“That could be taken several ways,” Seregil noted.
“And I meant all of them.” With that, he threw an arm over his eyes. A few minutes later he was snoring loudly.
They waited for two days, passing their time as they could. Alec remained upstairs with Sebrahn while Seregil and Micum went out hunting with the innkeeper’s daughters in the early morning. They added considerably to the house larder, for which they got much praise at supper. In the afternoon Seregil played his harp and made a bit of silver, which he parleyed up in the evening as he and Micum gambled with the other guests. They won 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 Alec.
Thero took out a small cloth drawstring bag and handed it to him. “Hundred Year Plums. I guessed you hadn’t had any for a long time.”
Alec eagerly opened the bag and offered the sweets to Seregil, who declined. They were made in Rhíminee, where a particular small, tart plum grew. Once harvested, they were pitted, stuffed with ground pepper, then packed in salt for months, until they were wizened and black, and looked as if they were a hundred years old. The combination of salt, tart, and hot wasn’t to Seregil’s taste, but Alec loved them.
Thero sat down on the bed next to Sebrahn. “So you saved Alec again, did you? You’re a useful little fellow.”
“But a conspicuous one,” said Seregil. “Your transformation is wearing off.”
“So I see,” said Thero, taking in Sebrahn’s piebald appearance.
Seregil turned Sebrahn’s face to the light, then pushed up his sleeves, showing the wizard the patches of blotchy white showing through the tan skin. There was more silver than blond in his hair now, too.
Thero passed his hands over Sebrahn’s hair and shoulders. “It’s as if it’s worn off, like paint. I’m afraid all I can do is reset the spell and hope it lasts as long as the previous one. So, what will you do now? I assume you’re still going to avoid Rhíminee?”
Seregil exchanged a look with Alec, then said, “We’re going to Plenimar.”
Thero stared at him in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. Why?”
“We have reason to believe that Yhakobin had books on how the rhekaros are made. If we can get those, it will not only tell us more about Sebrahn and how to handle him, but also keep any more from being made.” It had sounded better when they’d come up with the plan.
“I don’t suppose I can talk sense into any of you?”
“No,” said Alec.
“Well then, how do you mean to go about it?”
“I know a good man with a good ship, who happens to be at my beck and call.”
Alec grinned. “Captain Rhal. I hope he still has that sighting charm nailed to the mast.”
“He does,” the wizard told him. “I dined with him a month ago, aboard the Lady, and he had me make certain the magic was still in place on it.”
“So tell me, Thero, where is that ship of mine?” asked Seregil.
Micum and Alec shared an amused look. Seregil knew it was at his expense.
Thero climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged in the middle of it. “Give me a moment.” He closed his eyes and pressed his palms together, pointing away from him. After only a moment he opened his eyes. “He’s in Nanta harbor.”
“Damn,” muttered Seregil. “It will take him a month or more to get here, this time of year.”
“Indeed.” Thero paused a moment. “There is another route you could take, though it’s not an easy one. Do you know of Tamír’s Road?”
“I know the queen’s name, but I didn’t know she had her own road.”