Luck in the Shadows (31 page)

“The what?” Alec interjected, completely lost by now.

Seregil grinned. “You’ve never heard the story of the wishing mirror?” You look into it to see your heart’s desire. The Plenimarans send a spy or two in advance to sound out the situation, then the grand commander rides in with a great show of soldiers and a saddlebag full of empty promises based on the reports of his spies. Formio, for instance, was informed that the Overlord of Plenimar wishes to arrange a marriage for some distant niece, while old Warkill, whose lands sit at the headwaters of the Silverwind, was promised aid to take the lands clear to the edge of the Woldesoke. Mind you, our friend Mardus is down in Wolde soon after, promising to defend the mayor from just such an incursion.

“I also had the good fortune to be captured by a gang of bandits east of Derila. Their leader happened to be fond of bards, so they decided to keep me on rather than slit my throat. They were a sloppy bunch and I managed to get away when I wanted to, but not before I learned that they’d been foolish enough to attack a party of Plenimarans only two weeks earlier. Instead of obliterating them, as the marines generally would if only for the practice, these blackguards enlisted the bandits to their cause, binding them with oaths, wine, and gold. They even went so far as to offer a bounty for any other freebooters they could bring in.”

“What a pack of mongrels they are leashing together up there!” Nysander exclaimed, none too pleased. “They will turn every little faction against its neighbor and let them cut each other to pieces.”

“Then march in to sweep up the spoils,” added Seregil. “After Alec and I got free of Asengai, we met with Erisa and Micum in Wolde. She’d been along the coast as far as Syr and her news was much the same, including the foray toward the Fishless Sea. She’s equally mystified. According to her, Mardus stopped for a week at Sark Island on his way up the Ösk to Blackwater Lake. I’ve never been there, but Micum says there’s nothing but the ruins of an ancient trading colony. Hardly the thing to occupy someone like Mardus for a week.”

“And Micum?”

“His news was the strangest of all. He’d been up around Ravensfell and reported a company of marines in full battle dress riding into the pass. Unless they’re out to conquer whatever’s left of the Hâzadriëlfaie, I can’t imagine what they think they’ll find except mountains and ice.”

Seregil paused, but Nysander simply motioned for him to continue. “That brings us to the mayor’s banquet. Alec says he told you about our doings there, but there are a few details I’d better fill in.”

“Pertaining to the maps, I assume,” said Nysander.

“Yes. I found one in Mardus’ campaign chest, quite ordinary, not hidden. Points on it had been marked at Wolde, Kerry, Sandir Point, Syr, and each of the mountain demesnes.”

“Rather tidy, that,” Nysander remarked.

“But even better, another map locked safely away in his dispatch box was marked with points at Sark Island, another somewhere north of Ravensfell, and one in the Blackwater Fens. The last one was circled. What do you make of that?”

“Most intriguing,” Nysander mused, stroking his beard.

“Micum went back to the Fens after Boersby. He meant to head down here when he’d finished.”

“How long ago did you last see him?”

“He left us at Boersby; let’s see.” Seregil thought for a moment, then shook his head impatiently. “Damn! I’m still muddled. Alec, how long has it been?”

Alec counted back. “Just over two weeks now.”

“He should be with us soon, then,” said Nysander, but something in his expression must have caught Seregil’s eye.

“What is it, Nysander?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing. Is that all you have to report?”

“No. I believe those highwaymen who attacked us below Stook were Plenimaran agents. When we searched the bodies they just didn’t have the right look to them. They had new weapons and clothing, all local, little money or possessions. It was as if they’d simply ridden into the Folcwine Forest and set up shop the day before. The whole situation didn’t smell right.”

“I have had occasion in the past to trust your intuition.”

“There’d been a sudden rash of attacks on the caravans around Wolde just before the Plenimaran envoys showed up there,” added Alec.

Seregil nodded wryly. “Taken with everything else, it seems
rather too much of a coincidence that these cutthroats should appear out of nowhere just in time to be run off by the able marines.”

“I see,” mused Nysander. “Then you believe that Plenimar is providing a reason for the northern towns to seek an alliance?”

“I do.”

“Anything else?”

“Just this.” Seregil pulled the neck of this nightshirt open and cocked his chin at the scar.

