Luck in the Shadows n-1

by Lynn Flewelling

  "This belonged to the enchantress Nimia Reshal. When the proper words are spoken, it emits a magical fragrance which renders anyone who inhales it a helpless slave to the owner. She'd managed to snare Micum before I got hold of it."

  "Why didn't she catch you, too?" Alec whispered.

  "I happened to be approaching from a different direction at the time. While she was concentrating on him, I simply held my nose, crept up from behind, and knocked her on the head. Never underestimate the benefit of surprise!"

  Nodding, Alec turned to the next case and stiffened.

  Inside lay a pair of shriveled hands, the skin darkened to the color of old leather.

  "What are those!" he gasped.

  "Shh! A most unusual relic. Look closer."

  Jeweled rings still encircled the withered fingers and the long discolored nails were covered with a delicate tracery of golden whorls; the plain iron manacles encircling each wrist looked out of keeping with the rest of the ornaments. Each band was held fast by a long spike driven through the wrist just below the base of each hand. The whole affair was bolted to the bottom of the case.

  Alec stared down at the hands with puzzled revulsion.

  "What in the world are—"Just then, one of the leathery forefingers slowly raised and lowered, as if scolding his idle scrutiny.

  Seregil had been watching closely all the while.

  As soon as he saw the hand move, he ran a finger lightly down the boy's back, sending him into the air with a startled yelp.

  "Damn it, Seregil!" Alec cried, whirling around.

  The scholars turned with inquiring stares. The apprentice dropped her stylus, then began to giggle. The servants merely exchanged disgusted looks.

  Seregil leaned against a case, shoulders quivering with smothered laughter.

  "I'm sorry," he said at last, feeling anything but repentant as he exchanged a knowing wink with the girl. "That trick has been played on just about every apprentice who ever served here, including me. I couldn't resist."

  "You scared me half to death!" Alec whispered indignantly. "What are those things?"

  Seregil rested his elbows on the edge of the case, tapping a finger idly against the glass. "The hands of Tikбrie Megraesh, a great necromancer."

  "They moved." Alec shuddered, peering over Seregil's shoulder. "It's as if they're still alive."

  "In a sense, they are," Seregil replied. "This necromancer ended his days as a dyrmagnos. Have you ever heard the term?"

  "No. What does it mean?"

  "It's the ultimate fate of necromancers. You see, all forms of magic exact a certain toll from those who practice it, but necromancy is by far the worst. It gradually wastes the body, draining life even as it increases the force of that person's will. In time, there's nothing left but a walking corpse burning with terrible intelligence-a dyrmagnos. This fellow here was at least six centuries old when Nysander cut these hands off him and, according to him, they haven't changed much in appearance since he took them, which gives you some idea what the rest of Tikбrie Megraesh must have looked like."

  The left hand stirred, scrabbling softly against the bottom of the case with its blackened nails. Alec shuddered again. "If that's what his hands looked like, I'd hate to have seen the face."

  "These hands escaped once," Seregil went on, staring down at the twitching things. "It's nearly impossible to kill a dyrmagnos, once it's reached such an age. All you can do is dismember and contain it. Those symbols you see painted on the nails were part or the original binding spell to break the power of the creature, eventually the life will fade from them."

  Alec frowned down at them. "What if all the pieces were brought together again before that happened?"

  "They'd rejoin and the dyrmagnos would live again. As I recall a few other parts of him are somewhere down in the vaults, but most were carried off for safekeeping by other wizards. The head is the most dangerous part. That was sealed in a lead casket and dropped into the sea."

  Seregil savored a shiver of his own, imagining the head locked in darkness beneath the chill waters, dreaming perhaps, or screaming its hatred to the unheeding creatures of the mud. On the heels of that pleasant thought came another, however. When was the last time he'd seen the hands move as much as this?

  "Are there any other dead things in here?" asked Alec, moving to another case.

  "Not ones that move."

  "Good!"

  They wandered on awhile longer, but Seregil's strength soon flagged.

  There was no use trying to hide the fact from Alec. "You're looking pale again," he said. "Come on, a walk outside in the air might not be such a bad idea after all."

