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 i 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 Viceregent?"
"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 Aurлnfaie?" Alec blurted out suddenly.
Thunderstruck, Seregil turned to stare at him. "Where did you near 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? Cilia? Someone at the Orлska?"
"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 Aurлnfaie—"
"How in the world did you know that?"
"Nysander showed me some Aurлnfaie writing while we were staying at the Orлska 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 Aurлnfaie 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, c
restfallen.
"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 Rhнminee," 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 Rhнminee 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 caret a grim smile. "Now go get packed. The day's half over already and we still have to buy you a horse!"
22 One Horse,Two Swans, and Three Daughters
The 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?"
"Petition the Queen's Court directly," Seregil advised. "Idrilain understands horses a good deal better than the fat merchants on the Council of Streets and Markets."
One of the other traders nodded. "Aye, that's not a bad idea."
"You and I, Mistress Byrn, we've done enough business for me to trust the quality of your beasts."
Seregil pointed to Alec, who was already scrutinizing the herd. "I think my friend here favors them, too. Let's have a closer look."
With a pleased nod, the trader tucked the hem of her woolen skirt up into her belt and climbed over the rail.
Seregil waded into the herd beside her, rubbing necks and rumps and crooning softly to them. Following in his wake, Alec marveled at how the animals seemed to calm under his hand. Other horses crowded up to their mistress.
"They're just a pack of great colts, as you see," she said, grinning at Alec over their backs.
"Northern stock mostly, with a few drops of faie mixed in here and there. They're strong and they're smart. I doubt you'd find better between here and Cirna."
Alec wandered among the shifting herd, trying to sort out those that showed the best natures and conformations from those he only liked the looks of. He was just reaching out to stroke a pale sorrel filly when a shove from behind nearly knocked him off his feet. A dark nose pushed under his arm and he found a brown mare nipping at his belt pouch.
"You, Patch!" the horse dealer shouted. "Get out of that, you hussy!"
The mare, a plain-looking beast, looked longingly back at Alec as she sidled away.
Despite her unremarkable appearance, he was taken with the disdainful set of her ears. He put a hand put to her and she butted him under the arm again, nuzzling at his belt.
"It's the leather she's after," the dealer confessed.
"Crazy for it as others are for apples. She's a losel with the tack, I'll warn you."
"All the same, she's not half bad," Seregil remarked, coming over to see.
Running a critical eye over joints and hocks, Alec noticed an irregular spot of white hair the size of a child's hand just behind her right flank.
"How did she come by this scar?" he asked.
The woman smoothed a hand fondly over the mark.
"Wolves got into my enclosure last winter. Killed three foals before we got out with the torches. One tore at her here, as you see, before she brained it with a kick. She's a feisty one, my Patch, and stubborn, but she has a smooth, strong gait and she'll go all day for you. Saddle her, young sir, and see what you think."
A gallop across the open ground around the marketplace was enough to win Alec over. The mare showed no skittishness, and took the reins well.
"That's settled, then," Seregil said approvingly as he paid out the money.
Moving his saddle and pack onto Patch, Alec slung his bow over one shoulder and followed Seregil onto the Cirna highroad.
Several miles out from the city they turned onto a road leading up into the hills. Seregil seemed to be in
no particular hurry and they rode easily, giving the horses their head and enjoying the crisp, clear afternoon.
Winter was beginning to take hold in Skala now, though the breeze still carried the stinging scent of smokehouse meats, yellowed hay, and the last sour tang of the cider presses from the farmsteads they passed along the way.
They'd ridden for some time in comfortable silence when Seregil turned to Alec and asked, "I suppose you're wondering why I didn't tell you sooner?"
"You never say much about yourself," Alec replied with a touch of reproach. "I've gotten used to not asking."
"Delicate manners will get you nowhere with me," Seregil advised, nonplused. "Go on, ask away."
"All right. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Well, at first it was because you had so many misconceptions about the faie," replied Seregil. "You seemed to think we were all great mages or nectar-sipping fairy folk."
Alec's cheek went hot as he recalled the childish fancies he'd shared with Seregil in their first days.
Seregil shot him a sidelong grin. "Oh, you northern barbarians do have some strange notions. Anyway, I decided I'd better let you get used to me first. Then I got sick."
He paused, looking a little sheepish himself. "I've been meaning to tell you since we got to the city, really, but—I don't know. The right moment just didn't seem to come. What I said to Nysander is sort of true; I am proud of you for figuring it out on your own. What else would you like to know?"
What wouldn't I like to know! thought Alec, wondering how long this strange humor of Seregil's would last. "How old are you?"
"Fifty-eight, come Lenthin month. In the reckoning of my race, that doesn't make me all that much older than you, though I've certainly had more experience. It's difficult to draw comparisons between Aurлnfaie and human ages; we mature differently. Under Aurлnfaie law, I'm not old enough yet to marry or hold land." He chuckled so
ftly. "For the most part, I've done very well for myself in Skala."
"Because you're related to the Queen?"
"To some degree, though it's a very distant and threadbare tie. Just enough to have gotten me an introduction and a place as a high-class servant.
Lord Corruth, consort to Idrilain the First, was a cousin of my grandmother's mother. My claim to Skalan nobility is a tenuous one at best."
Alec'd had hints enough from both Micum and Nysander to know better than to ask Seregil why he'd left Aurлnen in the first place. "What's it like there, in Aurлnen?"
Seregil rode on in silence for a moment, his face half turned away. Alec feared he'd taken a misstep after all and was about to take back the question when Seregil began to sing.
The language was unfamiliar, yet so liquid, so graceful in the ear that it seemed Alec could almost grasp it—and that if he did it would reveal a depth of meaning his own language could never achieve. The melody, simple yet haunting and full of longing, brought tears to his eyes as he listened.
Seregil sang it a second time, translating so that Alec could understand.
"My love is wrapped in a cloak of flowing green and wears the moon for a crown.
And all around has chains of flowing silver.
Her mirrors reflect the sky.
O, to roam your flowing cloak of green under the light of the ever-crowning moon.
Will I ever drink of your chains of flowing silver and drift once more across your mirrors of the sky?
Looking out across the empty winter fields, Seregil said in a husky whisper, "That's what Aurлnen is like."
"I'm sorry." Alec shook his head sadly. "It must be painful, thinking about your own country when you're so far away,"
Seregil shrugged slightly. "Yri nala molkrat vy pri nala estin."
"Aurлnfaie?"
"An old proverb. 'Even sour wine is better than no wine at all.»
Afternoon shadows were creeping down the hills as Seregil turned from the highroad and led the way onto a stone bridge over a large stream. A flock of swans grazing in the bordering field took flight at their approach, rising into the air with a great beating of wings.
Luck in the Shadows n-1 Page 32