Nysander went to the window and gazed out. “I fear I must beg your forbearance regarding that. This matter is not to be spoken of to anyone, at any time.”

There was no mistaking the finality in his voice. Seregil’s brows drew together ominously over his grey eyes. “I just slept away the last two weeks because of this. Not to mention the madness that went before, or the nightmares and visions and the urge to kill just about every person I came within ten feet of, including Alec!”

“You must be patient.”

“What is there to be patient about?” Seregil retorted. “I want to know who did this to me! Do you know or not?”

Nysander sighed as he sat down in the embrasure of the window. “I should say that you did it to yourself, really. You took it upon yourself to steal the thing in the first place, and then to hang it about your neck. Not that I am chiding you, of course. I know that you took it on my behalf. Nevertheless, I—”

“Don’t go changing the subject. That’s my trick!” Seregil interrupted hotly. “This is
me
you’re talking to, not some provincial message carrier. What’s going on?”

Caught in the line of confrontation, Alec looked anxiously from one to the other. Seregil’s lips were compressed into a thin, stubborn line, his eyes larger than ever in his haggard face as he glared up at the wizard. But Nysander met his friend’s smoldering gaze calmly.

“Seregil í Korit Solun Meringil Bôkthersa,” he said quietly, rolling the syllables as if they were a spell. “This is a matter which goes beyond any personal vengeance on your part. The mark you bear is a magical sigla, the meaning of which I am bound by the most dire oaths not to reveal.”

“Then why didn’t you let Valerius take it off?”

Nysander spread his hands resignedly. “You understand better
than most the power of prescience. It felt unwise at the time to do so. Now that you are stronger, however, I shall cast an occultation over it.”

“But it will still be there,” said Seregil uneasily. “I—I had strange dreams after Alec pulled the thing off, different than the nightmares before.”

Nysander rose to his feet in alarm. “By the Light, why did you not mention this before!”

“I’m sorry. I only just now remembered, parts of them, anyway.”

Nysander sat down on the edge of the bed. “You must tell me what you can, then. By your oath as a Watcher—”

“Yes, yes, I know!” snapped Seregil, rubbing at his eyelids in frustration. “Remembering—it’s like trying to grasp a handful of eels. One second I remember a piece of something, then it just goes.”

“Nysander, he looks ill!” Alec whispered. The color had fled from Seregil’s thin cheeks and a sheen of sweat stood out on his forehead.

“I was terribly sick by the time we reached the crossroads inn,” Seregil continued hoarsely. “Alec, you had no idea—Everything had become so unreal. It was like being trapped in a nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from. I don’t know where in Mycena we were by then. The black creature had been dogging us since the day before. Alec couldn’t see it, even when it touched him in the cart, and that scared me worse than anything I’ve ever encountered. Alec’s told you how I attacked him that night, I know, but that’s not how it seemed to me at the time, not at all! The thing was attacking me, or rather letting me attack it and sidestepping me. Alec must have come in during all that and I was too crazed to realize. Gods, I could just as easily have killed him—”

“It was magic, dear boy, evil magic,” Nysander said softly.

Seregil shivered and ran a hand back through his hair. “After—after I collapsed, I kept dreaming I was on a barren plain. I couldn’t move except to turn and there was only the wind and grey grass. I was alone. I thought at first that I was dead.”

Alec watched him with rising concern. Seregil was whiter than ever, and his breathing was and labored, as if it took all his
strength to keep speaking. Alec glanced anxiously at Nysander, but the wizard’s attention was fixed on Seregil.

“After a while, there was someone else there,” Seregil said, eyes squeezed tightly shut, one hand raised to his face as if to ward off a blow. “I can’t remember who, just—gold. And eyes, something about eyes—”

His chest was heaving now and Alec placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Blue,” Seregil gasped, “something so blue—!” With a hollow groan, he fainted back onto the pillow.

“Seregil! Seregil, can you hear me?” cried Nysander, feeling for the pulse at his throat.

“What’s happening?” cried Alec.

“I am not certain. A vision of some sort, perhaps, or some overwhelming memory. Fetch a cloth, and the water pitcher.”

Seregil’s eyes fluttered open again as Alec bathed his temples with a cool cloth.

