Stalking Darkness

by Lynn Flewelling

  A deep groan came from behind him, and he turned to find Kari sagging against the stone watering trough near the stable. Her face was white, and the front of her shift was wet to the hem.

  “Oh, Dalna!” he gasped, dropping the cheese as he hurried to her. “Is it the baby? Is it coming now?”

  “Too early and too fast! I should have realized—” Kari grabbed his arm, digging her fingers painfully into his wrist as another spasm took her.

  She was a tall woman and too heavy with child for him to carry. Getting an arm around her waist, he supported her as best he could to the front door. It was still barred and he kicked at it, shouting for help.

  The door opened at last. Elsbet and several servants helped bring her inside.

  Beyond them, Micum limped from his bedchamber. “What is it?” he demanded anxiously, catching sight of Kari in the midst of the commotion.

  “It’s the baby,” Alec told him.

  “I’ll go for a midwife!” Seregil offered, halfway to the door already.

  “No time,” Kari gasped. “My women can help me. We’ve delivered a whole house full of babies between us. Stay with Micum, you and Alec both. I want you with him! Elsbet, Illia, come to me!”

  Arna and the other woman helped their mistress into her chamber and closed the door firmly, leaving the men stranded in the hall.

  “She’s not so young as she was,” Micum said, lowering himself shakily down into a chair by the fire. Kari let out a cry of pain in the next room and he went pale.

  “She’ll be all right,” Seregil told him, although he was looking a bit green himself. “And it’s not so early for the child. She was due in the next few weeks anyway.”

  They sat exchanging uneasy glances as her cries echoed through the house. Servants drifted in and out, listening nervously. Even the hounds refused to be put out and lay whining at their feet. At last Seregil fetched his harp and played to soothe them all.

  A final straining groan rang out just before noon, followed by a thin wail and exclamations of delight from the women. Micum pushed himself up as old Arna emerged beaming from the birthing room.

  “Oh, Master Micum!” she cried, wiping her hands on a towel. “He’s the sweetest little redheaded mite you ever saw. And strong, too, for an early babe. He’s sucking already, nice as you please. It was Dalna’s own mercy she brought him out early or she’d have had a worse time of it than she did, poor lamb. Give us a moment to clear up the bed and then come in, all of you. She wants you all!”

  “A son!” shouted Micum, wrapping his arms around his friends’ shoulders. “A son, by the Four!”

  “He’s all wrinkled up and red and covered in muck!” squealed Illia, bounding out to hug him. “And he has red hair like you and Beka. Come and see. Mother’s so happy!”

  Kari lay tucked up in the wide bed with a tiny bundle laid to her breast. To Alec, the least experienced in such matters, she looked dreadful, as if she’d been ill, but the serene smile she greeted him with belied it.

  Micum kissed her, then took the child in his arms.

  “He’s as lovely and strong as all the others,” he whispered huskily, gazing down into the wizened little face beneath the damp shock of coppery hair. “Come on, you two, and greet my son.”

  “I’m so glad you were there this morning, Alec.” Kari reached for his hand and laughed. “You should have seen your face, though.”

  Seregil peered over Micum’s shoulder for a better look at the child, and Alec saw a smile of genuine pleasure soften his friend’s drawn features for the first time in months.

  “What will you call him?” Seregil asked.

  “We’d thought to call him Bornil, after my father,” Kari replied, “but looking at him now, it doesn’t seem to fit. What do you think, Micum?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “I’m too fuddled to think.”

  Kari looked up at Seregil, who was still smiling down at the child. “Then perhaps you can help us again, as you did with Illia. As the oldest and dearest friend of this family, help us name our son.”

  Micum handed the baby to Seregil. Gazing at him thoughtfully, he said, “Gherin, I think, if you’d have another Aurënfaie name in the family.”

  “Gherin?” Kari tried the sound of it. “I like that. What does it mean?”

  “ ‘Early blessing,’ ” Seregil replied quietly.

  Thank the Maker, Alec thought gratefully, watching Seregil with the child. That’s the most peaceful I’ve seen him since we got back. Maybe his spirit is finally healing after all.

