White Road

distant stretch of ledges where they’d battled Duke Mardus for possession of the Helm. His eyes stung a little as he said a silent prayer for Nysander.
    Micum joined him and must have read his thoughts on his face, for he rested a hand on Alec’s shoulder and said, “Seems like it wasn’t that long ago, doesn’t it?”
    “Sometimes. I haven’t dreamed about it for a while, but Seregil still does.”
    “I doubt he’ll ever quite get over it. How could he?”
    Alec sighed and went back to studying the distant shore. It was open country here, similar to what they had trekked through after their escape from Yhakobin. At least it wasn’t raining this time.
    Rhal put in at a deserted inlet south of Riga, and Alec and the others readied to disembark.
    “I figure it will take us at least four days to find the book and get back here, if all goes well,” Seregil estimated.
    “I’ll sail back in then. But what if you’re not there?”
    Seregil thought a moment. “Come back again in two days, and then again until we either show up or a few weeks go by.”
    They changed into their slave clothing and stout sandals, and let the carpenter fix the collars around their necks with lead rivets that could be cut with a knife if necessary. Rieser’s collar was made of bronze; the slaves Rhal had liberated had belonged to wealthier men than Micum.
    Rhal chuckled as he looked the four of them over. “Well, you certainly look the part, from what I’ve seen of such things. And you’ve got all you need?”
    “I think so,” said Seregil, ticking items off on his fingers. “Rope, grappling hook, lightstones, our tools, veils, food … Yes, I think that’s everything.”
    “What about the documents?”
    “What documents?”
    “The warrants of ownership,” Rhal explained, surprised. “One of the Plenimaran merchants we captured tried to sell me his slaves and showed me the documents for them. I figured you knew about that.”
    “No, damn it! I never had any occasion to. Alec, did you see anything like that change hands when Yhakobin bought us?”
    “No, I was busy looking for you.”
    “Shit! Rhal, can you describe them?”
    Rhal gave him a wink. “I can do better than that. I saved them as a curiosity. I’d say it’s all the more important forMicum to have something like them, being a foreigner, wouldn’t you?”
    “It’s a good thing you mentioned it,” said Micum. “It might have been a short adventure if you hadn’t.”
    They followed Rhal below to his cabin and waited impatiently while he rummaged through several cabinets. At last he pulled out a leather packet containing several sheets of parchment folded in thirds. “Here they are.”
    Seregil opened one and studied it for a moment. “Let’s see. This translates as ‘To all who meet this man Rhasha Ishandi of Vostir, know by this letter of ownership that this slave, Arengil by name, is his rightful property, as shown …’ Hmm. Yes … yes …” He tapped his lower lip with one long forefinger. “And here’s a description of the poor wretch, right down to a birthmark on his chest, whip scars, and a missing front tooth. Very detailed, but easily copied. I suspect forgers are well employed in Plenimar, if this is all it takes to claim a slave. Look here, Alec. This design at the bottom must be the owner’s mark. I’ll need you to draw that out when I’m done.”
    It took several hours to complete the three letters of ownership, and they ended up spending the night aboard the ship. Although he and Seregil took advantage of what might be their last night of privacy for some time, Alec had trouble sleeping afterward, and he drifted in and out of nightmares that he couldn’t remember, except that they had to do with getting captured again. A few hours before dawn he gave up and went above.
    A cold fog hung over the water, masking the shore. He heard a loud splash, followed by the harsh croak of a heron.
    He wasn’t scared—risk and danger were as much a part of his life as eating—but the stakes were very high. There might well be another alchemist who could use him as a magical winepress. His hand stole to the center of his chest, where the scar of the blood tap would have been if not for Sebrahn’s healing.
    He didn’t hear Seregil until he was right beside him.
    “Are you well, talí?” Seregil looked a little hollow-eyed himself.
    “I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep very well.”
    “Me, either.” He gave Alec that crooked grin of