Shadows Return - Lynn Flewelling [146]
“You’re getting blood all over him.”
Seregil looked up to find Alec cradling Sebrahn in his arms. He was watching Ilar with a mix of pity and disgust. But when he looked up at Seregil, he caught a flash of resentment there, too.
They sat like that for a long time as the sun came up, each of them holding another in their arms.
CHAPTER 43
Divisions
ALEC HAD NO idea what the date was, but the wind grew sharper every day and smelled of winter. At night the ground under their feet sparkled with frost.
With careful rationing, and a bit of luck he had hunting, they managed to make Tiel’s food last two nights, but the cold was rapidly becoming more of a danger. When they had to rest there was nothing to do but huddle even closer together than before, trying to keep the heat in each other’s bodies.
Three days out from the goatherd’s cottage not only were they still not in sight of the ocean, but it began to rain. By dawn it was coming down so hard that he and Seregil gave up on keeping watch and joined Ilar in the scant shelter of a ruined cottage they’d come across.
“At least water won’t be a problem today,” Seregil joked through chattering teeth.
When they moved on that night, they were still hungry and filthy, but little rills flowed in the formerly dry gullies, enough to keep the water skin filled.
Since healing the girl, Sebrahn had returned to his usual silent, passive state, showing no interest in diverging from each night’s chosen march. Hungry most of the time himself, Alec fed him several times a day, and the rhekaro seemed content with the extra feedings. He nestled close to Alec when he slept, but he always did that, anyway.
Looking into those pale eyes as he washed Sebrahn’s face or cut his hair, however, Alec was convinced that he saw more intelligence there each day. The way the rhekaro sensed the sick girl and insisted on finding her was proof enough of that. And Seregil had begun to soften towards him, too, much to Alec’s relief.
The only signs of habitation they saw over the next two nights were a few herders’ huts. They stopped just long enough to take what little food they could steal, careful not to show themselves to the householders.
The subject of getting rid of either Ilar or Sebrahn had died somewhere along the road. Seregil had to admit that he’d had the easier choice. At first he’d made an effort to refer to the rhekaro as “him” and “Sebrahn” for Alec’s sake. Since that night at the goatherd’s cottage, he couldn’t help but begin to think of him as a real being. Silent and strange as he was, Sebrahn had somehow known of the girl’s distress and acted to help her. The sight of him drinking Alec’s blood, and the touch of his cold little fingers were still a little unnerving, though.
Alec and Ilar also seemed to have established a truce of sorts, enough at least they could sleep next to each other without a fight, but that was about as far as it went. Seregil had never seen Alec hold a grudge like this; he’d always been the more forgiving one, and it made Seregil wonder if there was something Alec hadn’t told him about his time with Ilar in the alchemist’s house.
Less clear were Seregil’s feelings toward Ilar. He still had every reason to hate the man, and years of a bitterly nursed grudge on top of that, yet whenever he looked at Ilar, all he could see were the scars and the beaten look in his eyes. This wasn’t the man he remembered.
Days ago, when they’d first had to huddle together while Alec was on watch, Ilar had been quiet and nervous. But as the days went on, he began to talk of Aurënen and the past, like he had when Seregil had been playing the dutiful slave. Now he asked for news of people he remembered, and recalled friends they’d shared. Grudgingly at first, Seregil found himself having real conversations with Ilar. If it had been anyone but Ilar, it would have been rather pleasant. The fact that Alec had nothing good to say to the man during their marches, but could