Luck in the Shadows

  “It was magic, dear boy, evil magic,” Nysander said softly.

  Seregil shivered and ran a hand back through his hair. “After—after I collapsed, I kept dreaming I was on a barren plain. I couldn’t move except to turn and there was only the wind and grey grass. I was alone. I thought at first that I was dead.”

  Alec watched him with rising concern. Seregil was whiter than ever, and his breathing was and labored, as if it took all his strength to keep speaking. Alec glanced anxiously at Nysander, but the wizard’s attention was fixed on Seregil.

  “After a while, there was someone else there,” Seregil said, eyes squeezed tightly shut, one hand raised to his face as if to ward off a blow. “I can’t remember who, just—gold. And eyes, something about eyes—”

  His chest was heaving now and Alec placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Blue,” Seregil gasped, “something so blue—!” With a hollow groan, he fainted back onto the pillow.

  “Seregil! Seregil, can you hear me?” cried Nysander, feeling for the pulse at his throat.

  “What’s happening?” cried Alec.

  “I am not certain. A vision of some sort, perhaps, or some overwhelming memory. Fetch a cloth, and the water pitcher.”

  Seregil’s eyes fluttered open again as Alec bathed his temples with a cool cloth.

  “You must not try to go on,” Nysander warned, stroking Seregil’s brow. “You were speaking gibberish just now, as if something was disordering your thoughts even as you tried to voice them.”

  “Could it have been that black creature again, here?” asked Alec.

  “I would have sensed such a presence,” Nysander assured him. “No, it was as if the memories themselves induced some mental confusion. How very interesting. Can you speak now, dear boy?”

  “Yes,” Seregil rasped, passing a hand over his eyes.

  “Rest, then, and think no more of these things for now. I have heard enough.” Rising, Nysander went to the door.

  “Well I haven’t!” Seregil struggled up on one elbow. “Not nearly enough! What’s happening to me?”

  Alec thought he caught a look of pain on Nysander’s face.

  “Trust me in this, dear boy,” the wizard said. “I must meditate on what we have learned so far. Rest and heal. Shall I send Wethis for some food?”

  Alec braced for another outburst, but Seregil merely looked away, shaking his head. He busied himself with the fire for a moment after Nysander had gone, then pulled the chair up beside the bed.

  “That black creature you fought with,” he began, fidgeting with the hem of one sleeve. “It really was there in the cart, wasn’t it? And in the room with us at the inn. It was real.”

  Seregil shivered, staring past him at the fire. “Real enough for me. I think you saved both our lives when you yanked that bit of wood from my neck.”

  “But that was an accident! What if I hadn’t?”

  Seregil looked up at him for a moment, then shrugged. “But you did, and here we are, safe and sound. Luck in the shadows, Alec; you don’t question it, you just give thanks and pray it doesn’t run out!”

  In the deepest hours of the night, Nysander lifted the wooden disk from its container. The chamber around him vibrated with the thickly woven spells he had invoked in preparation for the examination. Turning the disk this way and that with a pair of forceps, he tried to gauge the quiescent power of the thing. Despite its ordinary appearance, he could feel the energy emanating from it as clearly as waves lapping against his skin.

  Heart heavy with foreboding, he sealed the thing away again and pocketed it, then set off for the vaults beneath the Orëska House to take his nightly constitutional.

  18

  AROUND THE RING

  Alec watched in dismay, if not surprise, as Seregil struggled out of bed the next morning.

  “Valerius wouldn’t like this.”

  “Then it’s lucky for us he’s not here, eh?” Seregil winked, hoping the boy didn’t notice how wobbly his legs still were. “Besides, there’s nothing more beneficial than a good bath. Just let me lean on you a bit and I’ll be fine.”

  With Alec’s grudging assistance, Seregil worked his way slowly down to the baths without mishap.

  Winded but triumphant, he let a bath servant assist him into his tub while Alec stationed himself on a nearby bench.

  “Illior’s Light, but it’s wonderful to be back in a civilized city!” Seregil chortled, immersing himself up to the chin in the steaming water.

