Traitor's Moon: The Nightrunner Series, Book 3

  “What happened to Beka?”

  Korious shook his head. “I don’t know. She was with us until the second group jumped us here, then she was gone.”

  “And you haven’t found her horse?”

  “No.”

  “Terien’s coming your way. Be sure he gets to a healer.”

  He found the marks of Beka’s horse a little further on. It appeared she’d broken away in the confusion and burst past the ambushers, chased by two other riders.

  The tracks turned up a disused sidetrack, and for a moment Nyal couldn’t get his breath. He knew this road. It came to a dead end in an abandoned stone quarry. He pictured her, bound and defenseless, clinging to her horse’s mane as armed horsemen bore down on her. Her sword and daggers were still lashed behind his own saddle.

  “Ah, talía, forgive me!” he whispered. Drawing his sword, he spurred his horse on, dreading what he would find.

  44

  PUSHING ON

  Seregil heard the first telltale sounds of pursuit just before dawn. At first it was only the distant tinkle of dislodged stones that could have been nothing more than a large animal on an early hunt. Sound traveled in this rocky country, however, and he soon made out the occasional scrape of boots over stone, then the echo of voices. Judging by the amount of noise they were making, they were searching blind, not realizing how close they were to their quarry.

  He couldn’t see them yet but knew it would be impossible to get the horses away without being heard. With Alec wounded, fighting was not an attractive option, especially since he couldn’t tell how many men there were. What he didn’t hear were more horses.

  Crawling over to Alec, Seregil gently covered his friend’s mouth. Alec came awake silently.

  “How’s the leg?”

  Alec flexed it and grimaced. “Stiff.”

  “Company’s on the way. I’d rather run than fight, if you can ride.”

  “Just help me up into the saddle.”

  Grabbing the blankets and sen’gai, Seregil wrapped his free arm around Alec’s waist and helped him down to the horses. He could feel the younger man wince with every step, but Alec made no complaint. By the time Seregil had mounted his own horse, Alec had his bow and quiver slung ready over his shoulders.

  By now they could both hear snatches of their pursuers’ conversation.

  “Go!” Seregil ordered.

  Alec kicked his horse into a gallop and sprang away. Close behind, Seregil hazarded a backward look and made out a few dark shapes down the trail, men on foot.

  They got away clean, but soon had to slow down again. As Nyal had warned, the trail skirted precipices and in places was just wide enough for a single horse to pass. Fresh blood was seeping through Alec’s trouser leg, but there was no time to stop.

  They left their pursuers behind but kept a sharp eye out for another ambush ahead. By the time they reached the summit, just before midday, both were tense and sweating. From here, the land fell away sharply, affording them a clear view of the patched and rumpled sweep of Gedre fai’thast and the pale expanse of sea beyond.

  “I’d better have a look at that leg before we go on,” Seregil said, dismounting. “Can you get down?”

  Alec leaned heavily on his saddlebow, breathing raggedly. “If I do, I may not be able to get back on.”

  “Stay there, then.” Seregil found the flask of painkiller in Alec’s saddlebag. Pressing that and the last of the bread into his hands, Seregil set about cutting away the bandage Nyal had put on.

  “You’re lucky,” he muttered, rinsing away the crusted blood. “It’s just seeping. The wound seems to be closing up on its own.”

  He tore strips from his shirt and bound the leg up again.

  “How much longer?” Alec asked, finishing off the bread as Seregil worked.

  “By late afternoon, if we don’t meet any more trouble along the way.” Seregil scanned the distant coast, searching for a familiar bend in the shoreline and finding it. “That’s where we’re headed. This trail of Nyal’s has brought us out closer than mine would have.”

  He squinted at the horizon, wondering if Korathan’s vessels were faster than he’d guessed, or if the following wind blew stronger—

  Alec shifted his leg in the stirrup, looking worried again. “I know Riagil is a friend of your family, and I like the man, but he’s also the Akhendi’s ally. What if he’s looking for us, too?”

