Luck in the Shadows Read online

  He wanted—

  And then, in a final searing flash, it was gone, taking the worst of the headache with it. When his vision cleared he found himself grasping the hilt of the penknife they’d been using. Somehow he’d driven it into the tabletop with such force that the little blade had snapped in two.

  He didn’t even remember picking it up.

  The room seemed to spin slowly around him as he stood looking down at the broken knife. “Illior help me,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m going mad!”

  • • •

  Hurt and confused, Alec paced the deck. Until last night Seregil had treated him with nothing but kindness and good humor; if not always communicative, he’d certainly been even-handed and generous.

  Now out of the blue, this coldness.

  The shock of the morning’s events gradually faded, allowing worry to replace his anger. This was what Seregil had been trying to warn him of last night, he realized. Of course, he had only Seregil’s word that this was some new aberration; what if he’d been crazy all along?

  And yet he couldn’t forget his conversation with Micum Cavish back in Boersby. Alec had trusted Micum from the start, and this behavior just didn’t fit with what he’d told him that night. No, Alec decided, Seregil wasn’t to blame for this behavior.

  He didn’t have to get me out of Asengai’s, he reminded himself sternly. I’ve said I’ll stand by him through this and I will!

  Nonetheless, he couldn’t help wishing that Micum had come south with them.

  Alec wandered the deck disconsolately that night, ignoring the questioning looks the sailors exchanged as he passed.

  Seregil’s erratic behavior had continued throughout the day. Still unable to eat that evening, he’d grown more agitated and irritable as the night wore on. Alec had tried to talk to him, calm him, but only succeeded in upsetting him more. Seregil had finally ordered him out again, speaking slowly through clenched teeth.

  It was too cold to sleep above, so Alec retreated to the companionway, his back to the cabin door. He was just dozing off when Rhal came below.

  “What are you doing out here?” the captain asked in surprise. “Is something amiss with your lady?”

  The lie he’d rehearsed earlier came out smoothly enough. “My snoring disturbed her sleep, so I came out here,” Alec replied, rubbing his stiff neck.

  Rhal frowned down at him a moment, then said, “You’re welcome to my bunk. It doesn’t look like I’ll be needing it, not with this weather.”

  “Thank you, but I think I better stay close, in case she needs me,” Alec replied, wondering at this unexpected generosity.

  Just then a hoarse cry came from inside the cabin, followed by what sounded like a struggle.

  Scrambling to his feet, Alec tried to prevent Rhal from rushing in. “No! Let me—”

  The burly captain thrust him aside like a child. Finding the door bolted, Rhal kicked it open and took a step inside.

  Behind him, Alec watched with alarm as the man stopped abruptly, then reached for the long knife at his belt.

  “What the hell is this?” growled the captain.

  Alec let out a small groan of dismay.

  Haggard and white, Seregil stood swaying in the far corner, sword in hand. His nightgown was torn down the front, effectively dashing any illusion of Lady Gwethelyn. For a moment it looked as if he might attack. Instead, he shook his head slightly and tossed his sword down on the bunk. Waving one thin hand, he motioned for them to enter. Alec moved to Seregil’s side. Rhal remained where he was by the broken door.

  “I’ll ask you this once,” he said slowly, his voice dark with anger. “Whatever it is you’re up to, has it endangered my ship or my crew?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  Rhal sized the two of them up for a long moment. “Then what in the name of Bilairy are you doing waltzing around in women’s rigging?”

  “There were some people I needed to get away from. If I tell you any more, then you will be in danger.”

  “Is that so?” Rhal looked skeptical. “Well, I’d say it was either political or you’ve got one angry husband after you. The Darter wasn’t the only ship at Boersby that night. Why load this onto me?”

  “I heard you were a man of honor—”

  “Horse shit!”

  Seregil smiled slightly. “But it’s no secret that you’ve no great love for Plenimar.”

