Alec kept his gaze averted, but his hands were curled into fists on the reins. He might not understand much Plenimaran, but he clearly got the gist of it and none of his experiences with Plenimarans had been good ones. If nothing else, he wouldn’t like strangers manhandling him.
Rieser’s eyes gave nothing away, but Seregil suspected he understood well enough, too.
“You’re a northlander, aren’t you?” their captain asked Micum. “We don’t see many of you this far south these days.”
“I’m a horse trader, and these three slaves are mine,” Micum replied, relaxed and friendly. “I have their warrants.”
“I need to see them.”
Micum took the packet of documents from inside his coat and gave it to him. As the man read through them, Micum turned and locked eyes with Seregil for an instant. He was ready for trouble if it came.
But the captain just handed the documents back. “Sorry to trouble you. We’ve had a lot of runaways this past winter and I’ve got my hands full trying to find them. There was one slave in particular, a blue-eyed one like this one of yours, but he was a blond.”
“Can’t be this boy,” Micum said. “I’ve owned him since he was just a little thing. The dates are there in the warrant.”
“So I see. I’ll just check their brands and you can be on your way.”
“Show him,” Micum ordered. Seregil was the only one who understood the words, but Rieser and Alec both pushed back their sleeves as he did and showed the fake brands. This satisfied the captain. He waved them on and continued on his way.
When they were gone, Micum heaved a deep sigh of relief. “That always takes a few months off my life, getting stopped like that!” he told the drayman. “Sorry if I’ve caused you any trouble.”
“No trouble for me, friend. This happens all the time. Sakor help the man who forgets to carry his warrants. The markets are full of seized slaves these days.”
“More than usual?”
“So I hear. Seems some escaped from a nobleman in Riga, and when he went after them they killed him. The widow has offered a good bounty for them, but it will be the Riga Master Slaver who gets them in the end.”
“I almost pity the ones who end up like that.” Micum was fishing for information.
“I don’t, sir. Slaves who kill their masters deserve to be tortured to death in the market square.”
“I’ve never seen it myself.”
“Oh, I have! Their hands and feet are cut off, and their guts are pulled out and burned in front of them while they’re still attached. And then their eyes are gouged out and their head cut off. But even that’s too good for murdering slaves, if you ask me.”
Seregil was very glad Alec and Rieser didn’t understand any of that. He and Micum and Alec had courted grisly deaths before, but not one like this.
They reached Riga late that afternoon and were stopped and searched again at the city gate. Once again, Seregil’s forgeries stood up under scrutiny.
The harbor was thick with warships sporting the striped sails. There were Virésse vessels moored there, as well.
Seregil shaded his eyes, brow furrowed above his veil. “I suppose that’s not unusual, given the trade agreements. Still—Oh, no.”
“What?” asked Rieser.
“See that Virésse ship flying the red-and-black pennant? That little flag isn’t flown unless the khirnari is aboard.”
“Ulan í Sathil is here?” Alec exclaimed softly. “He might know about the book, too, if he was in league with Yhakobin.”
“Who is Ulan í Sathil?” asked Rieser.
“The khirnari of that clan,” Seregil replied.
“A khirnari that treats with makers of tayan’gils?” The man looked truly shocked.
“We don’t know that for certain,” Seregil admitted. “But it’s possible.”
“What now?” asked Micum.
“I guess we’d better go see if the book is gone or not.”
“Even if it is, it doesn’t necessarily mean Ulan has it.”
“No,” Seregil replied, “but it gives us a place to start.”
“I can ask around the docks and see what he’s been up to,” said Micum.
But Seregil shook his head. “No, we’d better not do anything to get you remembered just yet. We know where he is, and if he leaves we know where he’ll go.”
The horse market was several streets on. The pickings were slim; the war was taking its toll here, too.
The others hung back respectfully again while Micum bargained for four horses and some used saddles, telling the trader he’d sold his slaves’ saddles during a slack time.
“Buying saddles for your slaves?” the man asked as he sat down at a small table to write out the bill of sale.
“I have a long way to go and I expect them to work. They can’t do that sliding around on nothing but a blanket,” Micum explained.
“Ah, well then. Where are you headed?”
“I mean to make my way to Nanta, and then up the river from there to the outposts to sell my horses.”
“What about the fighting?”
Micum laid a finger to the side of his nose. “I’ve got my routes, friend. No one bothers me. And it’s still winter up there where I’m heading. Skala’s whore queen is probably still snug in her palace for now.” He spat on the ground. “This will be her last year, I say. Death to Skala!”
“Death to Skala, friend!” The trader slapped Micum on the shoulder.
“Say, can you tell me if there are any rich nobles around here, who might have special stock to sell? Some with a bit of ’faie blood in ’em? Not that your beasts are inferior.” He stroked the neck of the ordinary bay he’d just purchased. “Fine animals! But if I should meet up with some officers along the way in Mycena, it’s ’faie beasts they want. It’d help me along, if I could put a bit more gold in my pocket going north.”
“Well …”
“And I’ll put some gold in yours, too,” Micum assured him. “Steer me right and I’ll give you a gold sester for every horse I find.” With that he spit in his palm and held it out to the trader. The man did the same, and they clasped on it.
Leaning at ease against the corral, the trader rattled off half a dozen names, none of them Yhakobin’s. “They might have a few horses left. But you’d better have a lot of gold in your pocket, if you mean to trade with them. The richer they are, the tighter the purse strings.”
“Isn’t that the truth! Any widows among them? They’re likely to not deal so sharp.”
“That would be the Lady Meran. You’ll want to keep your slaves on a short tether, though, if you go near her.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because her husband was killed by escaped slaves a few months back. It was the scandal of the city.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, friend.” Micum dropped another coin in the man’s hand. “And where would I find this grieving lady?”
“You want the east high road. You’ll find yourself on it if you go to the second slavers’ square and take a right turn at the barn with the sun and moon sign above the door. You can’t miss seeing it. From there you ride out to the second crossroad and turn right again. By and by you’ll strike a lane lined with tall trees. That’s the way to the estate.”
“Thank you, friend. One last thing, though. Can you tell me the name of the dead husband?”
“You could ask anyone in Riga that and get the answer. He was Charis Yhakobin, alchemist to the Overlord himself and the richest man in the duchy—even richer than the duke himself.”
“Does the duke have horses to sell?” Micum asked.
“No, but if you find any ’faie ones, he’s likely to be a good customer for you.”
Micum clasped hands with him again. “You’ve been a great help, my friend. Give me your name and I’ll come to you first with northern stock, and make you a special price for whichever ones you want.”
“Ashrail Urati. And yours?”
“Lornis of Nanta. Look for me in the fall.”
Ashrail glanced up at the sun. “You won’t get to that house before nightfall and she’d not likely to welcome you then. My house is just in the next street over. Be my guest tonight and take supper with me, why don’t you? I’ve a slave cupboard in my stable, so you needn’t worry about them.”