  “I’ve never met anyone who takes as many baths as you do,” the boy grumbled.

  “A good soak might improve your disposition,” Seregil teased, wondering at the boy’s brittleness this morning. He had an edge of anxiety that hadn’t been there before, not even during the difficult journey through Mycena.

  “For the love of Illior, Alec, relax! No one’s here to see.” He swirled the water with his toe. “I think we could do with a walk outside next.”

  “You barely made it down here,” Alec pointed out hopelessly.

  “Where’s your curiosity today? You’ve been living in the center of the greatest collection of wizardry in the world for almost a week and you’ve hardly seen a thing!”

  “I’m more concerned just now with what Valerius would say if he knew you were wandering around all over the place. I’m supposed to be responsible for you, you know.”

  “No one is responsible for me except me.” Seregil jabbed a soapy finger in the air for emphasis. “Nysander knows that, Micum knows that. Even Valerius knows it. Now you know.”

  To his considerable surprise, Alec stared at him for a moment, then turned on his heel and stalked abruptly away to stare out over the central pool, his back rigid as a blade.

  “What is it?” Seregil called after him, genuinely mystified.

  Alec muttered something, punctuating the remark with a sharp wave of his hand.

  “What? I can’t hear you over the fountains.”

  Alec half turned, arms locked across his chest. “I said I was responsible enough for you while you were sick!”

  And I’m a blind fool! Seregil berated himself, the crux of the problem finally dawning on him. Struggling out of the tub, he threw on a towel and went to the boy.

  “I owe you a tremendous debt,” he said, studying Alec’s grim profile. “With all that’s happened, I guess I haven’t thanked you properly.”

  “I’m not asking for any thanks.”

  “But you deserve it nonetheless. And I’m sorry if I insulted you just now. It’s just that I don’t think in terms of expecting anything of anyone.”

  Alec turned a bleak eye on him. “That’s not what Micum said. He said you demand loyalty and never forgive anyone who betrays you.”

  “Well—yes. But that’s hardly the same thing, is it?”

  Color flared in the boy’s fair cheeks. “All I know is that I have been loyal and if you don’t need me around anymore, then what the hell am I doing in Rhíminee anyway?”

  “Who said I don’t want you around?” Seregil shot back in exasperation.

  “No one. Not exactly. It’s just that ever since we got here, I mean since the ship—with the wizards and healers and—” Alec faltered to a halt. “I don’t know, I guess I just don’t feel like I belong here.”

  “Of course you do!” Seregil sputtered. “Who’s been saying you don’t? Thero! That whey-faced son of a bitch—”

  “Thero didn’t say anything.” A gravid pause strung out between them, growing increasingly more uncomfortable.

  “I never could carry on an argument naked,” Seregil said at last, pulling a wry face. This elicited a grudging hint of a smile, at least. “If you figure out what you’re so mad about, let me know. In the meantime, let’s go across to the museum. I promised to show you wonders, and that’s as good a place as any to find them.”

  Revived by the bath and fresh clothes, Seregil had Alec help him across the atrium to the opposite archway.

  “The vaults under this
building are overflowing with treasures of one sort or another,” he expounded, still leaning on Alec’s arm. “I used to go down there with Nysander and Magyana all the time. You wouldn’t believe how much is squirreled away right under our feet.”

  Opening the huge door of the museum room, Alec let out a low whistle.

  The vaulted central chamber of the Orëska Museum was similar in dimensions to the baths. Here, however, every wall was hung with rich tapestries and paintings, shields, and pieces of armor. Suspended overhead was the skeleton of some horrific creature fifty feet long; the bare teeth jutting from the jawbones were as long as his forearm. Wooden cases of all sizes, many covered with sheets of thick crystal, lined the walls and stood in neatly spaced rows across the room. In the one closest to them lay a collection of jeweled ornaments and vessels. The one next to it contained a golden coronet studded with rubies. Another was devoted to wizardly paraphernalia.