  A warm night breeze sighed in through the open window. The sound of it seemed to echo Seregil’s inner loneliness.

  It was ironic, really. The first time he and Alec had stayed in this room, Alec had kept stiffly to his side of the bed; these past weeks Seregil often woke to find him lying close beside him, as he was now. Alec had thrown one arm across Seregil’s chest, his breath soft against his bare shoulder.

  Why can’t I feel anything?

  Lying there in the moonlight, Seregil stroked Alec’s fair hair and summoned the memory of the kiss they’d shared that day in Plenimar.

  Even that had been sucked pale and flat. Since Nysander’s death all his emotions seemed to have fled to a distance, felt dimly, as if through a pane of thick glass.

  It was too late now, too late for anything. He was too empty. Covering Alec’s hand with his own, he watched the stars wheel toward morning, thinking of Gherin.

  His mind had ranged far these last weeks, turning round and round on itself as he struggled to reach some decision that would bring him peace. Looking down into the face of Micum’s tiny new son today, he’d suddenly felt that the sign he’d been waiting for had been given at last. With this last thread of the past tied off, he could go.

  An hour before dawn, he slipped out of bed and pulled on his clothes. Throwing his old pack over one shoulder, he took a small bundle from its hiding place behind the wardrobe, then closed the shutters to keep out the morning light. Alec mustn’t waken until he was well away from here.

  Moving with his natural silence past the sleeping servants in the hall, he went to Micum’s chamber. A night lamp still burned there, and by its light he watched his old companion sleeping so peacefully in his wife’s arms. Micum was home.

  Seregil laid a rolled parchment at the foot of the bed, along with small packets of jewels for each of the children. On his way out, he paused beside Gherin’s cradle.

  The infant lay on his back, arms flung over his head. Seregil ran a fingertip lightly over one tiny fist, marveling at the fragility of the silken skin. Gherin stirred, sucking contentedly in his sleep.

  In twenty years you’ll be the young man your father was when I met him, Seregil told him silently, touching the infant’s fuzzy red hair. What would it be like to see you then?

  Seregil pushed the thought away and stole hurriedly away. He wouldn’t be back, not in twenty years, not ever. He owed them all that much.

  Leaving Alec was even harder than he’d feared. Against all better judgment, he went back to the open doorway of the room they’d shared so chastely, knowing full well that if Alec so much as opened an eye, he was lost.

  Alec lay curled on his side now, blond hair tumbled over the pillow. A dull ache gripped Sergil’s heart; all the nights he’d been lulled by that soft breathing, all the things that might have been, seemed to come together at once in a tight knot at the base of his throat.

  If only Nysander hadn’t—

  Seregil placed a thick roll of parchments on the doorsill: the letter, too painful to be anything but brief; documents making Alec of Ivywell heir to all Lord Seregil’s holdings in the city; the lists of names and secrets and money holders. It was all there, carefully set down. When Alec sorted them out he’d discover that even minus what Seregil had deeded to Micum and a few others, he would be one of the wealthiest young men in Skala.

  Good-bye, talí.

  The stars were dying as he led Cynril down the road below Wat
ermead. When he judged he was far enough away to ride without waking the house, he swung up into the saddle and nudged the horse into a brisk trot. It was a little easier now, riding along at first light, the air already warm and redolent with the scent of the wild roses blooming in the meadow.

  A flight of wild geese rose from the river. He could almost see Alec on the bank below, trying to coax Patch out of the stream with a scrap of leather. The boy had been all innocence and good intentions then; why had he worked so hard to sully that?

  He rode up onto the bridge and reined Cynril to a halt. Mist was rising from the stream’s surface, coiling up to turn gold with the first touch of dawn. It looked, Seregil thought, like some magical pathway leading up to unexplored realms. Pulling the poniard from his boot, he tested the well-honed edge, then looked up the shining stream again.

  It was as good a direction as any.

  Something brushed Alec’s hand and he opened one eye, expecting to see Illia or one of the dogs.

  Nysander was standing beside the bed.

  “Go after him,” Nysander whispered, his voice faint as if it came from a great distance.

