Shadows Return

kept his thoughts to himself.
    When Alec returned empty-handed, they set off again, looking for better cover. There weren’t even rocks large enough to shelter under, much less trees.
    “No wonder the Plenimarans are always trying to take someone else’s land,” Alec muttered, shading his eyes as he scanned the distance.
    “I hear it’s like this all the way—”
    “Oh hell!” Alec was staring hard at something in the distance ahead of them.
    There, not a mile away, a long plume of dust traced a trajectory in their direction, straight as a bowshot. Seregil had been expecting this for so long, it was almost a relief. “Could be nothing, just traders or something. All the same—
run
!”
    “Run where?” Ilar cried.
    Seregil knew there was no point in going back the way they’d come, so he struck out west. “Just keep going. Maybe we’ll find something.”
    But they didn’t and now they could make out the shapes of horses, coming on at a gallop, and hear the distant baying of hounds.
    Seregil cocked his head, listening. “I guess they do keep dogs, after all.”
    “Bad luck…to kill…a dog,” Ilar panted.
    “I’ll risk it. Sounds like they’ve got a scent.”
    “It took them long enough,” Alec muttered, holding Sebrahn’s legs to keep the rhekaro from falling out of the sling as he ran.
    They ran for all they were worth, but it was no use. Within minutes, Seregil looked back over his shoulder and saw a pack of riders following the hounds and heard the sound of a hunting horn.
    “We might as well save our strength,” said Alec, stopping to watch their pursuers.
    “What are you saying?” Ilar quavered. “If they catch us…”
    Seregil cast a longing look south. In the distance, the dark blue ocean mocked him, hopelessly beyond reach. He could even make out the tiny white specks of sails on the water.
    “Alec…” This was no time for long speeches and explanations. He grabbed Alec and kissed him; their cracked lips tasted of dust and salt. Sebrahn, still in his sling, touched Seregil’s cheek with his cold little fingers, almost as if he could feel the sorrow between them.
    Alec buried a hand in Seregil’s hair and rested his forehead against his. “I’m sorry.”
    “Nothing to be sorry for. No one is taking us.” Seregil drew his sword. “Give Ilar your knife. We stand and fight.”
    Alec tried to hand Ilar his knife, but the man backed away.
    “No!” The color had drained from Ilar’s face, and Seregil recognized the same look of terror and despair he’d seen in Rhania’s face, just before she drove a knife into her own heart. Before Seregil could stop him, Ilar turned and ran, away from the oncoming riders and away from them.
    “Let him go,” said Alec, though Seregil had made no move to follow. “He won’t be any help.”
    “I suppose not.”
    Alec put Sebrahn down and stepped in front of him. “Stay there.” The rhekaro whimpered and clutched at the back of his coat.
    “I think you were right, about the oracle and all,” Seregil said, shaking his head.
    “Thanks for that, talí.”
    “Better late than never, I guess.”
    The dogs reached them first, six huge mastiffs. Their hackles were up and their heads low.
    “Do the dog thing,” Alec muttered.
    Seregil fixed as many of them with his gaze as he could and performed the spell. “Soora thalassi!”
    Two of the dogs relaxed, tongues out and tails wagging.
    Seregil quickly did it again, and a third time, then sent them running north.
    That was certainly going to help, but as the riders closed in on them, Seregil counted at least twenty men, with Yhakobin in the lead. At least half of them were archers. “I sure miss that bow of yours right now.”
    “Me, too. I could have pared down the numbers.” Alec paused. “It’s me he wants, and Sebrahn.”
    “Don’t even think it. If we go down, we go down together.”
    Alec grinned bravely, but his eyes were sad. “Kari always said you’d get me killed. At least we can find the Gate together.”
    “We’re not dead yet.”
    Yhakobin and his men reined in a few dozen yards off and fanned out to surround them.
    “Master, Khenir is getting away,” one of them said to Yhakobin. Ilar was already far off, and dwindling from sight.
    “I’ll attend to him later.” The alchemist rested his gloved hands on the pommel of his saddle and raised an eyebrow at Seregil. “You’ve taken what belongs to me.”
    Seregil raised the tip of his sword, deadly calm now.