Luck in the Shadows (41 page)

“By the— Oh, damn!” Breaking his batten in two over his knee, Seregil tossed the pieces aside and inspected the jagged scratch on the boy’s neck.

“Sorry,” Alec repeated, staring over Seregil’s shoulder. “I turned again.”

“I’m not angry with you. As for that—” He motioned toward the fragments of the batten. “That’s just to break the bad luck.
‘Cursed be the weapon that tastes the blood of a friend.’ Let’s have a look at the rest of the damage.”

Alec tugged the sweat-soaked jerkin off over his head and Seregil inspected the bruises scattered darkly over his chest, arms, and ribs.

“That’s what I thought. Illior’s Fingers, we’re doing something wrong! You’ve caught on to everything else so quickly.”

“I don’t know,” Alec sighed, dropping into a chair. “I guess I’m hopeless as a swordsman.”

“Don’t say that,” Seregil chided. “Clean yourself up while I fetch lunch. I’ve an idea or two how we can help you.”

Seregil returned from the kitchen with a steaming platter of tiny roasted birds stuffed with cheese and currants and some darkly mottled mushrooms that looked vile and smelled delicious.

“Clear a spot, will you?” he puffed, resting the heavy tray on the corner of the dining table.

“Thank the Maker, something that lived on dry land,” Alec exclaimed hungrily, pushing books and rolls of parchment aside; Thryis had served another variety of raw shellfish the night before and he’d gone to bed hungry.

He had thrown on a clean shirt while Seregil was gone, neglecting in his haste to tuck it in or do up the lacings. The linen swirled loosely around his lean hips as he hurried to fetch cups from a shelf. His fair hair, properly trimmed at last, shone when he passed through a patch of sunlight.

Seregil caught himself staring and hastily turned his attention to the food.

“This isn’t going to be another lesson in manners, is it?” Alec asked, eyeing the array of eating utensils suspiciously as he reached for one of the tiny birds.

Seregil rapped him smartly over the knuckles with a spoon. “Yes it is. Now watch.”

“Why is all the food in Skala so hard to eat?” Alec groaned as Seregil demonstrated the tricky business of eating the tiny auroles without lifting them from the plate or disturbing the bones.

“I admit I’ve had Thryis make us some of the more difficult dishes, but if you master those, the rest will be simple,” Seregil
assured him with a grin. “You mustn’t underestimate the importance of such customs. Say you’ve managed to gain admittance to some lord’s house by posing as the son of an old comrade he knew in the wars. You’ve studied the battles, you know the names of all the pertinent generals, your accent is correct, and you’re dressed perfectly. The minute you reach out of turn into the common platter, or spear a fried eel with your knife, you’re under suspicion. Or imagine you’re trying to pass yourself off as a sailor down in the Lower City. If you mistakenly call for a wine that would cost a month’s wages, or eat your joint with fingers folded daintily back, it’s highly likely you’ll next be seen floating face down in the harbor.”

Chastened, Alec took up his spoon again and began picking at the bird before him. “But what about my sword training?”

“Ah, yes. Well, I suspect the problem may be more me than you.”

Alec eyed him skeptically. “Micum said you’re one of the best swordsmen he’s ever known!”

“That’s the problem. With me, it’s all here.” Seregil tapped a finger over his heart. “Swordplay comes as naturally to me as breathing; it always did. It’s all aggression and skill and intuition. So every time you drop your guard or turn your shoulder forward, I lunge in and exploit the mistake. All I’ve managed to do so far is make you doubt yourself. No, this is the one thing I can’t teach you. That’s why I’ve decided to send you out to Watermead.”

Alec looked up sharply. “But we’ve hardly—”

“I know, I know!” Seregil interrupted, hoping to forestall another argument over Alec being left out of his work. “It’s only for a week, and the rest of it can wait that long. I have to deliver Beka’s commissioning papers anyway, so we’ll ride out today.”

Just then a brisk rap sounded at the door, startling Alec.

“Don’t worry,” said Seregil. “Anyone who can still knock after climbing my stairs is a friend. That you, Nysander?”

“Good day to you both.” The scent of magic clung around the wizard as he strode in, though he was dressed in the same ordinary clothing he’d worn the day Alec had first seen him on the docks. “Ah, I see I am in time for one of Thryis’ excellent meals!”

Seregil raised a questioning eyebrow. “I thought we were to meet tonight?”