  Seregil had been avoiding that thought all morning, remembering instead that first bittersweet night in Aurënen, when he’d stood with Riagil in the moon garden, sharing good memories of the past. “We’ll keep out of sight as much as we can.”

  • • •

  Thero glanced up from the scroll he’d been reading, then threw it aside and jumped to his feet. Klia’s eyes were open.

  “My lady, you’re awake!” he exclaimed, bending anxiously over her. “Can you hear me?”

  Klia stared dully at the ceiling, giving no sign that she understood.

  O Illior, let this be a sign for the better and not the worse! he prayed, and sent a summoning to Mydri.

  Coming down out of the mountains, Seregil and Alec avoided the roads and skirted well clear of the scattered villages.

  Shadows were lengthening toward nightfall by the time they came within sight of the sea again. Chancing the road at last, Seregil led the way to the edge of a little fishing village called Halfmoon Cove. The locals had always done a thriving trade with smugglers, including a good many Bôkthersans, and didn’t bother the boats hidden in the surrounding forest. Seregil hoped that things hadn’t changed too much in his absence.

  Abandoning their exhausted horses, they made their way into the woods, looking for trails Seregil recalled from childhood. Alec was limping badly but refused Seregil’s supporting arm in favor of a makeshift walking stick.

  Aurënfaie might change little in fifty years, but forests did. Familiar as certain stretches of ground felt beneath his feet, Seregil couldn’t seem to locate any specific landmarks.

  “We’re lost again, aren’t we?” Alec groaned as they came to a stop in what had turned out to be a blind gully.

  “It’s been a long time,” Seregil admitted, wiping the sweat from his eyes. He could hear the sigh of the sea in the distance and struck out in that direction, praying that something came to hand. He was about to admit defeat when they stumbled across not one but two little boats hidden beneath a blowdown. They had been stored upside down, with masts and sails lashed to the thwarts below. Choosing the stronger-looking of the two, they dragged it through the trees to the water’s edge and set about rigging it to sail.

  Alec knew little of boats or sailing but followed instruction readily enough. Stepping the mast, Seregil wedged it solid and sorted out the single sail. It was a simple craft, the same sort that had greeted them when they sailed into Gedre harbor. Even so, it was tricky, securing everything by the glow of a lightstone.

  When it was ready, they hauled it out into the water and poled it away from the shore to deeper water with Alec’s stick.

  “Let’s see how much I remember,” Seregil said, settling at the tiller. Alec hauled the sail up and it caught the breeze, bellying out with a musty creak. The little craft came around nicely and plunged forward, cutting a V-shaped path across the smooth surface of the cove.

  “We did it!” Alec laughed, collapsing in the bow.

  “Not yet, we haven’t.” Seregil scanned the dark expanse of sea spread out before them, wondering if Korathan would follow the usual sea-lanes and turn up where he was expected. They had no food and only enough water for a day or two if they drank sparingly. The only thing they had in abundance was time, and that would hang heavy on them indeed if they didn’t spot Skalan sails by tomorrow night.

  45

  URGAZHI TRICKS

  Beka crouched in the brambles, ignoring the sharp thorns scraping her hands and face. She’d heard the horse coming in time to duck out of sight and wasn’t too choosy about the hiding plac
e.

  Daylight was dying fast now. If she could elude her pursuer until nightfall, she might just manage to slip away, find another horse somewhere, and get back to Sarikali on her own terms.

  The ambush that morning had taken her captors completely off guard. After Nyal had left them at dawn, they had settled down for a leisurely breakfast, then tied her hand and foot on a horse and set off for the city.

  They’d treated her with respect—kindness, even—making certain her bonds were not cutting her wrists and offering her food and water. Playing along, she’d accepted their attentions, keeping her strength up and pretending not to understand their language.

  The leader, a young Ra’basi named Korious, did his best to reassure her in broken Skalan.

  “Back to Klia,” he said, pointing in what must be the direction of Sarikali.

  “Teth’sag?” she asked, pointing to herself.

  He shrugged, then shook his head.

