Stalking Darkness (41 page)

Seregil shook his head, frowning. “I wouldn’t count on it. There have been rumors of Plenimaran scouts sighted as far west as the Folcwine River.”

This had come as troubling news, Alec reflected.

The swift-moving units of the Queen’s Horse Guard were scouting there, too, but there’d been no word from Beka in weeks.

“Well, whatever happens, the Lady and her crew are ready,” Rhal assured them stoutly. “She sailed easy as a swan coming up from Macar and as you saw, we’re fitted out with grapples, catapults, and fire baskets. When we set off raiding I’ll have twenty archers among my crew and ten more hired on special.”

“Impressive. When do you sail?” Rhal stroked his dark beard. “Soon as we get the Queen’s Mark.” “The only thing that separates privateers from pirates,” Seregil interjected for Alec’s benefit.”

“That, and the percentage of the take appropriated for the royal treasury,” Rhal added. “I figure we’ll do coasting trade until the war breaks out in earnest; goods loads, transporting soldiers, that sort of thing. The crew needs a proper sea run. Word is there’s already plenty of activity down around the Inner Sea and the Strait, lots of fat Plenimaran merchant ships carrying supplies and gold up toward Nanta. And of course, I stand ready to honor our bargain, though I don’t see how you’ll find me if you need me.”

“We thought of that,” Alec said, flipping him a silver medallion. “It’s magicked. Just hang it up in here somewhere and a wizard friend of ours can sight off it wherever you are.”

Rhal studied the emblem of Illior stamped into the face of the disk. “This has a lucky feel to it, too, and we can use all of that we can get.”

“Then the best of it to you,” said Seregil, rising to go. “I hope your ship’s belly is as full as your figurehead’s before long.”

Rhal scratched his head sheepishly. “Oh, you noticed that, did you? She was a fine-looking woman, that Gwethelyn. Thinking back to that night I caught you out, I don’t know if I was more angry or disappointed. But in the end I’d say meeting you brought me luck, so there she is. The Green Lady’s a fine ship and she’ll do us all proud.”

Since they were already dressed for the part, Alec and Seregil put in a suppertime appearance at Wheel Street, then slipped back to the Cockerel after dark. Once there, Seregil went straight to his room and rummaged out his tattered beggar’s rags.

“Are you going out tonight?” asked Alec, leaning in the doorway as Seregil changed clothes.

“There are some thieves and nightrunners I want to speak with. I’m not likely to find them in daylight. I probably won’t be back before you go, so get some rest and leave early. Before I go, though, let’s hear what you’re going to tell Micum. Things happened pretty fast today. I want to be sure you’ve got everything straight.”

Alec recited as best he could what Seregil had told him about the prophecy and dreams. Seregil made one or two corrections, then nodded approval. “Just right. I don’t know what Micum will make of all this but at least he’ll know what’s in the wind.” Clapping on his old felt hat, he stepped past Alec and began dusting himself with ashes from the hearth. “I’ll come back as soon as I’ve talked to him,” said Alec, “I could be back by nightfall.” “There’s no need. Stay the night and come back in daylight.”

Alec opened his mouth to protest further, but Seregil forestalled him with an upraised hand. “I mean it, Alec. If we are in danger, then the more care we take the better. I don’t want you getting caught out in some lonely place after dark.”

Still slouching unhappily in the doorway, Alec frowned down at his boots. The truth was, he suddenly didn’t like the thought of leaving Seregil alone here, either, though he knew better than to say so.

Seregil seemed to guess his thoughts just the same.

Adjusting a greasy patch over one eye, he came over and grasped Alec by the shoulders. “I’ll be all right. And I’m not shutting you out of anything, either.”

Despite the patch, tangled hair, and ridiculous old hat that partially obscured his friend’s features, Alec heard the warm earnestness in his voice clearly enough.

“I know,” he sighed. “You missed a spot.”

Reaching over, Alec smeared ashes over a bit of clean skin just under Seregil’s right cheekbone. His friend’s one visible eye widened noticeably.