  “That’s true enough.” Rhal took another long look at him. “I see what it is you’re aiming to make me believe. Assuming I buy it, which isn’t saying I do, it still doesn’t explain all the mummery that’s gone on since you came aboard. You’ve played me for a cully, and I don’t care much for that!”

  Seregil dropped wearily onto the bunk. “I’m not going to explain my motives; they don’t concern you. As for your attentions to the late Lady Gwethelyn, the boy and I both did everything we could to discourage you.”

  “I’ll grant that, I suppose, but it’s still my inclination to escort the pair of you over the side.”

  “You’d have a bit of explaining to do to your crew, wouldn’t you?” Seregil suggested with a meaningful lift of an eyebrow.

  “Damn you!” Rhal ran a hand over his beard in frustration. “If any of my men find out about this—the story would travel the length of the river before spring!”

  “That’s easily avoided. We dock at Torburn tomorrow. Lady Gwethelyn can disembark there, pleading ill health. I understand there are some wagers riding on whether or not she’ll give you a tumble? If you like, I can be seen emerging from your cabin in the morning, winsome smile playing about my lips—”

  Rhal darkened again. “Just see to it that both of you keep to your cabin until we arrive. Play your parts until you’re out of sight of my ship and don’t ever let me set eyes on either of you again!”

  Striding furiously out, he collided with the first mate in the hall. Before the man had time to do more than grin, Rhal snarled, “See to your duties, Nettles!” and slammed into his own cabin.

  “Well, that was undoubtedly one of the most embarrassing moments of my life,” Seregil groaned, bravado falling away. “It’s no easy matter, facing down a big, angry sailor in nothing but a woman’s nightgown.”

  “You threw your sword away!” Alec exclaimed in disbelief, pushing the door back into place.

  “We’d have fought if I hadn’t. Win or lose, you and I couldn’t afford the results. How would we have explained things if I’d killed him, eh? You defending my virtue? The crew would kill you in an instant, and Illior only knows what they’d do with Lady Gwethelyn. If he’d killed me, things would turn out just about the same. No, Alec, it’s best to talk your way out whenever you can. As it stands, I don’t think our secret could be in safer hands. Besides, he interests me. Blustering rogue that he is, I suspect he’s intelligent and shrewd enough when women aren’t involved. You never know when someone like that might be useful.”

  “What makes you think he’d ever help you?”

  Seregil shrugged. “Intuition, maybe. I’m seldom wrong.”

  Alec sat down and rubbed his eyes. “What was all that commotion before we came in?”

  “Oh, just another of those nightmares,” Seregil replied, affecting a nonchalance he didn’t feel. He didn’t like to think what might have happened if Alec had been in the cabin with him when he’d thrashed his way up out of this latest one.

  Sitting up, he reached for his cloak on top of the trunk. The torn nightdress slipped off his shoulder, revealing a patch of reddened skin on his chest, just above the breastbone.

  “What’s this?” asked Alec, reaching to move the wooden disk aside for a better look.

  Icy fingers clamped around Seregil’s heart. Overwhelmed by a sudden, inexplicable fury, he caught Alec by the wrist and shoved him roughly away. “Keep your hands to yourself!” he snarled.

  Yanking the cloak around his shoulders, he retreated into the corner of the bunk. “Go to bed. Now!”

  Hunched in h
is alcove much later that night, Alec heard Seregil stir.

  “Alec, you awake?”

  “Yes.”

  A long pause followed, then, “I’m sorry.”

  “I know.” Alec had been thinking and already had the beginnings of a plan. “Micum said you know a wizard at Rhíminee. Do you think he could help you?”

  “If he can’t, then I don’t know who can.” There was another pause. Alec heard something like a dark chuckle, and the sound raised the hair on the back of his neck.

  “Alec?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful, will you? Tonight, for just an instant—”

  Alec tightened his grip on the sword lying across his knees. “It’s all right, now. Go back to sleep.”

  Their last day aboard the Darter was a long one. Seregil spent the morning staring morosely out the window.

