Shadows Return

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