Luck in the Shadows (6 page)

“They should have been. The wizards of Skala were at the height of their powers then, too. Even the drysians were enlisted to the fight and, as I’m sure you can imagine, they are a force to be reckoned with when they want to be. Some old ballads speak of Plenimaran necromancers and armies of walking dead that could be driven back only by the strongest magicks. Whether or not these tales are true, it was the most terrible war ever fought.”

“And Plenimar didn’t win?”

“No, but they came close. In the spring of the fifteenth year of the war, Hierophant Estmar was killed; this sundered the Three Lands forever. Luckily, the black ships of Aurënen sailed
through the Straits of Bal just after this and attacked at Benshâl, while the Aurënfaie army and their wizards joined the fighting at Cirna. Whether it was by magic or simply the force of fresh troops, the power of Plenimar was finally broken. At the Battle of Isil, Krycopt, the first Plenimaran ruler to call himself Overlord, was killed by the Skalan queen, Ghërilain the First.”

“Hold on!” Reaching into his purse, Alec brought out the silver coin. “Is this her, the woman on the coin?”

“No, that’s Idrilain the Second, the present queen.”

Alec turned the coin over and pointed to the crescent and flame symbols. “And what do these mean?”

“The crescent stands for Illior; the flame above is for Sakor. Together they form the crest of Skala.”

Skala!
thought Alec as he tucked the coin away.
Well at least I know now where you’re from
.

T
heir third morning on the Downs dawned clear.

Seregil woke first. It had snowed heavily the night before. Luckily, Alec had spotted an abandoned burrow just before sunset and they’d spent the night inside. The hole still stank of its former inhabitants, but it was large enough for the two of them to stretch out in. With the pack and Seregil’s saddle jammed in the opening as a windbreak, they’d managed to keep warm for the first time since they’d come onto the Downs.

Cramped but warm, Seregil was tempted to let Alec’s soft, even breathing lull him back to sleep. Looking down at him as he slept, he examined the planes of the boy’s face.

Am I only seeing what I want to see?
he wondered silently, feeling again the instinctual twinge of recognition. But there would be time for all that later; for now he had to concentrate on Wolde.

Giving Alec a nudge, he wriggled out of the burrow. Golden pink light washed across the unbroken expanse of snow surrounding them, its brightness dazzling after several days of sullen weather.

The horses were pawing at the snow in search of forage and Seregil’s belly growled sympathetically at the sight; tired as he was of
tough sausage and old cheese, this morning’s scant breakfast would exhaust the last of the food.

“Thank the Maker for a sight of the sun!” Alec exclaimed, crawling out behind him.

“Thank Sakor, you mean,” yawned Seregil, pushing his hair back from his eyes. “Of the Four—Oh, hell, it’s too early for philosophy. Do you think we’ll make Wolde today?”

Alec peered hard to the south, then nodded. “Before sundown, I’d say.”

Seregil waded over to the horses and scratched his bay under the forelock. “Oats for you tonight, my friends, and a hot bath and supper for me. If our guide’s worth his silver, that is.”

Seregil was uncharacteristically quiet as they rode along that morning. When they stopped to rest the horses at midday, however, Alec sensed something was up. Seregil had that same bemused look about him that Alec remembered seeing when he’d offered to rescue him from Asengai’s keep, as if he wasn’t certain what he was about to do was the wisest move.

“The other night I joked about an apprenticeship for you,” he said over his shoulder as he adjusted his saddle girth. “What do you think of the idea?”

Alec looked at him in surprise. “As a bard, you mean?”

“Perhaps apprenticeship isn’t exactly the right term. I’m not a guildsman of any sort, much less a bard. But you’re quick and smart. There’s a lot I could teach you.”

“Like what?” Alec asked, a little wary now but interested.

Seregil hesitated a moment, as if sizing him up, then said, “I specialize in the acquisition of goods and information.”

Alec’s heart sank. “You’re a thief.”

“I’m nothing of the sort!” Seregil frowned. “At least not in the sense you mean.”

“Then what?” Alec demanded. “A spy like that Juggler fellow you killed?”

