The White Road - Lynn Flewelling [55]
"You mean the origin story really is true?" asked Alec.
"There must be some truth to it, or we wouldn't have been telling it for thousands of years. Nothing appears out of nothing, as far as I know, and we are linked inextricably to the dragons."
"And Alec has more of that Great Dragon blood in his veins," Seregil noted, frowning.
"And Tir, and then there's the dragon kiss there on his ear," Tyrus pointed out. "You may be just as unique as your rhekaro, Alec. Your alchemist chose to ignore that."
"Then that's why Sebrahn didn't turn out the way he intended?"
"So it appears." Tyrus gazed down at Sebrahn and stroked his hair as Sebrahn continued to pat the dragon. "Do you understand that he is nothing like you, either, Alec? He's just magic with a form that resembles you."
"But he thinks. He has a mind. What is he?" asked Alec. "Your dragon didn't tell me that."
"He did," Tyrus replied. "Sebrahn is the first and last of his kind, unless another alchemist finds the means to use your blood again. To understand what Sebrahn is and what he can do, then you must understand what the man was trying to create, and how."
"Which means getting that book," Alec said.
"Well then, it's like my friend said. You'll have to find it, won't you?" said Tyrus.
Alec and Seregil exchanged a look and Seregil shrugged. "The dragon did say we might not die if we go in that direction."
They spent the night at the cabin and took their leave the following morning.
"So it's Plenimar now?" said Micum as they rode along the snowy trail. "How in Bilairy's name are two 'faie going to go back there without being captured or killed?"
"Well, we can't just walk into Riga," Alec admitted, riding along with Sebrahn. "We're obviously 'faie with no freed-man's brand or collar."
"The collar is no problem. We can have those made," Seregil noted.
"Would your uncle make them for us?" asked Micum.
Seregil thought a moment. "He would, but he'd want to know why. I'd rather my family doesn't know where I'm headed. I want to spare them that, especially Adzriel, and I don't want to leave any trail behind if someone comes looking for us. Collars will be easy enough to find elsewhere."
"And the brands?"
"That may be a bit harder. Too bad we cut out the ones we had, eh, Alec?"
Alec grimaced. "I wish you'd thought of that at the time. But they were Yhakobin's mark, anyway. That has to be well known around the Riga slave markets, and anywhere between there and the estate. People would take us for runaways."
"Thero can probably do some sort of transformation--"
"No one would remark on a master and his own slaves passing by, though, would they?" asked Micum, grinning. "I speak Plenimaran as well as you do, Seregil. Alec's no good at it, but I'll do all the talking, anyway."
It was a good plan, Seregil had to admit, but still he replied, "No. Not this time. You're not going."
Micum gave him an exasperated look. "Not this again!"
"You'd never pass for a Plenimaran, any more than Alec or I could."
Micum ran a hand over his chin stubble. "I'll cut my hair, grow my beard, and let it be known I'm a northlander trader. I've met some who owned slaves."
"We can manage without you," Seregil said bluntly. Whatever they did, it was going to be damn dangerous. He didn't ever want another friend's blood on his hands.
"And Kari? She'll flay us alive the next time she sees us," Alec put in.
"She'll understand. She always has."
Seregil wondered if Micum had ever really understood the tension between his friend and his wife, back in their wandering days. As good as Kari had always been to him, and to Alec, Seregil always caught that same old flash of dread and resentment whenever they showed up unannounced.
"I'm going with you, and that's final," said Micum.
Seregil started to object again, then shrugged and pulled his cloak closer around him. "It's not like I can stop you, is it?"
Micum gave him a knowing look. "Swear it, Seregil. I don't want to wake