Luck in the Shadows Page 3

“You can call me Seregil.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Ser-ah-gill.”

  “Oh.” It was an odd-sounding name, but Alec sensed it was all he was going to get for the moment. “Where were you?”

  “Checking to see if anyone tracked us. There’s no sign of Asengai’s men yet, but we’d better move on soon in case they get lucky. We’ll eat first, though. You look starved.”

  Alec knelt by the fire, inspecting the two lean coneys with a rueful smile. “We’d be eating venison if I had my bow. Those bastards took everything I owned. I don’t even have a knife! Lend me one and I’ll clean these.”

  Reaching into the top of one tall boot, Seregil handed him a long poniard.

  “Maker’s Mercy, that’s a beauty!” Alec exclaimed, running a thumbnail appreciatively along the edge of the narrow, triangular blade. As he set about cleaning the first rabbit, however, it was Seregil’s turn to be impressed.

  “You’re pretty handy at that sort of thing,” he remarked as Alec opened the belly with a single quick stroke.

  Alec offered him a purplish-brown lobe of liver. “You want some of this? Good for your blood in the winter.”

  “Thanks.” Accepting the morsel, Seregil sat down by the fire and watched him thoughtfully.

  Alec colored a little under that frank gaze. “Thank you for saving my life last night. I’m in your debt.”

  “You handled yourself well enough. How old are you, anyway? You look young to be roaming around all by yourself.”

  “Sixteen last summer,” Alec replied a bit gruffly. He was often taken for younger than he was. “I’ve lived my whole life in the woods.”

  “But not alone, surely?”

  Alec hesitated, wondering how much he really wanted to reveal to this odd stranger. “My father died just after the summer solstice.”

  “I see. An accident, was it?”

  “No, he had the wasting sickness.” Tears stung Alec’s eyes and he bent lower over the rabbit, hoping Seregil wouldn’t notice. “It was a hard death. Even the drysians couldn’t help him in the end.”

  “You’ve been on your own all of three months, then?”

  “Yes. We missed the spring bird trade, so I had to spend the summer in Stone Tor working off our debt to the inn where Father lay sick. Then I came out for the fall trapping, like we always did. I already had a whole string of pelts, good ones, when I ran into Asengai’s men. Now, with no equipment, no horse, nothing, I don’t know—”

  He broke off, his face grim; he’d walked the thin line of starvation before.

  “Don’t you have a family somewhere?” Seregil asked after a moment. “Where’s your mother?”

  “I never knew her.”

  “Friends?”

  Alec handed him the dressed rabbit and took up the second. “We kept to ourselves mostly. Father didn’t like towns.”

  “I see. So what will you do now?”

  “I don’t know. In Stone Tor I worked in the scullery and helped out the ostler. I guess I’ll have to go back to that for the winter.”

  Seregil made no comment and Alec worked in silence for a moment. Then, watching the steam from the open carcass rise between his fingers, he asked, “All that back there last night—was it you they were looking for?”

  Seregil smiled slightly as he skewered the first rabbit on a long stick and propped it over the fire. “That’s a dangerous question to ask a stranger. If I was, I’d probably kill you just for asking. No, I’m just a wandering collector of tales. I’ve picked up a lot that way.”

  “So you really are a bard, then?”

  “Sometimes. I was up above Kerry not long ago, collecting stories of the Faie who were supposed to have lived up in the Ironheart Mountains beyond Ravensfell Pass. Being from that region yourself, you must know something about them.”

  “The Elder Folk, you mean?” Alec grinned. “Those were always my favorite stories. We used to cross trails with a skald who knew all about them. He said they were magic folk, like trolls or centaurs. When I was little I used to look for them in the shadows of the trees, though Father said it was foolish. ‘Those tales are nothing but smoke from a liar’s pipe!’ he’d say—”

  Alec’s voice faltered and he broke off, rubbing at his eyes as if smoke had blown into them.

  Seregil tactfully failed to notice his distress. “Anyhow, a few days ago I ran afoul of Asengai, same as you. I’m off Wolde now. I’ve got a bit of singing lined up there in three days’ time.”