Seregil grinned. “I’d be insulted if I thought you knew what you were talking about. Let’s just say for the moment that I’m acting as an agent of sorts, engaged by an eminently respectable gentleman to collect information regarding certain unusual occurrences here in the north. Discretion prevents me from saying
more, but I assure you the goal is noble—even if my methods don’t always seem so.”

Hidden somewhere in his companion’s suddenly high-flown, convoluted discourse, Alec suspected he’d just admitted to being a spy after all. Worse, he had nothing but Seregil’s word that what he was telling, or half telling him, was the truth. Still, the fact remained that Seregil had rescued him when he could more easily have left him behind, and had since offered him nothing but friendship.

“I imagine you’re already fairly skilled in tracking and that sort of thing,” Seregil went on casually. “You say you’re a fair shot with a bow, and you made good use of that ax, now that I think of it. Can you handle a sword?”

“No, but—”

“No matter, you’d learn quickly enough, with the right teacher. I know just the man. Then, of course, there’d be palming, etiquette, lock work; disguise, languages, heraldry, fighting—I don’t suppose you can read?”

“I know the runes,” Alec retorted, though in truth he could only make out his own name and a few words.

“No, no, I meant proper writing.”

“Hold on, now,” cried Alec, overwhelmed. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful—you’ve saved my life and all, but—”

Seregil waved this aside impatiently. “Given the circumstances of your capture, getting you out of there seemed the least I could do. But now I’m talking about what
you
want, Alec, beyond tomorrow, beyond next week. Honestly, do you really mean to spend the rest of your life mucking out stalls for some fat innkeeper in Wolde?”

Alec hesitated. “I don’t know. I mean, hunting and trapping, it’s all the life I’ve known.”

“All the more reason to give it up, then!” Seregil declared, his grey eyes alight with enthusiasm. “How old did you say you are?”

“Sixteen.”

“And you’ve never seen a dragon.”

“You know I haven’t.”

“Well, I have,” Seregil said, swinging up into the saddle again.

“You said there weren’t any more dragons!”

“I said there weren’t any more in Skala. I’ve seen them flying under a full moon in winter. I’ve danced at the great Festival of
Sakor and tasted the wines of Zengat, and heard mermaids singing in the mists of dawn. I’ve walked the halls of a palace built in a time beyond memory and felt the touch of the first inhabitants against my skin. I’m not talking legend or imagination, Alec, I’ve done all of that, and more than I have breath to tell.”

Alec rode along in silence, overwhelmed with half-realized images.

“You said you couldn’t imagine yourself as anything more than what you’ve been,” Seregil went on, “but I say you’ve just never had the chance to try. I’m offering you that chance. Ride south with me after Wolde, and see how much world there is beyond your forests.”

“But the stealing part—”

Seregil’s crooked grin held no trace of remorse. “Oh, I admit I’ve cut a purse or two in my time, and some of what I do could be called stealing depending on who you ask, but try to imagine the challenge of overcoming incredible obstacles to accomplish a noble purpose. Think of traveling to lands where legends walk the streets in daylight and even the color of the sea is like nothing you’ve ever seen! I ask you again, would you be plain Alec of Kerry all your life, or would you see what lies beyond?”

“But is it an honest living?” Alec persisted, clinging to his last shred of resolve.

“Most of those who employ me are great lords or nobles.”

“It sounds like a pretty dangerous line of work,” Alec remarked, aware that Seregil had once again side-stepped the question.

“That’s the spice of it, though,” cried Seregil. “And you can end up rich!”

“Or at the end of a rope?”

Seregil chuckled. “Have it your way.”

Alec gnawed absently at a thumbnail, his brow creased in thought. “All right, then,” he said at last. “I want to come with you, but first you’ve got to give me a few straight answers.”

“It’s against my nature, but I’ll try.”

“This war you spoke of, the one that’s coming. Which side are you on?”

Seregil let out a long sigh. “Fair enough. My sympathies lie with Skala, but for your safety and mine, that’s as much as I’ll say on the matter for now.”

Alec shook his head. “The Three Lands are so far away. It’s hard to believe their wars could reach us here.”

“People will do quite a lot for gold and land, and there’s precious little of either left in the south, especially in Plenimar.”

“And you’re going to stop them?”

“Hardly,” scoffed Seregil. “But I may be of some help to those who can. Anything else?”

