Stalking Darkness n-2 Read online

  Looking around, he realized that the number of guests was dwindling. Off for more "games in the dark," as Kylith had teased. Nysander and Magyana were still there, moving with stately grace through the circle of a galliard. Thero was dancing as well, but not with Ylinestra.

  "Where's she gotten to?" Alec wondered, looking around again.

  In the garden.

  The soft, caressing whisper came at his very ear, for him alone to hear.

  Come into the garden.

  There was no question this time; it was Ylinestra's voice.

  The mysterious summons came again, and with it a delicious languor. A couple walked past, lightwands in hand, and he marveled at the rainbow corona surrounding each glowing stone. The whole room, in fact, had taken on a warmer tone.

  Perhaps Nysander and Magyana were tinkering with their creation? Skirting the dancers, he slipped unnoticed into the dining room and on out into the darkened garden.

  Here. Come to me.

  The voice guided him to a far corner of the garden screened by a small arbor.

  He heard a faint sigh of silk and Ylinestra's pale face resolved from the darkness. Her hands found his and lifted them to rest just above her hips.

  She was slender and supple between his hands and he spread his fingers to better appreciate the sensation of her warmth beneath the cold fabric.

  "My lady, I don't understand," he whispered, some small, distant part of him distinctly alarmed at his own actions. He'd never felt like this in his life.

  "What is there to understand, lovely boy?"

  How small she seemed, here in the darkness. Her lips brushed his chin as she spoke, her violet eyes pools of night just below his own.

  "But Nysander—Thero? I thought—"

  She laughed softly, and the sound drowned his own trepidation in another rush of voluptuous sensation.

  "I do as I please, Alec, and I take what I want. And just now, I want you."

  Her hands found his again, holding his palms flat against her as she slid them upward. The roughness of embroidery met his touch, then the netted web of the necklace over her breasts.

  "You're trembling. Does my little magic frighten you? Do still frighten you?"

  Alec drew a ragged breath. "I–I don't know."

  Part of him sensed a snare, a trap, yet his whole body was gripped by a yearning unlike anything he'd ever known. Her scent

  filled his nostrils again as she slipped his fingertips beneath the edge of her necklace to press the bare, yielding swell of a breast.

  "You have only to ask, Alec. I'll release you if you ask. Shall I free you?"

  She slipped a hand to the back of his neck to rest where Seregil's so often did. Then she kissed him again, her lips parting, tongue gently seeking entrance and gaining it as her other hand stroked his side. Pulling him closer, she kissed her way to his neck.

  "So young, so smooth," she murmured, the touch of her breath sending a profound warmth to his loins. "So beautiful. Have you known a woman? No? So much the better." She shifted slightly, bringing a half-exposed nipple against his fingers. "Tell me, shall I release you now?"

  "Yes! No— I don't know—"

  Alec groaned softly, then embraced her. Magic or not, newly awakened passions suffused him and he found her lips again, returning kiss for kiss.

  "Close your eyes, my darling," she whispered.

  "Shut them tight and I'll show you another trick."

  Alec obeyed, and was startled to feel himself falling, tumbling onto something soft. When he opened his eyes again, the two of them were lying in the heavily draped enclosure of a huge bed. The forbidden glow of candlelight filtered through layers of colored silk, just bright enough for him to see that somewhere in the transition, their clothing had been left behind.

  "Something wrong, my dear?" asked Nysander, seeing Magyana frowning over his shoulder as they danced.

  "I was just watching Thero. He's looking dour again, and he seemed to be having such a pleasant time.

  Has Seregil been teasing him again?"

  "Not that I observed."

  Thero hovered grimly in a far corner, oblivious to the band of nymphs dancing on the wall just behind him as he scanned the room.

  "I suspect Ylinestra has found more spirited companionship for the evening," he guessed.

  "Mmm. Well, that is a great deal less surprising than seeing them together in the first place. What in the world does she want with him?"

  "He is not such a bad-looking lad," Nysander said. "And he is young."

