"Can we make Gedre without stopping for water?" she asked the captain.
"Yes, Commander. But it will be dark by the time we've run up the new sail. Plenty of time to send landing crews over to fill some casks."
Klia rubbed the back of her neck wearily. "If those ships were waiting to ambush us, then they knew why we were going to the island. They could have ambushers waiting at the spring. I've had enough surprises for one day. I say we push on to Gedre."
No one slept that night, or spoke above a whisper as they sailed on under the dark new moon. Every lantern was extinguished, and Thero stood guard on the rear castle with the captain and Klia, ready to weave whatever magic they needed to evade notice.
The groans of the wounded came up from belowdecks like the voices of ghosts. Alec and Seregil ventured down every hour or so to check on Beka. When she woke at last, she was so ill that she ordered them to go away and leave her in peace.
"That's a good sign," Seregil noted as they made their way up to the bow. "She'll be well enough in a day or two."
Perched on a large coil of rope behind the bowsprit, they settled in to scan the starlit waters ahead for any sign of enemy lights or sails.
"She's lucky she wasn't burned," Alec said as another agonized cry floated up to them over the rush of the water.
Seregil said nothing, his face lost in shadow. At last he pointed up to the dark moon, just visible over the western horizon. "At least the moon's on our side tonight. Most 'faie call the dark moon Ebraha Rabds, the Traitor's Moon. Where we're headed, she's called Astha Noliena."
" 'Lucky black pearl,' " Alec translated. "Why's that?" Seregil turned to give him a humorless grin. "Smuggling's a common sideline where I'm from, ever since the Edict closed Gedre as a legal port. Viresse is a long way off from landlocked Bokthersa; much simpler to head up to Gedre for the 'fishing.' My uncle, Akaien i Solun, used to bring my sisters and me along with him sometimes. On nights like this we'd sail out in fishing boats with our goods hidden under the nets to meet Skalan trade ships." "I thought you told me he is a swordsmith?" "He is, but as he used to say, 'Bad laws make good rogues.' " "So you're not the first nightrunner in your family after all." Seregil smiled. "I suppose not, though smuggling's practically an honorable trade here now. Gedre was a thriving trade port once, but when the Iia'sidra closed the borders she began to die. She's been slowly withering ever since—along with Akhendi—the fai'thast on the other side of the mountains. For centuries the northern trade routes were their life's blood. Klia's mission represents a great hope for them."
And for you, tali, Alec thought, sending up a silent prayer to the Four for their mutual success.
8
Gedre
The next morning, Seregil watched the port town of Gedre appear out of the thin mists like a familiar dream just remembered. Her white domes shone in the bright morning light. Beyond them, brown hills patched with green rose like mounting waves to the feet of the jagged Ashek peaks—the Wall of Aurenen, Dragon Home. He was probably the only one aboard who noted the scattering of ruins above the town, like a line of dried foam left in the tide's wake.
A land breeze swept the scent of the place across the water: tender spring sweetgrass, cooking smoke, sun-warmed stone, and temple incense.
Closing his eyes, he recalled other dawns, skimming into this harbor in a little skiff laden with foreign goods. He could almost feel his uncle's big hand on his shoulder, smell the salt and smoke and sweat on the man's skin. It had been Akaien i Solun who'd given him the praise he never seemed to merit in his own father's house. "You 're a good bargainer, Seregil. I never thought you'd talk that merchant up to such a price for my swords" or "Well steered, my boy. You 've learned your stars since our last voyage."
His father was gone, but so was his claim on this land. Reaching up, he touched the lump Corruth's ring made, hanging inside his somber grey surcoat. Only he and Alec knew it was there; the rest of the world saw only the flame and crescent emblem on a heavy silver chain on his breast, signifying his rank among Klia's entourage. For now, it was best that this be all that they see, these strangers who were once his people.
He knew the others were watching him and kept his face to shore, letting the wind cool the stinging behind his eyes as he watched the boats of Gedre put out from shore to welcome them.
Alec's heart beat faster as he watched the little vessels skimming across the waves under their colorful lateen sails to greet the Zyria and her remaining escort.
