Glimpses (2 page)

That’s a gift. That’s storytelling.

I’ve been doubly fortunate, since that first
encounter with Luck In The Shadows, to also be able to claim Lynn
as a friend. For those of you who know that her totem animal is the
otter, I can confirm, that yes, she shares many traits with that
animal—she’s friendly, open, inquisitive, and cracks shells open
with rocks.

Oh no, wait...

There are many stories I could tell, from the
years of rooming together at conventions, of sitting long over
drinks, and of sharing tea—one of Lynn’s obsessions, as she tries
to wean me from my beloved coffee—but then she would probably and
rightfully kill me.

So I will say only that it has been my
pleasure, for the past fourteen years, to watch Lynn’s readership
grow, from those of us who knew early on, to people discovering her
work only now. And it is my great pleasure to introduce you to this
collection, which brings us into the heart of her world and her
characters, and does what Lynn does best: makes us care.

Laura Anne Gilman

September, 2010

Dear Reader, what you hold in your hands is a
small collection of stories that fill in a few gaps in the
Nightrunner world’s history, little glimpses people have asked for
over the years.

This all began in 2001 when, for reasons I
don’t recall, I wrote a short story called “By the River,” in which
Seregil and Micum Cavish meet for the first time, many years before
the Nightrunner Series begins. It was fun; I’d never really
considered the details before. I wrote it for my own amusement,
then shared it online with several fan groups.

Since then, readers have requested other
stories, most particularly an account of Seregil and Alec’s first
night as lovers. That appears here as “The Bond,” the first
Nightrunner erotica I have ever written. It takes place at the end
of Stalking Darkness, the summer after the death of Seregil’s
beloved mentor, the wizard Nysander and opens just after Seregil,
wracked with guilt, tries to leave everyone behind.

“Misfit” is two stories in one: the events
leading up to Seregil becoming Nysander’s apprentice soon after his
exile from Aurënen, his native country, and his first Skalan sexual
liaison. This story also contains homoerotic scenes.

“The Wild,” also a two-in-one, reveals a bit
of Alec’s early childhood with his father, Amasa, and how his
parents met.

Finally, a snippet from my forthcoming
Nightrunner novel, The Summer Players. At least that’s what it’s
called at the moment. Look for it in 2011 from Spectra.

You will also find illustrations with each
story. Since the earliest days of the Nightrunner series, people
have sent me artwork inspired by my stories. I treasure every one
of them, as I know each is a labor of love. After all these years,
it still thrills me that people do things like that. So it only
seemed right that this book be illustrated by fans.

I hope you enjoy these pictures as much as I
do. I received many more than I could possibly use, and it was very
difficult narrowing the choices down to the few that fit here, but
as I said, every one I received is appreciated.

I hope you enjoy these little glimpses.

Lynn Flewelling

Redlands, California

September, 2010

Nysander hummed softly to himself as he
walked through the gloomy palace corridors. A few of the courtiers
he passed cast him a questioning glance, but most gave him a smile
or respectful nod, used to his quirks. His little tricks at the
royal banquet last night—making rings from gold coins, casting a
rain of flowers, and sending empty platters floating back to the
kitchen—had gone over well, as usual. People tended to assume that
this was why the queen favored him. That suited the old wizard just
fine.

He was well acquainted with Idrilain’s suite
of rooms, having visited four queens before her here. He’d known
Idrilain from birth and both loved and respected the warrior ruler
she’d become.

It was a pleasant autumn day and he found her
and her women sitting in her sunny courtyard, together with her
second daughter, young Aralain. The sun glittered on pale blonde
hair as she and her mother looked up and smiled at Nysander.

“Ah, here you are, my friend! Welcome back.”
The queen rose to take his hands. “Four months is too long not to
see you. How was your journey?”

“Very pleasant, my dear.” They dispensed with
titles in private. “The island is very nice this time of year.”

“I miss it,” Idrilain said with a sigh. “I
want to hear all about it, and how Rabinis is faring, but first
there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Kallia, summon Seregil.”

One of the younger ladies-in-waiting went
inside.

“Seregil?” asked Nysander. “An
Aurënfaie?”

“Yes. A distant kinsman of mine. He arrived
just after you left. I’ve recently placed him with Emidas.”

“Indeed?” Emidas was the queen’s chief
scribe. While it was an honorable post, it seemed an odd choice for
a kinsman.