  Alec lurched up, his heart pounding. Nysander had disappeared, if he’d ever been there at all. Worse yet, Seregil was gone. Alec slid his hand over the sheets where Seregil had slept. They were cold.

  Whether dream or vision, the urgency of Nysander’s warning grew stronger by the second.

  Just like that other night, riding back to the inn—

  Scrambling out of bed, Alec hauled on breeches and a shirt and headed for the door. His bare foot struck something as he crossed the threshold. It was a thick roll of parchments bound with plain string. Untying it, he quickly scanned the familiar flowing script covering the first page.

  “Alec talí, Remember me kindly and try—”

  “Damn!” Pages scattered in all directions as Alec ran for the stables.

  Too much to hope that Seregil had gone on foot; Cynril was missing from her stall. Mounted bareback on Patch, Alec searched for and quickly found Cynril’s tracks, the distinctive print of the slightly splayed right hind hoof plain in the dust of the road outside the courtyard gate.

  Kicking Patch into a gallop, he rode down the hill and across the bridge, reining in where the two roads met to see which way Seregil had gone.

  But there was no sign of Cynril here. Cursing softly to himself, Alec dismounted for a closer search, then walked back onto the bridge and scanned the hillside, looking for telltale lines across the dewy meadow. Nothing there either, or on the hill trail. He was about to ride back for Micum when a patch of freshly turned gravel on the stream bank above the bridge caught his eye.

  You went up the streambed, you sneaky bastard! Alec thought with grudging admiration. The bridge was too low to ride under and there were no other signs downstream. Upstream lay Beka’s otter pond, and the ill-fated pass that Alec had crossed to Warnik’s valley.

  And beyond that, the whole damn world.

  Mounting again, Alec rode up the trail. The streambed grew steeper and he soon found where Seregil had been forced to come up onto the trail. Judging by the tracks, he’d traveled quickly from here.

  Heedless of the branches that whipped at his face and shoulders, Alec kicked Patch into a gallop again. When the clearing around the pond came into view ahead, he was both relieved and surprised to see Seregil there, sitting motionless in the saddle as if admiring the morning.

  Alec’s first reaction to Seregil’s letter had been only the desperate desire to find him. He realized now that there had also been a generous leaven of anger mixed in. When Seregil raised his head now, looking back at him with an expression of startled wariness, the anger took over. It was the look you’d give an enemy.

  Or a stranger.

  “Wait—!” Seregil called, but Alec ignored him. Digging his heels into Patch’s sides, he charged Seregil, bearing down on him before he could turn his own horse out of the way. The animals collided and Cynril reared, throwing Seregil off into the water. Alec leapt down and waded in after him. Grabbing Seregil by the front of his tunic, he hauled him to his knees and shook the crumpled note in his face.

  “What’s this supposed to be?” he yelled. “ ‘All I have in Rhíminee is yours now’? What is this?”

  Seregil struggled to his feet and pulled free, not meeting Alec’s eye. “After everything that’s happened—” He paused, took a deep breath. “After all that, I decided it would be better for everyone if I just went away.”

  “You decided. You decided?” Furious, Alec grabbed Seregil with both hands and shook him. The wrinkled parchment drifted across the pool, hung a moment against a stone, and spun away unnoticed down the stream. “I followed you over half the earth to Rhíminee for no other reason than you asked me to! I saved your damn life twice before we even got there and how many times since? I stood with you against Mardus and all the rest. But now, after moping around all summer, you decide you’re better off without me?”

  Color flared in Seregil’s gaunt face. “I never meant for you to take it that way. Bilairy’s Balls, Alec, you saw what happened at the Cockerel. That was my fault. Mine! And it was only thanks to Ashnazai’s twisted vanity that you didn’t end up dead with them. Micum’s crippled for life, in case you didn’t notice, lucky to be alive. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve almost gotten him killed before? And Nysander—let’s not forget what I did for him!”

  “Nysander sent me!”

  Seregil went ashen. “What did you say?”