He leaned over the rail, waving to the half-naked sailors. They wore only a sort of short kilt around their slim hips, regardless of age or gender. Skimming in past the larger ships' prows, they laughed and waved, their long dark hair streaming in the breeze.
Several of Beka's riders let out appreciative whistles.
"By the Light!" murmured Thero, eyes widening as he saluted a lithe, sun-browned girl. She gestured back, and a fragrant purple blossom appeared behind the young wizard's left ear. Other boatmen followed her lead and more flowers materialized to adorn or shower the Skalan visitors.
"Sort of makes you want to reconsider that wizard's vow of celibacy, doesn't it?" asked Alec, giving him a teasing nudge in the ribs.
Thero grinned. "Well, it is strictly voluntary."
"It's a better welcome than we've had anywhere for a long while," said Beka, joining them. Someone had magicked a wreath of blue and white flowers around the brim of her burnished helmet, and more blossoms were tucked into her long red braid. She was still pale beneath her freckles, but no one had been able to convince her to lie low once land came in sight.
Standing nearby, Klia was clearly as excited as any of them. Today she wore a gown and jewels worthy of her royal status. Freed from its usual military braid, her thick chestnut hair fell in waves about her shoulders. Some Aurenfaie admirer had decked her with a girdle and wreath of wild roses.
Alec had put on his best, as well, and the neck of his cloak was
fastened with a heavy silver and sapphire brooch. Klia had smiled when she caught sight of it; it had been a gift from her own hand, an unspoken gesture of gratitude for saving her life.
Looking around, he saw with a sudden twinge of guilt that Seregil was standing alone. He held a single white bloom, absently twirling it by the stem between his long fingers as he watched the boats.
Going to him, Alec stood close enough to touch shoulders and took Seregil's free hand in his beneath the cover of their cloaks. Even after all their months of intimacy, he was still painfully shy about public gestures.
"Don't worry, tali," Seregil whispered. "Gedre holds good memories for me. The khirnari is a friend of my family."
"I'll have to learn who you are all over again," Alec sighed, rubbing his thumb across the back of Seregil's hand, loving the familiar play of bone and tendon beneath the skin. "Do you know the town well?"
Seregil's thin lips softened into a smile as he tucked the white flower behind his ear. "I used to."
The Zyria and the Courser glided into harbor like two storm-battered gulls and dropped anchor at two of the town's remaining quays. Tumbled piles of stones stretching out into the water were all that remained of several others.
Alec studied the crowd at the waterfront in awe. He'd never seen so many Aurenfaie in one place, and from a distance they all looked distressingly alike, even in their varying states of dress. Everyone seemed to have Seregil's dark hair, light eyes, and fine features. They weren't identical, of course, but the similarities threatened to blur into an indistinguishable whirl.
Most wore a simple tunic and breeches and colorful red and yellow sen'gai. Seregil had spent a good deal of the voyage schooling the Skalans on the various combinations, but this was the first time he'd seen the actual headdress. They added a bright, exotic note to the scene.
As he came nearer, however, differences began to emerge: He saw blond and ruddy hair scattered among the crowd, a man with a great wen on his cheek, a child missing a leg, a woman with a hunched s
houlder. Still, they were all Aurenfaie, and beautiful in Alec's eyes.
Any of them could be blood kin to me, he thought, and in that moment felt the first true stirrings of understanding. In this foreign
place he saw faces that resembled his own more than any he'd seen in Kerry.
The Zyria docked beside the quay and the crowd fell back" as the Skalan sailors ran out the plank for Klia. Following her with the others, Alec saw a bearded old man in Skalan robes awaiting them with several important-looking 'faie.
"Lord Torsin?" he asked, pointing him out to Seregil. He'd met the envoy's niece several times in Rhiminee; she was a regular in Lord Seregil's circle. Torsin, however, he'd seen only at a distance at a few public assemblies.
"Yes, that's him," said Seregil, shading his eyes. "He looks ill, though. I wonder if Klia knows?"
