Shadows Return - Lynn Flewelling [21]
“Ah, I knew you could not long keep away,” Ulan murmured. He went to the balcony door and shook awake the young page dozing on his stool.
“Wake up, Mikiel, I have a task for you. Go to the house of Kiran Ashnazai and tell him to come to me at once.”
“What shall I say, Khirnari?” the boy asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Tell him that our wait is at an end.”
He returned to the balcony, and the view of his half-deserted harbor, smiling to himself. “Two birds with one arrow. This will be most satisfying.”
Supper was a subdued affair that night. After the dishes were cleared away Seregil brought out his harp and he and Alec sang for their friends. He watched Micum and Kari from the corner of his eye as he played a favorite love ballad. They sat close together on the settle, hands clasped, Kari leaning her head on her husband’s shoulder. The firelight caught the glints of silver in their hair and shadowed the lines on their faces, but Seregil could still see in them the young lovers he’d known.
The price of exile, he thought. They’d all be dust before he grew old, if he lived out his span. He wondered how Nyal was going to cope, watching Beka age so quickly. He played on until the two little ones were asleep in their parents’ laps and Illia was dozing against Alec’s knee.
“That’s enough for now,” he whispered, setting the harp aside. “We’ve packing to finish and we’ll be off before any of you are up.”
“Luck in the shadows to you,” Micum murmured.
Seregil managed a smile though his heart suddenly felt heavy. “And in the Light.”
As they pottered about their room, deciding what to take and what to leave, Alec glanced up at his black bow on its peg on the wall and his battered old quiver beside it. The latter was still decorated with dozens of small, oddly carved charms hanging from long rawhide laces and made of everything from wood to chalcedony. They were shatta—betting prizes he’d won from Aurënfaie archers during their last visit.
“Planning to add to your collection?” Seregil asked.
Alec took down the bow and ran his hands over the dark limbs. “I doubt I’ll have much time for that, this trip.”
“True. Still, you might get in a challenge or two, at Bôkthersa.” He gave Alec a wink. “Besides, I always feel safer when you have that along.”
They rose before dawn and came down by candlelight to find Micum dressed and waiting.
“Having second thoughts about coming with us?” Seregil asked.
“Perhaps just a little.” Micum chuckled, but there was no missing the longing in his eyes. “I’ll ride with you to the quay. I figured you’d need someone to take your horses back for you.”
“It won’t be a very exciting jaunt, compared to what we’re used to,” Alec said.
“Well, there’s something to be said for peaceful journeys, too.”
The city slept around them as they rode through the Sea Market, and down the walled Harbor Way to the docks of the Lower City.
The first glow of dawn was just visible above the city now, but the western sky was still rich with stars. The tide was high, waves lapping at the stone pilings. A land breeze ruffled the calm water of the inner harbor.
People were stirring here: fishermen returning with their lantern boats, fishmongers opening their markets, and wastrels of all descriptions staggering out of taverns and brothels.
The Lark’s crew was busy, as well. She was a solid, well-trimmed carrack, with a complement of archers aboard, as well as the crew and their escort. The captain met them on the quay, impatient not to lose the turning tide.
“I can’t promise you a smooth crossing this time of year, my lords,” he warned.
Seregil laughed. “Get us across alive and I’ll be satisfied.”
Micum clasped hands with them as their meager baggage was carried aboard. “Well, I’ll see you in a month or two, then?”
“We’ll come out to Watermead for a hunt,” Seregil promised, reluctantly releasing his friend’s hand.