Traitor's Moon

to begin the debate, and that doesn’t seem very likely. The Haman are an honorable people, but they are proud in a way that breeds bitterness. Old Nazien is no exception. He still grieves at the loss of his grandson and resents Seregil’s return.”
    â€œBy the Light, you’re a grim pair,” Seregil called over, and Alec realized that he was drunk, a rarity for Seregil.
    â€œAre we?” Mydri shot back, a gleam of challenge in her eyes. “Tell me, Alec, does Seregil still have his fine singing voice?”
    â€œAs fine as any bard’s,” Alec told her, giving Seregil a teasing wink.
    â€œSing for us, talí!” Adzriel urged, overhearing. At her signal, a servant came forward with something large and flat wrapped in patterned silk and placed it in Seregil’s hands.
    He unwrapped it with a knowing smile. It was a harp, its dark wood polished with use.
    â€œWe kept it for you, all these years,” Mydri told him as he settled it against his chest and ran his fingers across the strings.
    He plucked out a simple tune that drew tearful smiles from his sisters, then moved on to a complex tune, fingers flying across the strings as melody followed melody. Even drunk and out of practice, he played beautifully.
    After a moment he paused, then began the exile’s lament he’d sung the first time he’d spoken to Alec of Aurënen.
    My love is wrapped in a cloak of flowing green
    and wears the moon for a crown
.
    And all around has chains of flowing silver
.
    Her mirrors reflect the sky
.
    O, to roam your flowing cloak of green
    under the light of the ever-crowning moon
.
    Will I ever drink of your chains of flowing silver
    and drift once more across your mirrors of the sky?
    â€œA bard’s voice, indeed,” said Säaban, dabbing at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. “With such power to move the emotions, I hope you know happier tunes.”
    â€œA few,” Seregil said. “Alec, give us the harmony on ‘Fair Rises My Lover.’ ”
    The Skalan song was warmly received, and more instruments appeared as if on cue.
    â€œWhere’s Urien?” Seregil demanded, squinting out into the garden at the soldiers. “Someone give that boy a lute!”
    This broke through the Urgazhi’s reticence. The young rider’s friends all but carried the blushing musician forward, demanding favorite ballads as if they were at a crossroads tavern.
    â€œFor the pride of the decuria, rider!” Mercalle ordered with mock severity.
    Urien accepted an Aurënfaie lute and smoothed an admiring hand over its round back.
    â€œFor the pride of the turma,” he said, striking a chord. “This is from before my time with the Urgazhi.”
    Ghost wolves they call us, and Ghost Wolves we are
.
    Drawn to the enemy by a plague star
    Fighting and burning, deep in their lines
    Our Captain was fearless, we followed behind
.
    Death and dark magic, demons she faced
,
    Under the black sun, in that dread lonely place
.
    The black shields of Plenimar, rank upon rank
    Until their Duke Mardus, in his blood sank
.
    Alec watched in dismay as Seregil’s smile froze and Thero went pale. One of several ballads that extolled the Urgazhi’s early exploits, this one spoke of Nysander’s death. Fortunately, Beka caught on at once.
    â€œEnough, enough!” she begged, masking her concern with a comic grimace. “By the Four, Urien, of all the grim, threadbare ballads to choose! Give us ‘Illior’s Face Upon the Waters’ to honor our good hosts.”
    The chagrined rider nodded and commenced the tune, playing each flourish flawlessly. Seregil moved to sit by Alec again.
    â€œYou looked as if you’d seen a ghost. Are you all right?” he whispered, as if the previous song had not affected him.
    Alec nodded.
    The song ended and Kheeta held a harp out to Klia.
    â€œWhat about you, my lady?”
    â€œOh, no! I have the voice of a crow. Thero, didn’t I hear you sing a passable ballad after our victory at Two Horse Crossing?”
    â€œI’d had a bit more to drink then, my lady,” the wizard replied, thin cheeks coloring as all eyes turned his way.
    â€œDon’t be shy!” Sergeant Braknil called out. “We heard you sing sober aboard the
Zyria
.”
    â€œAll the same, perhaps our hosts would prefer a small demonstration of Third Orëska magic?” Thero countered.
    â€œVery