Shadows Return

acting as interpreters.
    Traneus rode with Alec and the others at the front of the little column, and even he warmed up a bit, laughing at some long story Aryn was trying to tell him in broken Skalan.
    Autumn had not yet taken hold along the coast. The trees still held their dusty leaves, and a few wildflowers still lingered on the wayside. Oxcarts laden with fruits, vegetables, cheeses, and cured meats rumbled past on their way to distant markets, interspersed with flocks of geese and sheep driven by children who smiled and waved to them.
    “Smuggler’s Pass, eh?” asked Alec as they rode along. “I seem to recall you saying something about you and your uncle using that route.”
    “On Traitor’s Moon nights.” Seregil smiled at the memory, and his hand strayed to the hilt of his sword. It had been a gift from that same uncle during their last visit, and the first Seregil had carried since Nysander’s death.
    “I remember you from those days,” one of the older traders said, a man named Rien. “Your kinsman brought you out on the lantern boat to meet the Skalan traders.” He grinned at Alec. “He spoke better Skalan than any of us, even back then. It’s good to see you back here, Haba.”
    Seregil winced a little at the old nickname, which meant “little black squirrel.”
    Alec chuckled. “I thought only your sisters called you that.”
    “My friends, as well,” Seregil admitted. “Don’t
you
go getting any ideas, though.”
    “As you wish—Haba.”
             
    They spent the first night in a fishing village, sleeping four to a bed in the crowded inn, and headed off again before the sun rose. Yawning, Alec ate his cold breakfast in the saddle.
    Aryn led them west today, following a winding road up into the foothills. By midafternoon they reached the tree line, following a river that flowed down from the pass. From here, it was five days’ ride to Bôkthersa, in good weather.
    The forest closed in around them, and the air grew noticeably cooler as the afternoon shadows slowly lengthened across the road. The riding was easy, the inn they were making for well within reach. The ’faie and Skalans talked and laughed, fast friends now.
    “Your khirnari has lent us some fine horses, Aryn,” Traneus remarked, admiring the sprightly bay he’d been given. “Do you think he’d sell her to me when we get back?”
    “Perhaps. You won’t find any better,” the young ’faie replied proudly. “They’re small, but they have spirit and—” He paused and consulted Seregil for the right word.
“Aluia?
”
    “Endurance.”
    “Yes, much endurance. Why would one ride any other?”
    “In Skala, only the rich can afford them,” Alec explained, stroking the long silky white mane of his Silmai horse, admiring the way the mane and tail contrasted with her glossy black coat. Even here in Aurënen, they weren’t common, bred by only one clan. “This one is just like the one Princess Klia was buying, the first time I met her.” He noted the quick, sharp look Traneus shot him and feigned a mild look of surprise, thinking,
I’m not ashamed to say her name in front of you, you bastard!
    “I’m thinking of bringing a few horses back with me, too,” said Seregil, perhaps sensing the sudden tension between the two.
    “Do you keep a large stable in the city?” asked Traneus.
    “No, a friend and I have a breeding herd at his estate.”
    “The war’s driven the price up. A few years’ worth of foaling will be worth—” Traneus broke off suddenly with a harsh gurgle, a black-fletched shaft protruding from his throat.
    Shocked, it took Alec a few seconds to comprehend what had happened. Then the air was thick with the buzz and whine of flying arrows. Un-shouldering his bow even as he kicked free of the stirrups, he slid off his horse, looking for cover as he nocked a shaft on the linen bowstring. This stretch of road was wide and lonely, and the thick trees that lined it were good cover for their unseen attackers. Arrows seemed to be coming from all directions.
    “Get down, all of you!” Seregil shouted. He jumped to the ground and dragged Aryn from the saddle. All around them, riders cried out in pain or alarm.
    Alec knelt at Seregil’s side, using the enemy’s arrow flights to target the unseen archers.
    “Where are they?” gasped Aryn.
    “Everywhere!” Alec sent another shaft into the moving shadows between two trees. More of their escort were falling. Alec’s fine horse was