A rider came forward on a white horse, keeping his distance. Seregil recognized him by the wolf-face mask he wore under his fur-lined hood. “So you didn’t die, that day.”
There hadn’t been time during their last meeting to get a good look at him. Seregil now saw that he sat tall in the saddle and held a long sword in his right hand, pointed at the ground for now.
The man ignored him, looking instead at Alec. “Yes, I can see that you are the one, Ireya’s bastard child.”
“What did you say?” Alec’s voice was low and dangerous.
“Bilairy’s Balls!” Seregil murmured, putting all the pieces together, including the archaic way the man spoke. “They’re Hâzadriëlfaie.”
Other riders appeared on their white mounts, surrounding them. Seregil counted only six, but he thought he saw more through the shifting snow. “What do you want with us?” he demanded. He couldn’t see anyone’s face; they all wore those masks with the slotted eyes, but each of a different animal or bird.
“Put your weapons down,” Wolf Face ordered again.
“Why should we?” Alec retorted angrily. “You’ll kill us either way.”
The man said nothing, but two archers appeared beside him on foot. One wore the fox mask Seregil had seen last time, and the other was wearing a lynx mask. Both had arrows set to their bowstrings.
“Can I at least have your name, friend?” asked Seregil. “I always like to know who’s trying to kill me.”
Wolf Face turned his way. “I am not your friend. You are nothing to me. Neither is your Tírfaie companion. No man who willingly keeps such low company matters to us.”
“I think he just insulted both of us,” Micum muttered.
“This Tír is my friend,” Alec shot back. “And this Aurënfaie is my talímenios. If you’re so superior, why are you afraid to show me your face? Where’s your honor?”
The tall man didn’t take off the wolf mask, but he pushed back his hood. His long dark hair was streaked with grey.
“How do you know my mother’s name?” Alec demanded.
“I knew your mother well, before she betrayed her people,” Wolf Face told him.
“Are you the ones who hunted her down?”
“Her own kin took care of that. I hunted your father, and you. It seems to be my destiny. And now I hunt your tayan’gil.”
“Tayan’gil?”
“That little one.”
Seregil had heard something like that before. Tayan was a word the old grandmothers sometimes used. It meant “white” or “silver”—he couldn’t remember which. And gil? He knew that one as well as he did his own name; it meant “blood.” White blood? Silver blood?
The leader pointed to Sebrahn. “The Tír magic can’t hide him from us. But you must realize that, now that it’s wearing off.”
There was no running now, and even if they could, it would mean leaving Micum behind. That pretty much narrowed their options down to one.
He held up his free hand, hoping Alec wouldn’t shoot him next. “If we give you the tayan’gil, will you let us go?”
He could tell from the corner of his eye that Alec had turned to him, and for once he was thankful he couldn’t see the expression on his talí’s face.
Wolf Face didn’t answer, just waved a hand to someone Seregil couldn’t see through the snow. The strange sound was very loud this time. It was 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 and returned 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 them.”
The tall rhekaro didn’t resemble Sebrahn in his features, yet he had the same ethereal look.