Luck in the Shadows

  “You’re dead!” Seregil groaned, trying too late to pull away from the fleshless grasp that held him. “Nine years ago! Adzriel sent word. You’re dead!”

  His father nodded agreeably, pushing back his hood. A few strands of dark hair clung to the shriveled scalp. The sharp grey eyes were gone, leaving two black craters in their place; the bridge of his nose was eaten away. Shriveled lips twisted into the parody of a smile as he inclined his ruined face, engulfing Seregil in a sullen, mouldy odor.

  “True, but I am still your father,” the thing went on, “and you shall be properly punished!”

  A sword flashed from under the cloak and he stepped back, holding Seregil’s severed right hand in his—

  —and Seregil had bolted up in the bed, drenched in sweat, clutching both hands to his heaving chest. There was no wind, no open shutter. Micum’s snoring rose and fell in a comforting rumble. Beside him, Alec stirred and mumbled a question.

  “It’s nothing, go back to sleep,” Seregil whispered, and with his heart beating much too quickly, he’d tried to do the same.

  Even now, with the sunlight glancing off the water and the rapid chuckle of the current beneath the bow, the ominous, disorienting feel of the dream haunted him. He’d certainly had nightmares before but never about his father, not since he’d left home, and never one that had left him with such a throbbing headache the next day. A cup of mulled wine at the tavern had helped, but now it was creeping back, hammering at his temples and bringing a bitter taste into his throat. He wanted desperately to rub his eyes, but the carefully applied cosmetics prevented even this slight relief.

  “Are you still unwell, lady?”

  Seregil turned to find the captain towering over him.

  “Just a bit of headache, Captain,” he replied, modulating his voice to the softer tones he’d adopted for this particular role.

  “That’s probably from the sun off the water, my lady. Come around behind the mast. You’ll still feel the breeze, but the sail will shade you from the glare. I’ll have one of the men heat some wine for you; that should put you right.”

  Offering his arm, Rhal led his fair passenger back to a bench attached to the deckhouse. To his ill-concealed annoyance, Alec followed them back and took up a station at the starboard rail.

  “That boy keeps a close watch on you,” Rhal observed, seating himself next to “Gwethelyn” rather more closely than the span of the bench required.

  “Ciris is a kinsman of my husband’s,” Seregil replied. “My husband has entrusted him with my safety. He takes his task very seriously.”

  “Still, it doesn’t seem that a slip of a boy could be much protection.” A sailor appeared with a pitcher of wine and a pair of wooden cups. Rhal served Seregil himself.

  “I’m certain you have nothing to fear on my account. Ciris is a fine swordsman,” Seregil lied, sipping delicately at his wine; it had not escaped his notice that his cup was a good deal fuller than the captain’s.

  “Just the same,” Rhal replied gallantly, leaning closer, “I’m making it my duty to watch over you until we reach port. If there’s any service I can render, day or night, you’ve only to call on me. Perhaps you would do me the honor of taking supper with me in my cabin tonight?”

  Seregil lowered his eyes demurely. “You’re very kind, but I’m so weary from my journey that I shall retire quite early.”

  “Tomorrow night, then, when you’re rested,” the captain parried.

  “Very well, tomorrow. I’m sure you’ve many tales that will entertain my squire as well as myself. We will be honored.”

  Captain Rhal rose with a slight bow; the fleeting look of frustration Seregil caught as he turned away assured him that, at least for the moment, he’d held the day.

  • • •

  “Captain Rhal’s out to seduce me,” Seregil announced in their little cabin that evening, applying fresh cosmetics while Alec held the lantern and a small mirror.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Seregil winked. “Go along with him, of course. Up to a point, anyway.”

  “Well, you could hardly let him, you know—” Alec gestured vaguely.

  “Yes, I know, though I rather wonder if you do.” Seregil raised an appraising eyebrow at his young companion. “But you’re right, of course. Letting him under my skirts now would certainly spoil the illusion I’ve worked so hard to create. Still”—dropping into the manner of Lady Gwethelyn, he looked up at Alec through his lashes—”this Captain Rhal is a handsome rogue, wouldn’t you say?”