  She went quietly to work on the wrist bindings as they rode, complaining repeatedly about them being too tight. After one or two adjustments Korious had refused to loosen them any more, but by now she had slack enough to surreptitiously twist her wrists, getting her fingers close enough to one of the knots to pick away at it.

  It was a lucky thing she had. They hadn’t been more than two hours on the road when one of the other riders toppled from his saddle, blood streaming from his head. Horsemen burst from the trees just behind them, followed by men on foot with swords and clubs.

  Her escorts froze, too startled to react. Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, Beka gripped the saddlebow and gave her mount a hard kick in the sides. The horse leapt forward, finding its own way as it broke from the press and galloped wildly down the road. Arrows sang around her and she bent low, fighting at the ropes that still bound her hands.

  One hand came free, then the other, and she snatched up the flapping reins. Over the thunder of pursuing hooves, she heard Korious shouting wildly, trying to rally his men.

  Undisciplined fools! she thought in disgust, wondering how Nyal had managed to lumber himself with such a sorry bunch of green fighters. A handful of Urgazhi could have had that lot trussed up in no time.

  The men who’d attacked them were another matter, however. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw two of them in close pursuit.

  She hunched low over her horse’s neck and plunged onward. There was no way she was going to elude them on the open road, so when a sidetrack appeared to the left, she reined hard in that direction, ducking overhanging branches.

  Giving her mount its head, she clung on and tried to yank her right leg out of her boot. Muscles up and down her side protested, but she pulled free, nearly unseating herself in the process. Steadying herself, she reached down and pulled at the knot securing her other leg.

  Her pursuers had faltered a moment, perhaps caught off guard by her sudden swerve. She couldn’t see them at the moment, but she could hear them calling out to each other not far behind.

  Shielded for the moment by a bend in the road, she reined in, jumped free of the horse, and slapped it hard on the rump, sending it on with her right boot still lashed in the stirrup. She just had time to dive for cover in a bramble patch before the men thundered past, unaware as yet that they were now chasing a riderless horse.

  If they were as smart as she guessed they were, it wouldn’t be long before they figured it out. Crawling from the brambles, she scrambled up the slope.

  She ran until her lungs burned, using the sun as her guide. When she was satisfied that she’d left her pursuers behind, she paused to wash her bleeding foot in a stream, then slowly circled back to the place where the ambush had occurred, hoping to find some sign of who their attackers were.

  Someone had been there before her, doing the same. A single set of footprints led from the road to the place where the ambushers had lain in wait, crossing their tracks and meandering in a way that spoke of a thorough search. The shape of the bootprint was familiar.

  “Nyal,” she whispered, resting her fingers a moment in one long footprint. The ground in front of her blurred, and she dashed the tears away angrily. She’d be damned if she’d weep for that traitor like some jilted dairy maid.

  Following the tracks back to the road, she saw that he’d come back alone.

  “Good for you, my friends!” she whispered, refusing to admit any other possibility than that Seregil and Alec had eluded him.

  What she found next closed the dark fist of anger tighter around her heart. From here, Nyal had dashed off to track her.

  Look for me in Sarikali, you son of a bitch! she thought, limping back into the trees.

  46

  A COLD WELCOME

  Alec woke to the sound of waves slapping wood close to his head. Rising from his cramped place in the bow, he looked back past the sail and found Seregil at the tiller, scanning the horizon. He was a sorry sight, with his bruised face and filthy tunic. In this early light, he looked pale, drained of life.

  Ghostly.

  Alec secretly made a warding sign on his friend’s behalf. Seregil glanced his way just then and gave him a tired grin.

  “Look there,” he said, pointing ahead. “You can just make out the Ea’malies there on the horizon. Keep an eye out for sails.”

  And so they did, through the morning and into the long afternoon. Their eyes burned from the glare, and their lips cracked from the salt and sun. They kept to a northeast course, using the distant islands as their guide as they tacked back and forth. Alec spelled Seregil at the tiller now and then, urging him to sleep, but he refused.