  “Three days?” Alec shook his head. “You’d have to go straight over the Downs to get there that quickly.”

  “Damn! I must be farther west than I thought. I hear the Downs are a dangerous place for anyone who doesn’t know where the springs are.”

  “I could show you,” Alec offered. “I’ve been back and forth across them most of my life. Maybe I could turn up some work there, too.”

  “Do you know the town?”

  “We traded there every fall at the Harvest Fair.”

  “Sounds like I’ve found myself a guide.” Seregil extended his hand. “What’s your price?”

  “I can’t take your money,” Alec protested. “Not after what you did for me.”

  Seregil waved this aside with a crooked grin. “Honor’s for men with money in their pockets; you’ve got a long, cold winter ahead. Come now, name your price and I’ll pay it gladly.”

  The logic was indisputable. “Two silver marks,” Alec replied after a moment’s calculation. Reaching to clasp hands on it, however, his father’s voice spoke in the back of his mind and he drew back, adding, “Hard money, and half now.”

  “Very prudent of you.”

  As they shook on the bargain, Alec felt a curving edge against his palm and drew his hand from Seregil’s to find himself holding a large silver coin. Two fingers wide and covered with fine designs, it lay heavy against his palm.

  “This is too much!” he protested.

  Seregil shrugged. “It’s the smallest I have. Keep it and we’ll settle up in Wolde. It’s a pretty thing, don’t you think?”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it!” What little currency Alec had seen were crude lozenges of copper or silver, distinguished only by weight and a few crude symbols struck in. The designs on this coin were better than anything he’d seen in a jeweler’s stall.

  One side bore the slim bow of a crescent moon, tipped on its side like a smile with five stylized rays fanning out beneath it to the lower edge of the coin. Cradled within the crescent was the figure of a flame. The obverse showed a crowned woman. She wore a cuirass of some sort over her flowing gown, and held a large sword upright before her face.

  “How did you get it into my hand?” he asked.

  “Telling spoils the trick,” replied Seregil, tossing him a square of wet sacking. “I’ll tend to the cooking. You go clean yourself up. A quick swim should help.”

  Alec’s smile disappeared. “Bilairy’s Balls, it’s nearly winter and you want me to take a bath?”

  “If we’re going to share blankets over the next few days, yes. No offense, but dungeon life hasn’t done much for your general ambience. Go on, I’ll mind the fire. And get rid of those clothes! I’ve got clean ones for you.”

  Dubious but not wanting to appear ungrateful, Alec picked up a blanket and went to the pool. Noting the lacy edgings of ice that still rimmed the stones, however, he decided that gratitude only went so far. Stripping off his rags, he gave himself a cursory scrubbing and pulled the blanket around his waist. As he bent to duck his head under the water, the sight of his reflection froze him, crouched and trembling, on the wet stones. Only the day before, Asengai’s men had strapped him to a plank and titled him into a water butt, holding him under again and again until he thought his lungs would burst. He’d had enough of water for now, thank you very much.

  Seregil smiled wryly to himself as he watched the boy’s hasty ablutions. These northerners seemed to develop a genuine aversion to water over the winter. Tugging
open his pack, he rummaged out an extra tunic, breeches, and a belt.

  Alec hurried back to the fire and Seregil tossed him the clothes. “These should do for you. We’re almost of a size.”

  “Thanks,” Shivering, Alec went off a few feet and turned away before letting the blanket drop.

  “Asengai’s men did a thorough job on you, I see,” said Seregil, running a critical eye over the bruises on the boy’s back and thighs.

  “Dalna’s Hands, there’s such a thing as modesty,” the boy muttered as he struggled into the breeches.

  “Never had any use for it, myself, and I don’t see why you’re so bothered with it either. Under those bruises and that scowl, you’re fairly pleasing to look at.” Seregil’s expression betrayed nothing more than the thoughtful concentration a man might show when sizing up a horse he was about to buy.