“I’m afraid he’s having trouble adjusting to
court life. I made him a page first, but he was a bit old, and
wasn’t really suited to the position.”

“How so?”

Idrilain gave him a wry look. “He had a habit
of not being where he was supposed to.”

Nysander chuckled at that. “Ah, I see.”

“But he’s well educated and writes with a
very fine hand. Emidas has been happy with him so far. Well,
mostly. Seregil is a bit headstrong, and apparently gets bored
easily.”

Nysander could well imagine, having traveled
in Aurënen. The ‘faie had no royalty, and nothing so formal as the
Skalan court.

The young woman soon returned with a pretty
youth. His ink-stained fingers and short green robe marked him as a
junior scribe. He had the fine features of a pure ‘faie, framed by
long dark brown hair loose over his shoulders. His grey eyes
betrayed a deep sadness even as he gave Nysander a stiff bow and a
forced smile. He looked to be about eighteen in human years.

Nysander took all that in at a glance, but it
wasn’t what most caught his attention; the young ‘faie had magic in
him. Nysander could just make out the faint aura of it around him.
It was a shame to waste him as a minor functionary. If he’d been
here when the young man had arrived he might have requested him for
the Orëska.

“Nysander, this is my kinsman Seregil,” said
Idrilain. “Seregil, this is Lord Nysander í Azusthra, one of the
chief wizards of the Orëska House and a great friend of mine.”

“My lord, I am very honored to meet you,”
said Seregil. His Skalan was cultured and carried the lilt of a
western clan. Oddly, Idrilain hadn’t used Seregil’s formal name,
with its string of patronymics and clan.

“Can Seregil take tea with us, Mother?” asked
Aralain, and Nysander guessed that she was a bit smitten with the
young man.

Idrilain smiled. “I’m sure his master can
spare him for a little while.”

Seregil bowed again and joined the them at a
small tea table by the fountain.

“Well, you are a long way from home, my boy,”
said Nysander. “How are you enjoying Rhíminee so far?”

“I haven’t seen much beyond the palace, my
lord. But it’s very pleasant here.”

Nysander could tell he didn’t mean a word of
it. Though he still smiled politely, it was clear that Seregil
wasn’t here by his own choice. As much as Nysander wanted to ask
him more about himself, he sensed that it wouldn’t be welcome and
to brush his thoughts would be rude.

The way Seregil spoke—when he did speak—and
the genteel manner in which he handled his delicate porcelain tea
bowl all reinforced Nysander’s initial impression that he was from
a cultured, perhaps sheltered background. What in the world was he
doing here?

Just then they heard raised voices and
Idrilain’s two older children burst in. At eighteen, Princess
Phoria and her twin, Prince Korathan, were fair and tall like their
mother. Phoria was slender, while Korathan had a lean athlete’s
build.

“Mother, Phoria won’t let me ride Bright
Star!” Korathan exclaimed.

“Because he’ll break her neck if he tries,”
Phoria retorted. “Oh, hello, Nysander! And Seregil! It’s good to
see you.”

“Cousin,” Korathan said, acknowledging
Seregil, as well.

“Your Highnesses.” A genuine smile
transformed Seregil before Nysander’s eyes. He was more than
pretty; he was quite beautiful, perhaps more than was good for him
here at court. At least he’d made friends with the queen’s
children. No doubt he’d rather have been with them than sitting
here in his stiff collared robe.

***

Seregil did his best to concentrate on the
document in front of him, a manifest from a grain shipment. The
scriptorium was silent except for the light scratch of quills on
parchment and the occasional distant honking of the Vs of wild
geese flying over the city. Outside in the garden, new fallen snow
sparkled in the sun under a clear blue sky. Despite the cold draft
from the window casement beside him, he longed to be out there, not
in this dreary chamber with its bare walls and cold stone floor.
His desk was at the back of the room, furthest from the great
hearth. He and the other junior scribes worked with their cloaks
on.

He’d been at this kind of work for almost
three months now and he was heartily sick of it. The manifest he
was copying out was the sort of task Emidas thought him worthy of,
or perhaps it was spite. Seregil knew he’d been foisted on the head
scribe after he’d failed as a page. Well, he hadn’t failed so much
as not cared. The whole artifice of the Skalan royal court, all
that bowing and scraping and memorizing of titles grated on his
nerves. And it was boring. And these clothes!