White Road

the Plenimarans came. It still is in parts of the north,” Seregil told him. “But they’ve been here a good long time and cut it all down for their ships.”
    “They have to trade in the north for mast timber now,” Micum added. “Even where they have forests, there aren’t enough old trees large enough to make a mast.”
    Rieser shook his head. “It’s a large, strange world you live in. I miss my valley already.”
    “What’s it like?” asked Alec.
    Seregil listened with half an ear as the Hâzad extolled the beauties of his mountain fai’thast. It sounded a lot like Bôkthersa. He was more interested in the interplay between the two. Alec had been hostile to Rieser in the beginning, and with good reason. But that had been somewhat tempered during the time they’d spent in each other’s company.
    For his part, Seregil had considerable respect for the tall, grim man. He was made of stern stuff, and brave to a fault. How else could he have offered to go with them like this, strangers sailing to the most dangerous place a Hâzadriëlfaie could possibly go?
    Rhal waited until Seregil and the others were gone from sight, then set sail for open water. They’d left the coastline far behind when Nettles emerged from below, dragging Morthage by the arm.
    “What’s this?” asked Rhal.
    “I found a traitor, Captain,” Nettles told him as more of the crew gathered around. He held out his free hand, showingthem a painted stick that had been broken in two. Rhal had seen enough message sticks since he’d met Seregil to know what this was.
    “And just who are you sending word to?” he demanded.
    Morthage was pale and trembling, but said nothing.
    “Caught the last of what he said,” the mate told him. “He said, ‘to Riga, my lord.’”
    “A lord, eh? A Plenimaran?” Rhal growled.
    “No! I swear!” Morthage cried, finding his voice.
    “Who then?”
    Morthage went down on one knee. “Please, Captain. It’s only the Virésse lord, Ulan í Sathil! I meant no harm.”
    “Bilairy’s Balls, you didn’t. By the Old Sailor, man, what were you thinking? Don’t I pay you well enough? And it’s Lord Seregil’s money!”
    The knave was thoroughly cowed now. “I—I beg your forgiveness, Captain.”
    Rhal wasn’t in any mood to forgive, and hanged the blackguard with the full approval of the crew, but it was already too late to get word to Seregil. He and the others were long gone.
    Just beyond the beach Seregil and the others struck a rutted road and followed it. They soon reached a crossroads, with a marker that told them they were twenty miles out from Riga and only six from a town called Rizard.
    “I hope they have a horse market there,” Micum said, sitting down heavily on a large stone.
    Seregil knew Micum would ask for help if he really needed it, and that pride would keep him from need as long as possible. Despite the grey in his hair, Micum was still tough as an oak bole.
    Not long after that they came upon a prosperous-looking farm with a corral full of fine-looking horses.
    “Even better,” said Micum. “It will be easier convincing people that I’m a horse trader if I have some horses.”
    They approached the house cautiously, but there were no dogs about, though they could hear barking from one of the outbuildings.
    Micum went to the door and knocked.
    A servant girl answered and looked him up and down. “What do you want here, sir?”
    “I want to buy some good horses. Will your master sell a few, do you think?”
    She left them there and went to inquire. The master of the house, a plump clean-shaven man, soon appeared.
    “Good morning, sir,” said Micum. “My name is Lornis of Nanta.”
    “And I’m Digus Orthan. So you like my horses, do you?” the man replied, smiling as he clasped hands with him.
    “That’s a nice-looking herd you have. Would you part with any of them? I can pay you a good price.”
    “That’s my trade, sir. Let’s go have a look, though you flatter my stock. The best have all been taken by the army.”
    The man spoke the truth, but the horses he had left were good enough. In short order Micum picked out a spirited piebald mare for himself, a pair of chestnut geldings, and three cheaper mounts for the slaves. He paid in silver.
    “You’ll be needing a saddle, too,” Digus noted. “I have one that might do for you, if you don’t mind it being used.”
    “Not at all. Do you have just the one, though?”
    “You put your slaves on horseback?”