  Alec maintained a careful distance, preoccupied with his own plans. By afternoon, he was ready to chance Rhal’s displeasure and went above.

  He settled behind the cutwater, hood pulled up against the wind. By the time they neared Torburn just before sundown, he’d managed to speak with the helmsman and several of the other sailors without their captain noticing. If it was up to him to get them both to Rhíminee, then he had to know how to get there.

  To Rhal’s relief, Lady Gwethelyn did not appear until the ship had put in at Torburn. The first mate’s tale, already gleefully if discreetly spread among the crew, had amply explained both the silence of the lady and his sudden coolness toward her. Surreptitious nods and nudges were exchanged all around the deck when she finally came above to disembark.

  No one but Rhal noticed, however, when the lady slipped a small something into his palm as he handed her down the gangway. Unwrapping the little silk square later that night in his cabin, he found the garnet ring his strange passenger had worn.

  “A peculiar character, and no mistake.” he exclaimed under his breath. Shaking his head in bemusement, he hid the ring safely away.

  11

  DARK PURSUIT

  The cart bumped along over the rutted dirt road through the rolling Mycenian countryside. Seregil sat huddled in his cloak beside Alec on the single rough bench. It wasn’t as cold here yet as it had been in the northlands, but snow wasn’t far off and the chill seemed to get into his bones.

  He found that if he stayed very still he could clear his mind, holding both the pain in his head and the increasingly frequent fits of irrational rage at a manageable level. It was exhausting work. In his more lucid moments he was relieved at how well Alec was managing, though the fact that the boy had not yet slipped away, despite ample justification and opportunity, continued to baffle him.

  Their first night ashore in Torburn, they’d taken a tiny room near the riverfront and changed back into their stained traveling clothes. It was then that Alec had calmly outlined his plan.

  “You’re sick,” he began, looking very deliberate. “Since you think this Nysander is the only one who can help, I say we push on for Rhíminee.”

  Seregil nodded.

  Taking a deep breath, Alec continued, “All right then. The way I understand it, the fastest route this time of year is to go overland to Keston, then take a ship to the city—one that goes by way of a canal at somewhere called Cirna. I don’t know where any of those places are. You can help me or I’ll ask directions as we go, but that’s what I mean to do.”

  Seregil began to buckle on his sword. After a moment’s hesitation, however, he handed it instead to Alec. “You’d better take this, and these.”

  He gave Alec his belt dagger and a small, razorlike blade from the neck of his cloak.

  Alec, took them without comment, then said almost apologetically, “There’s one more.”

  “So there is.” Seregil drew the poniard from his boot and handed it over, fighting back another twinge of hot rage as he did so.

  It was an uncomfortable moment for both of them, each knowing perfectly well that these precautions would be useless if Seregil made up his mind to retrieve his weapons. Alec, Seregil noted, kept his own weapons about him.

  “How many days will it take to reach Keston?” Alec asked when they were done.

  Seregil lay back on the bed and fixed his gaze on the rafters. “Two, if we ride hard, but I doubt I’ll be able to do that.”

  His head hurt again; how long now until another fit came on? A brisk walk in the night air might have helped, but he was too sick to attempt it. Better to concentrate on helping Alec with the details at hand.

  “I’ll need money,” Alec said. “What do you have left?”

  Seregil tossed him a purse containing five silver marks and the jewelry he’d worn aboard the Darter. Turning out his own pouch, Alec added two copper halfs and the Skalan silver piece.

  “Hang on to the jewels for now,” Seregil advised. “You’re not dressed well enough to hawk them without attracting notice. Sell the clothes, though.”

  “They won’t bring much.”

  “Illior’s Hands, money’s not the only way to get something! I should think you’ve been around me long enough to have learned that.”

  • • •

  It was dark by the time Alec entered the Torburn marketplace. Only a few of the booths around the square were open, but he finally found a clothier. The dealer proved to be a shrewd bargainer and he came away with a disappointing four silver pennies.

