril, my girl?” Seregil asked, rubbing the tall black’s nose. “Ready to turn your head for home?”

Home , thought Alec. “The villa or the inn?” he asked, hoping for the latter.

“The inn, of course. I think we deserve a few days’ peace before we plunge back into society.”

“Good.” After all the horrors and hardships of these past months, Alec wanted to hide away in their secret rooms for about a year before he even considered parties and intrigues.

THEY ARRIVED at the north gate of the city just before midnight and rode through into the Harvest Market. The labyrinth of stalls was dark, and the great square was deserted except for a few sleeping beggars and a stray tomcat howling its lust somewhere in the shadows. From here they followed Silvermoon Street into the Noble Quarter, past the Palace grounds, and on to the walled grounds of the Orëska House. The soaring white palace towered above its walls, gleaming like pearl in the moonlight. The huge glass dome that topped it, and three of the four towers that stood at the corners, were dark, but light still showed through the dome of the east tower.

“Looks like we won’t be waking Thero,” said Alec.

“Perhaps he waited up for us.” Seregil patted his saddlebag and the two oo’lus strapped behind his saddle. “This time we brought presents for him, too.”

Guards in the red livery of the House stepped out to challenge them, but their names were password enough. They rode on through the dark, ever-fragrant gardens and left their horses with an attendant. Climbing the broad steps, they entered the huge, echoing atrium and strode across the great dragon mosaic floor to the stairway. Five stories of elaborately carved balconies and walkways were lost in shadow, except for lanterns hung at intervals along each.

Thero was uncommonly disheveled when he answered their knock. His blue robe looked slept in, and there were purple ink stains on his fingers and right cheek. “There you are! I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.” He looked them over, taking in their mud-spattered boots and trousers, and the saddlebag and oo’lus Seregil carried over one shoulder. “Where is Sebrahn?” he asked as they came into the workshop. The smell of a brazier hung on the air, and the stink of some spell.

“He’s safe. I’ll tell you the tale in a while,” Seregil said quietly with a meaningful look in Alec’s direction. “When we’ve had some wine.”

“Very well. I’ve had some news of my own, today. Ulan í Sathil died in Riga.”

“When?”

“Not long after you left, I’d say. He was carried back to Virésse in state with a boatload of ransomed slaves, a hero to his people.”

“A hero?” Alec exclaimed.

“It’s all right,” Seregil told him. “He’s more use to everyone that way. No good could come of the truth.”

“But, still, it’s sort of ironic, isn’t? Us keeping his secret for him?”

Seregil gave him a wry smile. “Life does tend to work out that way sometimes.”

“Did you find the book?” asked Thero.

“Books, as it turned out,” Seregil told him.

Seregil set the saddlebag down on one of the workbenches and took out the three halved volumes.

Thero looked at them in dismay. “What happened?”

“I split them with a Hâzadriëlfaie captain we got to know, with the idea that it was safer with no one having all of any of them. I did try to salvage the best bits, though.”