  Alec shook his head, unsure whether Seregil was being serious or not. “Are you going to sleep with all that on your face?”

  “I think it might be wise. If the man is determined enough to invite a married woman to his cabin on the first day, I certainly wouldn’t put it past him to find some excuse to wander in here during the night. That’s why I’m also going to wear that.”

  He gestured toward the fine linen nightgown on the bed. “The key to successfully traveling in a disguise is to maintain it at all times, no matter what. Unlace me.” Standing up, he held his hair to one side while Alec undid the back of the gown. “The practice may come in handy for you someday.”

  From this angle, Alec was uneasily aware of the completeness of Seregil’s disguise. Throughout the day, watching from across the deck as Seregil played Gwethelyn for the captain and crew, he’d been halfway taken in himself.

  The illusion was considerably diminished, however, as the gown fell away and Seregil began untying his false bosom. It was his own creation, he’d explained proudly—a sort of close-fitting linen undershirt, the modest breasts consisting of domed pockets stuffed with balls of soft wool.

  “Better than some real ones you’ll run across,” he said with a grin. “I think I can do without that for now, though.” He tucked the garment carefully away in the chest. “As the defender of my honor, it’s up to you to keep our good captain from discovering their loss, should he appear.”

  “You’d be safer with Micum along.”

  “Micum hates working with me when I go as a woman. Says I’m ‘too damned pretty by half’ and it makes him nervous.”

  “I can understand that,” Alec replied with a self-conscious grin. “Lady Gwethelyn” sounded a troubling chord in him, as well. Seregil’s convincing illusion stirred up a confusion that Alec hadn’t the philosophy to put into words.

  “You’ll do fine. Besides, a lady is allowed some protection of her own.” Smiling, Seregil pulled a small dagger from the sleeve of his discarded gown and tucked it under his pillow. “I’ve heard that Plenimaran women are expected to use these on themselves if some stranger invades their bedchamber, so as to protect their husband’s honor. I call that adding injury to insult.”

  “Have you ever been to Plenimar?” Alec asked, sensing the opening for a tale.

  “Just along the borders and territories, never into the country itself.” Seregil pulled on the nightdress and set about braiding his hair over one shoulder. “Strangers don’t pass unnoticed there. Unless you have some good honest reason for going there, it’s better to stay away. From what I’ve heard, spies there have extremely short lives. I find more than enough to keep me busy in Rhíminee.”

  “Micum says—” Alec began, but was interrupted by a heavy knock at the door.

  “Who’s there?” Seregil called in Gwethelyn’s voice, wrapping himself in a cloak and signaling for Alec to retreat to the curtained servant’s alcove.

  “Captain Rhal, my lady,” came the muffled reply. “I thought some tea might help you to sleep.”

  Alec peeked out of his alcove, and Seregil rolled his eyes. “How very thoughtful.”

  Alec stepped forward on cue as Rhal came in, taking the steaming pitcher with a bow that effectively blocked further progress into the room.

  “I was just about to put out the candle,” Seregil said with a yawn. “I shall have a cup, and I’m sure I shall go directly to sleep. Good night.”

  R
hal managed a strained bow and left, but not before shooting a decidedly unfriendly glance in Alec’s direction.

  Alec closed the door firmly and turned to find Seregil shaking with silent laughter.

  “By the Four, Alec, you’d better watch your back,” Seregil whispered. “My new swain is jealous of you! And the way you met him at the door—”

  He broke off, wiping his eyes. “Ah, I’ll sleep soundly tonight knowing my virtue is so well guarded. But I believe your constancy deserves a reward. Pour the tea and we’ll have a tale!”

  When they’d settled comfortably on either end of the bunk with their cups, Seregil took a long sip and said expansively, “So, what would you like to hear about?”

