Luck in the Shadows (25 page)

Nysander waved this aside. “Nothing of the kind. Seregil is as dear to me as a son, and you have brought him back. I am in your debt.”

The boy looked up at him again, more directly this time. “Will he die?”

“That he has survived this long gives me hope,” Nysander replied, wishing he could be more encouraging. “You did well to bring him to me. But however did the two of you meet?”

“He saved my life,” answered Alec. “It was almost a month ago now, up in the Ironheart Mountains.”

“I see.” Nysander looked at Seregil’s still, white face, wondering if he would ever hear his side of the story.

After a moment’s silence, Alec asked, “How did you know we were coming?”

“A week ago I was suddenly blinded by a vision of Seregil in some desperate difficulty.” Nysander sighed heavily. “But such visions are fleeting things. By the time I had managed to recapture it, the crisis seemed to have passed. I had my first glimpse of you then, too, and sensed that he was in capable hands.”

The boy colored again, fidgeting with the hem of his worn tunic.

“I have had other flashes of your progress over the past few days. You are a most resourceful young man. But now tell me what has happened, for I see that you are wounded as well.”

Nysander continued his discreet appraisal of the boy while Alec gave an account of their escape from Asengai’s domain and subsequent adventures. A bit of gentle magic satisfied him that Seregil had been very astute in his choice of companion, although his friend’s reason for taking on the youngster at all remained something of an enigma.

In describing the blind man’s house outside Wolde, Alec admitted to his eavesdropping and seemed relieved when Nysander merely smiled.

“They spoke of a man called Boraneus,” Alec told him, “but then Seregil called him Mardus. He sounded upset or surprised when he said the name.”

Nysander frowned. “As well he should. You saw this man?”

“At the mayor’s hall. Seregil got us in there as minstrels, so he could get a look at him, and the other, a diplomat of some sort who was traveling with him.”

“This Mardus, was he a tall, dark fellow with a scar under one eye?”

“From here to here.” Alec drew a finger from the inner corner of his left eye to his cheek. “You could call him handsome, I guess, but there was something cold about him when he wasn’t smiling.”

“Excellent! And the other?”

Alec thought for a moment. “Shorter, thin, with the look of a town dweller. Thin, greyish hair.” He shook his head. “He wasn’t
one that you took much notice of. Anyway, we, ah, well—we burgled their rooms that night.”

Nysander chuckled. “I should hope so. And what did you learn from your burglary?”

“That’s where we found the—”

Nysander held up a warning hand, then pointed questioningly to Seregil’s chest.

Alec nodded.

“Then we must speak of that later,” warned the wizard. “Tell me everything else, however.”

“Well, I was keeping watch most of the time while he worked. He found several maps. He and Micum Cavish talked about those later on, after we left Wolde. There were some places marked, towns in the northlands. Micum’s gone to find one marked in the Fens. I’m afraid that’s all I know about it. Seregil will have to tell you the rest.”

Let us hope you can
, thought Nysander again.

His expression must have betrayed his concern, for Alec suddenly exclaimed, “You
can
help him, can’t you? He said if you couldn’t, then no one could!”

Nysander gave the boy’s hand a reassuring pat. “I know what must be done, dear boy. Go on, please. What happened after that?”

Nysander chuckled appreciatively at Alec’s description of their hasty escape from Wolde, but grew serious as he tried to explain Seregil’s frightening decline aboard the
Darter
and the difficult journey that followed.

“And through all that, he never spoke further to you of what he discovered in Wolde, or of those men?”

“No, Seregil wouldn’t talk about any of it much after we left town. He kept saying it was safer if I didn’t know certain things.”

Nysander regarded Alec in bemusement; even in one so young it was surprising to find such unquestioning trust—if trust it was. Familiar as Nysander was with Seregil’s powers of persuasion, he still wondered that Alec should have followed him so far and through so many trials on the strength of little more than a few tales and fewer empty-handed promises.

No, thought Nysander, trust there certainly must have been, and he had no doubt of Alec’s loyalty, but there was something else at work here. Seregil would never have involved a green boy
in the burglary in Wolde if he himself had not sensed something deeper in Alec’s character and been taken with it. Apprentice indeed!