  Indeed, Alec was well favored, Seregil thought, amused by his companion’s discomfort. The boy was lightly built and supple, with dark, intelligent blue eyes in a fair face that blushed easily and concealed little. This last was easily remedied, though at times an honest face was useful. The ragged, honey-gold hair looked like it had been trimmed with a skinning knife, but time would fix that, too.

  Still, there was something more than Alec’s appearance that intrigued him. The lad was neat-handed, and there was a familiar quickness about him that had little to do with training. And he asked questions.

  Alec finished dressing and reached to put the silver coin Seregil had paid him into a pouch on his borrowed belt.

  “Wait a second. Watch this,” said Seregil, producing another like it from his own purse. Balancing it on the back of one hand, he gave a quick snap of his wrist, pulled his hand out from under it, and caught the coin before it dropped half an inch. “Want to try?”

  Puzzled but intrigued, Alec tried the trick. On the first attempt he dropped his coin. On the second and third try it bounced off his fingertips. The fourth time, however, he grasped it before it had fallen more than a few inches.

  Seregil nodded approvingly. “Not bad. Now try it with your left.”

  When Alec could do the catch with either hand, Seregil had him try it using only his thumb and forefinger, and finally to perform the trick with his eyes shut.

  “Ah, but this is too simple for you,” Seregil said at last. “Here, give this a try.”

  He placed his coin on the ground beside him and rested his hand to the left of it, an inch or so away. With a subtle twitch of his little finger, he swept it beneath his palm without even disturbing the dust. When he raised his hand, the coin was gone. Shaking it from the sleeve of his tunic with a comic flourish, he demonstrated how the snap was done. Again Alec managed it after only a few tries.

  “You’ve got the hands of a born thief,” Seregil observed. “Perhaps I’d better not show you any more of those just now!”

  Left-handed compliment that it was, Alec returned the grin as he snapped the coin up his sleeve a final time.

  They ate quickly, then covered all signs of their camp, burying the fire and tossing their refuse into the pool. As they worked, Seregil found himself again pondering what he’d seen of Alec so far, wondering what he could make of such a boy. Alec was quick and surprisingly well spoken. His nature—a blend of stubborn persistence and appalling openness—made for an interesting mix. With a bit of polishing, a little training—?

  Shaking his head, Seregil pushed the thought away.

  As they mounted to leave, a tiny owl flew across the clearing and perched in a dead tree. Blinking in the afternoon light, it fluffed up and let out a mellow too too too.

  Seregil gave the saw-whet a reverent nod; the Lightbringer’s own bird seen in daylight was no small omen.

  “What do you suppose he’s doing out so early?” Alec remarked.

  Bemused, Seregil shook his head. “I have no idea, Alec, no idea at all.”

  A cold wind carried the first light snow down through the trees as they set off down the mountainside.

  Giving the bay a loose rein, Seregil scanned the forest around them for any sign of Asengai’s soldiers as he rode along behind Alec. Without a saddle, the boy had to cling on with knees and hands. He managed well enough, but it was hard going and made for little conversation.

  They reached the edge of the Downs by late afternoon and cantered from the shelter of the trees. Before them monotonous, dun-colored grasslands rolled away to the distant horizon. The wind moaned steadily over the waste, sweeping the fine, gritty snow up into feathery gusts. A rumpled grey blanket of clouds had sealed itself across the sky.

  “Illior’s Finger, but I hate the cold!” Seregil exclaimed, stopping to secure his hood and tug on a pair of gloves.

  “And you the one all for bathing,” Alec chided. “This is nothing compared to what it will be come next—” He broke off suddenly, staring at Seregil. “You swore by Illior!”

  “And you swear by Dalna. What of it?”

  “Only southerners swear by Illior. Are you from the south? The Three Lands?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am,” Seregil replied, enjoying the boy’s guileless astonishment. To most northerners the Three Lands were hardly more than places of fancy in a bard’s tale; he might as well have said, “I’m from the back of the moon.” “Do you know much of the south?”

