Luck in the Shadows

by Lynn Flewelling

  “Fetch it, but cover your actions. Make it look like I’m dying and you’re starting to panic.”

  “Lure him down to finish us off, you mean?”

  “Exactly, though there’ll be more than one of them, I suspect. Let them believe they’re up against a distraught boy and a dying man. Reach in my boot. Is my poniard still there?”

  “It’s there.”

  “Then I’m not completely fangless, anyway. Go on now, we may not have much time.”

  Alec slid back down to the road, expecting every moment to feel an arrow strike him between the shoulder blades. Doing his best to act panicked, he kept his sword concealed beneath his blanket roll as he carried it and a water skin back to Seregil.

  Badly battered as Seregil was, he seemed to have escaped with no broken bones. With the sun sinking into the sea in front of them, they settled down to wait. Alec hunkered down with his back to the cliff, his sword unsheathed and hidden against his outstretched leg. Seregil lay propped up slightly, dagger in hand beneath the blanket.

  They hadn’t long to wait. As the last ospreys winged off to their nests, they heard the sound of hooves against stone. Riders were approaching from the expected direction, beyond the curve of the road to their left.

  A moment later two men rode into sight, coming on at a steady walk. Studying them in the red sunset light, Alec could see that they were hard-faced characters in rough traveling garb. One was lean, with ragged, greying hair and a long, somber face. His companion was round and red-faced, his shiny bald pate fringed with curly brown hair.

  “This will be them,” Seregil murmured beside him. “Play your role well, my friend. I doubt we’ll have more than one chance.”

  The riders made no pretense as to their intentions. Reaching the edge of the slide, they dismounted and drew swords.

  “How’s your friend, boy?” The bald one asked, leering up at him.

  “He’s dying, you rotten son of bitch! Can’t you leave him in peace?” Alec spat back, letting some genuine fear show in his voice.

  “Wouldn’t be kind to let him linger, now would it, lad?” the other replied placidly. He had the same air of dispassionate assurance Alec had seen in Micum Cavish; this was a killer who knew his business. “And then there’s the matter of you, isn’t there?”

  “What do you want with us?” Alec quavered, tightening his grip on his sword hilt.

  “I’ve nothing against you or your friend,” the greying man replied, taking a step up the pile. “But there are those who don’t like having their business nosed into. Now be a good lad and I’ll make a quick job of it. You’ll be dead before you know it.”

  “I don’t want to be dead!” Alec rose and threw a rock at the men with his left hand. They ducked it easily and Alec backed away as if to bolt.

  “Get the other one, Trake,” the grey man ordered, pointing to Seregil who still lay as if dying. “I’ll take the whelp here.”

  Alec moved back a few steps, then froze like a frightened hare. Waiting until his assailant was within sword’s reach, he grabbed up the blade and struck at him.

  At the critical instant, the loose skree underfoot spoiled his lunge for a killing thrust, but he still managed to hit the fellow hard enough across the ribs to knock him off balance. Scrambling awkwardly, he tried to strike at Alec, but instead fell and tumbled heavily almost to the cliff’s edge.

  Just then a strangled cry rang out behind Alec, but he didn’t dare look back. His opponent had already regained his footing and was starting back up after him.

  “Full of tricks, are you?” he glowered. “I’ll tie you with your own guts, boy, and ram that—”

  Alec was overmatched and he knew it. Hardly pausing to think, he snatched up another fist-sized stone and threw it. It struck the assassin in the forehead. Stunned, the man pitched backward and slid down to the cliff’s edge again. He might have stopped there if his fall hadn’t dislodged more rocks. With a grinding rumble, an entire section of the pile gave way just below where Alec stood, sweeping the swordsman over the edge.

  Flailing desperately, Alec came down hard on his back and slid feet first toward death. Too terrified to cry out, he stared helplessly up at the fiery sky, knowing it was the last thing he’d ever see.

  Suddenly a strong hand grasped his left shoulder. Clutching at it, Alec slid a few yards farther before coming to a stop with his feet jutting out into empty air. Scarcely daring to breathe, he looked up and saw Seregil stretched spread-eagle on his belly above him, face white with dust or fear.