Alec craned his neck for a closer look at the old man as their two groups converged on the quayside. Torsin's skin was sallow, his eyes sunk deeply beneath his thick white brows. The skin of his face and neck hung in folds, as if he'd recently lost weight. Even so, the man still cut an imposing figure, austere and dignified. The close-cropped hair showing beneath his plain velvet hat was snowy white, his long face creased with solemn furrows that seemed to sag with the weight of his years. As he approached Klia, however, his stern expression gave way to a surprising smile that immediately disposed Alec in the man's favor.
The principal members of the Aurenfaie contingent were easily distinguished by their fine tunics of ceremonial white. Foremost among these were a Gedre man with thick streaks of white in his hair, and a young, fair-haired woman wearing the green-and-brown-striped sen'gai of Akhendi clan. Of the two, she was the more heavily jeweled, denoting higher status. Smooth gems set in heavy gold glowed in the sunlight on her fingers, wrists, and at her throat.
The man was the first to speak. "Be welcome in the fai'thast of my clan, Klia a Idrilain Elesthera Klia Rhiminee," he said, clasping hands with Klia. "I am Riagil i Molan, khirnari of Gedre. Torsin i Xandus has been extolling your virtues to us since his arrival yesterday. I see that, as usual, he speaks without exaggeration."
Removing a thick silver bracelet from each wrist, he presented them to her. Among the 'faie, Alec had learned, one gained honor by being able to make a lavish gift to one's guests as if it were only a trifle.
Smiling, Klia slipped the bracelets onto her wrists. "I thank you for your welcome, Riagil i Molan Uras Mien Gedre, and for your great generosity."
The woman stepped forward next and gave Klia a necklace of
carved carnelians. "I am Amali a Yassara, wife of Rhaish i Arlisandin, khirnari of Akhendi clan. My husband is in Sarikali with the Iia'sidra, so it is my great pleasure to welcome you to Aurenen and to accompany you on your remaining journey."
"So lovely," Klia said, placing the necklace around her neck. "Thank you for your great generosity. Please allow me to present my advisers."
Klia introduced her companions one by one, rattling off the lengthy strings of patronymics or matronymics with practiced ease. Each Skalan was greeted with polite attention until they came to Seregil.
Amali a Yassara's smile disappeared. She gave no direct insult but instead treated Seregil like so much empty air as she stepped quickly past. Seregil pretended not to notice, but Alec saw the way his friend's eyes went hard and blank for a moment, shutting away the pain.
The Gedre khirnari regarded Seregil thoughtfully for a long moment. "You are greatly changed," he said at last. "I would not have known you."
Alec shifted uneasily; this was not the greeting of an old friend.
Seregil bowed, still betraying neither surprise nor disappointment. "I remember you well, and kindly, Khirnari. Allow me to present my talimenios, Alec i Amasa."
The Akhendi still kept her distance, but Riagil clasped Alec's hand between his own with evident delight. "Be welcome, Alec i Amasa! You are the Hazadrielfaie Adzriel a Mia told us of when she returned from Skala."
"Half, my lord. On my mother's side," Alec managed, still rocked by their treatment of Seregil. He hadn't expected anyone to know of him, much less care.
"Then this is a doubly happy day, my friend," Riagil said, patting his shoulder kindly. "You will find Gedre a welcoming clan for ya'shel."
He moved on, greeting the lesser aides and servants. Alec leaned closer to Seregil and whispered, "Ya'shel?"
"The respectful word for 'half-breed.' There are others. The Gedre have the most mixed bloods of any clan in Aurenen. See that woman with fair hair? And that fellow there by the boat, with black eyes and dark skin? Ya'shel. They've mixed with Dravnians, Zengati, Skalans—anyone they trade with."
"Word of your arrival has already been sent to Sarikali, Klia a
Idrilain," Riagil announced when the introductions were finished. "Please be my guests tonight, and we will begin the journey tomorrow. The clan house lies in the hills above town, only a short ride."
While the nobles exchanged their greetings, Beka oversaw the unloading of their remaining horses and riders.
Rhylin's decuria had fared better than the others, despite the fighting they'd done. Counting them over, Beka was relieved to see that all were accounted for and none seriously wounded. There were long faces among the survivors of the ill-fated Wolf, however. Less than half of Mercalle's decuria had escaped unscathed.
