Rhal chuckled as he looked the four of them over. “Well, you certainly look the part, from what I’ve seen of such things. And you’ve got all you need?”
“I think so,” said Seregil, ticking items off on his fingers. “Rope, grappling hook, lightstones, our tools, veils, food … Yes, I think that’s everything.”
“What about the documents?”
“What documents?”
“The warrants of ownership,” Rhal explained, surprised. “One of the Plenimaran merchants we captured tried to sell me his slaves and showed me the documents for them. I figured you knew about that.”
“No, damn it! I never had any occasion to. Alec, did you see anything like that change hands when Yhakobin bought us?”
“No, I was busy looking for you.”
“Shit! Rhal, can you describe them?”
Rhal gave him a wink. “I can do better than that. I saved them as a curiosity. I’d say it’s all the more important for Micum to have something like them, being a foreigner, wouldn’t you?”
“It’s a good thing you mentioned it,” said Micum. “It might have been a short adventure if you hadn’t.”
They followed Rhal below to his cabin and waited impatiently while he rummaged through several cabinets. At last he pulled out a leather packet containing several sheets of parchment folded in thirds. “Here they are.”
Seregil opened one and studied it for a moment. “Let’s see. This translates as ‘To all who meet this man Rhasha Ishandi of Vostir, know by this letter of ownership that this slave, Arengil by name, is his rightful property, as shown …’ Hmm. Yes … yes …” He tapped his lower lip with one long forefinger. “And here’s a description of the poor wretch, right down to a birthmark on his chest, whip scars, and a missing front tooth. Very detailed, but easily copied. I suspect forgers are well employed in Plenimar, if this is all it takes to claim a slave. Look here, Alec. This design at the bottom must be the owner’s mark. I’ll need you to draw that out when I’m done.”
It took several hours to complete the three letters of ownership, and they ended up spending the night aboard the ship. Although he and Seregil took advantage of what might be their last night of privacy for some time, Alec had trouble sleeping afterward, and he drifted in and out of nightmares that he couldn’t remember, except that they had to do with getting captured again. A few hours before dawn he gave up and went above.
A cold fog hung over the water, masking the shore. He heard a loud splash, followed by the harsh croak of a heron.
He wasn’t scared—risk and danger were as much a part of his life as eating—but the stakes were very high. There might well be another alchemist who could use him as a magical winepress. His hand stole to the center of his chest, where the scar of the blood tap would have been if not for Sebrahn’s healing.
He didn’t hear Seregil until he was right beside him.
“Are you well, talí?” Seregil looked a little hollow-eyed himself.
“I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep very well.”
“Me, either.” He gave Alec that crooked grin of his and rubbed his hands together happily. “It’s going to be very nice, going back in there like this, instead of bound. And not half killed with their stinking slaver magic, either.”
Alec grinned back, dreams discarded and the old spark of excitement in his belly. “Yes, it will.”
They lingered there as the crew began to appear, and it wasn’t long before the smell of porridge and salt fish drifted out from the galley. Micum and Rieser came up to join them and they ate on the deck, watching the mist swirl away with the morning breeze.
At last there was nothing left to do but say farewell.
Rhal clasped hands with all of them, even a startled Rieser, as they stood at the head of the ladder and the sailors lowered their gear to the longboat below. “Good luck to you. The striped sails should keep us safe enough if anyone happens by.”
“Just show them the guest cabin,” Seregil said with a grin. “Only a Plenimaran would decorate like that.”
“Micum, are you sure you can walk all the way to Riga?” Seregil asked as they were being rowed ashore, noticing how Micum was absently rubbing his thigh.
“I may have to rest a bit now and then, but I’ll make it. Sebrahn did a pretty good job on my leg.”
“We’ll buy horses as soon as we find some.”
“Buy?” Micum raised an eyebrow at that. “You?”
Seregil grinned. “We have plenty of money, and it will attract less attention. I didn’t come all this way to be hanged for a horse thief.”
Rhal’s coffers had provided them with as much gold and silver as a successful trader was likely to get caught with, all in Plenimaran coin. Each of them had a money purse hidden away in his pack.
They reached shore safely and pulled the boat up onto the rocky shingle to unload their meager belongings, then shook hands with the boatman and waved him off.
“Well, it’s time to complete our disguise.” Seregil took the linen veils from his pocket and showed Rieser how to tie his over his face, just under his eyes.
“I feel ridiculous,” the Hâzad muttered. “And what about him?” he asked, looking at Alec. “Even with his hair dark, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that he’s a ya’shel.”
“Slavers aren’t that particular,” Alec said. “Ya’shel are common, though they’re not as valuable. Yhakobin didn’t own any, except for me, and that was just for my blood.”
“If anyone asks about you, I’ll just tell them I got you cheap,” said Micum with a wink.
Seregil chuckled. “See, Alec? I told you he was going to enjoy this. Come on, let’s go.”
“Wait.” Alec dug in his pack for a moment, at last producing the little pouch with his flint and steel, and a handful of striped owl feathers. “I brought them from the mountains. I think we can use all the luck we can get.”
Turning his back to the breeze, he kindled a little fire with twigs and dry bits of driftwood. When the flames licked up strongly enough, he carefully laid the feathers on. Smoke rose at once, and each of them quickly bathed his hands and face in it.
“Aura Elustri málreil,” Rieser said, solemnly invoking the Lightbringer’s protection for them all.
“Even me, Hâzad?” Micum asked dryly, recognizing the prayer.
“I assume you have some Immortal of your own to look after you,” Rieser replied, and walked away.
Micum laughed, refusing to be insulted. “Come on, you lazy lot. We’re wasting daylight.”
They shouldered packs and started up the rocky beach.
Rieser scanned the empty countryside ahead. “I still think it was a mistake to come unarmed.”
“All we have to do is play our parts and stay out of trouble,” said Seregil.
“That’s right,” said Micum, carrying Alec’s bow in his free hand. “So behave while we find some horses. I got my fill of being chased by your lot, Rieser. I say we try for a nice, easy journey this time.”
They walked to the head of the beach and headed inland until they struck a forked road: the left fork was a rutted dirt track that led down to the water; the right, a proper highroad heading north toward Riga. One lonely cottage stood on the seaward side, but it looked deserted.
With nothing to hide, they took the highroad. Spring was more advanced here and the day soon grew too warm for cloaks, but they kept them ready in case they met anyone on the road.
“This is a dry land,” Rieser observed. Dust rose around their shoes with every step.
“It’s said it was forested here before the Plenimarans came. It still is in parts of the north,” Seregil told him. “But they’ve been here a good long time and cut it all down for their ships.”
“They have to trade in the north for mast timber now,” Micum added. “Even where they have forests, there aren’t enough old trees large enough to make a mast.”
Rieser shook his head. “It’s a large, strange world you live in. I miss my valley already.”