  Alec thought for a moment; he had so many questions, it was difficult to know where to begin. “The warrior queens of Skala,” he replied at last.

  “Excellent choice. The history of the queens is the essence of Skala itself: You recall me saying that the first of these queens appeared during the first great war against Plenimar?”

  Alec nodded. “Queen Gera-something.”

  “Ghërilain the First. The Oracle’s Queen, she’s sometimes called, because of the circumstances of her crowning. At the start of the war Skala was ruled from Eros by her father, Thelátimos. He was a good leader, but Plenimar was at the height of her strength and by the tenth year it looked as if Skala and Mycena were going to fall. Plenimar had overrun Mycena as far as the Folcwine River years before and controlled the farmlands and territories to the north. With their superior sea power and ample resources, they had every advantage.”

  “And they had the necromancers,” Alec interjected. “And their armies of walking dead, you said.”

  “I see that certain subjects stick in your mind. I believe I said that legends mention rumors of such things. The Plenimarans are known for their brutality and thoroughness both during battle and after. It’s a short step from there to monsters, wouldn’t you say?”

  Noticing that Alec looked a little crestfallen, he added kindly, “But it’s important to have a good ear and a sharp memory; you’re well equipped in those respects. In our trade you have to sift every tale, separate the true weave from the embroidery, as it were.

  “But to resume my tale, things looked quite hopeless that tenth winter of the war. In desperation, Thelátimos resolved to consult the Afran Oracle. This meant making a long, dangerous journey to Afra, which lies in the hills of central Skala. But he reached the precinct by the solstice and asked what he should do. The royal scribe who accompanied him took down the Oracle’s reply word for word. Thelátimos later had it inscribed on a golden tablet that is displayed to this day in the throne room at Rhíminee. It reads: ‘So long as a daughter of Thelátimos’ line defends and rules, Skala shall never be subjugated.’

  “Those words changed the course of history forever. Since the Afran Oracles were renowned for the accuracy and wisdom of their prophecies, Thelátimos, though rather surprised, decided to follow the edict. The divine covenant was proclaimed and his four sons duly stepped aside in favor of their sister Ghërilain, a girl just your age and the youngest of his children.

  “There was a great deal of controversy among the generals as to whether the Oracle meant for an untried girl to take over the actual leading of the armies. Thelátimos meant to follow the letter of the prophecy. Declaring his daughter Queen, he instructed his commanders to prepare her for war. As the story goes, they had other ideas. They gave her a bit of training, dressed her up in fine armor, and stuck her in the center of a sizable bodyguard at the rear of the army. During the next battle, however, young Ghërilain rallied her guard, led them to the front, and personally killed the Overlord Krysethan the Second. Although the war continued another two years, her actions that day bought Skala and her allies enough time for the Aurënfaie to arrive. From that day no one doubted Ghërilain’s divine right to lead.”

  “And there have been queens ever since?” asked Alec. “No one ever questioned the Oracle’s words?”

  “Some did. Ghërilain’s son Pelis secretly poisoned his sister when he was passed over as king, then took the throne, claiming that the Oracle had really meant ‘so long as the daughter of Thelátimos rules’ rather than ‘a daughter of the line of Thelátimos.’ Unfortunately for him, there was a devastating crop failure during his second year of rule, quickly followed by an outbreak of plague. He died, along with hundreds of others. As soon as his niece, Agnalain, took the throne things began to improve.”

  “But what if a queen had no daughters?”

  “That’s come up a few times over the last eight hundred years. Queen Marnil was the first. She had six fine sons but no acceptable successor. In desperation she journeyed to Afra where the Oracle instructed her to take another consort, specifying that she choose a man on the basis of bravery and honor.”

  “What about her husband?” asked Alec.

  “That did present a problem, since the Oracle wasn’t very specific. Since then, various queens have interpreted the directive in a number of ways. Some even used the office as a sort of reward. Queen Idrilain’s grandmother, Elesthera, had more than thirty ‘consorts,’ but even the Skalans considered this rather eccentric.”