  "Yes, but he's also your assistant," sniffed Magyana. "I realize you don't mind, but it still seems rather tactless of them."

  Nysander chuckled knowingly. "Passion is seldom governed by such niceties."

  Just then, however, he caught sight of Seregil standing by the cider barrel. He was fiddling absently with a mug and looking rather perplexed.

  "Come, my dear, you must be thirsty," said the wizard, steering her in Seregil's direction.

  "You haven't seen Alec in the last few minutes?" Seregil asked as they joined him.

  The gloves were gone, Nysander noted, but a spotless strip of linen still bound each hand. He wondered what sort of explanation he'd concocted for his guests.

  "Why, no. Is he missing?" replied the wizard.

  "I don't know. It's been almost an hour since I last saw him. I've just been all over the house and he's not here. It's not like him to wander off. Could you take a look?"

  Nysander closed his eyes and sent a seeking through the house and surrounding neighborhood, then shook his head.

  "You don't suppose-?" Magyana gestured discreetly in Thero's direction.

  Reluctantly, Nysander sent another of the spells to Ylinestra's chamber, intending nothing more than a brief glimpse to ascertain the boy's presence.

  As he'd feared, Alec was there, but the energies surrounding him were not sexual.

  "What is it? Is something wrong?" Seregil asked beside him.

  Nysander held up a warning hand without opening his eyes. "He is well. But I shall need a few moments—"

  Intensifying the spell, he found Ylinestra crouched over Alec, who appeared to be asleep, sprawled on his back among the disheveled blankets with a blissful smile on his face. In contrast, Ylinestra's face was a hard mask of concentration as she wove an unfamiliar sigil in the air above him. As it took form, the peaceful expression drained from Alec's face. At first he simply looked blank, then his brow furrowed as he unconsciously turned his face away, a low sound of protest rattling in his throat. The sorceress leaned closer, enlarging the glowing symbol, then struck him sharply on the cheek in frustration.

  "That will be quite enough, Ylinestra!"

  She whirled in surprise. The sigil snapped out of existence.

  "Nysander? How dare you spy into my chamber!" she hissed, eyes wide with outrage at his disembodied intrusion. "You have no right!"

  "More right than you, to work magic on an unwilling subject," Nysander retorted sternly. "Send him back at once or I shall fetch him myself."

  "Such a fuss," she purred, stroking a hand down Alec's belly, knowing he would see. "I assure you, I did him no harm."

  "That remains to be seen."

  A moment later Nysander felt a ripple of magic from upstairs. When had she mastered the translocation spell?

  With Seregil and Magyana close behind, he went up and found Alec deeply asleep in his own chamber. Satisfied that the boy was unharmed, he placed a protective ward over the bed to curtail any further mischief and quietly closed the door.

  "Well, I suspect I won't be teasing him about his virginity anymore," Seregil said, sounding a bit wistful. "He certainly fell in to the spirit of the evening in a hurry."

  "I doubt it was entirely his own doing," Magyana said, wrinkling her nose in prim distaste. "If it turns out he was coerced, I want to know about it. There's no place for that sort of behavior in the Oreska."

  "Certainly not," Nysander said, thinking more of the mysterio
us sigil she'd been using. "Still, if it was his choice to go off with her, we must not make a fuss. He is old enough to decide that sort of thing for himself."

  Seregil let out an abrupt laugh. "I suppose he is, really. But it may cause a bit of a chill between him and Thero."

  Just gold.

  8

  The roar of festival gongs woke Alec at dawn. Blinking, he gazed up in groggy confusion at the bed hangings, a pomegranate pattern worked with scarlet.

  He'd gone to sleep beneath layers of colored silk lit by candle glow. Ylinestra had been looking down at him, her eyes vague with pleasure.

  A delicious ache ran through him at the memory, but with it came a twinge of anxiety that he couldn't immediately explain.

  Stretching himself fully awake, he sat up to find Seregil dozing in an armchair beside the bed. He was still wearing last night's breeches and shirt. Slouched to one side, arms crossed tightly across his chest, he looked profoundly uncomfortable.