  The pale winter sky overhead presaged snow, but inside the walls the gardens were bathed with fragrant breezes, and the soft turf beneath their feet was redolent with chamomile and creeping thyme.

  Seregil was leaning more heavily on his arm than he had earlier, Alec noted, wondering if it had been a mistake not going back to their room.

  "There," Seregil said, pointing the way to a nearby fountain. Reaching it, he collapsed on the grass and leaned back against its basin.

  Alec looked him over with renewed concern. "You're as white as this marble!"

  Seregil dipped a hand in the water and pressed it to his brow "Just let me get my breath."

  "He's only doing it to spite Valerius, you know," a familiar voice interrupted.

  A pair of women sauntered up. Both wore the green and white uniform of the Queen's Horse Guard. The shorter of the two, Alec realized with a start, was Princess Klia. Her companion, a dark, serious-looking woman, stood at ease beside her.

  Klia flopped down unceremoniously in front of Seregil but ignored him completely, addressing Alec as if they were old friends.

  "Now, if Valerius had ordered him to get up and about as soon as possible, he'd have clung in bed 'til spring. You're better turned out than when we met last, I must say. What name are you going by today?"

  He grinned sheepishly. "Alec."

  "Hello again, Alec. This is Captain Myrhini."

  The dark woman surprised him with a flashing smile as she joined them on the grass.

  "I wondered afterward at meeting another Silverleaf," Klia went on cheerfully. "If I'd known Seregil was with you, the two of you could have ridden back with us."

  "I was indisposed at the time," Seregil said, drawing her teasing gaze at last. "How did you know I was back?"

  "I met Nysander on his way to a meeting with Mother and Lord Barien last night." Her blue eyes shone fiercely. "From what she said this morning, it sounds like things may get interesting again."

  Seregil grimaced. "I should think you'd have seen enough of battle last year. That piece of fun nearly cost you your arm and Myrhini both."

  Myrhini gave the toe of Klia's boot a playful kick. "You know her. She's Sakor-touched. It only makes

  her hotter for the next fight."

  "As if you're not just as bad." Klia grinned.

  "Either one of us could be at home with a babe or two already if we didn't care more for battle than we do for a handsome face! Seregil, come see the horse Alec helped me buy in Cirna. Hwerlu is looking him over for me at the grove."

  Klia helped Seregil to his feet, then wrapped a supporting arm around his waist as they set off for a nearby stand of oaks.

  "I know one handsome face she favors, if only its owner had the wit to see," Myrhini whispered to Alec, winking in Seregil's direction as they followed the others.

  Entering the little grove, Alec was delighted to find that Hwerlu was the centaur he'd glimpsed his first day in Rhнminee.

  The creature was even more imposing at close quarters; his chestnut-colored horse body was a good twenty hands tall at the shoulder, while his man parts were those of a giant. Klia's unusual black and white and another Aurлnfaie horse stood by him,

  and he patted them with his large, blunt hands as if they were hounds. Seregil and Klia looked like a pair of children standing next to him.
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br />   "Come here!" Seregil called to Alec. "I seem to recall you once referring to centaurs as mere legend."

  When Hwerlu bent to greet him, Alec noticed that he had the eyes of a horse, large and dark, showing no white.

  "Greetings, little Alec." Hwerlu's voice rumbled richly from the depths of his huge chest. "The light of Illior shines brightly in you. It must please you to see that legends can be real."

  "It does," Alec told him. "I never imagined centaurs were so big!"

  Laughing, Hwerlu threw back his black mane and pranced in a circle, his broad hoofs shaking the earth beneath their feet. He stopped abruptly, however, and trotted across the clearing.

  "And here is another legend! My lovely Feeya," he proclaimed as another centaur stepped into the circle of trees.

  Feeya was a sorrel, and only a little smaller than Hwerlu. She had the same coarse mane of hair running down her back, but the skin of her human torso was otherwise as smooth as any woman's. A heavy torque like Hwerlu's was her only adornment, but Alec quickly saw that he had no cause for embarrassment for she had no breasts, centaurs suckling their young in the same fashion as horses. Her broad features were not beautiful by common standards but, taken for what she was, she had a beauty of her own.

  Hwerlu gallantly brought his lady to meet Alec. "She does not speak your tongue, but it pleases her to hear it."