  “A little. The Gold Road goes down from Wolde all the way to the country of Mycena. Most of the caravaneers I’ve met have been Mycenians, though there have been a few Skalans, too. Skala’s near there, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it’s a huge peninsula between the Inner and Osiat seas, west of Mycena. To the east is Plenimar, which lies on another peninsula to the east of Mycena, along the coast of the Gathwayd Ocean. The Gold Road, as you call it, is the main trade route between the Three Lands and the northern freeholdings.”

  “Which country are you from?”

  “Oh, I travel around.”

  If Alec noticed the evasion, he let it go. “Some of the traders claim that there are dragons in the south, and powerful wizards. I saw a wizard once at a fair.” His face brightened at the memory, easy to read as a tavern bill. “For a price she’d hatch salamanders from hen’s eggs and make fires burn blue and red.”

  “Indeed?” Seregil had performed those tired fakeries a few times himself. Still, he understood all too well the wonder they could evoke.

  “A Skalan trader tried to tell me the streets of his cities were paved with gold,” Alec went on. “I didn’t believe him, though. He was the one who tried to buy me from Father. I was only eight or nine. I could never figure out what he wanted me for.”

  “Really?” Seregil lifted a noncommittal eyebrow.

  Luckily, Alec was more interested in the matter at hand. “I’ve heard that Skala and Plenimar are always at war.”

  Seregil gave a wry smile. “Not always, but often.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s an old question, and a complicated one. This time, I suspect it’ll be to gain control of the Gold Road.”

  “This time?” Alec’s eyes widened. “They’re going to have another war? And way up here?”

  “Looks that way. There are those that believe Plenimar means to drive out the Skalan and Mycenian merchants and extend their own political influence over the northern freeholds.”

  “You mean by conquering them?”

  “Given their past history, I imagine that will be Plenimar’s solution.”

  “But why haven’t I heard any of this before? In Stone Tor, even at the Harvest Fair, nobody was talking of war!”

  “Stone Tor is a long way from the main trading routes,” Seregil reminded him. “The fact is, very few northerners are aware of it at the moment, except those who already have a hand in it. As it stands now, no one will be able to make a move until spring.”

  “But Asengai and that man Morden, are they part of it?”

  “An interesting question.” Seregil pulled his hood forward again. “I think the horses have walked long enough, d
on’t you? We need to make some distance before dark!”

  The Downs made for smooth riding. Alec knew of a spring they could camp by and set a steady pace until dark.

  He knew the landmarks well, but. could imagine what it must look like to his companion. Seregil was clearly uneasy as they left the mountains behind, and kept looking back over his shoulder as if trying to use the distant peeks to gauge their progress.

  But the mountains were quickly obscured by the lengthening darkness and windblown snow. The sun, never more than a pale hint behind the lowering clouds, was their only guide.

  “We’ll have to make your food last,” Alec remarked when they’d halted for the night. “Most of the summer game has moved south—not that I’d be able to get anything without my bow anyway,” he added bitterly.

  “I’ve got cheese and sausage enough for both of us,” Seregil told him. “Good with a bow, are you?”

  “Good enough.” In truth, Alec felt like he was missing a limb without one. The bow he’d lost at Asengai’s had been the best he’d ever made.

  Dismounting, they scavenged around for firewood but found nothing except low, resinous bushes that burned too quickly, giving off more light than heat. Bundling up as best they could against the wind, they sat close together over their cold supper.

  “You said that the fighting between Skala and Plenimar is an old question,” Alec said at last. “What did you mean?”

  “That’s a long story,” Seregil said with a chuckle, pulling his cloak tighter. “But a long story can make a long night seem shorter, I suppose. To begin with, did you know that the Three Lands were once one country?”

  “No.”

  “Well, they were, and they were ruled over by a priest king called a Hierophant. The first Hierophant and his followers came from somewhere far across the Gathwayd Ocean over two thousand years ago. It’s from them that your Dalna the Maker comes, along with Astellas and the others. They made their first landfall on the Plenimaran peninsula. Benshâl, the capital city of Plenimar, stands on the site of the Hierophant’s first city.”

  Alec’s eyes narrowed skeptically at the thought of a city that old, or his familiar patron deity having such exotic origins. He kept his doubts to himself, though, not wanting to interrupt the tale.