White Road

like hornets buzzing and an owl’s hoot combined.
    “Oh shit!” Seregil mumbled as his stomach turned over and the world went sideways …
    Alec woke suddenly, aware first of a stinging pain on his left cheek and the fact that his hands were bound.
    Oh, not again!
    He opened his eyes to find the man in the wolf mask on one knee in front of him. He had his hand raised to slap Alec again, but stopped when he saw that his eyes were open.
    Night had fallen, but someone stood to one side, holding a torch. Below the mask the man who’d struck Alec had a long face, with deep lines on either side of a thin, unfriendly mouth. The hank of dark hair hanging over one shoulder beneath a blue-and-white-striped sen’gai was streaked with iron grey. His wolfskin coat and pants were grimy, and his boots were worn.
    Hâzadriëlfaie?
Alec took all that in at a glance, and next that he was propped against a stone wall, with his feet bound as well; a short length of rope secured them to his hands so he couldn’t get up. From what little he could see past the man, they were in the remains of a round stone hut. It was still snowing a little, and it was cold. He could see his breath and the other man’s freezing on the air and feel it seeping up through his clothing.
    His tongue and throat felt a little numb as he rasped out, “Where are my friends?”
    The man moved aside enough for him to see Seregil and Micum trussed up the same way against the far wall. Neither was awake.
    “Are they—”
    “They are alive. For the moment.”
    He looked around again as his head cleared. “Where is Sebrahn?”
    The man cocked his head slightly, making him look more wolf-like. “Sebrahn?”
    “The—” He searched his muddled brain for the word the man had used. “My tayan’gil.”
    It was impossible to read the man’s eyes through the slotted openings, but he sounded surprisingly nonthreatening when he replied, “You named him well. Sebrahn is safe. How did you change his appearance like that?”
    “I want to see him.”
    Alec had judged him too soon. The man slapped him again and Alec tasted blood on his lower lip. “You are in no position to make demands, ya’shel. What magic was used?”
    “Orëska.”
    “Never heard of it. What name do you have?”
    Alec glared at him.
    The man’s thin lips curled in a way that made Alec distinctly uncomfortable as he drew a very large knife from his boot. Instead of threatening Alec, however, he went to Seregil and pressed the edge of it against the unconscious man’s cheek. “I will only ask you once more.”
    “My name is Alec.”
    “Alec. A Tír name.” The way the man said it sounded like an insult.
    Alec was in no position to object; instead he asked, “Your sen’gai—I’ve never seen that pattern. Are you really a Hâzadriëlfaie?”
    “Yes.”
    “From Ravensfell?”
    “Where else would we be from?”
    “And you actually came looking for me?” Alec almost felt like laughing. “How in Bilairy’s name did
you find
us?”
    The man just smiled that unpleasant smile.
    “Now that you’ve found me—us—what are you going to do?”
    “I have questions for you, but first I want you to see something.” He stepped out through the ruined doorway andreturned with several people. Alec ignored all of them except for one thin man in a red bird mask, and he only noticed him because the man was holding Sebrahn in his arms. The rhekaro clung to him like a little porie, head on his shoulder, looking perfectly at ease.
    The man in the wolf mask said something to the other man, who took off his mask. He was young and unremarkable as ’faie went, except that his back seemed slightly hunched and his face showed no more expression than Sebrahn’s. The man in the wolf mask took Sebrahn from him and said something else softly as he waved a hand in front of the other’s face.
    Alec stared up in amazement as the young man’s appearance changed completely. He had the same white skin and silver hair and eyes as Sebrahn. As Alec watched, he put Sebrahn down, pulled off his tunic, and unfolded—wings! Pale, leathery ones like a dragon’s; not large enough to actually fly with, maybe, but wings all the same. They extended an arm span to either side, opaque as new vellum. He stretched them as if it felt good to have them free of confinement. It probably did, too. “He’s a rhekaro!”
    The man in the wolf mask was clearly amused now. “My magic is better than this Orëska’s for hiding