“In truth, I have rather missed seeing Alec. You have been keeping him very busy. Unfortunately, that is not my only reason for coming. I should like your opinion on this.”

Drawing a small scroll tube from his pocket, he handed it to Seregil. A wax seal still dangled from one of the ribbons tied around it.

“It’s one of mine,” Seregil remarked in surprise, examining the seal. His look of puzzlement deepened as he extracted a sheet of creamy vellum from the tube and glanced over it. “This is a note I wrote to Baron Lycenias last spring, thanking him for a week’s hunting at his estate. You sent me there yourself, remember? That business about Lady Northil.”

“I suggest you read it over carefully.”

“Let’s see; the crest is in order, and it’s dated the third day of Lithion. That should be right. ‘My Dear Lycenias í Marron, allow me to again proffer my heartfelt thanks for a most enjoyable—’ Yes, yes, the usual rubbish; fine hunting, laudable companionship, what a—”

He broke off with an incredulous laugh. “Bilairy’s Balls, Nysander! It appears I’m thanking him for several nights of
carnal
pleasure, as well. As if I’d take on that reeking tub of guts!”

“Keep reading; it gets worse.”

Seregil read on, eyes flashing indignantly, but an instant later he went pale. Carrying the letter to the window, he inspected it closely, then reread it.

“What’s wrong?” Alec demanded.

“This isn’t good.” Seregil tugged at a stray strand of hair as he studied the note. “For all intents and purposes, this is my handwriting, right down to the great flourish connecting the final word of the letter to my signature—which I always do to prevent exactly what has somehow happened here.”

“Someone’s changed what it says?”

“They certainly have. ‘Regarding Tarin Dhial, you may rest assured of my complete support.’ No, this isn’t good at all!”

“I don’t understand. What’s wrong?” Alec said, turning to Nysander.

“Tarin Dhial is an encrypted form of the name of a Plenimaran spy caught buying information from several Skalan nobles,” Nysander explained. “They were all executed as traitors two months ago.”

“Argragil and Mortain,” said Seregil, nodding thoughtfully.
“Both guests of Lycenias that same week I was there. I had no idea what they were up to at the time! I suppose you’ve checked this for magic?”

“Not a trace. Unless you can prove forgery, this could be most damaging.”

“But how did you come into possession of it?”

“It was sent anonymously to Lord Barien this morning.”

“The
Vicegerent
?”

“Oh, yes. Fortunately I have several Watchers among his staff. One of them recognized your seal and waylaid the document before it was seen. There may be other copies, however. I shudder to contemplate the colossal scandal that could arise should one of these fall into the wrong hands. Such embarrassment for the Queen is unthinkable, a perfect coup for the Lerans!”

Unnoticed by the others, Alec looked up sharply at this last comment, then stole a quick glance at Seregil’s face. Certain suspicions he’d been nursing for some time were beginning to take clearer shape.

“There are only three forgers capable of this quality,” Seregil mused. “Fortunately, two of them are right here in the city. It shouldn’t take long to find out if they’re involved. I’ve already tried to tie them into the Vardarus business with no success. Still, for something as large as this, I can’t imagine the Lerans going too far afield. They’re better organized than usual but probably still fiercely insular. That’s always been their undoing in the past.”

“I shall leave it to you for the time being,” said Nysander, standing to go. “Keep me closely informed and if things should turn ugly, depend on me to remove you from harm’s way. Farewell, Alec.”

“If things turn ugly for me, then you’ll have problems of your own!” Seregil warned, accompanying him to the door.

“Seregil? Is all this because you’re Aurënfaie?” Alec blurted out suddenly.

Thunderstruck, Seregil turned to stare at him. “Where did you hear that?”

“You mean after all this time you
still
had not told him?” exclaimed Nysander, equally shocked.

“Then it’s true?” Alec was grinning now.

“Actually, I was waiting for him to figure it out for himself,” Seregil countered, shifting uncomfortably under Nysander’s
displeased gaze. “Well done, Alec. I’m just surprised it took you so long.”

“Indeed?” Nysander said, giving him a last dark look. “Then the two of you have
much
to discuss. I shall leave you to it. Farewell!”

Returning to the table, Seregil sank his head in his hands. “Really, Alec. Of all the moments to choose!”

“I’m sorry,” Alec said, coloring hotly. “It just came out.”

“Who told you? Thryis? Cilla? Someone at the Orëska?”

