It took considerable effort to turn his initial anger at Seregil onto Rieser instead, though Alec knew in his heart that Seregil had done the best he could. As he grew calmer, he regretted that he hadn’t answered Seregil’s plea for trust as they’d walked back to surrender. The look in Seregil’s eyes then had made Alec’s heart turn over in his chest, but there was nothing he could do about that right now except to keep his guard up and his eyes open.
From where he sat, it was a short sprint to where his bow and sword were, strapped to the back of a white packhorse. Windrunner and Cynril were tethered nearby; Patch, Star, and Micum’s horses were gone, put to work hauling trees.
“So how did you get ahead of us on the trail?” Seregil asked Rieser, seemingly at ease now and playing as if he didn’t already know that answer.
Rieser spared him a brief glance, then turned back to minding the fire.
“My oo’lu has a long voice,” the witch told him, grinning.
“You signaled someone?” asked Seregil, showing the witch more respect than he did his master. “Who?”
“I have—”
“That’s enough,” growled Rieser.
“As you like, friend. As you like,” the little man chuckled, but Alec was almost certain he saw a flash of something less friendly in the witch’s black eyes. Small and dirty as he was, Alec could feel a power in him, and felt a gut level mix of respect and dread when he saw the way the dark tracery on the witch’s face and hands seemed to move on its own with his moods. Micum was watching him closely, too, and gave Alec the slightest hint of a nod as their eyes met.
Seregil was not oblivious, he knew, but was playing his own game—one he was very good at.
Pointing over at Sebrahn, who was still with Hâzadriën, Alec asked, “So, why are they drawn to each other like that?”
Rieser looked annoyed. “It’s the blood.”
“You mentioned others last night. Do they all look like yours?”
“More than yours does.”
“Do they all favor the one they are made from?” asked Seregil. “Sebrahn certainly looks like Alec, and nothing at all like Hâzadriën.”
“They do,” a young man replied. He had the same dark hair and long face as Rieser, but appeared to be half his age and twice as friendly. “Or at least that’s what I’ve been told. Except for the coloring, they all are a little different in the face.”
“Is that why this one has a woman’s face but a man’s name?”
“They have no sex,” Rieser snapped. “Shut up and eat. We ride as soon as the way is clear.” He turned to one of the older men. “Sorengil, you’re in charge. If any of the captives give you trouble, bind and gag them. Turmay, come with me.” Tossing his last crust into the fire, Rieser stalked away down the hill to oversee the work.
With weapons, Alec and the others probably could have taken the half dozen men and the woman left, but Alec had no idea what the witch would do and Seregil seemed content to play the toss as thrown for now.
Sorengil looked to be the same age and temperament as Rieser, while the one who’d answered Seregil appeared to be friendlier.
“What’s your name?” Alec asked him, sensing a weak point on the enemy’s side.
“Kalien í Rothis. And you?”
“Alec í—”
“Bastards don’t name their fathers,” one of the young ones sneered, tossing the bit of stick he’d been whittling into the fire just close enough to stir up sparks in Alec’s direction. This one was maybe even younger than Alec in pure ’faie years.
“That’s enough, Rane,” warned Sorengil.
“I’ll speak to him if I want! Who has more right than I do?” Rane snapped back.
“Let him speak,” the youngish woman with dark eyes said, sparing Alec a none-too-friendly look.
Alec looked around and found the others watching him like a pack of wolves, looking for his weaknesses. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, meeting the younger man’s glare with one of his own.
“I mean, you whore’s get, that you’ve cost me a father and a brother already, and I’ll be more than happy to stick the knife in you when the time comes!”
“Rane, I said stop it,” Sorengil ordered.
“I don’t mind him,” Alec shot back. “If my tayan’gil’s song killed your kin, then you’ve got no one but yourself to blame. We didn’t skulk after you through a snowstorm, now, did we?”
The boy launched himself across the fire at Alec, drawing a belt knife before any of the others could react.
Rane was fast, but Alec was faster. He jerked out of the way and caught him by the wrist, using the boy’s own momentum to flip him on his back and wrench the weapon away. Grabbing up the fallen blade, Alec straddled his chest and had the blade to Rane’s throat before the other Hâzad pulled him off. The seemingly friendly one nearly broke Alec’s fingers taking the knife away. Only then did Alec see that Seregil and Micum were on their feet now, too, and that Seregil was holding a struggling Sebrahn around the waist, a hand clamped over the rhekaro’s mouth as he whispered frantically into Sebrahn’s ear.
Kalien got an arm around Rane’s neck and restrained him. “Sit down, ya’shel, and your friends, too, or this will end badly for all of us.”
“I had a father,” Rane wheezed, struggling to get loose. “His name was Syall í Konthus, and he died hunting the filthy cur of a Tírfaie that rutted you into your mother’s belly! And your cursed tayan’gil killed my brother.”
“My father was a good man!” Alec yelled, lunging against the arms that held him back. “Your people killed my mother!”
“Let them fight,” some of the others urged, forming a loose circle around them. “No knives, just fists!”
Alec glanced back at Sebrahn, who was clawing at Seregil’s hands now, and then at Seregil, who was regarding him steadily.
If I let Sebrahn go, you know what will happen, that look said, clear as a hand sign. Is that what you want me to do?
As tempting as it was, Alec couldn’t do it. Not against an angry boy who’d lost his father, even if it wasn’t Alec’s fault.
He dropped his arms to his sides. “I’ve eaten your food. I won’t dishonor myself and my talímenios,” he shot back. But he couldn’t resist adding, “Or my parents’ memory.”
“What about you, Rane?” Sorengil demanded. “Does the ya’shel have more atui than you?”
The boy pulled away. “Where’s Rieser’s atui? The honor of the Ebrados? Why are these bastards still alive?” he snarled, and strode off into the trees.
A young woman spat in Alec’s direction. “You honor your parents little, backing down from a blood feud.”
“I’ll have a blood feud with your kin, Allia, if you don’t watch your tongue,” snapped Sorengil.
Alec pulled away from the men holding him and smoothed down his coat. “My father was a good man, not a kin killer.”
“If your mother had let us have you and your father, she might be alive now, though her shame would have followed her to the grave,” Sorengil told him.
“Alec, maybe you should calm Sebrahn,” Seregil suggested with a look that said let it go for now.
No one tried to hold Alec back as he lifted Sebrahn in his arms. “It’s all right, Sebrahn. Don’t hurt anyone, understand?”
“Huuurt,” the rhekaro whispered, eyes still dangerously dark.
Kalien and the others stared at them. Even the tall rhekaro seemed to take notice.
“It talks?” one of the riders gasped.
“He’s not like yours,” Alec growled, “and you’ll do well to remember that. The next time you lay a hand on me or any of my friends, I won’t hold him back.”
The threat didn’t win him any sign of respect, but no one taunted him after that.
It took four horses to drag away the huge firs that the Retha’noi had felled for them. Rieser could see several more of the small hill folk watching from their heights. Not knowing how many more there might be made him uneasy.