  Don’t move! Seregil mouthed. Then, in the faintest whisper, “Roll sideways, toward the horses. We’re only a few feet from level ground. Mind your sword. Try not to lose it if you can help it.”

  Loose stone shifted treacherously beneath them as they clung together and slowly rolled toward the narrow strip of bare roadway cleared by the last slide. They reached it just as another layer of the pile let go. Hauling each other to their feet, they scrambled forward to safety as another great jumble of stone careened off over the cliff, carrying with it the body of the other assassin, whom Seregil had taken by surprise at the beginning of the attack.

  Still clutching each other by the arm, they turned to watch the last stones plummet over the edge.

  “I don’t know how many times a day I can stand to watch you almost die,” Seregil gasped.

  “Twice is my limit,” croaked Alec, sinking to his knees. As he glanced back at what had nearly been the scene of his death, however, he caught the glint of metal near the top of the remaining rubble. “Seregil, look there. Do you see it?”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Seregil limped back to the rocks and gently worked his battered sword free. The hilt was scarred and missing a quillon, but the scabbard had protected the blade from serious damage.

  “Aura elthë!” he cried, not bothering to conceal his relief. “My grandfather gave me this sword when I was younger than you. That last slide must have uncovered it. Two fresh horses and now this! It seems our two recently departed visitors did us almost as much good as harm.”

  37

  BACKTRACKING

  Seregil led the way as they rode into the yard at Watermead early the next morning. Micum was there among his hounds.

  “Back already?” the big man said, looking up. His grin faded, however, as he got a closer look at them. “What the hell happened to you two?”

  “We attracted some attention up in Cirna,” answered Seregil, dismounting stiffly and limping inside.

  “We got ambushed on the way back,” Alec explained. “I think they were assassins.”

  “You think?”

  Seregil raised a wry eyebrow. “We didn’t have much time for conversation, but I suspect he’s right. Chances are I’ve been watched ever since Thero came out of the Tower with my body.”

  “I thought I heard familiar voices!” called Kari, looking noticeably wan as she came out of her chamber into the main hall. “Seregil, you’re hurt! Let me get my herbs.”

  “I’m fine,” he assured her, easing down on a bench by the fire. “We slept at a garrison station last night. Their surgeon patched me up. I could do with a hot soak, though.”

  “I’ll have Arna put some birch catkins and arnica leaves in the water to draw out the hurt. Some willow bark tea wouldn’t do you any harm, either.”

  “She looks peaked,” observed Seregil. “Been sick, has she?”

  “Not sick, exactly,” Micum replied, avoiding his friend’s eye. “More like—unwell.”

  Seregil studied Micum’s expression for an instant, then broke into a knowing grin. “I know that look. She’s pregnant again, isn’t she?”

  “Well—”

  “Oh, go on and tell them,” she said, returning with a pair of mugs. “It’s no use you trying to keep anything from him!”

  “You are, then?” exclaimed Seregil. “Bilairy’s Balls, Micum, how long have you known?”

  “She told me when I came home the other day. Baby’s due at late summe
r, Maker willing.”

  “Maker willing,” Kari repeated, pressing her palms to her apron front. “It doesn’t always go well with me at the best of times, and I’m old now for bearing. I hadn’t thought to be with child again, but Dalna must have seen we’d have room for one more.” She smiled pensively. “Perhaps this time we’ve made a son. They say a boy makes you sicker in the first months.”

  “Poor thing’s been vomiting morning and night,” Micum explained, rising to slip a supportive arm around her waist.

  “And I’m not feeling too pert just now,” Kari sighed. “I’d better lie down again. The girls won’t be troubling you. They’re away for the day.”

  Micum helped Kari into her chamber and closed the door. When he returned, Seregil made a show of figuring back.

  “My, my. Late summer, is it? That must have been quite a homecoming, back in Erasin.”

  “Better than you got, I’ll warrant. If only she can hang on to this one, I wouldn’t mind having another little one underfoot.”

  “Hang on to?” asked Alec.