Alec shifted nervously. “Is something wrong?”

“Certainly not!” Nysander smiled. “I was lost in my own thoughts for a moment, a habit we wizards often drop into. Seregil and Micum were both working for me when you met them. At a more opportune time I will explain what that entailed.”

Distracted as he was by Seregil’s condition, Alec couldn’t help looking out at the passing city now and then. Carts, horses, litters, and pedestrians of all descriptions thronged the streets. The road leading up to the citadel was enclosed in curtain walls on both sides and the stonework seemed to trap the noise and amplify it. This road ended at the broad outer gate of the city. Half a dozen blue-clad guards flanked the entrance, armed with swords and pikes, but traffic passed freely. Once through the gate they slowed, moving through an inner barbican, and then passed under the archway of a second gate, its ancient pediment decorated with carvings of fish. Beyond lay the largest marketplace Alec had ever seen.

The stone-flagged square stretched away on all sides, jammed with hundreds of wooden booths. Their colorful awnings rippled in the brisk wind. A broad avenue had been left open through the center of the square to allow for traffic, and narrow side lanes branched out from it into the wilderness of shops.

From all sides came the clamor of the city: voices shouting, animals braying, the pounding of artisans at work, and the rumble of the carts that flowed in a steady line in both directions along the street. Tall, white-plastered buildings, some as much as five stories high, ringed the market square. Everywhere he looked there were people.

Continuing on, they plunged into the maze of streets and neighborhoods that spread over the hills. Structures of all sorts lined the streets, in some cases even overhanging it with walkways and elaborate solariums. Wagons and riders filled the streets; children, dogs, and pigs darted about underfoot.

As the dizzying spectacle flowed by, Alec recalled with horror his original plan to bring Seregil through Rhíminee alone.

The broad avenue they followed opened periodically into broad, stone-paved circles from which other streets radiated like the spokes from the hub of a wheel. Under other circumstances Alec might have asked Nysander about them, but the wizard had grown silent again, watching Seregil’s shallow breathing with apparent concern. Holding his tongue, Alec saw that they were entering an area of larger, more elaborate buildings.

Presently they came to another of the open circles, this one centered around a circular colonnade some forty feet in diameter and bordered on one side by a wooded park.

“The Fountain of Astellus, a spring which has never gone dry since the founding of the city,” Nysander remarked, indicating the colonnade. “The original city was centered around it. We are nearly to the Orëska.”

Halfway around the circle, their driver veered to the left onto another broad, tree-lined avenue. High walls lined the street on either side, presenting blank faces of smooth stone or plaster except for the broad bands of decoration bordering the tops and gateways. Some patterns were painted, others done in mosaics of colored stone or tile. He would later learn that these decorated walls, screening the elegant villas beyond, were not merely decorative; in the Noble Quarter one might be directed to “the house in Golden Helm Street with the red serpent gate” or “the house with the black and gold circles in a blue border.”

Small marble pillars stood at intervals along the streets here, each one carved with a figure representing the name of that street. Small gilded helmets marked the way that Alec and Nysander followed.

“Are those all palaces?” Alec asked, catching glimpses of carved and painted facades beyond the walls.

“Oh, no, just villas. Many are owned by members of the Queen’s Kin,” Nysander replied. “Aunts, brothers, cousins so far removed one must consult the Archives to ascertain from which obscure third brother of what queen or consort they are descended.”

“Seregil said it was a complicated place, but that I’d have to learn all about it,” replied Alec, looking rather glum at the prospect.

“Quite true, but I am certain he will not expect you to learn overnight,” the wizzard assured him. “You could have no better
teacher than Seregil for such matters. If you will look ahead, however, you will see a true palace.”

Golden Helm Street ended at the huge walled park surrounding the Queen’s Palace. The carriage turned onto a cross street and they passed an open gate, Alec glimpsed an expanse of open ground and beyond it a sprawling edifice of pale grey stone decorated along the battlements with patterns of black and white.

