Stalking Darkness (40 page)

A familiar perfume wafted out to Seregil as he neared the workroom door. Opening it, he found Ylinestra sitting next to Magyana. A quick glance revealed an interesting tableau around the breakfast table. As usual, Ylinestra looked intentionally stunning as she chatted with Magyana, with her shining black hair braided loosely over one shoulder of her loose-flowing gown.

Magyana appeared to be a willing conversationalist, but Seregil thought he detected faint lines of distaste around her eyes. Feeya was not so subtle. She’d moved to the other end of the table and stood eyeing the sorceress with evident dislike.

Thero seemed torn between embarrassment and lust.

Alec stood at what might be considered a safe distance from his former seducer, carrying on some earnest conversation with Hwerlu.

All eyes turned Seregil’s way as he entered.

“Ah, here they are,” said Magyana. “But where is Nysander?”

“Oh, he got distracted by something down in his study,” Seregil replied.

“How unfortunate,” sighed Ylinestra. “I was hoping I could lure him out to the gardens for a while.”

“You know how he is. He’s likely to be a while.”

“I’ll tell him you were looking for him,” Thero offered a trifle stiffly. “In the meantime, perhaps I—“

“Ah well, another time,” Ylinestra said breezily, gliding to the door.

When she was gone Feeya whistled something to Hwerlu, who laughed. “She says the smell of the woman makes her belly hurt,” he translated.

“Mine, as well,” Magyana agreed with a mischievous smile. “Although I daresay most men find the scent alluring enough. She must be missing Nysander. That’s the third time this week she’s come looking for him. Isn’t that right, Thero?”

“I don’t keep track,” the young wizard said with a shrug. “If you’ll all excuse me, I’ve got work of my own I’d better get started on.”

Alec chuckled as he and Seregil set off for the Cockerel again. “I’ll bet you a sester he waits until everyone else clears out, then goes after her.”

“That’s a loser’s bet,” Seregil said with a crooked grin. “I’ve never seen it fail; when a cold fish like Thero finally does fall in love, it makes a total fool of him.”

“You know, I think you’re too hard on him.” “Is that so?”

Alec shrugged. “I didn’t care much for him at first, either, but now he doesn’t seem so bad. He helped save our lives during that raid on Kassarie’s keep, and he was useful during that whole business with Rythel, too. Since then, he’s been almost friendly. Nysander may be right about him, after all. As arrogant and cold as he can seem, underneath I don’t think he’s so bad.”

Seregil gave Alec a skeptical grin. “You’ve a charitable nature. We’ve got more important things to worry about than Thero right now, though. I’ll explain it once we get home.”

They both rode with hoods pulled forward, but Alec guessed even without seeing his friend’s face that something of note had come up during Seregil’s separate conversation with Nysander.

“What is it?” he asked, unable to guess from Seregil’s guarded tone whether the matter was likely to be a job or a problem.

Seregil shook his head. “Not here.”

They spoke little the rest of the way back to the inn, but Alec noted that the route they took to approach it was more cautiously circuitous than usual.

Thryis hailed them as they passed the kitchen door.

“I didn’t hear you go out,” she said, sharpening knives by the fireside. “Rhiri brought in a message for you last night, but it wasn’t sent for the Rhiminee Cat. It’s there on the mantelpiece behind the salt box.”

Seregil found it, a coarse square of paper tied with greasy twine and sealed with candle drippings.

“Anything else?” asked Seregil, bending down to tickle Luthas, who sat playing with a wooden spoon at his great-grandmother’s feet.

“No, nothing.”

“How many are there in the inn today?”

“I think this wind’s blown all our customers away,” the old woman grumbled, testing the edge of a cleaver against her thumbnail. “There were those six draymen in the big room, but they left first thing this morning. All we’ve got left now is a horse trader and his son in the room at the front and a cloth merchant in for the spring trade. I’ve never seen it so slack this time of year. I sent Cilia and Diomis out to see what’s what down at the market.”

Suddenly Luthas startled them all with an angry squall. “By the Flame, he’s been restless all morning,” Thryis sighed. “Must be another tooth coming.”

“I’ll get him.” Alec scooped up the child, bouncing him gently in his arms, but the child howled on. “You’re wanting your mother, aren’t you, dear one?”

Thryis smiled, offering him his spoon. But Luthas knocked it away and cried louder, squirming like an eel. “Find me that rag of his,” Alec called to Seregil over the uproar.