Strange feelings stirred again, and Alec felt himself blush.

Seregil held his gaze a moment, then cleared his throat gruffly. “Thanks. We don’t want any telltale signs of cleanliness giving me away, do we? I’ll take a run through the stable dung heap before I go, just to make sure I’ve got the right odor about me. Take care.”

“You, too.” Alec felt another twinge of unease as Seregil headed out the door. “Luck in the shadows, Seregil,” he called after him.

Seregil looked back with a crooked grin. “And to you.”

Left to himself, Alec set about packing the small bundle for his journey. But he soon found himself repeatedly packing and unpacking the same few items as his thoughts wandered over the harried events of the day, and his strange unease over Seregil’s departure.

That night Alec’s nightmare returned, but this time there was more to it.

In the end, when he turned to look for his pursuer, blocks of stone slid out of the wall beside him, tumbling to the floor with a hollow crash. Gripping the headless arrow, he forced himself to go to the opening in the wall and look through. He could see nothing but darkness beyond, but he could hear a new sound, one that was at once as ordinary and as inexplicably terrifying as the sight of the simple arrow shaft. It was the booming grumble of the sea battering a rocky shore.

A
lec opened his eyes well before dawn. Too anxious to sleep, he dressed quickly and went down to the stable to saddle Patch.

A damp grey mist hung over the city, presaging a foul day, but in the Harvest Market the first traders and stall keepers were already preparing for the day’s business. Alec paused to buy a bit of breakfast, then headed for the gate. To his surprise, pikemen of the City Watch stepped out to block his way.

“State your name and business,” one of them said, stifling a yawn. “What’s this?” “Queen’s orders. Anyone going in or out of the city gets recorded. State your name and business.”

Just a spy riding out to warn an old friend that the Immortals may have designs on his future,

Alec thought wryly. “Wilim i Micum of Rhiminee,” he said aloud. “I’m heading up to Tovus village to see a man about a horse.”

A guard seated at a rough table by the gate busily recorded this information in a day book. “When do you expect to return?” asked the first guard.

“With luck, late tonight.” As he said it, Alec realized that sometime between last night and now, he’d made up his mind to return that day, no matter what Seregil said. There was no good reason he couldn’t make the trip in a day if the weather didn’t turn too bad.

Riding north along the highroad, he watched a cheerless grey dawn crawl slowly up from the eastern horizon. The first crocus and snowdrops were blossoming in the ditches, but the pallid light seemed to rob both them and Alec’s spirits of any color.

His dreams had left him feeling gritty-eyed and dour. The farther he rode from Rhiminee, the more heavily the weight of a formless dread seemed to weigh on his heart.

It was midmorning when Alec crossed the bridge and started up the hill toward Watermead. Micum’s hounds came pelting out to meet him, but there was no sign of any other welcome.

Wondering where Illia could be, he entered the courtyard to find a farm hand waiting for him.

“Good morning, Sir Alec. If you’re looking for the master, he ain’t here. He and the family up and headed over to Lord Warnik i Thorgol’s estate in the next valley day before yesterday. Folks are gathering there from all over the district to talk about defenses for the war.”

Alec slapped his gloves against his thigh in exasperation. “When do you expect them back?” “Not until tomorrow, maybe longer.”

“Is that Master Alec?” Kari’s old woman servant, Arna, called out the front door. “Come on in, love. This house is always open to you. You can put up here until they return. Is Master Seregil behind you on the road?”

“No, I’m alone.” Still mounted, Alec considered the offer. “How long would it take for me to get to Warnik’s?”

Ama considered this a moment. “Well, you’d have to go down to the highroad and then north to the next valley. What would you say, Ranil, he could be there in two hours or so, couldn’t he?”

“Two hours, eh?” Two there, two back here, and another two back to the city, plus however long it took to explain things to Micum. Alec frowned to himself. With this weather, he would be riding home in the dark.

“Oh, aye,” said Ranil. “And you’d be wanting a fresh horse to give young Patch here a spell. Course, if you’re in a particular hurry, you might want to try the old hill track.”