  “Oh, yes.” Micum nodded sadly. “She’s miscarried as many babies as she’s brought to birth. The last time was a year or so after Illia was born. It always happens in the first few months, and leaves her sick for weeks afterward. We’re not out of the danger season yet, you see, and it’s a great worry to her. But let’s get back to you two. What did they use on you, fuller’s bats?”

  “Rock slide,” Seregil replied, serious again. “Two men caught us at a narrow place on the cliffs. We got out, but I lost Scrub.”

  “That’s a damned shame! He was a good old thing. But who were they?”

  “We never had a chance to find out. We killed them both defending ourselves and lost the bodies over the cliff. But before that, one of them told Alec that they’d been sent by someone who didn’t like us poking around in their business. This was after we’d finished in Cirna and found a link to Lady Kassarie.”

  Showing Micum the manifest, they quickly outlined what they’d discovered.

  “That does seem to bring us right back to Kassarie,” Micum agreed. “Do you think she tumbled to Alec that day?”

  “I doubt it. At that point, I was still officially in prison and everything appeared to be going according to her plan. I hate to admit it, but they must have kept track of me after my ‘release’ from the Tower.”

  “What’s your next step?”

  “We’ve got to go back to the keep,” said Alec. “We can’t give her time to realize her hired killers have disappeared.”

  “That’s a fact,” said Micum. “What do you think, Seregil? Will the Queen give you a raiding party, or will she just order Kassarie’s arrest?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. The greatest danger lies in forewarning her. You’ve seen how that keep is placed; it’s a fortress! She’d see an armed force coming miles away and have plenty of time to escape or do away with any incriminating evidence.”

  “That’s true,” Micum concurred, looking down at the fire.

  It suddenly occurred to Seregil that Micum hadn’t once offered to come. He’s needed here, he thought with a pang of the old resentment. Still, he knew Micum too well not to read the conflict in his friend’s face, and it hurt to see it.

  “Quick and quiet’s the best way,” he went on, giving no hint of his own feelings. “With any luck, Alec and I can get in and out again before anyone’s the wiser. That servant girl is the key, if Alec can romance her.”

  “Just the two of you?”

  “You and Nysander will know where we are,” said Seregil. “I don’t want it to go any further than that. We’ve had enough trouble with spies as it is.”

  • • •

  Stopping just long enough for a bath and a hasty meal, Seregil and Alec were ready to move on by noon. Micum disappeared while they were harrassing the horses they’d left there on the way to Cirna. He returned with a longsword.

  “It’s not so fine as yours, of course,” he said, handing it to Seregil, “but it will do until yours is mended. I’ll be easier in my mind, knowing you’re armed.”

  Seregil ran his hand down the flat of the blade and smiled. “I remember this one. We brought it back for Beka from the Oronto raid.”

  “The very one.” Micum looked down at the sword, his discomfort more evident than ever. “You know, I suppose I could—”

  Seregil cut him short with a farewell embrace. “Stay put, my friend,” he admonished, speaking softly against Micum’s shoulder. “It’s just a bit of fancy burglary. You know you’re no use at that.”

  “Take care of yourselves then,” Micum said gruffly. “And have Nysander send me word, you hear?”

  “I hear!” Laughing, Seregil swung up in the saddle. “Come on, Alec, before old Grandfather here worries himself grey!”

  As they rode into the Orëska gardens, a familiar deep voice hailed them from the direction of the oak grove. Reining in, Seregil saw Hwerlu cantering out to meet them.

  “Greetings, friends!” the centaur boomed. “It’s been many days since you’ve visited me. I trust all is well with you?”

  “Tolerably,” replied Seregil, anxious to be off again. “We’re just here long enough to see Nysander, actually.”

  “But you’ve missed him by a day.”

  “Missed him?” Alec asked. “You mean he’s not here?”

  “No, he and young Thero accompanied Lady Magyana to another city. Some place on the southern coast, I think.”

  “Damn!” muttered Seregil. “Come on, Wethis will know.”

  “They’ve gone to Port Ayrie with Lady Magyana,” the young servant told them. “They shouldn’t be gone more than a few days, though. You can put up here until he returns, if you like.”