  “How could a queen produce legitimate heirs if she slept with any man who took her fancy?” Alec exclaimed, looking scandalized.

  “What does legitimate mean, after all?” Seregil said with a laugh. “A king may be cuckolded if his wife can fool him into thinking that her lover’s child is his own, not a difficult thing to do. But any child a queen bears is her own, no matter who the father was, and therefore a legitimate heir.”

  “I guess so,” Alec conceded with obvious disapproval. “Were there any bad queens?”

  “The usual mix over the years. Divinely instituted or not, they’re still human.”

  Alec shook his head, grinning. “All these stories and histories. I don’t see how you remember all that!”

  “One has to, to do any sort of business among the Skalan nobles. Importance is judged by which branch of the line one is related to, how far back you can trace noble blood, which consort one is descended from, whether your ancestor was directly descended from a female or male branch, whether or not they were legitimate—I could go on, but you get the idea.”

  He set his cup aside and stretched. “And now I think we’d both do well to turn in. I’ve a busy day tomorrow dealing with our good captain, and you’ve got your work cut out for you defending my honor!”

  9

  THE LADY IS INDISPOSED

  Seregil jerked awake just before dawn, a strangled groan crawling up his throat. He tried to choke it back, but the muffled croak was enough to bring Alec from his alcove.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” the boy whispered, groping his way across the cramped cabin.

  “Nothing, just a dream.”

  Alec’s hand found his shoulder. “You’re shaking like a spooked horse!”

  “Strike a light, will you?” Seregil clasped his arms tightly around his knees, trying to quell the fit of trembling that shook him.

  Alec quickly lit a candle at the companionway lantern and regarded Seregil with concern. “You’re pale as anything. Sometimes the quickest way to make a nightmare pass is to tell it.”

  Seregil let out a long, slow breath and motioned for him to draw up the cabin’s single chair; he was certainly in no hurry to sleep again.

  “It was morning,” he began softly, staring at the candle flame. “I was dressed and about to go on deck. I called for you but you weren’t around, so I went alone.

  “The sky was a hideous, boiling purple, the light through the clouds harsh and brassy—you know, the way it is just before a thunderstorm? The ship was in ruins. The mast was snapped off, with the sail hanging down over the side, the deck all littered with wreckage. I called out again, but there was no one on board but me. The river was black as oil. There were things floating in the water all around the ship, too—severed heads, hands, arm
s, bodies—”

  He scrubbed the back of one hand across his mouth. “What I could make out of the shore was a desolate waste, the land burned and torn up. Smoke from ruined fields flowed out over the water and as I watched it seemed to gather itself, moving toward the ship in great coils and billows. As it came closer I began to hear sounds. At first I couldn’t make out their direction, but then I realized it was all around me. It was the—the things in the water. They were all moving, limbs flexing and kicking, the faces twisting into horrid expressions as they rolled in the water.”

  He heard a small gasp of revulsion from Alec; to a Dalnan, there was nothing more horrible than a desecrated corpse. Seregil drew another shaky breath and forced himself to continue.

  “Then the ship lurched and I knew that something was climbing up the torn sail. I couldn’t see what it was but it jerked the vessel around like a fishing float. I clung to the far rail, waiting for it. I knew that whatever it was, it was unspeakably vile—that the very sight of it was going to shatter me. Yet even in the midst of my terror, a small, sane part of my mind was screaming that there was something terribly important that I should be remembering. I didn’t know if it would save me, but it was imperative that I think of it before I died. And then I woke up.”

  He managed a faint, self-mocking laugh. “There it is. Sounds rather silly, telling it like that.”

  “No, it was a bad one!” Alec shuddered. “And you still don’t look too well. Do you think you can sleep some more?”

  Seregil glanced at the brightening square of the window. “No, it’s almost morning. You go back to bed, though. No sense both of us losing sleep over nothing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, you were right about telling it. It’s fading already,” Seregil lied. “I’ll be fine.”