  He let out a harsh sigh, tucking the coins away. “That’s not going to make my task any easier.”

  Passing a woman frying sausages on a brazier, he paused longingly, then moved on still hungry.

  An hour later, after some hard bargaining, he was the owner of a battered pony cart. Though hardly more than a large box set on a single axle, it looked sturdy enough. This, and the purchase of a few modest provisions, left him with exactly two copper halfs and the Skalan coin. Buying a horse was clearly out of the question.

  Time I turned thief for good, he thought, still stinging from Seregil’s parting admonition. He returned to the inn for a few hour’s sleep, then slipped quietly downstairs just before dawn. Letting himself out a side door, he pulled on his boots and headed for the stable.

  Great droves of silver-gilded clouds moved slowly past the sinking moon. Alec’s heart hammered uncomfortably in his chest as he lifted the latch on the stable door. With a silent prayer to Illior, protector of thieves, he crept in.

  A guttering night lantern gave enough light for him to avoid the drunken stable hand snoring in an empty stall. Moving on, a shaggy brown and white pony caught his eye. Throwing a halter around its neck, he led the beast out to the nearby alley where he’d hidden the cart and harnessed it. With this completed, he hurried back to the room.

  Seregil was awake and ready to go. One look told Alec that his night had not been a peaceful one.

  Despite this, he eyed Alec’s cart and pony with a shadow of his old crooked smile, his face just visible in the failing moonlight.

  “Which one did you pay for?” he asked softly.

  “The cart.”

  “Good.”

  • • •

  By sunrise they were well on their way to Keston. The road wound through rolling winter-bare farmland and countryside and they met only a few wagons and an occasional patrol of the local militia. With the harvest in and the Gold Road closing down until spring, Mycena would be a quiet place through the winter.

  Seregil sank deeper into gloomy silence through the day, answering Alec’s few attempts at conversation in such a dispirited manner that he soon gave up. When they stopped for the night at a wayside inn, Seregil retired immediately, leaving Alec to sit alone over his ale in the common room.

  By the next morning Seregil’s hunger had faded to a hollow ache; even the thought of water nauseated him.

  Worse still, he was feeling guilty about Alec. The boy had proved too honorable to run off, but how he must be regretting his vow to stay. Seregil was trying to gather the strength for pleasant conversation
as they road along when a hint of motion caught his eye off to the left. He turned quickly, but the field was empty. He rubbed at his eyes, thinking it was a trick of his weakened body, but the flicker came again, just on the edge of his vision.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Alec, giving him a puzzled look.

  “Nothing.” Seregil scanned the empty countryside. “Thought I saw something.”

  The annoying flicker came repeatedly as the day went on, and by afternoon he was more tense and withdrawn than ever. It might be some new quirk of the madness growing in him, he thought, but well-tried instincts counseled otherwise. Another violent headache had also grown through the day, leaving him too dull-witted and queasy to give the matter proper consideration. Pulling his cloak tight against the cold wind, he kept watch and fought off the desire to sleep.

  They spent that night in the hayloft of a lonely farmstead. Seregil’s nightmares returned in force and he woke up bathed in a cold sweat at dawn. An undefined sense of anxiety gnawed at him; he couldn’t recall the details of the dream, but the wary sidelong glances he caught from Alec suggested that he’d been more restless than usual. He was just considering asking the boy about it when he thought he saw motion in a dark corner of the barn. Alec was busy with the harness and didn’t see him brace, reaching for the sword that no longer hung at his side.

  There was nothing there.

  This will be his fourth day without eating, Alec thought as they rattled off down the road again. Wan and hollow-eyed as Seregil looked, he was bearing up better than Alec had imagined possible. Physically, that was; Seregil’s odd behavior was increasingly alarming.

  Today he sat hunched over like an old man, despondent except for occasional bursts of intent alertness. At those moments, a terrible glitter came into his eyes and his fists would clench until it seemed his knuckles must surely break through the skin. This new development, coupled with the strange events of the previous night, did not bode well.