The White Road - Lynn Flewelling [155]
And so the talk went on, into the night.
CHAPTER 34
Mistrust
BY THE TIME the Green Lady made anchor at Beggar's Bridge, the flesh around Rieser's wound had turned dangerously dark and taken on a sickly sweet odor. Alec and Seregil sat with him while the drysian changed his dressings one last time before they went ashore.
Konthus shook his head. "You should be well healed by now, with all the broths and magic I've poured into you."
"You did the best you could, and I am thankful," Rieser replied, his cheeks pale except for the red fever patches. "At least I will live long enough to return to my people."
Konthus made a blessing over him and took his leave.
"I hope you do," murmured Seregil, wrinkling his nose at the foul odor of the wound.
"Just get me back to Hazadrien."
"Or Sebrahn," said Alec.
"No, Hazadrien!" Rieser gasped, and there was rare alarm in his voice.
"Why are you so scared of Sebrahn?"
Rieser stared up at the cabin ceiling for a moment before answering. "Because he's not a true tayan'gil. Please, honor my request. It could be my last."
"Suit yourself," Alec said.
They reached Ero Harbor in the morning, and readied to leave. The longboats were packed, and Rhal and his men were armed and ready. They took their leave on deck, shaking hands with Nettles.
"I'll expect the ship to be still afloat when I get back," Rhal said with a grin as he clapped the mate on the shoulder. "And provisioned. It's hunting season again."
"And I'll expect you to come back safe and sound, Captain."
I hope so, too, thought Seregil as he joined Alec and Micum in the longboat and helped lift Rieser onto a pallet spread in the bottom. He wasn't sure giving up Sebrahn would be enough to satisfy the Ebrados, and Rieser had refused to say one way or the other.
There was nothing Rieser could do about the sailors who were coming along. He hoped Turmay could handle that many people at once, if it came to a fight.
He held on in silent misery until they were rowed in, but collapsed as soon as they were ashore. He awoke in a clean bed in a sunny room with no idea how he'd gotten there. His shoulder burned like fire, and stank so bad it was making him even sicker.
"I think it's your Hazad blood," said Seregil, the only other occupant of the room at the moment. He was sprawled in an armchair beside him, bare feet propped on the edge of the mattress.
"I think you may be right," he croaked. "These Tirfaie healers aren't much good to me. Are there any 'faie?" He was mortified to show such weakness in front of his companions, especially the Tir. It put him at their mercy, and that was something he'd never experienced before.
"They heal me well enough," Seregil told him. "But I'm not of your blood. Do you have healers among your people, or do you just depend on your tayan'gils?"
"Both. What the healers can't cure, the tayan'gils can."
"That must make you a very long-lived people."
"No more than you, I expect. We just don't die young as often."
The Bokthersan was quiet for a moment. "It's a shame, how they have to be made. In their way, the tayan'gils are a real gift."
"Our gift and our curse. It cut us off from your people long ago." He paused. "My ancestors were Bokthersans." Why am I telling him at all? he wondered, even as he said it.
"So you said, soon after we met."
Did I? My mind is wandering. It must be the fever talking. It was far better to tell himself that than admit that he'd come to admire Seregil and his friends--even Micum Cavish. It was hard not to, when you'd fought for your very lives together.
He was beginning to doubt he'd live long enough to die among his own people.
Alec left Seregil to tend Rieser at the inn they'd taken for the night and went to the Sea Horse with Micum to see about the horses they'd boarded there. The stable hand had kept his word, or the fee they'd paid had been high enough. Either way, Patch and the others were sound and glossier than they'd been when they left. Seregil had offered to buy Rhal's men horses, but apart from their captain, none of