Continuing on, they came to another great enclosed park. The gleaming white walls seemed to have been erected for the purpose of privacy rather than defense, however, for the graceful arch through which they passed had neither door nor portcullis.

As they entered the grounds Alec let out a yelp of surprise. Within the embrace of the surrounding walls, it was as if the seasons had suddenly rushed forward into summer. The sky overhead was the same pale winter blue as before, but the air around them was cool and sweet as a spring morning. On every side stretched carefully laid out lawns and beds of brilliant flowers and blooming trees. Robed figures moved among them or reclined on benches. Alec blinked in disbelief as he caught sight of an enormous centaur playing a harp beneath a nearby tree.

The creature had the body of a tall chestnut stallion, but rising from its withers was the hirsute torso of a man. Coarse black hair overhung his brow in a long forelock and grew in a mane down his back. Nearby a woman floated cross-legged ten feet above the ground, lazily tossing globes of colored glass into the air and directing their motion in time to his music.

Nysander waved to the centaur as they wheeled past and the creature returned the greeting with a nod of his great head.

In the center of all these marvels stood the Orëska House itself, a soaring structure of gleaming white stone surmounted by a faceted, onion-shaped dome that flashed brightly in the sunlight. Slender towers topped with smaller domes and studded at intervals with carved oriels stood at each of the building’s four corners.

A set of broad stairs led up to the main entrance where half a dozen servants in red tabards stood waiting. Two men hurried forward with a litter as the carriage came to a stop; a third shouldered the battered pack and Alec’s meager bundle. At Nysander’s nod, Seregil was carried inside.

The main building was centered around a huge atrium lit by the natural light streaming in through the clear glass dome above.
Rising up from a splendid mosaic floor, the inner walls were broken by five levels of balconies and walkways decorated with more elaborate Skalan carving and tile work.

Nysander strode across the atrium and through one of the large archways that flanked it. Beyond lay a staircase that spiraled gently upward, giving onto a landing at each level. At the third landing they walked down an interior corridor lined with doors, found another stairway, and climbed again.

The place was teeming with people in all manner of dress. Those that appeared to be servants or visitors paid them little heed, but Alec noticed that the wizards, whom he distinguished by their long, colorful robes, invariably drew back from them as if in fear or disgust. Several made strange signs in the air as they passed and one, a boy whose white robe had only simple bands of color at the sleeves, collapsed in a faint.

“Why do they keep doing that?” Alec whispered to Nysander.

“I shall explain presently,” Nysander murmured. Leading the way along one of the fifth-floor walkways, he stopped at a heavy door.

“Welcome to my home,” he said. Opening the door for the litter bearers, the wizard motioned for Alec to preceed him.

Stepping in, Alec found himself in a narrow, tunnel-like space. Stacks of boxes, crates, and sheaves of parchment filled whatever space there was from floor to ceiling. A single, narrow pathway allowed access to the inner rooms; two people might have been able to squeeze past one another, but it would be at the risk of setting off an avalanche.

The room beyond, though cluttered, was bright and spacious by comparison. Looking up, Alec realized they were at the top of one of the corner towers. Colored only by the sun and sky above, the thick leaded panes of the dome were set in swirling patterns interspersed with complicated symbols.

The tower room was filled with an amazing collection of things, the complete order of which was probably known only to Nysander himself. Shelf upon shelf of books, racks of scrolls, hangings, diagrams, and charts covered every inch of wall space. More books were stacked in precarious piles on the floor and on the stairs that curved up to a walkway beneath the dome overhead.

Around the room stood three large worktables and a high desk. Two of the tables were hopelessly laden; among the general
clutter Alec noticed braziers, pots, covered jars, several skulls, and a small iron cage. On the third table a thick book lay open on a stand surrounded by a collection of fragile glass vessels and rods. The desk was also relatively clear, though a dusty formation of candle drippings cascaded to the floor from one corner of it where, over the years, one candle had been set into the guttering pool of its predecessor.

Hooks and nails had been driven in anywhere there seemed to be room, and from these were hung an array of things ranging from dried leaves and skins to a complete skeleton of something that was decidedly not human.