  “Thanks, but we can’t wait.” Seregil pulled out the worn manifest and handed it to Wethis with a hastily scrawled note. “See that he gets this and tell him to contact Micum. Tell him I don’t expect to be gone more than a few days myself.”

  Leaving their Aurënfaie horses at the Orëska, they set off for the Cockerel.

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Nysander?” asked Alec dubiously. “You told Micum we’d speak to him first.”

  “The longer we wait, the more chance there is that Kassarie will get suspicious and put up extra defenses.”

  “I guess so, but it still leaves just you and me—”

  “Illior’s Fingers, Alec, it’s just a simple matter of housebreaking, even if it is a keep. We’ll probably get back before Nysander does.”

  Slipping quietly up the back stairs at the inn, they spent the night in their old rooms and set off the next morning in disguise. Alec wore the same apprentice garb he’d used on their first visit to Kassarie’s; Seregil was well muffled in the guise of a one-eyed traveling minstrel. Both carried daggers at their belts, but their swords and Alec’s dismantled bow were wrapped out of sight among the gear.

  “This all hinges on you, you know,” Seregil reminded Alec as they rode along. “It could take a couple of days of wooing before she agrees to let you in.”

  “If she does at all,” Alec replied uneasily. “What do I say?”

  Seregil gave him a knowing wink. “With a face like yours, I doubt conversation will be the central issue. From what you saw of her last time, I’d say our Stamie is a restless little bird, only too ready to spread her wings. The offer of freedom may be all the charm we need. It’s her fear I’m worried about. That’s a suspicious, tight-run household, and she may not dare risk her own skin on your behalf. If that’s the case, then you’ll have to play the lover for all you’re worth.”

  “Which may not be much,” Alec muttered.

  “Illior’s Fingers, you’re not so bloodless as all that, are you?” Seregil teased. “Use a little imagination and let things run their course. These matters have a way of directing themselves, you know.”

  Reaching the road that led up the gorge, they kept to the trees and climbed into the hills overlooking the keep. They left t
heir horses tethered well out of earshot of the tower sentries and made their final approach on foot. Climbing up the tall fir tree they’d used on their first reconnaissance, they surveyed the keep.

  There appeared to be the usual sort of bustle in the courtyard. A groom was currying a fine horse by the stables, and from somewhere below the walls came the sound of a workman’s chisel against stone. Presently the kitchen door swung open and Stamie came out with a bucket yoke across her narrow shoulders. Eyes to the ground, she disappeared around the corner of the main building.

  “Look there!” whispered Seregil, spying a small postern gate near the kitchen. From it, a well-trodden path wound off into the forest; it would be as simple as lying by a deer track, waiting for their prey to come by.

  “Look at what?” asked Alec.

  “There, that small door in the wall, near the cliffs. Lean this way and fix your eye on the ruined tower, then bring your gaze down past—”

  Seregil broke off, startled by a sudden realization. Gripping Alec by the arm, he whispered excitedly, “The tower! What’s wrong with that tower?”

  “Lightning, probably,” Alec whispered back. “Looks like it happened years ago and—”

  He stopped, slowly mirroring his companion’s sharp, hungry grin.

  “And what?” prompted Seregil.

  “And they never repaired it.”

  “Which is pretty damned strange because—”

  “Because they employ some of the best masons in Skala,” finished Alec. “I knew we’d missed something before, but I just couldn’t see it!”

  Seregil gazed at the tower with a wry grin. “There it is, right in front of us. Whatever we’re here to find, I bet my best horse it’s around there somewhere. All we have to do is get inside.”

  “Which we can’t do until Stamie comes out. Maybe we should’ve waited for Nysander after all.”

  “Patience, Alec. A good hunter like you knows how to lie in wait for his quarry!”

  “You’re feeling guilty over not going with them, aren’t you?” Kari demanded, lying close to Micum in the darkness of their bedchamber. She knew the signs; in the two days since Seregil’s departure, Micum had grown increasingly restless and absentminded. Today he’d wandered from one small task to another without accomplishing anything.