Rummaging in the nearby cradle, Seregil found a colorful kerchief with a knot tied in the middle and held that within reach. Luthas grabbed it and stuffed the knot in his mouth, chewing at it with a decidedly disgruntled air. After a moment he relaxed drowsily against Alec’s shoulder.

“You’re quite the nursemaid these days,” whispered Seregil. “Oh, they’re great friends, these two,” Thryis said fondly.

Alec was just attempting to lay the child in his cradle when Rhiri stamped in, slamming the door behind him.

Luthas jerked awake, crying ferociously. The mute ostler gave Alec an apologetic nod, then pulled a small scroll tube from his jerkin and handed it to Seregil. “Come on!” groaned Seregil, motioning for Alec to follow.

Back in their disordered sitting room again, Seregil flopped down on the couch and opened the scroll tube, which contained a jeweled ring and the usual request for the Cat’s services. Setting these aside with an impatient sniff, he cut the string on the folded paper and smoothed it out on his knee.

“Well now, here’s a bit of good news,” he exclaimed happily. “Listen to this. ‘In Rhiminee Harbor, awaiting your pleasure. Ask for Welken at the Griffin.’ It’s signed ‘Master Rhal, captain of the Green Lady,’ and dated yesterday.”

“Yesterday? We’d better get down there.”

“Another hour won’t matter.” His smile faded as he waved Alec to a chair. “We’ve got something else to deal with first.”

Alec sat down, studying Seregil’s face uneasily; he didn’t look happy.

“First, you have to swear secrecy under your oath as a Watcher,” Seregil began with uncharacteristic gravity.

A thrill of anticipation went through Alec as he nodded. “I swear. What’s going on?”

“Those dreams of yours, with the headless arrow shaft? They meant something to Nysander. To me, too, really, the moment you told me about it last night, but I had to have Nysander hear it to be certain.”

“Of what?” Alec asked uneasily.

“There’s so much to tell you, it’s hard to know where to begin.” Seregil studied his clasped hands for a moment. “That first night we came here, I went out again.”

“To the Temple of Illior.”

“That’s right, but I never told you why I went there, did I?”

“No, never.”

“I went hoping the Oracle could tell me something about that wooden disk we brought back from Wolde.”

Seregil touched a hand to his breast where the hidden brand lay. Alec stared at him in disbelief. “Does Nysander know?”

“He does now, but that’s not the point. The Oracle didn’t tell me anything specific about the disk, but he did say something that I know now was a piece of a prophecy. He spoke of the Eater of Death—“

“Just like in the journal we found, and at the Mourning Night ceremony.”

“Yes, and then he told me I was to guard three people he called the Guardian, the Vanguard, and the Shaft. And there’s a fourth, the Unseen One or Guide. That’s me, it seems, and Nysander’s the Guardian. After hearing about your dream, we think you might be—“

“The Shaft,” Alec said softly, remembering the headless arrow and the feeling of helplessness he always felt at the sight of it. “Apparently Nysander has had some presentiment that Micum is the Vanguard.”

“But the Eater of Death is Seriamaius.” He saw Seregil flinch as he said the name aloud. “This Shaft and Guardian business, it’s connected somehow. Oh, wait a minute—” Alec’s belly twisted into a queasy knot. “That disk, that damned wooden disk that made you so sick and crazy. That’s what you went to the Oracle to ask about, so it must have something to do with the prophecy.”

“It does,” said Seregil. “But what, I don’t know. Nysander won’t say, except that the disk is part of something bigger, something the Plenimarans are willing to go to any lengths to get. When I went away just before the Festival of Sakor, it was to get another object before the Plenimarans did, a sort of crown. It had the same sort of evil magic about it, only worse.” His face darkened as some memory surfaced. “Much worse, and much more dangerous. But I got it.”

“There were other disks just like the one we stole,” Alec recalled, his mind racing. “Maybe they had to be all together to have their full effect.”

“That’s right. Which means if we’d been greedy and taken them all, you and I probably wouldn’t have made it as far as Boersby. I’ve wanted to tell you all this before, but Nysander swore me to silence. I wouldn’t be telling you now, except that you seem to be part of it, too.”

“Of what?” demanded Alec. “What does the Shaft do? If Nysander has the disk and the crown, then the Plenimarans aren’t going to get them and whatever they’re part of can’t happen, right?”

“I guess that’s the idea. But why would you be having these dreams now, if that’s all there is to it, eh?”

