Luck in the Shadows

by Lynn Flewelling

  “I believe it was.” Seregil gave Alec a wink. “A group of us were traipsing up around the Fishless Sea and ran into a particularly unfriendly bunch of nomads.”

  “Unfriendly!” snorted Micum. “I’d never seen their like before—great hairy giants. We still don’t know where they came from. They were too busy trying to kill us to answer questions. We stumbled across their camp by accident one evening, and figured we’d say hello and try to trade for supplies. But just as we reached the pickets, a whole pack of them—big as bears and twice as mean—came charging out of nowhere at us on foot. We were mounted, but they had us surrounded before we realized what was going on. The weapons they used looked something like a big flail; a long haft with several lengths of chain attached, each two or three feet long. Only the links of the chains were flattened and the edges ground keen as razors. Of course, we didn’t know about that until after we’d started to fight. Cyril lost an arm, cut clean off, and Berrit was blinded and died soon after. One of the bastards took the front legs off my horse and then laid into me. That’s when I got this beauty.” He ran a hand over the knotted ridge of flesh again. “I was all tangled up in the stirrups, but I managed to get my sword up in time to block his swing—all but one of the chains, and that laid me open to the bone right through my jerkin. If I hadn’t blocked the rest, I believe he’d have cut me in half. Seregil popped up from somewhere and killed him just as he was going for another stroke. It’s lucky we had the drysian Valerius traveling with us, or I’d have crossed over right then and there.”

  “I suppose this was my worst,” said Seregil, showing Alec deep indentations in the lean muscle on either side of his left thigh.

  “I was exploring an abandoned wizard’s keep. She’d been dead for years, but a lot of her wards were still in place. I’d been very careful, spotted all the symbols, disarmed device after device. She’d been something of a genius in that way and I was feeling pretty proud of myself. But no matter how good you are, there’s always a trap with your name on it somewhere, and I found one that day. I missed a trigger of some sort—never did see it—and the next I knew my foot went through the floor. An iron spike shot across, pinning my leg like a speared fish. Half an inch to the left and I’d have bled to death. I couldn’t reach far enough into the hole to free myself, short of cutting off my leg. I’ve no stomach for pain. From what little I remember, I did a lot of yelling and fainting until Micum found me and carried me out. Not a very heroic tale, I’m afraid.”

  Alec had stripped the oilskin cover from his bow to check for damage. Without looking up from his work, he ventured shyly, “Still, you were brave enough to do all that.”

  “You’ve got a short memory all of a sudden,” Seregil scoffed, passing him the mead jar. “Aren’t you the same half-starved lad who survived Asengai’s dungeons and followed me out, not to mention what we did tonight? That’s a lot to claim before you’re even grown.”

  Alec shrugged, embarrassed. “That wasn’t bravery. There just wasn’t anything else to do.”

  Micum laughed grimly. “By Sakor, then you’ve learned the secret of being brave. All you need is some training.”

  Reaching over the fire, he retrieved the mead jar from Seregil. “So what will you do now?”

  Seregil shook his head. “I’d planned to blend into some caravan and take the Gold Road all the way to Nanta, but now I’m not so sure. What was all that fracas about tonight? I was certain nobody saw us.”

  “I was watching the house from the square. Everything was quiet until well after you left. The party broke up soon after, the guests went home, and the lamps inside were mostly out. I was just about to leave myself when all hell broke loose. Someone started yelling, then there were lights all over the place, and soldiers running everywhere. I got as close as I could—which wasn’t too hard with all the excitement—and looked into the hall. That big fellow, Boraneus, had the mayor cornered. All I heard was that anyone who’d been at the feast was to be arrested and brought back immediately. That’s when I lit out after you. Those Plenimarans are a damned well-organized bunch. I didn’t think I was going to get to you in time.”

  Seregil tapped his chin with one long forefinger. “If someone had actually seen us, then they wouldn’t be arresting all the guests. That’s a bit of luck, I’d say.”

  “And what, exactly, did you steal?”

  “Just this.” Seregil dug into his belt pouch and handed Micum the wooden disk. “I wanted to show Nysander the pattern.”

