Lynn Flewelling - Shadows Return

“If there’s one thing Phoria excels at, talí, it’s holding a grudge.”

Seregil was relieved when Alec finally let the subject drop, but it was some time before he could get to sleep. He hated that singular sort of silence Alec pulled around himself when the subject of Seregil’s previous liaisons came up. Alec was normally the most reasonable and easygoing of men; but on this one topic he always grew troubled, though he wouldn’t say much about it. All Seregil could do was avoid the subject. He made no apologies for his past, but he hated causing Alec pain. He wanted nothing more right now than to pull the stubborn young man into his arms and apologize, but Alec had turned his back and seemed to be asleep.

Seregil lay awake a long time, watching the sun slowly pass across the window.

Far across the Osiat, the khirnari of Virésse sat on his balcony, enjoying a late breakfast with his eldest daughter as he watched that same sunlight dance on the waves in the harbor below. There were fewer ships there these days, and fewer still that hailed from Skala. The three great merchantmen at anchor near the harbor mouth flew the standards of Plenimaran houses; that land had always been a good friend to Virésse.

Ulan í Sathil was an old man and not easily startled. He didn’t flinch when a tiny, pale green orb of light suddenly winked into existence inches from his face. He recognized the bit of Orëska magic, but not the sender’s color.

“Would you excuse me, my dear?” he said.

“Of course, Father.” Saliana withdrew, used to her father’s ways. She could be trusted to say nothing of the odd messenger.

Ulan reached out one long finger and touched the spark, marveling as always that it had neither heat nor any form. He might not know the sender, but he knew the voice that spoke the message as the light disappeared.

“I have watched and waited as you instructed, Uncle. I have it from the lips of one in the great palace that the golden prize flies south to Gedre tomorrow, on lark’s wings, and with him the nameless one.”

“Ah, I knew you could not long keep away,” Ulan murmured. He went to the balcony door and shook awake the young page dozing on his stool.

“Wake up, Mikiel, I have a task for you. Go to the house of Kiran Ashnazai and tell him to come to me at once.”

“What shall I say, Khirnari?” the boy asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Tell him that our wait is at an end.”

He returned to the balcony, and the view of his half-deserted harbor, smiling to himself. “Two birds with one arrow. This will be most satisfying.”

Supper was a subdued affair that night. After the dishes were cleared away Seregil brought out his harp and he and Alec sang for their friends. He watched Micum and Kari from the corner of his eye as he played a favorite love ballad. They sat close together on the settle, hands clasped, Kari leaning her head on her husband’s shoulder. The firelight caught the glints of silver in their hair and shadowed the lines on their faces, but Seregil could still see in them the young lovers he’d known.

The price of exile, he thought. They’d all be dust before he grew old, if he lived out his span. He wondered how Nyal was going to cope, watching Beka age so quickly. He played on until the two little ones were asleep in their parents’ laps and Illia was dozing against Alec’s knee.

“That’s enough for now,” he whispered, setting the harp aside. “We’ve packing to finish and we’ll be off before any of you are up.”

“Luck in the shadows to you,” Micum murmured.

Seregil managed a smile though his heart suddenly felt heavy. “And in the Light.”

As they pottered about their room, deciding what to take and what to leave, Alec glanced up at his black bow on its peg on the wall and his battered old quiver beside it. The latter was still decorated with dozens of small, oddly carved charms hanging from long rawhide laces and made of everything from wood to chalcedony. They were shatta -betting prizes he’d won from Aurënfaie archers during their last visit.

“Planning to add to your collection?” Seregil asked.

Alec took down the bow and ran his hands over the dark limbs. “I doubt I’ll have much time for that, this trip.”

“True. Still, you might get in a challenge or two, at Bôkthersa.” He gave Alec a wink. “Besides, I always feel safer when you have that along.”

They rose before dawn and came down by candlelight to find Micum dressed and waiting.

“Having second thoughts about coming with us?” Seregil asked.

“Perhaps just a little.” Micum chuckled, but there was no missing the longing in his eyes. “I’ll ride with you to the quay. I figured you’d need someone to take your horses back for you.”

“It won’t be a very exciting jaunt, compared to what we’re used to,” Alec said.

“Well, there’s something to be said for peaceful journeys, too.”

The city slept around them as they rode through the Sea Market, and down the walled Harbor Way to the docks of the Lower City.

The first glow of dawn was just visible above the city now, but the western sky was still rich with stars. The tide was high, waves lapping at the stone pilings. A land breeze ruffled the calm water of the inner harbor.

People were stirring here: fishermen returning with their lantern boats, fishmongers opening their markets, and wastrels of all descriptions staggering out of taverns and brothels.

The Lark ’s crew was busy, as well. She was a solid, well-trimmed carrack, with a complement of archers aboard, as well as the crew and their escort. The captain met them on the quay, impatient not to lose the turning tide.

“I can’t promise you a smooth crossing this time of year, my lords,” he warned.

Seregil laughed. “Get us across alive and I’ll be satisfied.”

Micum clasped hands with them as their meager baggage was carried aboard. “Well, I’ll see you in a month or two, then?”

“We’ll come out to Watermead for a hunt,” Seregil promised, reluctantly releasing his friend’s hand.

Micum remained there, a lone, still figure leaning on his stick as the ship got under weigh and headed out. Seregil stood at the rail, watching to see if he’d leave, but they were out of sight before he had his answer.

Alec joined him and rested his elbows on the rail as they passed through the stone moles and lost sight of the shore. “Funny, but I seem to miss him more now than I did when we were up north all those months.”

“So do I.”

Alec ran a finger across the back of Seregil’s left hand, tracing the double line of blue spots there, a souvenir of their first trip to Aurënen together. A bite from a dragon of that size was always a dangerous thing. Such marks, stained blue with lissik, were considered lucky. The ones you survived, at least; Seregil had been damn lucky not to lose his hand to all that venom. Alec had gotten off lightly; it was only a tiny fingerling that had nipped his left earlobe. The blue marks were tiny but quite visible when he pulled his hair back.

Another paired set of wounds, he thought, smiling to himself. They shared an identical round scar from their first journey together, Alec’s on the palm of his hand, Seregil’s on his breast.

The melancholy feeling persisted until they were well out at sea, but then, with a new day dawning and cold spray on their faces, the old excitement took over.

“Who knows?” Alec said presently. “Maybe Klia will take us on as scouts when she’s a general again. We’d be good at that.”

“Still envying Beka that uniform?”

“No, I was just thinking that anything would be better than listening to you complaining about how bored you are!”