White Road

them.”
    The tall rhekaro didn’t resemble Sebrahn in his features, yet he had the same ethereal look.
    Wolf face made no move to stop Sebrahn as he wiggled free and went to Alec. Kneeling beside him, brown and silver hair spread around him like a striped cloak, Sebrahn touched a cold finger to Alec’s lip, then licked the blood from it. A woman in a lynx mask placed a wooden cup of water and a small knife on the floor beside Sebrahn. He made a healing flower and pressed it to Alec’s lip. Alec’s nostrils filled with the familiar sweet smell. He ran his tongue over the healed place and waited for the others’ reactions.
    The man in the wolf mask knelt beside Sebrahn and gently took his hand to let another drop fall into the cup. “I’ve never seen one this color,” he said, inspecting the new flower. “But the effect is the same. I looked at your fingers.You feed him too much. That’s why his hair is so long. They don’t need to eat except when they’ve used their magic, or are badly injured.”
    Alec thought of how depleted Sebrahn had been in Plenimar, and how it had taken days of careful feeding to bring him back to what passed for health. Clearly this man, this companion of a man-sized rhekaro, knew more than Alec did about them. “What do you want with Sebrahn? You have one of your own.”
    “I’m more interested in what you want with it, ya’shel. How did you learn to create it?”
    “I didn’t. It was made from me without my consent.”
    “If that’s true, then why are you taking it to Plenimar?”
    “We’re not.”
    “I know that you are. Are you in league with the dark witches of that land?”
    “That particular dark witch is dead,” said Seregil, and Alec wondered how long he’d been awake listening.
    The man turned to him. “How do you know this?”
    “Because I killed him.”
    “Really? What proof do you have of that?”
    Seregil struggled to sit up against the wall, hampered by his bound hands and feet. He was pale and had a familiar sickly look to him; whatever magic had been used on them wasn’t agreeing with him at all. Even so, he still managed to look a little cocky as he said, “We have the tayan’gil. You can see who he was made from just by looking at him, can’t you? He was made in Plenimar and we escaped with him.”
    “Then why would you go back?”
    “So we can keep any more tayan’gils from being made.”
    “That’s a good tale.”
    “I swear by Aura, it’s the truth. But I am rather curious as to why
you
have one.”
    “That’s no concern of yours, Aurënfaie.” With that, the man and the one in the fox mask went outside, leaving Sebrahn with them, and the woman in the lynx mask to guard them. Alec caught a glimpse of other masked figures moving around outside as Sebrahn nestled in beside him and rested his head on Alec’s shoulder. Their guard had grey in her hair, too.
    “I’m glad you’re alive!” Alec whispered to Seregil.
    Seregil laughed softly. “So am I, talí.”
    “And Micum?”
    “He’s breathing.”
    “What happened?”
    “Damned if I know,” said Seregil, bracing his elbow against Micum’s hip to sit up a little more. “Can’t say I like the flavor of their magic.”
    Micum grunted and sat up. “So far I don’t put much stock in Hâzadriëlfaie hospitality, either,” he said in Skalan, glancing over at their guard. “They could do with some lessons from their southern cousins.”
    “So you heard?”
    “About the dark witches? Yes. He must mean alchemists. And where do you suppose he got his rhekaro? Do ’faie have alchemists?”
    “Not that I know of.”
    “Maybe that’s why they want Sebrahn, if they can’t make them for themselves.”
    “That’s enough,” the woman growled in that thick ’faie. “Speak in our language or don’t speak at all.”
    They sat in silence for a while, listening to their captors moving around outside. A large fire was burning, and the smells of cooking and tea drifted in with the smoke. Someone was speaking loudly and angrily now, something about revenge.
    At last the woman went out, taking the torch with her, and a much smaller man with a wild mop of curly black hair came in to stare at them. Enough light came in through the doorway to see that he wore a jacket stitched with animal teeth and held an ornate staff over one shoulder. Alec had never seen anyone like him.
    Half obscured by shadows now, Seregil spoke to him in a language Alec had never heard him use before.
    The