  Micum turned it over on his palm and tossed it back to him. “Looks like a gaming piece to me—not the sort of thing anyone would make that kind of fuss over. You know, I think you might not have been the only ones ghosting around there tonight. Could be one of the guards got a case of light fingers.”

  “We saw one coming out of Boraneus’ room before we went in, carrying a box,” Alec recalled. “And someone nearly caught us in the other room as we were leaving. It could have been one of them.”

  “I suppose so.” Seregil frowned into the fire for a moment. “At any rate, we’ve certainly made ourselves look guilty enough, leaving the way we did. I say we avoid the Gold Road. We’ll find some horses—”

  “Find?” Micum interjected wryly.

  “—and head cross-country to Boersby Ford,” Seregil went on, ignoring the remark. “That should be far enough to shake loose of any pursuit. Then we can take passage down the Folcwine to Nanta. With any luck, we’ll be there in less than a week. If the weather holds, we can get a ship across to Rhíminee.”

  “I think I’d better stay clear of Wolde until the Plenimarans are well gone,” Micum said, stretching out on a pallet and yawning until his jaws cracked. “I’ll go back with you as far as Boersby, in case there’s any trouble.”

  “Did they get a good look at you?”

  “I’m not sure they didn’t. They were right on my heels all the way to the Fishes. Better safe than dead, eh?”

  Sheltered in their hidden cave, they slept deeply until afternoon.

  “We’d better wait until dark to move on,” said Seregil, squinting up at the narrow crack of light from the smoke hole. Pulling his harp from its case, he satisfied himself that it had survived the dunkings of the previous night, then set about tuning it. “We’ve still got a few hours to kill. Micum, how would you like to give my young apprentice a few lessons in swordsmanship? He’ll benefit from learning your methods as well as my own.”

  Micum winked at Alec. “What he means is that my ways aren’t as dainty as his, but I manage to make my way well enough.”

  “Come on now, old friend,” Seregil demurred, “I’d be hard pressed if I had to face you in a fight.”

  “That’s true—but it would be the time I wasn’t facing you that I’d worry about! Come on, Alec, I’ll show you daylight methods.”

  Micum began with the basics, teaching Alec how to grip the weapon so that it balanced to his advantage, what stances presented the smallest target to an opponent, and simple slash and parry maneuvers. Seregil finished his tuning and lazily plucked out a tune, pausing occasionally to offer advice or argue points of style.

  As Alec moved slowly through Micum’s drills, he began to suspect that he was learning from two masters of uncommon ability. His arm was soon aching as he tried to deflect Micum’s mock attacks. Though Micum’s blade was of a heavier make than his own, the man flashed it about as if it weighed no more than a glove.

  “I’m sorry,” Alec said at last, slicking sweat from his forehead. “It’s hard, moving so slow.”

  Micum flexed his shoulders. “It is, but you have to learn to control the movements and direct the blade, not just wave it about until it hits something. Come on, Seregil, let’s show him how it’s done.”

  “I’m busy,” replied Seregil, working on a tricky bit of fingering.

  Moving to stand over him, Micum growled, “Put away that twopenny toy, you tit-sucking coistril, and show me the length of your blade!”

  Seregil laid his h
arp aside with a sigh. “Dear me, that sounds rather like a challenge—”

  Lunging swiftly past Micum, he sprang to his feet and drew his sword, then swung a flat-bladed attack at Micum’s sword arm. Micum blocked and countered. Grinning fiercely and showering each other with blistering insults, they battled around the confines of the cave, leaping over the fire pit and threatening to trample Alec underfoot until he wisely retreated to the narrow crevice at the back. From there he watched with delighted admiration as the two of them moved over the uneven floor, graceful as acrobats or dancers.

  At first it seemed to him that Seregil spent more time avoiding attacks then returning them—his movements seemingly effortless as he sprang here and there, his sword flashing up to block a blow, then dodging away, making Micum change his stance to follow him. But Micum was no clumsy bear, either. There was a powerful grace to his motions, a steady, implacable rhythm as he pressed his attacks. Soon Alec couldn’t have said if Micum was driving or chasing, if Seregil was leading or being driven.

