White Road

dozen yards in any direction. The solid cover of big-bellied clouds promised a long day of it.
    They broke their fast with cold rabbit and water, then set off again, beginning the long descent.
    It was midafternoon when Sebrahn suddenly grew restless in Alec’s arms.
    “What is it? Another owl?” Seregil wondered, looking around.
    “Or someone who needs healing. There could be a village on this side, or a traveler,” said Micum, almost lost from sight in the dull glare of the snow. “Bilairy’s Balls, I wish I could see farther than I can piss!”
    Suddenly they were startled by a strange, distant thrummingsound that made the hair on the back of Seregil’s neck stand up.
    “It’s the same as last night!” Alec exclaimed, reining in. “And a lot closer.”
    Half snow blind and distracted by the sound, Seregil didn’t hear Micum fall and nearly rode him down as his friend struggled to get to his feet. Cynril, who was usually a steady, reasonable beast, bucked wildly, throwing him off, and galloped away, pulling Star away on the lead rein.
    Alec was close behind, and reined in so sharply that Patch reared and Windrunner whinnied in alarm. Hampered by Sebrahn, he couldn’t keep purchase on the saddle and they both tumbled off, Alec somehow managing to land on his back with Sebrahn still clutched to his chest. Micum was already on his feet, but Seregil could tell he was favoring his bad leg. In spite of Sebrahn’s healing, he still needed his stick now and then, and carried it tied behind his saddle. He had his sword, though, and he drew it, casting around for a glimpse of the enemy.
    Alec already had his bow in hand. He held it low, left hand tight around the leather grip, right hand holding an arrow to the string. Seregil knew how quickly he could raise and shoot.
    “Are you all right?” Seregil asked.
    “Did you see them?” Micum growled, staring around at the falling snow.
    “See who—”
    And there they were again, those white-clad figures, drifting in and out of sight all around them in the falling snow. As before, it was impossible to tell how many there were. That strange sound was louder now, and it was giving Seregil a headache. This time it was familiar; he’d heard something like it the last time these bastards had caught up with them in the snow.
    He closed ranks with the others as they backed up to shield Sebrahn. No sooner had they done that, however, than the rhekaro suddenly darted away, heading back the way they’d come. Seregil barely managed to catch him by the arm and drag him back. Sebrahn hissed and struggled, buthis eyes hadn’t gone black. Seregil kept a tight grip on his thin arm, all the while staring so intently into the falling snow that black spots danced before his eyes.
    “He did that last time this lot showed up,” muttered Micum.
    Sebrahn tried to pull away again, but Seregil yanked him back.
    “Who are you?” Alec called out. “What do you want?”
    By way of answer, a masked rider surged into view, swinging a heavy cudgel at Micum. He ducked a blow that would have taken his head off, but was knocked off his feet anyway.
    Alec loosed an arrow but missed his mark. Their attacker disappeared back into the shifting veil of snow. Alec sent another arrow after him.
    “You don’t get us that easily,” Alec taunted.
    The strange sound began again. It swelled and the sudden pain behind Seregil’s eyes felt like a hammer pounding on the inside of his skull.
    This is magic!
Illior only knew what kind, or how his traitorous body would react to it. All he knew was that if it didn’t stop soon, blood would probably start running out of his ears.
    Even through the pain, he somehow kept his grip on the struggling rhekaro and reached for his sword.
    “Something’s happening to Sebrahn!” Alec warned. “His eyes are black again!”
    Seregil didn’t have time to let go. Even through his thick clothing, he felt the sudden rush of power that flowed out from Sebrahn as he opened his mouth and sang. The power exploded around them, throwing Seregil to the ground.
    Bilairy’s Balls, I’m going to be sick …
    A man called out in odd, thickly accented Aurënfaie, “And you do not get us that easily, either, ya’shel.”
    Seregil exchanged a stunned look with Alec; how in Bilairy’s name had anyone survived that?
    “I guess we should have gone back to check on them that day,” Seregil muttered. At least the magic had stopped. He grabbed a handful of snow and filled