  Alec greeted the golden centaur. Smiling, she lifted his chin and spoke to him in her own curious whistling language as she inspected his face with apparent interest.

  Standing behind Alec, Seregil answered her in the centaur tongue. With a toss of her long mane, Feeya nodded to them both and went to admire Klia's new horse.

  "What did she say?" asked Alec.

  "Oh, a greeting like Hwerlu's. I thanked her for you." Seregil sat down at the base of a tree with a contented sigh.

  "Are there a lot of centaurs in Skala?" Alec gazed at the pair of handsome creatures across the clearing.

  "No. They live mainly in the mountains across the Osiat Sea. A few large tribes still roam the high plains there. Magyana brought Hwerlu and Feeya back to Rhнminee with her a few years ago. That's her tower there, to the left of Nysander's."

  "Nysander's friend?"

  "Yes. Magyana's a great traveler. She went to learn more of centaur ways. Hwerlu was curious about her magic, it being so different from his own, so he came back with her. He'll go home when he's satisfied."

  "Are you a wizard, too, then?" Alec asked Hwerlu, who'd returned.

  "I cannot make fire without fuel, or fly through the air like the Orлska wizards. My power lies in my music." Hwerlu indicated the large harp that hung in the branches of a nearby tree.

  "I sing healings, charms, dreams. I think now maybe I should sing a healing for you, Seregil. I still see sickness in your face."

  "I'd be grateful. Your cures don't leave a foul taste in my mouth like those of the drysians. In fact, I think I'll spend the afternoon here. Alec, why don't you get a horse from the stables and go for a ride? It'll do you good."

  "I'd just as soon stay here," Alec objected, having no desire to go wandering around the city by himself.

  "And watch me sleep all day?" Seregil scoffed. "No, I think it's time we got on with your education. Just go around the Ring once, then come back and tell me what you saw."

  "The Ring? I don't even know what that—"

  "I'll show him," offered Myrhini. "I have to get back to the barracks anyway. It's on the way."

  "There now." Seregil blithely ignored Alec's silent appeal. "Already you're consorting with centaurs and wizards and riding about the streets with a captain of the Queen's Horse Guard. Keep your hood well up, though. I'm not ready for either of us to be seen just yet. And be careful! You're not larking about in the woods anymore. Even in daylight, Rhнminee can be a dangerous place. And for Illior's sake, find some gloves! Your hands are in poor enough condition as it is."

  Myrhini pulled a pair of gauntlets from her belt and tossed them to Alec. "Come on, boy, before he finds something else to fuss about."

  Still dubious, Alec followed her to the stables behind the main building where a groom saddled a spirited horse for him.

  Leaving the shelter of the magical gardens for the first time since his arrival in the city, Alec was pleased to feel the cold, sweet winter breeze against his face again.

  Golden Helm Street was lined on either side with high garden walls. Craning his neck, Alec caught glimpses of statues, carved pediments, and the tops of columns decorating houses more imposing than any temple he'd seen in the north. After several blocks, the street opened out into one of the paved circles he'd noted during his first ride through Rhнminee with Nysander. Here they turned down a side line.

  "What are these for?" he asked, looking around.

  "It's a catapult circle, part of the city's defenses," Myrhini explained. "The streets that lead out from them are straight to give the defenders a clear shot at any approaching enemy force. There are circles like this all over the city. The Ring and the market squares by the main gates are defensive positions, too, killing grounds in case the gates are breached."

  "Has Rhнminee ever been attacked?"

  "Oh, yes. The Plenimarans only got in once, though. The last full-scale attack on the city was over forty years ago, though."

  Two Hawk ended at Silvermoon Street, a broad avenue bordering the Queen's Park.

  Ornate public buildings had been built against the park wall. On the other side stood villas larger than any he'd seen so far.

  Blue uniformed guards saluted Myrhini as she and Alec rode under a heavy portcullis and onto the palace grounds.

  "Those are the barracks there," she said, pointing out a collection of long, low buildings just visible beyond the dark bulk of the Palace.

  At the edge of the broad parade ground that fronted the barracks they reined in to watch a company of riders practicing a battle turn. Tugging his hood back into place, Alec let out a low whistle of admiration.

