White Road

more than they lost, but not so much that anyone would remember them for it. The second night Seregil had no luck at all, but his looks and charm had made him the darling of the tables. Everyone gave him a bit of their earnings at the end of the night, little guessing that a few miles away in Rhíminee, Seregil was a rich man.
    Thero arrived at sunset on the third day as Seregil sat plucking his harp by the fireside. The young wizard was dressed in ordinary riding clothes and could have easily passed as one of the traders Micum was currently drinking with. His dark, curly hair was pulled back in a black ribbon, and a few days’ worth of stubble darkened his thin cheeks. He caught sight of Seregil and pushed his way through the crowd to clap him on the shoulder. “Greetings, friend! I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”
    “Not at all, friend. I have a room for us. Come. I’ll show you.”
    “Hold on. You can help me first.”
    Thero led the way out to the stable, where Seregil and Alec’s horses were tethered. Cynril nickered contentedly as Seregil leaned over the side of the stall to rub the tall black mare’s nose. Alec’s brown mare Patch and chestnut stallion, Windrunner, were in the next two stalls. Alec would be glad to have Patch back, preferring the scrubby brown mare to Windrunner, even if she did try to eat every bit of leather within reach, including belts and purses, not to mention tack left hanging unwisely in her stall. Seregil crossed to the other stalls and stroked his grey gelding Star’s neck. “Hello there, boy. Ready for a proper journey after all that lazing around?”
    Several heavy packs lay in a heap on the clean straw of another. “I didn’t know what you wanted,” said Thero, “so your man Runcer packed a bit of everything, including this.” He handed Seregil a heavy money purse, then wrinkled his nose at the tunic Seregil had been wearing since they’d left Madlen’s house.
    “The innkeeper doesn’t do laundry,” Seregil said ruefully.Even though he’d bathed again last night, his clothes were getting rather ripe.
    “Your hair has grown quite a lot since I last saw you,” Thero remarked as they hefted the bags and carried them inside.
    Seregil grinned and ran his fingers back through his dark hair; it was a bit past his shoulders now and not so ragged as it had been, thanks to Alec’s careful trimmings. Between that and the daily attention to Sebrahn’s ever-growing hair, Alec could probably set up shop as a barber when they got back to Rhíminee. Assuming they did.
    Micum met them and insisted on taking one of the small bags as he stumped up the two steep flights behind them.
    Alec was on the bed with Sebrahn, pitching cards at the washbasin and looking very bored. He brightened up at the sight of Thero. “You made it! Any news?”
    As Thero bent to set his packs down under the window, however, he caught sight of Alec’s bloodstained coat, thrown into a corner and forgotten. He looked around at the rest of them in surprise. “Who’s wounded?”
    Seregil held a finger up to his lips and waited until Micum closed the door.
    Thero cast a ward on it to keep out prying ears. “What happened? Who’s hurt?”
    Alec pulled down the back of his shirt to show Thero his latest scar. It hardly showed, after Sebrahn’s healing. “We were ambushed and one of their archers hit me in the back, but I’m fine.”
    “When did this happen?”
    “A few days ago,” Seregil told him. “There were a dozen or so and they caught us by surprise.”
    “Bandits?”
    “I don’t think so,” said Micum. “The arrow that struck Alec was of Aurënfaie make.”
    “Why wait until then to ambush you? And why would ’faie attack you, anyway?”
    “We aren’t sure about any of that.”
    “They wore animal masks,” Alec told him. “Ever hear of anything like that?”
    Thero shook his head. “Not that I recall. Where did you get the Skalan clothing, by the way? Steal it from some poor cottager’s clothesline?”
    “We spent a night at Madlen’s.”
    “Ah, good. I hope you found her well?”
    “Same as ever.”
    “I’m glad to hear it.”
    Thero opened one of the packs and took out a leather tobacco pouch wrapped in string. “I thought you might need this.” Grinning, he tossed it over to Micum.
    Micum pulled the string loose and lifted the flap to sniff the contents. “Oh, that’s good! Many thanks, Thero. That was kind of you.”
    “Nothing for me?” asked