“I figured it out myself, just now,” Alec admitted. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense. The way your friends speak of you, all the stories—after a while I began to wonder how someone so young could have done so much. I mean, looking at you I’d say you were no more than twenty-five, but Micum’s older than that and he spoke once of meeting you when he was a young man, so you must be a lot older than you look. Once I figured that out, then things you’d told me or refused to tell me came back and I started wondering even more. Like why half the books here are written in Aurënfaie—”

“How in the world did you know that?”

“Nysander showed me some Aurënfaie writing while we were staying at the Orëska House. I can’t read it, but I recognize the characters. I’ve had plenty of time to poke around, you know, all these nights you’ve been gone.”

“Very enterprising of you,” said Seregil, wincing a bit as the barb struck home. “But why didn’t you ask earlier?”

“I still wasn’t sure until Nysander said it would be a terrible scandal if the Lerans could make you out to be a traitor. Micum and Nysander both said you’re related to the Queen. The best thing for the Lerans would be if a relative of the Queen who is also a friend to her daughter, former apprentice to her favorite wizard, and an Aurënfaie was caught selling information to the Plenimarans.”

Alec hesitated. “You’re not angry, are you? I’m sorry I just blurted it out like that in front of Nysander but suddenly it was all—”

“Angry?” Seregil laughed, raising his head at last. “Alec, you constantly exceed my highest expectations!”

“Except at swordplay.”

“But we’ve settled that. Go on now. Pack whatever you think you’ll want.” Jumping up, Seregil headed for his room. “I’ve got
an extra saddle somewhere. And be sure to take your bow. Beka’s quite an archer herself.”

“You’re not still sending me away?” exclaimed Alec, crestfallen.

“And why wouldn’t I?”

“With everything Nysander just told you? How can we just ride off like that with you in trouble?”

“I can be back in town by tomorrow evening.”

“So you’re getting me out of the way!”

Going to Alec, Seregil clasped him gently by the back of the neck and looked earnestly into his eyes. “This is dangerous work. How can I concentrate on the task at hand if I’m constantly worrying about losing you down some dark alley during a chase? I won’t feel right taking you along until I think you have some way of protecting yourself. That’s why it’s so important for you to learn to use your sword. Go to Micum; learn from him. He can teach you more in a week than I could in half a year, I promise.”

“You never thought I was so helpless before we got to Rhíminee,” Alec grumbled, trying to pull away.

Seregil tightened his grip slightly, holding him in place. “Oh, you’re anything but helpless, my friend. We both know that.” Releasing him, he added, “But trust me when I tell you that you haven’t yet seen the Rhíminee I know.”

“But what about the Lerans? Can you leave with all that going on?”

“That letter was delivered this morning, so it will be at least a day or two before they begin to guess that it’s missing. Even then, I doubt they’ll act right away.”

“Why not? If they have another copy they could just deliver it to someone else.”

“They won’t do anything until they learn what happened to the first copy, and that’s not going to happen until
I’m
ready to let them,” Seregil assured him with a grim smile. “Now go get packed. The day’s half over already and we still have to buy you a horse!”

T
he livestock marketplace lay just outside the city walls by the Harvest Market gate. Mounted on a borrowed horse, Alec looked around eagerly as they rode among the horse traders’ enclosures there.

“That’s who we want,” Seregil said, pointing out a woman in a dusty riding kirtle and boots. At the moment she was engaged in a heated discussion with several of her fellows beside one of the corrals. Dismounting, Seregil led Scrub over and joined the circle of conversation. The trader nodded to him and hooked a thumb at a large wooden building a few hundred yards away.

“Damn fool thing to do,” she grumbled. “Look at my poor beauties, what it does to them!”

“The new Butcher’s Hall, you mean?” asked Seregil, wrinkling his nose. A faint breeze carried the sickly sweet smell of the place and the cries of ravens and gulls fighting over the piles of discarded entrails in the pits beyond the slaughterhouse:

Leaning on the upper rail of the corral, the horse trader watched her horses stamping nervously as they scented the wind. “We’ve petitioned before to have a market of our own, farther away from the damned butchers, but the Council can’t be bothered with us, it
seems! Cows, pigs, sheep; they’re too dim to mind the smell of blood if they was swimming in it. But my poor beauties there—look at ’em! How am I supposed to show you a steady beast when they’ve all got that stench up their noses?”