  “How do you like it?” Seregil whispered, grinning at the boy’s gape-mouthed wonder. Alec made no reply as he slowly made his way from case to case, looking like a thirsty man who just found an unexpected spring.

  The room was very quiet, but not unoccupied. A group of scholars were there examining a tapestry. Nearby, a girl in apprentice robes sat on a high stool next to one of the cases, working with wax tablet and stylus at copying a passage from an open book displayed there. Across the room, two scarlet-clad servants were in the process of replacing some items in a crystal case.

  “I used to spend a good deal of time here,” Seregil told Alec softly. “I’ve even managed to add a few pieces to the collection over the years. This, for instance.”

  Steering him to a case near the center of the room, Seregil pointed to a delicate flower carved from translucent pink stone.

  “This belonged to the enchantress Nimia Reshal. When the proper words are spoken, it emits a magical fragrance which renders anyone who inhales it a helpless slave to the owner. She’d managed to snare Micum before I got hold of it.”

  “Why didn’t she catch you, too?” Alec whispered.

  “I happened to be approaching from a different direction at the time. While she was concentrating on him, I simply held my nose, crept up from behind, and knocked her on the head. Never underestimate the benefit of surprise!”

  Nodding, Alec turned to the next case and stiffened. Inside lay a pair of shriveled hands, the skin darkened to the color of old leather.

  “What are those?” he gasped.

  “Shh! A most unusual relic. Look closer.”

  Jeweled rings still encircled the withered fingers and the long discolored nails were covered with a delicate tracery of golden whorls; the plain iron manacles encircling each wrist looked out of keeping with the rest of the ornaments. Each band was held fast by a long spike driven through the wrist just below the base of each hand. The whole affair was bolted to the bottom of the case.

  Alec stared down at the hands with puzzled revulsion. “What in the world are—”

  Just then, one of the leathery forefingers slowly raised and lowered, as if scolding his idle scrutiny.

  Seregil had been watching closely all the while. As soon as he saw the hand move, he ran a finger lightly down the boy’s back, sending him into the air with a startled yelp.

  “Damn it, Seregil!” Alec cried, whirling around.

  The scholars turned with inquiring stares. The apprentice dropped her stylus, then began to giggle. The servants merely exchanged disgusted looks.

  Seregil leaned against a case, shoulders quivering with smothered laughter.

  “I’m sorry,” he said at last, feeling anything but repentant as he exchanged a knowing wink with the girl. “That trick has been played on just about every apprentice who ever served here, including me. I couldn’t resist.”

  “You scared me half to death!” Alec whispered indignantly. “What are those things?”

  Seregil rested his elbows on the edge of the case, tapping a finger idly against the glass. “The hands of Tikárie Megraesh, a great necromancer.”

  “They moved.” Alec shuddered, peering over Seregil’s shoulder. “It’s as if they’re still alive.”

  “In a sense, they are,” Seregil replied. “This necromancer ended his days as a dyrmagnos. Have you ever heard the term?”

  “No. What does it mean?”

  “It’s the ultimate fate of necromancers. You see, all forms of magic exact a certain toll from those who practice it, but necromancy is by far the worst. It gradually wastes the body, draining life even as it increases the force of that person’s will. In time, there’s nothing left but a walking corpse burning with terrible intelligence—a dyrmagnos. This fellow here was at least six centuries old when Nysander cut these hands off him and, according to him, they haven’t changed much in appearance since he took them, which gives you some idea what the rest of Tikárie Megraesh must have looked like.”

  The left hand stirred, scrabbling softly against the bottom of the case with its blackened nails. Alec shuddered again. “If that’s what his hands looked like, I’d hate to have seen the face.”

  “These hands escaped once,” Seregil went on, staring down at the twitching things. “It’s nearly impossible to kill a dyrmagnos, once it’s reached such an age. All you can do is dismember and contain it. Those symbols you see painted on the nails were part of the original binding spell to break the power of the creature. Eventually the life will fade from them.”

  Alec frowned down at them. “What if all the pieces were brought together again before that happened?”