“You must not try to go on,” Nysander warned, stroking Seregil’s brow. “You were speaking gibberish just now, as if something was disordering your thoughts even as you tried to voice them.”

“Could it have been that black creature again,
here
?” asked Alec.

“I would have sensed such a presence,” Nysander assured him. “No, it was as if the memories themselves induced some mental confusion. How very interesting. Can you speak now, dear boy?”

“Yes,” Seregil rasped, passing a hand over his eyes.

“Rest, then, and think no more of these things for now. I have heard enough.” Rising, Nysander went to the door.

“Well I haven’t!” Seregil struggled up on one elbow. “Not nearly enough! What’s
happening
to me?”

Alec thought he caught a look of pain on Nysander’s face.

“Trust me in this, dear boy,” the wizard said. “I must meditate on what we have learned so far. Rest and heal. Shall I send Wethis for some food?”

Alec braced for another outburst, but Seregil merely looked away, shaking his head. He busied himself with the fire for a moment after Nysander had gone, then pulled the chair up beside the bed.

“That black creature you fought with,” he began, fidgeting
with the hem of one sleeve. “It really was there in the cart, wasn’t it? And in the room with us at the inn. It was real.”

Seregil shivered, staring past him at the fire. “Real enough for me. I think you saved both our lives when you yanked that bit of wood from my neck.”

“But that was an accident! What if I hadn’t?”

Seregil looked up at him for a moment, then shrugged. “But you did, and here we are, safe and sound. Luck in the shadows, Alec; you don’t question it, you just give thanks and pray it doesn’t run out!”

In the deepest hours of the night, Nysander lifted the wooden disk from its container. The chamber around him vibrated with the thickly woven spells he had invoked in preparation for the examination. Turning the disk this way and that with a pair of forceps, he tried to gauge the quiescent power of the thing. Despite its ordinary appearance, he could feel the energy emanating from it as clearly as waves lapping against his skin.

Heart heavy with foreboding, he sealed the thing away again and pocketed it, then set off for the vaults beneath the Orëska House to take his nightly constitutional.

A
lec watched in dismay, if not surprise, as Seregil struggled out of bed the next morning.

“Valerius wouldn’t like this.”

“Then it’s lucky for us he’s not here, eh?” Seregil winked, hoping the boy didn’t notice how wobbly his legs still were. “Besides, there’s nothing more beneficial than a good bath. Just let me lean on you a bit and I’ll be fine.”

With Alec’s grudging assistance, Seregil worked his way slowly down to the baths without mishap.

Winded but triumphant, he let a bath servant assist him into his tub while Alec stationed himself on a nearby bench.

“Illior’s Light, but it’s wonderful to be back in a civilized city!” Seregil chortled, immersing himself up to the chin in the steaming water.

“I’ve never met anyone who takes as many baths as you do,” the boy grumbled.

“A good soak might improve your disposition,” Seregil teased, wondering at the boy’s brittleness this morning. He had an edge of anxiety that hadn’t been there before, not even during the difficult journey through Mycena.

“For the love of Illior, Alec, relax! No
one’s here to see.” He swirled the water with his toe. “I think we could do with a walk outside next.”

“You barely made it down here,” Alec pointed out hopelessly.

“Where’s your curiosity today? You’ve been living in the center of the greatest collection of wizardry in the world for almost a week and you’ve hardly seen a thing!”

“I’m more concerned just now with what Valerius would say if he knew you were wandering around all over the place. I’m supposed to be responsible for you, you know.”

“No one is responsible for me except
me.
” Seregil jabbed a soapy finger in the air for emphasis. “Nysander knows that, Micum knows that. Even Valerius knows it. Now you know.”

To his considerable surprise, Alec stared at him for a moment, then turned on his heel and stalked abruptly away to stare out over the central pool, his back rigid as a blade.

“What is it?” Seregil called after him, genuinely mystified.

Alec muttered something, punctuating the remark with a sharp wave of his hand.

“What? I can’t hear you over the fountains.”

Alec half turned, arms locked across his chest. “I said I was responsible enough for you while you were sick!”

And I’m a blind fool!
Seregil berated himself, the crux of the problem finally dawning on him. Struggling out of the tub, he threw on a towel and went to the boy.