  The mock battle ended in a draw of sorts; choosing his moment, Micum side-stepped an attack, slapped Seregil’s blade away, and skewered a loose fold of his tunic.

  At the same moment, however, the wickedly slender poniard appeared somehow in Seregil’s left hand, its tip pricking through Micum’s jerkin just below his heart. They stood frozen for an instant, then broke away laughing.

  “So arm in arm we tumble down to Bilairy’s gate!” Micum said, sheathing his sword. “You marred my jerkin, I see.”

  “And you ventilated my new tunic.”

  “By Sakor, it serves you right for pulling that rat-sticker in the middle of a proper sword fight, you sneaky bastard!”

  “Isn’t that cheating?” Alec inquired, emerging from his crevice.

  Seregil gave the boy a wink and a crooked grin. “Of course!”

  “It’s no wonder you swear by Illior’s Hands,” Micum growled in mock exasperation. “I always have to keep an eye on both of yours.”

  “Illior and Sakor.” Alec shook his head. “You say they’re like my gods, but that they’ve been forgotten in the north.”

  “That’s right,” said Seregil. “Dalna, Astellus, Sakor, and Illior; all part of the Sacred Four. You’ll need to know more of them, down in Skala.”

  Micum rolled his eyes. “We could be here the rest of the week now. He’s worse than a priest on such things!”

  Seregil ignored the protest. “Each one of them rules a different part of life,” he explained. “And they possess the sacred duality.”

  “You mean like how Astellus helps with birth and guides the dead?” asked Alec.

  “Exactly.”

  “But what about the others?”

  “Sakor guards the hearth and directs the sun,” Micum told him. “He’s the soldier’s friend, but he also inflames the mind of your enemy and brings on storms and drought.”

  Alec turned back to Seregil. “And you always swear by Illior.”

  “Where’s that coin I gave you?” Taking it, Seregil turned it to the side with the crescent moon. “This is the most common sign of Illior. It symbolizes the partial revelation of a greater mystery. The Lightbearer sends dreams and magic, and watches over seers and wizards and even thieves. But Illior also sends madness and nightmares.

  “All the Four are a mix of good and ill, bane and blessing. Some even speak of them as both male or female rather than one or the other. The Immortals show us that it’s the natural way of things that good and ill be mixed; separate one from the other and both lose their significance. That’s the strength of the Four.”

  “In other words, if some must be priests, then others must be murderers,” Micum noted wryly.

  “Right, so my cheating in a fight is actually a sacred act.”

  “But what about the other gods?” asked Alec. “Ashi, and Mor of the Birds, and Bilairy and all?”

  “Northern spirits and legends, for the most part,” Seregil said, rising to gather his belongings. “And Bilairy’s just the gatekeeper of souls, making certain that none go in or out before the time appointed by the Maker. As far as I know, there was only one other god great enough to challenge the Four—an evil, dark one.”

  “Seriamaius, you mean?” said Micum.

  Seregil made a hasty warding sign. “You know it’s bad luck to speak the name of the Empty God! Even Nysander says so.”

  “Illiorans!” the big man scoffed, nudging Alec. “They’ve got superstitious streaks a mile wide. It was all legends anyway, started by the necromancers back in the Great War. And good true steel took care of them.”

  “Not without considerable help from drysians and wizards,” Seregil replied. “And it took the Aurënfaie to put an end to it.”

  “But what about this other god?” asked Alec, feeling a chill go up his back. “Where did it come from if it wasn’t part of the Four?”

  Seregil snugged down the straps of his pack. “It’s said the Plenimarans brought the worship of the Empty God back from somewhere over the seas. It’s supposed to have been a pretty unpleasant business, too—all kinds of nasty ceremonies. This deity was said to feed off the living energy of the world. He did grant uncanny powers to the faithful, but always at a terrible price. Still, there are always those who will seek such power, whatever the risk.”

  “And this Empty God is supposed to have started that great war?”

  “The worship of that god would have been well established by that time—”

  “Sakor’s Flame, Seregil, a man could grow old waiting for you to draw breath once you start talking!” Micum interrupted impatiently. “We’ve a long ride ahead of us, and horses to ‘find.’ ”

  Seregil made him a rude gesture, then went to the supply shelf and left a few coins. “We don’t have much for the larder, but I think this will do.” He replaced Erisa’s feather token with a bit of knotted cord.

