Nightrunners 03 - Traitor's Moon Read Online Free Page A
Author: Lynn Flewelling
"They were lovers all right, when they found the time. Cut from the same cloth, too, but his luck ran out last autumn. His turma ran into an ambush. Those who weren't killed in the fight were tortured to death." Rhylin's eyes got a pinched, distant look, as if he were squinting into harsh light. "A lot's made of what they do to our woman soldiers, but I tell you, Sir Micum, the men fare just as badly. We found the remains—Markis hadn't been among the lucky, if you take my meaning. The captain didn't speak for two days after that, didn't eat or sleep. It was Sergeant Mercalle who finally brought her out of it. Mercalle's buried more than her share of kin over the years, so I guess she knew what to say. Beka's been fine since, but she never speaks of him."
Micum sighed. "I don't imagine she likes to be reminded. And there's been no one since? "
"No one to speak of."
Micum had a good idea what that meant. Sometimes the body's needs overrode the heart's pain. Sometimes it was a way to heal.
The road finally grew drier as it wended up into the foothills. By early afternoon of the third day, Beka could see out over the tops of the trees behind them to the lowlands they'd traversed the day be-
fore. Somewhere beyond the southern horizon lay the Osiat coastline and the long isthmus that connected the peninsular country of Skala to her mainland territories. The rest of Urgazhi Turma were probably cooling their heels at Ardinlee by now.
"You're sure we'll reach them today?" she asked her father, riding beside her.
"The way you've driven us, we should get there before supper-time." He pointed out a notch in the hills a few miles ahead. "There's a village up there. Their cabin lies up a track just beyond."
"I hope they don't mind a crowd."
The sun was a few hours from the western horizon when they reached the little hamlet nestled in the cup of a valley. Sheep and cattle grazed the hillsides, and she could hear dogs barking in the distance.
"This is the place," said Micum, leading the way into town.
Villagers gawked at them as they rode into the muddy square. There were no temples or inns here, just a little shrine to the Four, festooned with faded offerings.
Just beyond the last cottage an enormous dead oak spread leafless branches against the sky. A trail wound up into the woods behind it. Following it for half a mile or so, they came out in a high meadow. A stream ran through it, and on the far side stood a small log house. A wolfskin was stretched to dry on one wall, and a spiky row of antlers of varying shapes and sizes decorated the roofline. In the kitchen garden near the door, a few speckled hens scratched among the dead leaves. A little way off, a byre sagged next to a corral. Half a dozen horses grazed there, and Beka recognized Alec's favorite mare, Patch, and two Aurenen horses. The chestnut stallion, Windrunner, had been her parents' gift to Alec during his first stay at Watermead. The black mare, Cynril, Seregil had raised from a colt.
"This is it?" she asked, surprised. It was peaceful. Rustic. Not at all the sort of place she associated with Seregil.
Micum grinned. "This is it."
The sound of an ax came from somewhere beyond the byre. Rising in the stirrups, she called out, "Hello at the house!"
The ax fell abruptly silent. An instant later Alec loped out from behind the byre, his fair, unkempt hair flying around his shoulders.
Rough living had left him as shaggy and gaunt as he'd been the first time they'd met. Gone was the citified finery he'd adopted in
Rhiminee; his tunic was as patched and stained as any stable boy's. He'd be nineteen in a few months' time, she realized with surprise. Half 'faie and beardless, he looked younger to those who didn't know him, and would for years. Seregil, who must be sixty now, had looked like a man of twenty for as long as she remembered.
"I believe he's glad to see us," her father noted.
"He better be!" Dismounting, Beka met Alec in a rough hug. He felt as thin as
Micum sighed. "I don't imagine she likes to be reminded. And there's been no one since? "
"No one to speak of."
Micum had a good idea what that meant. Sometimes the body's needs overrode the heart's pain. Sometimes it was a way to heal.
The road finally grew drier as it wended up into the foothills. By early afternoon of the third day, Beka could see out over the tops of the trees behind them to the lowlands they'd traversed the day be-
fore. Somewhere beyond the southern horizon lay the Osiat coastline and the long isthmus that connected the peninsular country of Skala to her mainland territories. The rest of Urgazhi Turma were probably cooling their heels at Ardinlee by now.
"You're sure we'll reach them today?" she asked her father, riding beside her.
"The way you've driven us, we should get there before supper-time." He pointed out a notch in the hills a few miles ahead. "There's a village up there. Their cabin lies up a track just beyond."
"I hope they don't mind a crowd."
The sun was a few hours from the western horizon when they reached the little hamlet nestled in the cup of a valley. Sheep and cattle grazed the hillsides, and she could hear dogs barking in the distance.
"This is the place," said Micum, leading the way into town.
Villagers gawked at them as they rode into the muddy square. There were no temples or inns here, just a little shrine to the Four, festooned with faded offerings.
Just beyond the last cottage an enormous dead oak spread leafless branches against the sky. A trail wound up into the woods behind it. Following it for half a mile or so, they came out in a high meadow. A stream ran through it, and on the far side stood a small log house. A wolfskin was stretched to dry on one wall, and a spiky row of antlers of varying shapes and sizes decorated the roofline. In the kitchen garden near the door, a few speckled hens scratched among the dead leaves. A little way off, a byre sagged next to a corral. Half a dozen horses grazed there, and Beka recognized Alec's favorite mare, Patch, and two Aurenen horses. The chestnut stallion, Windrunner, had been her parents' gift to Alec during his first stay at Watermead. The black mare, Cynril, Seregil had raised from a colt.
"This is it?" she asked, surprised. It was peaceful. Rustic. Not at all the sort of place she associated with Seregil.
Micum grinned. "This is it."
The sound of an ax came from somewhere beyond the byre. Rising in the stirrups, she called out, "Hello at the house!"
The ax fell abruptly silent. An instant later Alec loped out from behind the byre, his fair, unkempt hair flying around his shoulders.
Rough living had left him as shaggy and gaunt as he'd been the first time they'd met. Gone was the citified finery he'd adopted in
Rhiminee; his tunic was as patched and stained as any stable boy's. He'd be nineteen in a few months' time, she realized with surprise. Half 'faie and beardless, he looked younger to those who didn't know him, and would for years. Seregil, who must be sixty now, had looked like a man of twenty for as long as she remembered.
"I believe he's glad to see us," her father noted.
"He better be!" Dismounting, Beka met Alec in a rough hug. He felt as thin as
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