Lynn Flewelling - Shadows Return

The stable spoke of money and title, and the horses were good ones. Treading softly, he discovered a young ostler asleep with a jug in a stall near the door. Seregil could smell the wine on him from two yards off.

He crept back to the shaft and motioned the others up. Ilar came first, then Alec, straining a little now under the slight weight of the rhekaro.

Seregil pointed to the drunken ostler, and then motioned for them to follow him out. He kept a close eye on the drunkard, poniard at the ready, but the man never stirred.

Outside they found a well-kept farmyard and corral, and a slope-roofed little cottage with darkened windows. A larger house stood on a nearby rise-a hunting lodge, perhaps, and also dark. This Yhakobin fellow was well prepared for a hasty departure should he ever need to make one.

Wary of watchdogs, Seregil led the way across a small onion patch and an herb garden, and into the shadow of a small orchard just beyond. A few apples still hung from the branches. They paused here and picked a few, letting the juice soothe their dry throats.

Ilar plucked nervously at his slave collar as he ate, as if the weight of it pressed on him more now that they were fugitives. Alec unwrapped the rhekaro from its sling and set it on its feet. It hunkered down beside him, completely still.

Seregil wanted more than anything to grab Alec, check him for damage, and never let go. After all the weeks of uncertainty and abuse, he ached to hold him and be held. If Ilar and the rhekaro hadn’t been there, he probably would have, and damn the danger.

It hurt a little that Alec seemed more engrossed in caring for the unnatural creature. Seregil watched jealously as he bit off a small piece of apple and offered it to the rhekaro. The creature just stared at it, as if it had never seen food before.

As Seregil watched, Alec took out his knife and nicked the end of his own finger, then held it out. The creature grasped it eagerly and sucked it like a teat.

Seregil grimaced. “It eats blood?”

“His name is Sebrahn.”

“Oh lovely. You’ve named it.”

“That’s right. And it’s my blood he eats. Just mine. That’s why I couldn’t leave him. He’d starve. It’s all right, though. He never needs very much. See? He’s done.”

The rhekaro sat back and licked a last dark smear from its colorless lips. Its tongue looked grey in this light.

“Bilairy’s Balls.” Seregil leaned over and pulled off the rhekaro’s head scarf. Silvery white hair tumbled down its back, so long it brushed the ground behind it. “More hair to cut.”

“I’m not sure it will do any good.”

“Oh?”

“Things- grow back.”

The child-like thing was watching Seregil now, its eyes white and blank as a corpse’s in the starlight. Seregil’s every instinct warned him to get Alec as far away from it as possible.

“Why didn’t you kill the ostler so we could steal the horses?” Ilar whispered, eyeing them both as if they’d gone mad.

“If I wanted to leave no doubt of where we’d been, that’s exactly what I’d do,” Seregil snapped, taking it out on him. “Next you’ll be leading us back to the seaport to find a ship. And eat that apple core or bury it. They’ll have trackers on us soon enough.”

“Where are we going, then?”

“Let me worry about that.”

“You still don’t trust me? I helped you!”

Seregil bit back an angry retort. If it had been just the two of them, he could have just stuck a knife in the man and been done with him. Ilar had served his purpose, after all. He was nothing but useless baggage now. Still, hiding the body would be a bother, not to mention the time it would take to calm Alec down.

“We’ve got to get as far as we can tonight and find a good place to lie up. And get these off.” He tugged irritably at the iron collar around his neck. “Is there any magic in them?”

“Not that I know of,” Ilar replied. “But you won’t find a smith who’ll do the job.”

“I’m pretty handy with a chisel. We just need to find the tools. And what about these?” He pulled his sleeve back, uncovering the brand. “I suppose we could cut them off. Or burn them over.”

“That’s the first thing a slave taker looks for. When a slave is freed, that mark is branded over with another, larger one, to prove he’s free.”

“What sort of mark?” asked Alec.

“The crest of his master.”

Seregil ran a hand back through his ragged hair. “No easy solution there, then, unless we can find one to steal. Stay here, both of you.”

Leaving Alec to keep Ilar under control, Seregil made his way back the way they’d come. After some searching, he found the tools he needed in a lean-to next to the cottage. If there were dogs here, they certainly weren’t worth much as guards.

He returned to find the rhekaro curled up beside Alec with its head in his lap. It wasn’t sleeping, though. Its eyes followed Seregil as he approached, shining like a cat’s.

“These will have to do,” he said, holding up the small mallet and a cold chisel. He waved the mallet at Ilar. “You first.” If he was going to make any serious mistakes, it wasn’t going to be on Alec’s neck.

Seregil found a suitably large rock and had Ilar lay his head on it, bracing the loose part of the collar against the crude anvil.

“Hold still,” he warned as he set the chisel point against the riveted seam in the metal.

The hammerblows were dangerously loud, but he struck well and severed the joint in three tries without doing any significant harm to Ilar. It took him and Alec together to wrench it open enough for Ilar to slip out of it. There was a ring of pale, shiny flesh around his neck where the golden collar had rubbed for so long, and a wider band of reddened skin from the new one.

Seregil had a fleeting urge to smooth his fingers over it.

Ilar raised a hand to his throat. “It feels so strange, not having it there. Thank you.”

“It had to be done,” Seregil replied gruffly. “You next, Alec.”

When that was done, he handed Alec the tools and held his breath as Alec struck off the hated metal band. When it was off he rubbed gratefully at his own neck. “That’s better!”

Ilar was still doing the same, but now he looked more frightened than grateful.

“What’s the matter? Do you miss it already?”

Ilar was trembling. “If we’re caught without these…”

“If we’re caught, that will be the least of our worries.”

He left Alec to bury the broken collars and took the tools back where he’d found them, not wanting to leave the slightest clue behind. As he made his way back to the orchard, he found himself picturing Ilar’s grateful smile again.

What is wrong with me?

They set off again, striking east, away from Riga.

“What are you doing?” Ilar demanded, balking almost immediately. “Mycena is north, and the coast that way! You’re just leading us deeper into Plenimar.”

“Then stay here,” Seregil muttered. “Of course, I’d have to kill you.”

As he’d expected, Ilar fell into step behind them, walking in sullen silence.

Alec caught Seregil’s eye and made the hand sign for “Aurënen.” Seregil nodded. If they could make it to the Strait and steal a boat, they could cross to Virésse, or better yet, coast along to Gedre, where they were assured of a warmer welcome.

He shot the rhekaro a dark look. And what will they make of you?

Alec, the better guide outside of a city, took the lead. The clouds were clearing and he kept the stars of the Great Hunter over his left shoulder to keep them going east. He wasn’t troubled by Sebrahn’s slight weight, or the odd coolness his little body gave off instead of heat. It was the simmering tension brewing between all of them that worried him.