White Road

kill him after all. But it was Ilar, holding a night lamp from the hallway. His face was ashen, and a sizable bruise was darkening along his jaw.
    “Oh Aura! Khirnari! Forgive me!” Hurrying to the bed, he removed the gag and began to pull at the cords that bound Ulan’s hands.
    “He overpowered you, too?”
    “Yes.” Ilar was concentrating on the rope binding Ulan’s ankles.
    Captain Urien burst in with several of his men. “Khirnari! By the Light, I’ve failed you!”
    “Indeed you have, Captain,” Ulan said with a sigh as Ilar helped him sit up. “Thieves have broken in and stolen three of my rarest and most valuable books. Large ones—you won’t mistake them. Rouse our Plenimaran hounds and send four of them to the harbor and the gates with word that they are looking for the same red-haired northerner and his three slaves. It seems they’ve followed me to the city. As soon as you have word back, go after them as quickly as you can. Take all your men. I must have those books back, and the blue-eyed slave. I want that one alive!”
    Urien hurried out with his men, already shouting orders.
    Ilar stayed behind, fidgeting with the hem of one sleeve as he hesitated by the door. He was trembling.
    Ulan fixed him with his sharp gaze. “Tell me, Ilar. How did Seregil know where the books were?”
    The younger man fell to his knees, covering his face with his hands, and remained like that in damning silence.
    “I see. Very well, then. You will go with Urien to make certain of the books. I wouldn’t put it past Seregil to substitute false ones and hide the others.”
    Ilar looked up with mingled anguish and gratitude. “I will, Khirnari. Can you ever forgive my weakness?”
    Ulan regarded him a moment longer, until the man began to wilt again. “Come back with the books, Ilar, or don’t come back at all.”
    Their days of reconnoitering had not been in vain. Seregil led the way through the dark streets, moving steadily in the direction of the waterfront.
    But it was well guarded at night, and there were no small boats moored in close enough to steal. Guards of one sort or another were posted on every quay.
    Seregil, Alec, and Rieser tied on their veils and put up their hoods in the shadow of a chandler’s shop.
    “We could book honest passage,” Rieser suggested.
    “Always a last resort, but I suppose we could try,” Seregil said.
    “You three stay here,” said Micum. “I’ll go see what I can find.”
    The others watched from their hiding spot as Micum spoke to the guard on one jetty, and then another. He was heading for the third when a mounted man suddenly clattered into view, holding up a lantern.
    “Oy, you lot!” he cried out, voice echoing down the waterfront. “I’m looking for four fugitives—a big northerner and three slaves. They’re thieves and there’s a good bounty on their heads.” He wasn’t ’faie, but the spy who’d followed them that first day in Riga hadn’t been, either. Ulan’s money had bought him a few Plenimarans, it seemed.
    “Shit!” Seregil muttered. “Well, that’s the end of that.”
    “And now Micum’s been seen!” whispered Alec.
    If Micum had run for it then, or even turned from his task, it would probably have raised suspicions, but he coolly continued on his way, and Seregil saw money change hands on the fifth jetty. Micum waved to the guards and walked calmly back into the maze of streets at the head of the harbor.
    Seregil saw Rieser shake his head and guessed he was more impressed than he’d willingly let on. What they’d just witnessed took a level head and steady nerves that few possessed—traits that made Micum a fine Watcher.
    Seregil and the others remained where they were, and Micum soon appeared from the shadows behind them.
    “What did you tell them?” asked Alec.
    “That I would be back at dawn with my wife and children. The fare wasn’t cheap but it’s bought us some time.”
    Ghosting away, they made for the south gate, hoping word of them hadn’t spread that far.
    It hadn’t. Micum showed their documents, and the other three submitted to the inspection of their collars and brands.
    It wasn’t until one of the guards turned to him that Seregil registered the weight of the tool roll and dagger against his belly under his shirt. Making a show of fumbling with the strings of his bundle and the bag holding the books, he got the knife free and hid it under the bags as he set them downbeside Micum. The bored guard glanced