The White Road - Lynn Flewelling [78]
"The innkeeper doesn't do laundry," Seregil said ruefully. Even though he'd bathed again last night, his clothes were getting rather ripe.
"Your hair has grown quite a lot since I last saw you," Thero remarked as they hefted the bags and carried them inside.
Seregil grinned and ran his fingers back through his dark hair; it was a bit past his shoulders now and not so ragged as it had been, thanks to Alec's careful trimmings. Between that and the daily attention to Sebrahn's ever-growing hair, Alec could probably set up shop as a barber when they got back to Rhiminee. Assuming they did.
Micum met them and insisted on taking one of the small bags as he stumped up the two steep flights behind them.
Alec was on the bed with Sebrahn, pitching cards at the washbasin and looking very bored. He brightened up at the sight of Thero. "You made it! Any news?"
As Thero bent to set his packs down under the window, however, he caught sight of Alec's bloodstained coat, thrown into a corner and forgotten. He looked around at the rest of them in surprise. "Who's wounded?"
Seregil held a finger up to his lips and waited until Micum closed the door.
Thero cast a ward on it to keep out prying ears. "What happened? Who's hurt?"
Alec pulled down the back of his shirt to show Thero his latest scar. It hardly showed, after Sebrahn's healing. "We were ambushed and one of their archers hit me in the back, but I'm fine."
"When did this happen?"
"A few days ago," Seregil told him. "There were a dozen or so and they caught us by surprise."
"Bandits?"
"I don't think so," said Micum. "The arrow that struck Alec was of Aurenfaie make."
"Why wait until then to ambush you? And why would 'faie attack you, anyway?"
"We aren't sure about any of that."
"They wore animal masks," Alec told him. "Ever hear of anything like that?"
Thero shook his head. "Not that I recall. Where did you get the Skalan clothing, by the way? Steal it from some poor cottager's clothesline?"
"We spent a night at Madlen's."
"Ah, good. I hope you found her well?"
"Same as ever."
"I'm glad to hear it."
Thero opened one of the packs and took out a leather tobacco pouch wrapped in string. "I thought you might need this." Grinning, he tossed it over to Micum.
Micum pulled the string loose and lifted the flap to sniff the contents. "Oh, that's good! Many thanks, Thero. That was kind of you."
"Nothing for me?" asked Alec.
Thero took out a small cloth drawstring bag and handed it to him. "Hundred Year Plums. I guessed you hadn't had any for a long time."
Alec eagerly opened the bag and offered the sweets to Seregil, who declined. They were made in Rhiminee, where a particular small, tart plum grew. Once harvested, they were pitted, stuffed with ground pepper, then packed in salt for months, until they were wizened and black, and looked as if they were a hundred years old. The combination of salt, tart, and hot wasn't to Seregil's taste, but Alec loved them.
Thero sat down on the bed next to Sebrahn. "So you saved Alec again, did you? You're a useful little fellow."
"But a conspicuous one," said Seregil. "Your transformation is wearing off."
"So I see," said Thero, taking in Sebrahn's piebald appearance.
Seregil turned Sebrahn's face to the light, then pushed up his sleeves, showing the wizard the patches of blotchy white showing through the tan skin. There was more silver than blond in his hair now, too.
Thero passed his hands over Sebrahn's hair and shoulders. "It's as if it's worn off, like paint. I'm afraid all I can do is reset the spell and hope it lasts as long as the previous one. So, what will you do now? I assume you're still going to avoid Rhiminee?"
Seregil exchanged a look with Alec, then said, "We're going to Plenimar."
Thero stared at him in disbelief. "You can't be serious. Why?"
"We have reason to believe that Yhakobin had books on how the rhekaros are made. If we can get those, it will not only tell us more about Sebrahn and how to handle him, but also keep any more from being made." It had sounded better when