  “Nysander sent me after you,” Alec told him. “I don’t know if it was a dream or a ghost or what, but he woke me and told me to go after you. Illior’s Hands, Seregil, when are you going to forgive yourself for just doing what he asked you to?” He paused as another thought dawned on him. “When are you going to forgive Nysander?”

  Seregil glared at him wordlessly, then pushed Alec’s hands away. Sloshing up to the bank, he sank down on a log overlooking the pond. Alec followed, settling on a rock beside him.

  Seregil hung his head and let out an unsteady breath. After a moment he said, “He knew. He should have told me.”

  “You would have tried to stop him.”

  “Damn right I would have!” Seregil flared, clenching his fists on his knees. Angry tears spilled down his cheeks, the first Alec had ever seen him shed.

  “If you’d done that, we’d have failed,” Alec said, moving to sit beside him on the log. “Everything Nysander worked for would’ve been lost. The Helm would have taken him over and he’d have ended up as their Vatharna.” For an instant Alec thought he felt the wizard’s touch against his hand again. “I think he must be grateful to you.”

  Seregil covered his face, giving way at last to silent sobs. Alec wrapped an arm around him, holding him tightly. “You were the only one who loved him enough not to hesitate when the time came. He knew that. In the end you saved him the only way you could. Why can’t you let yourself see that?”

  “All these weeks—” Seregil shrugged helplessly. “You’re right, right about everything. But why can’t I feel it? I can’t feel anything anymore! I’m floundering around in a black fog. I look at the rest of you, see you healing, going on. I want to, but I can’t!”

  “Just like I couldn’t make myself jump that time at Kassarie’s keep?”

  Seregil let out a small, choked laugh. “I guess so.”

  “So let me help you, the way you helped me then,” Alec persisted.

  Seregil wiped his nose on his sodden sleeve. “As I recall, I threw you off the roof into a gorge.”

  “Fine, if that’s what it takes to show you that I’m not about to let you slink away like some old dog going off to die.”

  The guilty look that crossed his friend’s face told Alec his worst fears had been correct. “I’m not letting you go,” he said again, gripping Seregil’s sleeve for emphasis.

  Seregil shook his head miserably. “I can’t stay here.”

  “All right, but you’
re not leaving me.”

  “I thought you’d be happy at Watermead.”

  “I love everyone there like my own family, but not—” Alec broke off, feeling his face go warm.

  “But not what?” Seregil turned and brushed a clump of damp hair back from Alec’s face, studying his expression.

  Alec forced himself to meet Seregil’s questioning gaze squarely. “Not as much as I love you.”

  Seregil looked at him for a moment, grey eyes still sad. “I love you, too. More than I’ve loved anyone for a long time. But you’re so young and—” He spread his hands and sighed. “It just didn’t seem right.”

  “I’m not that young,” Alec countered wryly, thinking of all they’d been through together. “But I am half ’faie, so I’ve got a lot of years ahead of me. Besides, I’ve only just begun to understand Aurënfaie, I still don’t know one style of snail fork from another, and I can’t jigger a Triple Crow lock. Who else is going to teach me all that?”

  Seregil looked out over the pond again. “ ‘Father, brother, friend, and lover.’ ”

  “What?” A coldness passed over Alec’s heart; Mardus had spoken almost those same words when asking about his relationship to Seregil.

  “Something else the Oracle of Illior said that night I asked about you,” Seregil answered, watching an otter slip into the water. “I kept thinking I had it all sorted out and settled, but I don’t. I’ve been the first three to you and swore that was enough, but if you stay on with me—”

  “I know.”

  Catching Seregil off guard, Alec leaned forward and pressed his lips to Seregil’s with the same mix of awkwardness and determination he’d felt the first time. But when he felt Seregil’s arms slip around him in a welcoming embrace, the confusion that had haunted him through the winter cleared like fog before a changing wind. Take what the gods send, Seregil had told him more than once.

  He would, and thankfully.

  Seregil drew back a little, and there was something like wonder in his grey eyes as he touched Alec’s cheek. “Anything we do, talí, we do with honor. Before all else, I’m your friend and always will be, even if you take a hundred wives or lovers later on.”