“Do you think Mardus could still be after us? Bilairy’s Balls. Seregil, if Rhal could find us, then why not him?”

Seregil shrugged. “It’s not impossible. He didn’t strike me as the sort who gives up easily. But why hasn’t he shown up yet? It’s been months now, and if he had any idea that we have the crown as well, then he or somebody like him will be certain to come after it sooner or later. There’s something else, too. You remember Micum’s description of the ritual sacrifice he found up in the Fens?”

“All those bodies cut open,” Alec said with a small shudder.

“I found the same sort of thing with the crown. All the bodies were ancient there, but the mutilations were the same, breastbone split, ribs pulled back like wings. Now Nysander claims that all this may come to nothing, that there have always been Guardians and Shafts and so forth chosen just in case. But he didn’t sound all that confident. That’s why I’m telling you this, and why we’ve got to warn Micum. I want you to ride out there tomorrow and tell him just what I’ve told you.”

“What about you?”

Seregil smiled darkly. “There are a few old mates of Tym’s I’d like to have a chat with. If Plenimarans are getting into Rhiminee, then someone has got to know about it.”

“They covered their tracks pretty well with that business in the sewers,” Alec reminded him.

“Except for Rythel. There’s almost always a Rythel in any plot. When you get to Watermead, what I’ve told you is for Micum’s ears alone. Do whatever you can to get him alone but try not to raise suspicion. Kari usually knows when something’s up. And ask him about his dreams while you’re at it, although I expect he’ll scoff. It’s a lot to take in, I know. Like I said, Nysander claims this may all come to nothing, but I don’t think he really believes it. I know I don’t.”

Half-realized images whirled through Alec’s mind, too chaotic to grasp. Yet bits and pieces seemed to stand forth from the general maelstrom, like branches in an eddy. “So Nysander has at least two pieces of whatever this thing is: the disk and the crown. But there must be something else, right?”

“What do you mean?” “Well, if he’s been the Guardian all these years, then what’s he guarding?” Seregil’s eyes widened in surprised realization. “That’s a good question. But somehow I doubt we’ll ever know.”

Resuming their roles of Lord Seregil and Sir Alec for the day, they emerged from the Wheel Street villa at midday and rode down to the lower city to inspect a certain privateering vessel anchored just beyond the quays. They found Rhal’s man still waiting at the Griffin. A day and night spent in a tavern notwithstanding, he was still sober enough to row them out to the ship.

“That’s ‘er,” he said proudly, nodding over one shoulder as he rowed them toward a sleek, twin-masted raider. The Green Lady sported fighting platforms fore and aft. Even to Alec’s untutored eye there was no mistaking her prime purpose.

“Bilairy’s Balls, what’s that supposed to be?” Seregil asked as they crossed beneath her prow. Fitted under the bowsprit was the painted statue of a woman.

“Figurehead,” Welken replied. “Lots of the new ships has ‘em. Said to bring luck. Captain Rhal got the best carver in Iolos to do our lady there; she’s even got a real golden ring on her finger with a great red stone winking in it. Captain says her round belly’ll bring us a full hold.”

Dark hair streamed over the woman’s shoulders and the carved skirts of her emerald-green gown flowed back from a rounded, pregnant belly. One outstretched hand pointed ahead; the other lay modestly over her heart.

Alec broke into a broad grin as he squinted up at the painted wooden face; it was not fine work, but the resemblance to Seregil was obvious to anyone who’d seen him playing a Mycenian gentlewoman aboard the Darter.

Still staring up, Seregil swore pungently under his breath. Alec stifled a snort of laughter and asked innocently, “Does she have a name?” “Oh, aye. Captain calls her Lady Gwethelyn.” “It suits her,” Alec observed, still fighting to keep a straight face. “Charming,” muttered Seregil.

Climbing a rope ladder, they found Rhal waiting for them on deck. After a brief tour, he ushered them belowdecks to his aft cabin. Though by no means luxurious, it was a far cry from the cramped quarters he’d entertained them in aboard the Darter.

“I hope that figurehead of yours brings you luck,” Seregil remarked dryly, taking a chair. “Aye, and I don’t doubt we’ll be needing it soon,” Rhal said, pouring wine for them. “The weather is settling out early this year. With the old Overlord dead, there isn’t much to hold the Plenimarans back now. Of course, his son Estmar isn’t Overlord yet. According to Plenimaran custom, there’s a month of official mourning before he can be crowned. That should give us another few weeks.”