  Micum fished a fir cone from a pouch and added it to the collection. “We’ll need a sign for you, now that you know the place,” he said to Alec. “It’s good manners to let others know when you’ve been here.”

  Alec found a bit of fletching and placed it with the other things.

  Micum clapped him on the shoulder approvingly. “I guess I don’t need to ask you to keep our secrets.”

  Alec nodded awkwardly and turned to pick up his gear, hoping the others didn’t see his embarrassed blush. Whoever these men really were, it felt good to have their trust.

  They left the woods as soon as it was dark and made their way back to the edge of the farmland surrounding the town. It was impossible not to leave a trail across the snow-covered fields, so they kept to the back roads and lanes as much as possible, eyeing each farm as they passed.

  As the last lights in the distant town winked out, Seregil paused on a rise overlooking a prosperous steading.

  “That’s what we want,” he said. “Dark house, big stable.”

  “Good choice,” said Micum, rubbing his hands cheerfully. “That’s Doblevain’s place. He breeds the best horses in the area. You see to the animals. Alec and I will find the tack.”

  “All right,” Seregil agreed. “Alec, we’ll continue your education with a lesson in horse thieving.”

  Keeping to the road and the trampled ground of the corral, they managed to leave almost no trail at all as they approached the stable. Just as they reached the door, however, two large mongrels came out of the shadows and advanced on them with raised hackles.

  Facing them calmly, Seregil spoke softly and made the left-handed sign Alec had seen him use on the blind man’s dog a few days earlier, with nearly the same effect. Both curs halted for a moment, then trotted forward to lick Seregil’s hand, tails whipping happily. He scratched their ears, murmuring to them in a friendly tone.

  Micum shook his head. “What I wouldn’t give to be able to do that! He’s got a drysian’s own touch with animals. Must come from his—”

  “Come on, we haven’t got all night,” Seregil interrupte
d impatiently, and Alec thought he saw him make some sign to Micum, though he couldn’t make out what it was.

  The stable shutters were down, so they decided to risk a light. Micum reluctantly cracked his lightstone into two pieces, handing half to Seregil. By the light of the remaining half, he and Alec located the small tack room and began pulling down saddles and gear.

  Seregil soon emerged from the rich, sour darkness of the stalls leading three glossy horses, the dogs still padding contentedly at his heels.

  Snowflakes were spiraling down again as they led their mounts away from the farm. When Seregil judged they were out of earshot, they mounted and set off at a gallop over the fields, trusting the new snow to cover their tracks.

  By sunup they’d covered the miles of open hill country between Wolde and the Folcwine Forest. They came within sight of Stook at the forest’s northern border but avoided the town, heading instead down the highroad through the forest.

  New snow lay deep on the road and weighed heavily on the boughs of the trees that flanked it. The sky overhead was a stolid, even grey.

  Seregil and Micum rode slightly ahead of Alec, deep in conversation. Studying their profiles, Alec wondered at how his old life sometimes seemed years gone already, and with it the simple hunter he’d been.

  Lost in his own thoughts, it took a few seconds for him to make the connection between the searing pain that suddenly burned across the top of his left thigh, and the arrow protruding from his horse’s side just in front of the girth strap. The animal screamed and threw him, then bolted down the road.

  The snow cushioned his fall. Dumbfounded, he reached down and felt the shallow gash in his leg. The wound was minor, but the suddenness of it all seemed to numb him momentarily. It wasn’t until he’d struggled up to check his bow that he truly understood what was happening. As if time had paused and was now resuming its normal course, the air around him was instantly filled with an angry hail of arrows.

  “Alec, get down!” Seregil shouted from somewhere nearby.

  Clutching his bow and quiver, Alec dropped and scrambled on his belly to the nearest trees. Rolling into their shelter, he peeked cautiously around a tree trunk, realizing too late that he was on the opposite side of the road from Micum. Four archers stood in the road less than two hundred feet away, sending out a volley of arrows. Alec also caught a glimpse of others working their way through the trees in his direction.