Traitor's Moon

here; I doubt we’ll be allowed anything more dangerous than a fruit knife after today.”
    No one sailed out to meet them this time. Leaving his escort at the harbor’s mouth,Korathan anchored out beyond the piers and was rowed ashore in a longboat with the two wizards. Seregil and Alec followed in a second boat, hooded and anonymous among Korathan’s guard.
    â€œRiagil must suspect something,” Alec whispered, scanning the distant crowd waiting for them on the shore.
    Seregil nodded. It appeared that most of the city had turned out for their arrival, but there were no signs of welcome: no singing, no boats, no flowers strewn on the water. He rubbed his palms nervously on the legs of his leather trousers, knowing every pull of the oars brought them closer to what might prove a very disheartening moment of truth.
    His sense of foreboding grew as they ground to a halt in the shallows, greeted only by the rough sigh of the wind and the slap of waves along the beach. They waded in behind Korathan and his entourage but hung back out of sight.
    Following Seregil’s instruction, Korathan stopped just above the water’s edge, waiting to be summoned onto forbidden soil.
    A man stepped from the crowd, and Seregil saw with relief that it was Riagil í Molan. He must have headed home as soon as their disappearance was discovered. The khirnari approached Korathan unsmiling, hands clasped in front of him rather than extended in welcome.
    Alec shifted restlessly, knee-deep in the surf.
    â€œBe patient,” whispered Seregil. “There are forms to be observed.”
    â€œWho are you, to come to my shores with ships of war?” Riagil demanded in Skalan.
    â€œI am Korathan í Malteus Romeran Baltus of Rhíminee, son of Queen Idrilain and brother of Queen Phoria. I do not come for battle, Khirnari, but seeking teth’sag for the attack on my sister, Klia ä Idrilain, and for the murder of her envoy, Lord Torsin. By my blood tie to the Bôkthersa, I claim that right.”
    The tension broke as Riagil smiled and walked down to meet him. “You are welcome here, Korathan í Malteus.” Riagil removed a heavy bracelet from his wrist and presented it to the prince. “When I left Sarikali your sister still lived, though she remains ill and in seclusion. Her people protect her well. I will send word of your arrival to the Iia’sidra.”
    â€œI wish to speak with them myself,” Korathan told him. “I demand an audience in the queen’s name.”
    â€œThis is most irregular, to say the least,” Riagil said, taken aback by the man’s abrupt manner. “I do not know if they will allow you tocross the mountains, but rest assured your claim of honor will be heard.”
    â€œThe atui of Gedre is well known,” Korathan replied. “To prove my own good faith, I honor the teth’sag of the Haman against my own kinsman.”
    On cue, Seregil waded forward, eyes averted. Splashing up to the beach, he drew his sword and drove it point first into the wet sand. “You know me, Riagil í Molan,” he said, pushing back his hood. “I acknowledge that I have broken teth’sag and of my own free will surrender myself to the judgment of the Haman and the Iia’sidra.” Dropping to his knees, he prostrated himself facedown, arms extended at his sides in a gesture of abject submission.
    A moment of eerie quiet followed. Seregil lay absolutely still, listening to the water trickling between the grains of sand beneath his cheek. Riagil could by rights slay him with his own sword for breaking the decree of exile. If he were in league with Akhendi, it would be a most convenient tactic.
    He heard muffled footsteps approach, then, from the corner of his eye, saw the sword blade shift slightly as someone grasped the hilt.
    Then a firm hand closed over his shoulder.
    â€œRise, Exile,” said Riagil, drawing him to his feet. “In the name of the Haman, I take you captive.” Lowering his voice, he added, “The Iia’sidra are awaiting your return before the vote is taken. You have much to explain.”
    â€œI’m anxious to do so, Khirnari.”
    Alec splashed up beside them, planted his sword, and assumed the ritual posture.
    â€œAs a Skalan, you must be judged by your own people, Alec í Amasa” Riagil said, lifting him up. At his signal, one of his kinsmen collected their swords. Several others