“I can travel that road home with my eyes shut.”
Home
. Alec thought he caught a suspicious glitter in Seregil’s eyes and felt a small tightness in his own throat. If Adzriel meant all she’d said, then it was his home, as well.
CHAPTER 3
A Rude Awakening
A LEC DRIFTED off to sleep that night feeling less of an outcast. To the Bôkthersans he was family, rather than an unwanted guest. With Seregil beside him and Sebrahn curled at the foot of the bed, he drifted off into a deeper slumber than he had in days.
So it was a nasty shock when someone yanked him off the bed and onto the cold floor and stuffed something into his mouth. The shutters were open and by the faint moonlight he could make out several darkly dressed men, one of whom was holding a struggling Sebrahn. They’d stuffed a rag in the rhekaro’s mouth, which explained why Sebrahn wasn’t singing a killing song. In a way that was a relief, since Alec had no way of knowing if he’d kill only their assailants or everyone else within earshot, as well.
Seregil, naked and armed with one of the swords they’d brought from Plenimar, was fighting off two more men by the door.
How in Bilairy’s name did they get in without us or anyone else hearing them?
No sooner had Alec taken that in than the two men holding him dragged him to the open window and thrust him out feet first, keeping hold of his hands, and he found himself dangling above the cobbled courtyard. There was no question of pulling free—Bilairy’s Balls, he hated heights!
And falling even more so—which he was. But he hardly had time to panic before two men caught him and pinioned his arms. Both of them wore hoods and black cloth acrosstheir lower faces. He struggled in earnest now, though to little avail as they half dragged, half carried him toward the courtyard gate, where more dark figures waited. Where were the watchmen?
Suddenly someone came close enough to try to force a bag over his head. Seeing one slim chance, he struck out wildly, finding the bag man’s belt and the knife hanging there. Wrenching it free, he slashed at anything he could reach and succeeded in stabbing the man holding the bag and driving the two who’d been holding him back long enough to assess the situation. They were too big to be Aurënfaie, armed with long knives and dressed in leathers and boots. He, on the other hand, was barefoot in a nightshirt and badly overmatched. He was wondering if he could outrun them in his current condition when armed men burst into the courtyard and attacked his attackers, Micum in the lead.
Alec got out of the way fast and bolted for the house. Shouldering his way through a crowd of alarmed women, he ran up the stairs, still clutching the bloody knife.
Where was Seregil and why hadn’t Sebrahn sung? He was grateful for the latter, but at a loss to understand.
He found Seregil on the floor by the bed, bloody but still alive, with a struggling Sebrahn in his arms, one hand clamped firmly over the rhekaro’s mouth. Three men lay dead around him, bloody enough to be Seregil’s victims rather than Sebrahn’s.
“Tell him,” Seregil gasped. “Hurry! He won’t listen to me.”
Alec dropped the knife and took Sebrahn’s face between his hands, putting his mouth close to the rhekaro’s ear. “Don’t sing, Sebrahn! That would be bad now. Very bad!”
The rhekaro went still. Seregil waited a moment, then slowly removed his hand and pulled out the gag.
“Baaaad,” Sebrahn whispered.
“By the Light, what happened here?” Adzriel exclaimed, pushing through the excited little crowd that had gathered in the doorway. Mydri was close behind.
Alec was doubly glad of Thero’s transformation magicnow, though he could hear others whispering about the color of Sebrahn’s eyes. Mydri shooed the onlookers away and closed the door.
“So?” she asked, hurrying to the bed.
“Assassins and kidnappers, I’d say,” Seregil panted, pressing a hand to his side. Blood was
Home
. Alec thought he caught a suspicious glitter in Seregil’s eyes and felt a small tightness in his own throat. If Adzriel meant all she’d said, then it was his home, as well.
CHAPTER 3
A Rude Awakening
A LEC DRIFTED off to sleep that night feeling less of an outcast. To the Bôkthersans he was family, rather than an unwanted guest. With Seregil beside him and Sebrahn curled at the foot of the bed, he drifted off into a deeper slumber than he had in days.
So it was a nasty shock when someone yanked him off the bed and onto the cold floor and stuffed something into his mouth. The shutters were open and by the faint moonlight he could make out several darkly dressed men, one of whom was holding a struggling Sebrahn. They’d stuffed a rag in the rhekaro’s mouth, which explained why Sebrahn wasn’t singing a killing song. In a way that was a relief, since Alec had no way of knowing if he’d kill only their assailants or everyone else within earshot, as well.
Seregil, naked and armed with one of the swords they’d brought from Plenimar, was fighting off two more men by the door.
How in Bilairy’s name did they get in without us or anyone else hearing them?
No sooner had Alec taken that in than the two men holding him dragged him to the open window and thrust him out feet first, keeping hold of his hands, and he found himself dangling above the cobbled courtyard. There was no question of pulling free—Bilairy’s Balls, he hated heights!
And falling even more so—which he was. But he hardly had time to panic before two men caught him and pinioned his arms. Both of them wore hoods and black cloth acrosstheir lower faces. He struggled in earnest now, though to little avail as they half dragged, half carried him toward the courtyard gate, where more dark figures waited. Where were the watchmen?
Suddenly someone came close enough to try to force a bag over his head. Seeing one slim chance, he struck out wildly, finding the bag man’s belt and the knife hanging there. Wrenching it free, he slashed at anything he could reach and succeeded in stabbing the man holding the bag and driving the two who’d been holding him back long enough to assess the situation. They were too big to be Aurënfaie, armed with long knives and dressed in leathers and boots. He, on the other hand, was barefoot in a nightshirt and badly overmatched. He was wondering if he could outrun them in his current condition when armed men burst into the courtyard and attacked his attackers, Micum in the lead.
Alec got out of the way fast and bolted for the house. Shouldering his way through a crowd of alarmed women, he ran up the stairs, still clutching the bloody knife.
Where was Seregil and why hadn’t Sebrahn sung? He was grateful for the latter, but at a loss to understand.
He found Seregil on the floor by the bed, bloody but still alive, with a struggling Sebrahn in his arms, one hand clamped firmly over the rhekaro’s mouth. Three men lay dead around him, bloody enough to be Seregil’s victims rather than Sebrahn’s.
“Tell him,” Seregil gasped. “Hurry! He won’t listen to me.”
Alec dropped the knife and took Sebrahn’s face between his hands, putting his mouth close to the rhekaro’s ear. “Don’t sing, Sebrahn! That would be bad now. Very bad!”
The rhekaro went still. Seregil waited a moment, then slowly removed his hand and pulled out the gag.
“Baaaad,” Sebrahn whispered.
“By the Light, what happened here?” Adzriel exclaimed, pushing through the excited little crowd that had gathered in the doorway. Mydri was close behind.
Alec was doubly glad of Thero’s transformation magicnow, though he could hear others whispering about the color of Sebrahn’s eyes. Mydri shooed the onlookers away and closed the door.
“So?” she asked, hurrying to the bed.
“Assassins and kidnappers, I’d say,” Seregil panted, pressing a hand to his side. Blood was
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