White Road

Alec on the bed, leaning against his side. Alec touched the rhekaro’s soft, cool little hand, noting the thin scars that ringed the base of several fingers where they’d grown back after Yhakobin cut them off for some experiment.
    Why didn’t you sing to save yourself?
    Alec gathered him close again, his heart beating a little faster. “No one is going to hurt you again, or take you away. If they try, we’ll leave.”
    Sebrahn looked around the room, then pointed out the window and said in his raspy little voice, “Leeeve.”
    “That’s right. On a ship. Can you say ‘ship’?”
    Sebrahn was not interested.
    “Chamber pot.”
    The rhekaro slipped off the bed and pulled the required vessel from under the bed. Alec made use of it and had Sebrahn put it back for the skutter to deal with. Now what? There didn’t appear to be anything he could do but watch the rain. It was a relief when he heard someone coming up the stairs to his door.
    Micum looked in and grinned. “That’s a long face!”
    “Where is everybody?”
    Micum came in and pulled a chair up beside the bed. “At breakfast. I came up to see if you’re awake. Hungry?”
    “Not really.”
    Micum held out his hands, and Sebrahn abandoned Alec for the big man’s lap.
    “Traitor,” Alec grumbled. Sebrahn had warmed to their tall, red-haired friend during the voyage. Sebrahn reached up to touch Micum’s thick, grey-streaked moustache, apparently puzzled that the big man had something on his face that his two beardless protectors didn’t.
    “Uncle Micum,” Alec said with a smile.
    Micum laughed and kissed Sebrahn’s hand, just as if he were one of his own brood. “I like the sound of that. What do you say, little sprout?”
    Sebrahn didn’t say anything, just leaned against Micum’s broad chest and fixed his gaze on Alec. It was too easy to imagine anything he wanted in those eyes. What Sebrahn was really feeling—or if he could—remained a mystery.
    Alec and Micum were in the midst of a game of cards when Seregil came in with the wizards. Magyana looked most of her two centuries today; under a fringe of grey bangs, her lined face was pale and tired, but her eyes were kind as always. Thero, still in the youth of his first century, was tall and dark, with a thin beard and dark curling hair pulled back from a long, somewhat austere face. But his pale green eyes were warm, too, as he took in the sight of Alec and Sebrahn.
    “We need to talk,” Seregil said, sitting down on the bed beside Alec.
    “I’ll leave you to it,” Micum said, putting Sebrahn on the bed and rising to go.
    “Please, stay,” said Thero. “We have no secrets from you in this matter.”
    This sounded serious, and all the more so when Magyana threw the latch and cast a warding on the room to keep out prying ears.
    “Now then, this creature—” she began, her lined face somber.
    “Please don’t call him that,” said Alec. “He’s a person and he has a name.”
    “He is not a person, my dear,” Magyana told him gently. “You may be right about the rest of it, but he’s not human, or ’faie, either.”
    “There’s something we need to tell you,” said Thero.
    “What is it?”
    “Thero sensed it, but not clearly, when he first saw Sebrahn in Plenimar,” Magyana explained. “It’s true that therhekaro has been given the semblance of a child, but another form radiates beyond the physical. I don’t understand it, but what I see around him is the form of a young dragon.”
    Alec stared hard at Sebrahn, squinting his eyes, but saw nothing unusual. “A dragon? That’s impossible! Sebrahn was made from bits of—me!”
    Seregil was frowning at the younger wizard. “Why didn’t you tell us, Thero?”
    “I wasn’t sure what I was sensing. It’s Magyana who sees it clearly.”
    Magyana took Alec’s hand in hers. “Seregil has told me something of how Sebrahn was made. I believe you can tell me more. Do you know what materials he used?”
    Alec shifted uneasily; it was a time he didn’t really want to remember. “Sulfur and salt, tinctures—”
    “Nothing of dragons?”
    “I saw dried fingerling dragons hanging in his workshop, but I didn’t see him put any in.”
    “Very well. What else do you remember?”
    “There was something he called the ‘water of life’—some kind of silver, I think.”
    “Quicksilver?” asked Magyana.
    “Yes, that was it. He put that all in with my tears, blood, shit and piss, hair, and my …” He faltered,