“After Wolde, where would we go?”

“Well, home to Rhíminee ultimately, though first—”

“What?” Alec’s eyes widened. “You mean to say that you live
there
? In the city where the wizards are?”

“What do you say?”

Some small, final doubt held Alec back a moment longer. Looking Seregil in the eye, he asked, “Why?”

Seregil raise one eyebrow, perplexed. “Why what?”

“You hardly know me. Why do you want me to come with you?”

“Who knows? Perhaps you remind me just a bit of—”

“Someone you used to know?” Alec interjected skeptically.

“Someone I used to
be.
” The crooked grin flashed again as Seregil pulled off his right glove and extended his hand across to Alec. “So it’s settled?”

“I guess so.” Alec was surprised to catch a glimpse of what looked like relief in his companion’s eyes as they clasped hands. It was gone in an instant and Seregil quickly moved on to new plans.

“There are a few details to take care of before we reach town. How well known are you in Wolde?”

“My father and I always stayed in the trader’s quarter,” replied Alec. “We generally put up at the Green Bough. Except for the landlord, though, most of the people we knew wouldn’t be there this time of year.”

“Just the same, there’s no use taking chances. We’ll need a reason for you to be traveling with Aren Windover. Here’s a lesson for you; give me three reasons why Alec the Hunter would be in the company of a bard.”

“Well, I guess I could tell how you rescued me and—”

“No, no, that won’t do at all!” Seregil interrupted. “First of all, I don’t want it known that I—or rather Aren—was anywhere near Asengai. Besides, I make it a rule never, never,
never
to use
the truth unless it’s the last possible option or so outlandish that nobody would believe you anyway. Keep that in mind.”

“All right then,” said Alec. “I could say I was attacked by bandits and you—”

Seregil shook his head, motioning for Alec to continue.

Alec fidgeted with the reins, sorting through various inspirations. “Well, I know it’s sort of the truth, but people would believe that you hired me as a guide. Father and I hired out sometimes.”

“Not bad. Go on.”

“Or”—Alec turned to his companion with a triumphant grin—“perhaps Aren has taken me on as
his
apprentice!”

“Not bad, for a first effort,” Seregil conceded. “The rescue story was very good, actually. Loyalty to one who saves your life is well understood and seldom questioned. Unfortunately Aren’s reputation is such that nobody would believe it. I’m afraid he’s a bit of a coward. The guide story, however, is seriously flawed. Aren Windover is a well-known figure in the Woldesoke; if bards make their living as wanderers, why would he need to engage a guide in the territory he’s familiar with?”

“Oh.” Alec nodded, a bit crestfallen.

“But the apprentice idea should do nicely. Luckily, you can sing. But can you think like a bard?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, suppose you’re in a tavern on the highroad. What sort of customers would you have?”

“Traders, wagoneers, soldiers.”

“Excellent! And suppose there’s a great deal of drinking going on and a song is called for. What would you choose?”

“Well, probably something like the ‘The Lay of Araman.’ ”

“A good choice. And why?”

“Well, it’s about fighting and honor; the soldiers would like that. And it’s widely known, so everyone could join in. And it has a good refrain.”

“Well done! Aren’s used that song many times, and for just those reasons. Now suppose yourself a minstrel in a lord’s hall, performing for fat barons and their ladies.”

“Maybe ‘Lillia and the Rose’? There’s nothing coarse in it.”

Laughing, Seregil leaned across to clap Alec on the shoulder. “Perhaps you should take Aren on as apprentice! I don’t suppose you play an instrument?”

“Afraid not.”

“Oh well. Aren will just have to apologize for your green skills.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon extending Alec’s repertoire as they rode along.

By late afternoon the Downs gave way to the rough, sloping terrain of the Brythwin River valley. In the distance they could make out the squares of bare fields and distant farmsteads that marked the boundary of the Woldesoke district. The river itself, a black, tree-fringed line far below, flowed into Blackwater Lake several miles east of the waterfront town. Bordered along its northern shore by the great Lake Wood, the shimmering expanse of water stretched unbroken to the far horizon.

“You say the Gathwayd Ocean is bigger than that?” asked Alec, shading his eyes. He’d hunted along the Lake’s shores all his life and couldn’t imagine anything larger.