“He doesn’t want to go riding up the hills today,” scoffed Arna, pulling her shawl closer about her skinny shoulders. “That trail will be nothing but a ribbon of mire with all the thaw and rain.”

“How long does that way take?” Alec pressed, trying hard not to let his impatience show.

“I dunno.” Ranil scratched his head as he considered the question. “Perhaps no more than an hour, if you rode hard and didn’t lose yourself. Myn’s the one who’d know best. He comes from over in that valley.”

“There now, so he does,” said Arna, sounding as if the next valley were some exotic distant land. “Myn’s the one could tell you, Master Alec. Perhaps he could guide you.” “Where is he?” Alec asked. “Myn? Now let’s see, Ranil, where’s Myn today?”

“Gone over to Greywall with the reeve,” Ranil replied. “That’s five miles or so east of here.” Another costly detour. “Ranil, is this hill track of yours far from here?” asked Alec.

“No, you know the one, sir. Ride back down to the stream at the bottom of the hill and you’ll strike it running to your right along the near bank.”

“You mean that trail that leads up to the pool where the otters live?” Alec exclaimed in relief.

He’d ridden there with Beka.

“Aye, that’s the one,” said Arna. “It’s a rough track beyond, though, or so I hear.”

“I’m used to that,” said Alec, dismounting. “I will borrow a horse, though, and leave my pack here. I’ll be back for Patch before dark.”

He was underwater. Looking up, he could see the surface shimmering just above him, a shifting silver mirror that reflected nothing. Just beyond the surface something dark moved, like a man standing against the sky.

Seregil uncurled with a startled grunt as something prodded him roughly between the shoulder blades. “Told you he was alive!” he heard a woman say.

Two bluecoats were looking down at him from horseback, early morning light glinting from their helmets. A third stood over him holding a truncheon in both hands.

“Come on, you. On your feet,” the one with the truncheon growled, looking like he’d just as soon give a beggar another good jab for good measure.

“Maker’s mercy and blessings on you,” Seregil whined. “Keep your blessings, you Dalnan mudlark.”

Seregil pulled his dirty rags closer about him and got stiffly to his feet, wondering how in hell he’d let himself doze off in the middle of the east end stews.

He’d been watching a nearby slophouse, hoping to snag a certain informant who often drank there. The dingy establishment was shuttered now, his man long gone.

Grabbing Seregil roughly by the arm, the bluecoat marched him past the horses to a high-sided cart. “Get up there and be quick about it.”

Scrambling over the tailboard, Seregil found half a dozen sullen beggars and whores already huddled inside.

Disgusted with himself, Seregil clung to the hard bench as the cart lurched on. Something nagged at the back of his mind, some dream he’d been having when the bluecoats had woken him. But it was gone. Time now to deal with the present situation.

“I ain’t done nothing,” he protested querulously, tucking his chin down against his chest. “I’ve done nothing a’tal. What are they at, taking a poor cripple up like this?”

“Haven’t you heard?” a ragged girl asked tearfully. “Word come that war’s started. It’s the Beggar Law for us!”

Seregil stared at her mutely as the irony of the situation struck home. Ancient and time-honored, the Beggar Law stated that in time of war all vagrants, beggars, and criminals were to be either pressed into military service or cast out of the cities to fend for themselves. In the event of a siege, no precious stores would be wasted on societal parasites.

Looking around at his fellow unfortunates—the tearful whore, a pair of vaguely familiar thieves, a one-armed drunken giant covered in sour vomit, a half-starved boy—Seregil had all he could do not to laugh at his own unwitting miscalculation in choosing a disguise.

Stay with this lot and I’ll find myself facing down a Plenimaran cavalry charge with nothing but a pike in my hands, he thought grimly. I might just as well have taken a pleasant ride out to Watermead with Alec for all the use I’ve been so far.

Alec didn’t see the otters as he rode past their pool, although there were footprints and slide marks enough to show that they were still in residence there.