  At last, as the sun slanted down toward the western horizon, Alec caught sight of a dark spot against the silver face of the sea.

  “There!” he croaked, hanging over the side in his excitement. “Do you see it? Is that a sail?”

  “A Skalan sail,” Seregil confirmed, swinging the tiller hard. “Let’s hope we get to her before nightfall. They’ll never spot us in the dark, and we’re too slow to chase them.”

  Over the next two hours Alec watched as the speck of color grew into the distant outline of a red-sailed Skalan warship. The vessel was taking the usual route used by the dispatch couriers.

  “That’s all it may be,” Seregil fretted as they neared the vessel. “She’s alone, not another ship in sight. By the Four, I hope we haven’t been chasing the wrong one!”

  Any fears they might have had about missing the ship in the dark were quickly allayed. The other vessel shifted course, heading directly for them.

  “Looks like our luck is holding after all,” Alec said.

  As soon as they were within shouting distance they hailed the vessel and heard their greeting returned. Skimming in close to her side, they found a rope ladder hanging ready and the rail above lined with expectant faces.

  “Take this,” Seregil said, handing him a line. “I’ll make this end fast. We don’t want to lose this boat until we’re sure this other is the right one.”

  The ladder swung crazily with the roll of the larger vessel, and Alec was dizzy and bruised by the time he’d fought his way up to the rail. Strong hands grasped him, pulling him the rest of the way. Then, to his considerable surprise, he was thrust forward and dragged to his knees.

  “Hold on, just let me get—” He tried to rise, only to be pushed down again, harder this time. Looking around, he found himself hemmed in by armed sailors.

  Seregil tumbled down beside him and was kicked flat when he tried to rise. Alec reached for his sword, but Seregil stopped him with a sharp look.

  “We come in the name of Princess Klia and the queen!” he announced, keeping his own hands well clear of his weapons.

  “Sure you do,” someone growled.

  The crowd parted for a black-haired woman wearing the salt-crusted jerkin of a Skalan naval commander.

  “You’re a long way from shore in that little bean pod of yours,” she said, not smiling.

  “We were sent by Princess Klia to interc
ept her brother, Prince Korathan,” Seregil explained, clearly mystified by their hostile reception.

  The commander folded her arms, unmoved. “Oh, were you? And where did you learn to speak Skalan so prettily?”

  “At the court of Queen Idrilain, may Sakor welcome her spirit,” Seregil retorted. He tried to rise and was shoved down again. “Listen to me! There isn’t much time. I’m Lord Seregil í Korit, and this is Sir Alec í Amasa of Ivywell. We’re aides to Princess Klia. There’s been trouble and we must speak to Korathan.”

  “Why would Prince Korathan be on my ship?” she demanded.

  “If not yours, then one close behind,” Seregil said, and Alec was dismayed to sense his friend faltering. He looked around quickly, seeking an escape route and finding none. They were still hemmed in by the crew, and there were archers armed and ready along the rail, watching with obvious interest. Even if they did break free, there was nowhere to run.

  “Let’s see your proofs, then,” the woman demanded.

  “Proofs?”

  “Letters of passage.”

  “Our journey was too dangerous to risk carrying anything written,” Seregil retorted. “The situation in—”

  “How convenient,” she drawled, drawing an ugly laugh from the others. “It looks like we’ve caught ourselves a couple of dirty ’faie spies, lads. What do you say, Methes?”

  The blond sailor at her side favored Alec and Seregil with an unfriendly look. “These fish are mighty small, Captain. Best to gut ’em and throw them back unless they can tell us a better story.” He drew a long knife from his belt and signaled to several other men, who pinned Seregil’s and Alec’s arms. The one called Methes grabbed Seregil by the hair and yanked his head back to bare his throat.

  “For hell’s sake, listen!” snarled Seregil.

  “We are who we say. We can prove it,” Alec cried, struggling now for his life.

  “No one knows Prince Korathan is coming,” the captain told him. “No one could know, except spies. What are you doing here, Aurënfaie? Who sent you?”