  “They’d rejoin and the dyrmagnos would live again. As I recall, a few other parts of him are somewhere down in the vaults, but most were carried off for safekeeping by other wizards. The head is the most dangerous part. That was sealed in a lead casket and dropped into the sea.

  Seregil savored a shiver of his own, imagining the head locked in darkness beneath the chill waters, dreaming perhaps, or screaming its hatred to the unheeding creatures of the mud. On the heels of that pleasant thought came another, however. When was the last time he’d seen the hands move as much as this?

  “Are there any other dead things in here?” asked Alec, moving to another case.

  “Not ones that move.”

  “Good!”

  They wandered on awhile longer, but Seregil’s strength soon flagged.

  There was no use trying to hide the fact from Alec. “You’re looking pale again,” he said. “Come on, a walk outside in the air might not be such a bad idea after all.”

  The pale winter sky overhead presaged snow, but inside the walls the gardens were bathed with fragrant breezes, and the soft turf beneath their feet was redolent with chamomile and creeping thyme.

  Seregil was leaning more heavily on his arm than he had earlier, Alec noted, wondering if it had been a mistake not going back to their room.

  “There,” Seregil said, pointing the way to a nearby fountain. Reaching it, he collapsed on the grass and leaned back against its basin.

  Alec looked him over with renewed concern. “You’re as white as this marble!”

  Seregil dipped a hand in the water and pressed it to his brow. “Just let me get my breath.”

  “He’s only doing it to spite Valerius, you know,” a familiar voice interrupted.

  A pair of women sauntered up. Both wore the green and white uniform of the Queen’s Horse Guard. The shorter of the two, Alec realized with a start, was Princess Klia. Her companion, a dark, serious-looking woman, stood at ease beside her.

  Klia flopped down unceremoniously in front of Seregil but ignored him completely, addressing Alec as if they were old friends.

  “Now, if Valerius had ordered him to get up and about as soon as possible, he’d have clung in bed ’til spring. You’re better turned out than when we met last, I must say. What name are you going by today?”

  He grinned sheepishly. “Alec.”

  “Hello again, Alec. This is Captain Myrhini.”

  The dark
woman surprised him with a flashing smile as she joined them on the grass.

  “I wondered afterward at meeting another Silverleaf,” Klia went on cheerfully. “If I’d known Seregil was with you, the two of you could have ridden back with us.”

  “I was indisposed at the time,” Seregil said, drawing her teasing gaze at last. “How did you know I was back?”

  “I met Nysander on his way to a meeting with Mother and Lord Barien last night.” Her blue eyes shone fiercely. “From what she said this morning, it sounds like things may get interesting again.”

  Seregil grimaced. “I should think you’d have seen enough of battle last year. That piece of fun nearly cost you your arm and Myrhini both.”

  Myrhini gave the toe of Klia’s boot a playful kick. “You know her. She’s Sakor-touched. It only makes her hotter for the next fight.”

  “As if you’re not just as bad.” Klia grinned. “Either one of us could be at home with a babe or two already if we didn’t care more for battle than we do for a handsome face! Seregil, come see the horse Alec helped me buy in Cirna. Hwerlu is looking him over for me at the grove.”

  Klia helped Seregil to his feet, then wrapped a supporting arm around his waist as they set off for a nearby stand of oaks.

  “I know one handsome face she favors, if only its owner had the wit to see,” Myrhini whispered to Alec, winking in Seregil’s direction as they followed the others.

  Entering the little grove, Alec was delighted to find that Hwerlu was the centaur he’d glimpsed his first day in Rhíminee.

  The creature was even more imposing at close quarters; his chestnut-colored horse body was a good twenty hands tall at the shoulder, while his man parts were those of a giant. Klia’s unusual black and white and another Aurënfaie horse stood by him, and he patted them with his large, blunt hands as if they were hounds. Seregil and Klia looked like a pair of children standing next to him.

  “Come here!” Seregil called to Alec. “I seem to recall you once referring to centaurs as mere legend.”

  When Hwerlu bent to greet him, Alec noticed that he had the eyes of a horse, large and dark, showing no white.