  Alec shook him gently by the elbow and he jerked awake, rubbing painfully at his neck.

  "How'd I get here?" Alec asked.

  "She sent you back, I guess." The beginnings of a dangerous grin played at the corners of his mouth.

  "Ylinestra, eh? And after all Valerius' warnings. Enjoy yourself?"

  "Oh-yes. I mean, I did, I guess—"

  "You guess?"

  Alec fell back against the pillows with a groan. "It's just that, well—I think she used some magic. At first, anyway."

  "So that's what it takes." Chuckling, Seregil leaned forward and touched a finger to Alec's cheek.

  "And the kind that leaves marks, too. You all right?"

  Alec brushed his hand away, feeling more awkward than ever. "Yes, of course I'm all right. It was great. Just sort of—strange." He hesitated. "Do you dream? Afterward, I mean?"

  "I usually talk. Why, did you?"

  "Yes. I remember thinking that I was falling asleep but not wanting to. And then I saw the spinning dagger."

  Seregil raised a questioning eyebrow. "The what?"

  "The spinning dagger that Nysander used when I swore the Watcher's oath. It was right in front of my face, just like before, and I was afraid to say anything for fear it would cut me. I could hear Nysander's voice, too, but like it was coming from far away. I couldn't understand what he was saying. There was something else, too." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to seize the elusive fragment. "Something about an arrow."

  Seregil shook his head. "You're whisked away and made love to by the most exotic woman in Rhiminee and it gives you nightmares? You're a strange creature, Alec, a very strange creature." He grinned. "I just hope you're not too worn out. This is the biggest celebration of the year. And we'd better get ready. The Cavishes are probably already at breakfast downstairs."

  Alec lay in bed a moment longer after he left, trying to sort out his feelings about the previous night's unexpected climax. He knew better than to imagine that Ylinestra considered him anything more than a virginal conquest; he doubted she'd give him a second glance the next time they met.

  At least he hoped not. Pleasurable as the physical act—or rather, acts—had been, the whole affair had left him feeling low and begrimed.

  Seregil's well-intentioned ribbing had only underscored his own confusion.

  The sorceress' scent rose from his skin as Alec threw back the covers and got up. Wrapping himself in a robe, he called for the chambermaid, asking her to prepare a bath and see to it that his bedding was changed.

  The bath helped considerably and he headed downstairs in somewhat better spirits. His one remaining qualm was that Seregil had already blabbed his exploits to Micum or Kari. But no one gave signs of being any the wiser when he joined the cheerful group around the dining table, although Seregil did raise a questioning eyebrow at his damp hair.

  Illia was too excited by the prospect of a day in the city to let anyone linger over their morning tea. As soon as the meal was finished the whole party set off for the Temple Precinct.

  Kari and the girls rode in a comfortable open carriage, with the men riding attendance on horseback.

  In contrast to the austerity of Mourning Night, Sakor's Day was celebrated with wild abandon.

  Horns blared, ale flowed, bonfires blazed at all hours.

  Looking around as they rode, it appeared to Alec that there was a performance of some kind-animal trainers, jugglers, troops of actors performing out of skene wagons, fire dancers, and the like—on virtually every street corner. Food sellers, gamblers, whores, and pickpockets mingled with the revelers, plying their trades.

  "It's all so loud and exciting!" exclaimed Elsbet, riding along beside him.

  "You'll get used to it," Alec replied.

  The girl grinned. "Oh, I look forward to that."

  The main event of the day was the annual investing of new troops at midday. Sakor was the patron god of soldiers and the recognition of new troops was at once a martial and religious occasion.

  In the Temple Precinct, the tiers of seating had been cleared away to make room for the ranks of new soldiers formed up in front of the Sakor Temple.

  The day was a cloudless, bitter one and even Alec was glad of the heavy, fur-lined cloak he wore over his velvet surcoat. Seregil chatted idly with other nobles, introducing Alec to this one or that as the fancy took him.

  "I've never seen so many new recruits, have you?" Kari asked Seregil, shading her eyes with one hand as they stood together on the steps of the Temple of Illior.