"Bilairy's Balls, Captain, I haven't understood a word since we got here," Corporal Nikides muttered nervously, eyeing the crowd. "I mean, how would we know whether someone wanted a fight or was offering us tea?"
Before Beka could answer, a deep, amused voice just behind them drawled, "In Aurenen, the brewing of tea does not involve weapons. I am certain you would soon discern the difference."
Turning, she saw that the speaker was a dark-haired man dressed in a plain brown tunic and worn riding leathers. His thick brown hair was tied back beneath a black-and-white-patterned sen'gai. By his stance, Beka guessed him to be a soldier.
He's as handsome as Uncle Seregil, she thought.
The man was taller than Seregil, and perhaps a bit older, too, but had the same wiry build. His face was darkly tanned and wider through the cheekbones, giving it a more angular cast. He met her questioning look with a disarming smile; his eyes, she noted for no good reason, were a particularly clear shade of hazel.
"Greetings, Captain. I am Nyal i Nhekai Beritis Nagil of Ra'basi clan," he said, and something in the lilting timbre of his voice stirred a warm flutter deep in Beka's chest.
"Beka a Kari Thallia Grelanda of Watermead," she replied, extending a hand as if they were in some Rhiminee salon. He took it, his callused palm warm and familiar against her own for the instant the handclasp lasted.
"The Iia'sidra has charged me to act as your interpreter," he explained. "Am I correct in assuming that most of your people do not speak our language?"
"I think Sergeant Mercalle and I know enough between the two of us to get into trouble." She felt a self-conscious grin threatening
and quickly quelled it. "Please give the Iia'sidra my thanks. Is there someone I can speak to about horses and weapons. We ran into some trouble on the way across."
"But of course! It wouldn't do for Princess Klia's escort to enter Sarikali riding double, no?" Giving her a conspiratorial wink, he strode off toward a group of Gedre nearby, speaking rapidly in his own tongue.
Beka watched him for a moment, caught by the way his hips and shoulders moved beneath his loose tunic. Turning back, she caught Mercalle and several riders doing the same.
"Now, there's a long-legged bit of joy!" the sergeant exclaimed appreciatively under her breath.
"Sergeant, see that your people get their gear packed for riding," Beka snapped rather more sharply than she'd intended.
The Ra'basi was as good as his word. Though many of Mercalle's decuria still lacked proper weapons, they set off for the khirnari's house on horses each worth half a year's pay back home.
Klia's famous black stallion had weat
hered the voyage well and pranced proudly at the head of the procession, shaking its white mane.
"That's a Silmai horse," Nyal noted, riding at Beka's side. "The moon-white mane is their gift from Aura; it occurs nowhere else in Aurenen."
"He's carried her through some fierce battles," Beka told him. "Klia cares as much for that horse as some women do for their husbands."
"That is clear. And you handle an Aurenfaie mount as if you were born to it."
His slight, musical accent sent another odd little shiver through her. "My family has Aurenfaie stock in our herd, back home at Watermead," she explained. "I was riding before I could walk."
"And here you are, in the cavalry."
"Are you a soldier?" She'd seen nothing that looked like a uniform, but Nyal had the air of someone used to command.
"When necessary," he replied. "It is the same with all the men of my clan."
Beka raised an eyebrow. "I didn't see any women among the honor guard. Are they not allowed to be soldiers?"
"Allowed?" Nyal considered this for a moment. "There is no allowance necessary. Most simply choose not to. They have other
gifts." He paused, lowering his voice. "If I may be so bold, I had not expected Skalan soldier women to be so pretty."
Normally Beka would have bristled at such a statement, but the words were said with such earnestness and obvious goodwill that it took the edge off. "Well—thanks." Anxious to change the subject, Beka looked around at the white buildings that lined the streets. They were topped with low domes instead of a pitched roof; the shape reminded her of a bubble clinging to a block of soap. None were more than two stories high and most were unadorned, except for a piece of dark, greenish stone set into the wall by the front door.
"What are those?" she asked.
"Sacred stone from Sarikali, a talisman to protect whoever lives within. Hasn't anyone ever told you that you are pretty?"
Facing him this time, Beka pursed her lips into a stern line. "Only my mother. It's not the sort of thing that matters much to me."