The White Road - Lynn Flewelling [80]
"I assume you know where to look once you get there?"
"Well, I know what it looks like," Alec told him. "Yhakobin had all sorts of books lying around in a workshop."
Thero shook his head. "And you're assuming that the one you want is still there, with its owner dead?"
"If it isn't, then we'll find out who took it," Seregil said with a shrug, though the more he tried to convince the wizard, the worse it all sounded, even to him.
"Assuming we don't all get killed," Thero noted dryly.
Seregil arched an eyebrow at that. "Who said anything about 'we'? You're not going."
"And who are you to tell me that?"
Micum laughed at that.
"It's going to be dangerous enough for 'faie to go in with a magical creature like no other in tow," Seregil explained as patiently as he could. "Your wizard blood and magic as strong as yours is? They would make you shine like a torch to any necromancer we encounter. Maybe alchemists and Plenimaran wizards, too. You'd be more liability than help."
"Liability?" Thero looked like he was about to launch into a lengthy retort, but he stopped instead and nodded. "That's probably true. But I'll take you as far as the beginning of the road and show you where it is."
"I didn't mean to insult you about the rest of it, Thero," Seregil told him. "I never doubt your skills, or your bravery."
Thero raised a dubious eyebrow. "Thank you."
"Now, about that slave mark?" said Micum.
"Slave mark?"
"The slavers branded us on the arm and leg. Every slave bears the marks," Seregil explained.
Alec took out a small bit of parchment and showed Thero the design he'd created. "Yhakobin's mark was round, but I saw some square ones like this, too. This is the size."
"And I'm to be their new master." Micum said, grinning at Seregil. "I'm rather looking forward to it, too."
Thero sat down by the room's single lamp and held the design to the light. "Yes, I think I can do that in a way that won't leave any traces of the spell. Who wants to go first?"
Seregil pulled his right sleeve back. "Right here, on the underside of the forearm."
Thero pressed his hands together under his chin, chanting softly, and Seregil felt the air around them begin to crackle and warm. He clenched his teeth against the sudden pain as Thero closed his right hand over Seregil's arm and gripped it tightly. The pain only lasted a moment, but it felt like a hot iron had been pressed to his skin again.
When Thero took his hand away, the others leaned in to see the square outline of the slave mark just where the old one had been. It was slightly raised and had a faded look, pale against Seregil's fair skin.
"Will that do?"
"It's perfect!" Seregil smiled as he ran a thumb over it. "I take it this doesn't have any magic clinging to it, either?"
"No, it's just a transformation spell, like Sebrahn's hair. I altered your skin. I'll change it back when you're done with it."
"Did it hurt?" asked Alec.
"Yes, it did." Seregil gave him a crooked grin as he pulled off his left boot. "But it was still much nicer than the way the slavers do it. I need one on the back of my left calf, as well."
Thero invoked the spell again and laid a hand on the back of Seregil's calf. The fleeting pain took hold and the mark appeared. Thero made the brands on Alec's arm and leg, then turned to Sebrahn. "What about him?"
"Why not let him be my son?" Micum suggested. "He won't be much use as a slave."
Alec shook his head. "Sooner or later we might end up having to stay in someone's slave quarters, away from you and Sebrahn. And you know what happened last time we tried that."
"What happened?" asked Thero.
Seregil described Sebrahn's "tantrum" and its aftereffects. "It will be hard enough to keep him from seeing every Plenimaran as an enemy."
"Are you certain that a necromancer won't sense him?" asked Alec.
"Certain? No, but we don't have much choice at this point. Thero, will you try that spell on Sebrahn?"
Thero approached the rhekaro again with obvious trepidation.
Alec pulled Sebrahn into his