Traitor's Moon

introductions were finished. “Please be my guests tonight, and we will begin the journey tomorrow. The clan house lies in the hills above town, only a short ride.”
    While the nobles exchanged their greetings, Beka oversaw the unloading of their remaining horses and riders.
    Rhylin’s decuria had fared better than the others, despite the fighting they’d done. Counting them over, Beka was relieved to see that all were accounted for and none seriously wounded. There were long faces among the survivors of the ill-fated
Wolf
, however. Less than half of Mercalle’s decuria had escaped unscathed.
    â€œBilairy’s Balls, Captain, I haven’t understood a word since we got here,” Corporal Nikides muttered nervously, eyeing the crowd. “I mean, how would we know whether someone wanted a fight or was offering us tea?”
    Before Beka could answer, a deep, amused voice just behind them drawled, “In Aurënen, the brewing of tea does not involve weapons. I am certain you would soon discern the difference.”
    Turning, she saw that the speaker was a dark-haired man dressed in a plain brown tunic and worn riding leathers. His thick brown hair was tied back beneath a black-and-white-patterned sen’gai. By his stance, Beka guessed him to be a soldier.
    He’s as handsome as Uncle Seregil
, she thought.
    The man was taller than Seregil, and perhaps a bit older, too, but had the same wiry build. His face was darkly tanned and wider through the cheekbones, giving it a more angular cast. He met her questioning look with a disarming smile; his eyes, she noted for no good reason, were a particularly clear shade of hazel.
    â€œGreetings, Captain. I am Nyal í Nhekai Beritis Nagil of Ra’basi clan,” he said, and something in the lilting timbre of his voice stirred a warm flutter deep in Beka’s chest.
    â€œBeka ä Kari Thallia Grelanda of Watermead,” she replied, extending a hand as if they were in some Rhíminee salon. He took it, his callused palm warm and familiar against her own for the instant the handclasp lasted.
    â€œThe Iia’sidra has charged me to act as your interpreter,” he explained. “Am I correct in assuming that most of your people do not speak our language?”
    â€œI think Sergeant Mercalle and I know enough between the two of us to get into trouble.” She felt a self-conscious grin threateningand quickly quelled it. “Please give the Iia’sidra my thanks. Is there someone I can speak to about horses and weapons. We ran into some trouble on the way across.”
    â€œBut of course! It wouldn’t do for Princess Klia’s escort to enter Sarikali riding double, no?” Giving her a conspiratorial wink, he strode off toward a group of Gedre nearby, speaking rapidly in his own tongue.
    Beka watched him for a moment, caught by the way his hips and shoulders moved beneath his loose tunic. Turning back, she caught Mercalle and several riders doing the same.
    â€œNow, there’s a long-legged bit of joy!” the sergeant exclaimed appreciatively under her breath.
    â€œSergeant, see that your people get their gear packed for riding,” Beka snapped rather more sharply than she’d intended.
    The Ra’basi was as good as his word. Though many of Mercalle’s decuria still lacked proper weapons, they set off for the khirnari’s house on horses each worth half a year’s pay back home.
    Klia’s famous black stallion had weathered the voyage well and pranced proudly at the head of the procession, shaking its white mane.
    â€œThat’s a Silmai horse,” Nyal noted, riding at Beka’s side. “The moon-white mane is their gift from Aura; it occurs nowhere else in Aurënen.”
    â€œHe’s carried her through some fierce battles,” Beka told him. “Klia cares as much for that horse as some women do for their husbands.”
    â€œThat is clear. And you handle an Aurënfaie mount as if you were born to it.”
    His slight, musical accent sent another odd little shiver through her. “My family has Aurënfaie stock in our herd, back home at Watermead,” she explained. “I was riding before I could walk.”
    â€œAnd here you are, in the cavalry.”
    â€œAre you a soldier?” She’d seen nothing that looked like a uniform, but Nyal had the air of someone used to command.
    â€œWhen necessary,” he replied. “It is