Lynn Flewelling - Shadows Return

“That’s a rock adder. Is it safe to eat?” Ilar asked, disgusted.

“So long as you chop off the first third or so, that gets rid of the poison sacs,” Alec explained, doing exactly that and tossing the head away. “Do we dare make a fire?”

“My belly says yes,” Seregil said.

Cobbling together a tiny fire from what brush there was, they cooked the meat and the coney livers until they were black on the outside, and mostly raw inside, but warmed through. When it was done, Seregil sliced it all up in three equal parts and doled out a few sips of water.

“Meat!” Alec laughed, ripping a mouthful off a leg bone with his teeth. “By the Four, Yhakobin was stingy with that. How about you?”

“My master was kinder,” Seregil said with a smirk, plucking the tiny bones from a chunk of snake meat. “I got a bit now and then.”

Ilar took a tentative bite of underdone rabbit. He gagged on it at once and spat it out.

“Don’t go wasting that,” Alec warned. “Those were hard to come by, and we may not get any more for a while.”

“It’s dreadful!”

“Better than starving, though,” Seregil told him, chewing happily. He passed Ilar his portion of the coney liver. “Here, try this.”

The man nibbled hesitantly at the dark morsel, then ate the rest. “That isn’t quite as bad.” He cast a longing glance at Alec’s portion.

Alec popped his into his mouth and chewed loudly. “Mmmm. Delicious!”

When their scant meal was over Alec stamped out the fire and buried the remains of it and the bones. Then, still hungry and thirstier than ever, they continued on.

A few hours before dawn, Seregil was carrying Sebrahn when the rhekaro suddenly grew restless, squirming in his sling and clutching at Seregil’s shoulders.

Seregil put him down, in no mood for any complications.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, Sebrahn clasped Alec’s hand and tried to pull him in a more easterly direction, heedless of the stony ground on his bare feet. It was the first time Seregil had seen the rhekaro show this much initiative.

“What do you think he wants?” he asked, intrigued in spite of himself.

“I don’t know. He’s never done this before.”

Seregil turned to Ilar. “Do you have any ideas about this?”

Ilar looked baffled, too. “No.”

“Well then, I guess we’ll have to follow him.”

Set loose, Sebrahn tugged at Alec’s arm like a dog on a leash and he led them down into a deep gully Alec had been trying to avoid. Tough little plants lined a dry creek bed at the bottom. Alec sniffed the air, then plucked a sprig and nibbled carefully at one thin leaf.

“I thought so! This is teawort. Chew it, and it will keep your mouth wet.”

It tasted a bit like pine, a bit like rosemary, and made the spit well under their tongues, making the dry air easier to bear as they hoarded the last of their water.

But Sebrahn didn’t let them stop for long. Taking Alec’s hand again, he continued on to where the gully let out onto a small valley.

“Well, look at that!” Seregil exclaimed. Less than a mile on, they saw the warm, square glow of firelight through a window.

As they came closer, they could make out the shape of a low stone cottage ringed with a stone enclosure. The wind carried the scent of water, and goats.

“How could he have known that was there?” wondered Alec.

Seregil gave the rhekaro a grudging smile. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s part divining rod.”

They approached the place with caution, but all was silent.

“Doesn’t anyone in Plenimar keep dogs?” whispered Alec.

“They’re considered dirty creatures here, good only for coursing, and for fighting,” Ilar explained.

“Fighting what?” asked Alec.

“Each other, or slaves.”

“Let’s hope they don’t keep that kind here,” said Seregil. “Ilar, keep quiet and follow our lead.”

Skirting the house, they stole a few knobby turnips from a rocky garden patch and discovered a large, strong-smelling cheese in a covered bucket let down the well to stay cool. They pulled up the water bucket and drank thirstily, slaking their dry throats.

Alec wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then looked around in alarm. “Where’s Sebrahn?”

The rhekaro had stayed right beside him, as always. Now he was nowhere to be seen.

“Shit!” Seregil pointed toward the house, where the front door now stood open, letting out a long bar of firelight. “Ilar, stay here. Alec, let’s go fetch your-him.”

They stole up to the open door and peered inside.

The house was a humble one, just a single room, with stretched skins on the walls and chunks of dried meat hung from the rafters. Apart from a few crude stools, there were no furnishings, and it appeared that the family had been asleep on pallets on the floor. Now a man and his wife and several small girls were sitting up among their blankets, staring in terror at Sebrahn.

The rhekaro was kneeling beside the only occupied pallet. His headcloth had come off and his long hair fell in tangled disarray down his back. The ruddy light of the fire made it look more blond than white and lent his face a little color, but there was no mistaking his strangeness. The man made a sign against evil with two fingers and muttered the word “ urgha, ” thinking the rhekaro was a demon or ghost.

A gaunt young woman lay on the pallet in front of Sebrahn. Seregil could hear her labored breathing from here, and smell the sickly-sweet odor of diseased flesh.

As he and Alec watched, Sebrahn pulled the lower end of a tattered blanket away, exposing a foot that was dark and grossly swollen.

“He wants to heal her, like he did Ilar’s lip,” Alec whispered, moving for the door.

Seregil grabbed him by the arm and signed, Stay here. Keep watch. I’ll do the talking. Making sure his sleeves were well pulled down to hide the slave brand, he stepped inside, hands raised to show he meant no harm.

“Who are you?” the man demanded in thickly accented Plenimaran as his wife hastily turned away and covered her head with a shawl. He had the curly hair and swarthy skin that spoke of mixed blood, probably Zengati. The little girls had curly hair, too, but were fair-skinned.

“Just a wayfarer,” Seregil replied, knowing his own Plenimaran spoke of western cities. “We were so glad to see your light. I’m sorry if my companion there has troubled you, but he’s a healer.”

“That pale little thing?” the man growled. “What does he care about my daughter? How did you come here?”

“We were lost, up in the highlands.”

The man remained suspicious, but Seregil pressed on. “My little friend here smells disease and follows it like a hound.” Actually, he suspected that wasn’t much of a lie. “If you’ll allow it, I think he can make her well.”

The man started to object, but his wife muttered something low and urgent and he softened as he looked over at the dying girl. “Well, I don’t suppose he could do her much harm as she is.”

“What happened to her?”

“Rock adder bit her last night as she was bringing in the flock. She screamed most of the night, ’til she wore out. If your little fellow can help her, or give her an easy passing, you can ask of us what you will.”

“I need a cup of water.”

“She can’t take none.”

“I know, but he needs it for the healing.”

One of the little girls hurried to dip a cracked bowl in a bucket. Seregil took it with a reassuring smile and set it down beside Sebrahn.

“Give me your hand,” he whispered, drawing his poniard.

The rhekaro immediately shrank back from him, eyes fixed on the long pointed blade.