  Each rider carried a lance, and their green pennants snapped smartly in the breeze as the horsemen rode the length of the field in an even rank.

  Reaching the far end, they wheeled sharply about, lowered their lances, and charged forward with bloodcurdling yells. Wheeling again, they threw their lances down and drew swords to practice cuts to the left and right.

  "There aren't many sights finer than that, eh?"

  Myrhini asked, following them with her eyes. Her horse shifted restlessly, anxious to join its fellows in action.

  As they sat watching, a trio of riders rode over from the direction of the barracks-two noblemen and a

  stern, pale-eyed woman in a green uniform and golden gorget. The older of the two men was imposing in black velvet trimmed with silver and furs. A jeweled chain of office hung across his broad chest.

  The other man was much younger, perhaps late twenties, with a small blond mustache and a narrow tuft of hair on his chin. Although he was dressed richly in red velvet laced with gold, he struck Alec at once as someone of much less importance than the others.

  "General Phoria," Myrhini said, saluting the officer. "And greetings, Lord Barien and Lord Teukros."

  "I trust your troop will be ready for inspection this afternoon?" the general asked crisply, returning the salute with a hand lacking the last two fingers.

  "At your command, General!"

  Phoria's pale stare raked over Alec as if she had only then registered his existence. "And who is this?"

  "A guest of the wizard Nysander, General. I'm escorting him to the Ring."

  Alec stole a sidelong glance at Myrhini but knew better than to butt in; General Phoria had thawed noticeably at the mention of Nysander.

  "You haven't the look of a wizard," she remarked.

  "No, General, I'm not," Alec responded quickly, taking his cue from Myrhini. "I've come to study in the city."

  "Ah, a young scholar!" The older man smiled approvingly. "I hope you'll stay long enough to see
the Festival. It's the great glory of the city."

  Alec had no idea what the man was referring to, but nodded politely and did his best to look respectful. Fortunately General Phoria was impatient to move on. With a final curt nod, she and her companions rode on toward the Palace.

  Alec let out a slow breath. "Was that the same Barien Klia spoke of?"

  "Lord Barien," Myrhini cautioned. "Lord Barien i Zhal Khameris Vitulliein of Rhilna, to be exact. He's the Viceregent of Skala, the most powerful person in the country after the Queen herself The other one was his nephew, Lord Teukros i Eryan."

  "And the general?"

  "In addition to being the high commander of all Skalan cavalry regiments, General Phoria is the Queen's eldest daughter. You just met the future queen, my friend. Come on now, I'll write you out a pass."

  Dismounting in front of one of the barracks, Alec followed Myrhini into the wardroom. A handful of soldiers sat around a table, intent on a bakshi game. Seeing their senior officer, however, they leapt up to salute. Myrhini returned it and sat down at a nearby desk to write out the pass.

  After a few curious glances in Alec's direction, the soldiers went back to their game.

  Sealing the pass with her signet, Myrhini handed it to Alec. "Show this at any gate of the Ring and you'll

  have no problem. There's one into the Ring just beyond the last barracks. Get your horse and I'll let you through."

  Outside again, she led Alec to a heavily guarded gate near the Palace.

  "You can't possibly get lost," Myrhini assured him. "Stay between the two walls and you'll come all the way around the city and back to here. It will be easiest for you to go back to the Ore'ska House by way of the Harvest Market. Just follow the Street of the Sheaf to the Fountain of Astellus, then down Golden Helm until you sight it again."

  Myrhini's directions sounded simple enough, but Alec felt a bit of his original apprehension returning when the postern gate clanged shut behind him.

  Looking around, he found himself in a very pleasant park with trees and carefully tended carriage paths. A number of enterprising merchants had set up shop here and many elegantly dressed patrons strolled among the gaily painted booths. Others rode or drove in carriages along the paths, the men in colorful surcoats or robes beneath heavy capes, the women muffled in rich furs, gems sparkling on their gloved fingers and in their elaborately curled and braided hair. Many were accompanied by tame animals and Alec smiled to himself, wondering if he and his father had trapped any of these hawks or spotted cats. They'd certainly sold enough of them to the southern traders.