  He shook his head. "No, never."

  "Where's Beka?" Illia demanded, bouncing excitedly on her father's shoulder.

  "Over with those in green there." Micum pointed out the Queen's Horse, raising his voice to make himself heard.

  Glancing at Kari, Alec thought she looked rather sad and thoughtful. As if sensing his gaze, she looked over at him and held a hand out for his.

  By the time the last ranks had marched in, the close-packed regimental groupings looked like colored tiles in a huge mosaic. The Queen's Horse was a block of green and white directly in front of the Temple of Sakor.

  "Look, there's the Queen," said Micum.

  "They'll start now."

  Looking solemn and proud despite her long vigil, Idrilain took her place between the pillars of the Sakor Temple. She wore flowing robes of state and an emerald diadem and carried the Sword of Gerilain upright on her shoulder like a scepter. The golden Aegis gleamed behind her as she stood motionless before the troops, the faint vapor of her breath visible on the cold air. The tableau was intentional; there was no doubt to whom the oath was to be given. The priests might be allowed their mysteries in the darkness, but here, in the light of day, stood the embodiment of Skalan power.

  Placing the sword point downward in front of her,

  Idrilain grasped the hilt in both hands and began the ritual.

  "Come you here to swear the Oath?" she cried, her voice carrying clear and harsh as if across a field of battle.

  "Aye!" came the response from a thousand throats, thundering in the stone confines of the precinct.

  From the corner of his eye, Alec saw Micum and Seregil drop their hands to their sword hilts, as did many around them. Without a word, he did the same.

  "To whom do you swear?"

  "To the throne of Skala and the Queen who rules!" returned the initiate soldiers.

  "By what do you swear?"

  "By the Four, by the Flame, by our honor, and our arms!"

  "Swear then to uphold the honor of your land and Queen!"

  "Aye!"

  "Swear then to give no quarter to the adversary."

  "Aye!"

  "Swear then to spare the supplicant."

  "Aye!"

  "Foreswear all that brings dishonor upon your comrades."

  "Aye!"

  Idrilain paused, letting a moment pass in stillness. Then, in a voice that would have done credit to any sergeant, she barked out, "Display arms!"

  With a ringing of steel, th
e various regiments brandished their weapons: swords and sabers glinted in the sunlight; small forests of lances sprang to attention; archers beat arrow shafts against longbows, producing a strange clacking sound; artillery soldiers held catapult stones aloft. Standards unfurled on cue to snap brightly over the throng.

  "Then so are you all sworn together!" cried Idrilain, raising her sword overhead. "By the Four and the Flame, by land and Queen, by honor and arms. Warriors of Skala, sound your cries!"

  A deafening roar filled the square as each regiment shouted its own battle cry, vying with the others to make their voices heard.

  "The Queen's honor!"

  "Sakor's Fire!"

  "Honor and steel!"

  "The Flame on the Seal"

  "True aim and well sped!"

  "The White Hawk!"

  Drummers and pipers stepped from behind the temple pillars, setting up a martial tattoo. Great horns as long as the men that sounded them blared and bellowed on the rooftops as the ranks turned and began to march out of the square.

  "It all makes you want to join in with it, doesn't it?" Alec grinned, pulse quickening with the beat of the drums.

  Laughing, Seregil threw an arm around Alec's shoulders and drew him away, shouting over the din, "That's the whole idea."

  The clamor at dawn went unheard by Nysander.

  Seated cross-legged on the floor of the casting room, a long dead candle guttered out before him, he floated in the dim oblivion of meditation.

  Images came and went, yet nothing substantial came into his grasp.

  After seeing Magyana to her tower door the previous night, he'd made his usual tour of the vaults beneath the Oreska, then found himself leaving first the House, then the sheltered gardens, to stalk alone through the windy streets.

  Hands clasped behind his back, he walked aimlessly, as if trying to escape the anger that had been building slowly inside him from the moment he'd found Ylinestra hovering over Alec in her chamber.