Stalking Darkness

52

"Mother! A carriage is coming, and riders," cried Illia from the front gate. "It must be Father coming home!"

Shading her eyes against the slanting afternoon sun, Kari joined her at the gate and watched the covered carriage make its way slowly up the hill toward them. She recognized the riders as Seregil and Alec. Micum wasn't with them.

She unconsciously pressed a hand across her belly as she set off down the road to meet them. Catching her mother's mood, Illia hurried solemnly along behind her.

Seregil cantered on ahead to meet her and Kari's sense of dread deepened as he came near. She had never seen him so pale and worn. There was something in his face, a shadow.

"Where's Father, Uncle Seregil?" demanded Illia.

"In the carriage," he told her, reining in beside them and dismounting. "He's wounded but he'll be fine. Elsbet's with him, too, and Alec."

"Thank the Maker!" Kari exclaimed, embracing him. "Oh, Seregil, I know about the Cockerel. I'm so sorry. Those poor good people."

He returned the embrace stiffly and she stepped back to look into his face again. "What is it? There's something else, isn't there?"

"You've had no news, then?"

"Magyana sent word at dawn that you'd returned, that's all."

Seregil turned away, his face disturbingly expressionless as he looked out over the new green of the meadow. "Nysander's dead."

Kari raised a hand to her mouth, too stunned to speak.

"That nice old man who did magic tricks for me on Sakor's Day?" asked Illia. She danced around them impatiently, her face puckering to cry. "Why is he dead? Did a bad man kill him?"

Seregil swallowed hard, his face still grim. "He did something very brave. Very difficult and very brave. And he died."

The others drew up and Seregil straightened, his face betraying nothing but a strained composure.

Too composed, it seemed to Kari as she hurried to the carriage door. But then all her thoughts turned to Micum.

Haggard as he was, he greeted her with a rakish grin as she flew into his outstretched arms.

"I may be home for good this time, love," he said ruefully, patting his bandaged leg propped before him on the carriage seat.

"Make me no idle promises, you wandering scoundrel!" Kari gasped, wiping away tears of relief. "Where's Alec?"

She leaned out the window and took his hand as he sat his horse. "Are you well, love?"

"Me? Hardly a scratch," Alec assured her, though he looked as drawn and careworn as the others.

Kari held his hand a moment longer, seeing what Beka had seen; he was no longer the boy he'd been when he first came to Watermead. Whatever had happened to him through these past weeks, it had stripped the innocence from him, and who knew what else besides?

The household hounds leapt around the carriage and horses as they entered the courtyard. A loud answering hiss issued from somewhere near Kari's feet. She looked down to find a pair of green eyes shining out at her from a crack in a wicker hamper.

"What in the world—?"

"Seregil's cat," Micum told her. "I bet there'll be some slashed snouts among the dogs before she's through. Poor creature, she's the last survivor of the inn."

Kari smiled to herself, but held her peace until Alec and Seregil had helped Micum into the main hall. When he was settled comfortably in front of the fire, she drew Elsbet aside, then whispered to Illia. The little girl disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a plump, curly-headed baby in her arms.

"Father, look what Valerius brought us. Isn't he pretty?"

Alec was the first to react. Jumping to his feet again, he lifted the child from Illia's uncertain grip and held him up, looking him over with a mix of wonder and joy.

"Cilia's baby?" Micum asked.

Kari took his hand. "Valerius brought him to me a few days after you left and asked if I'd foster the child. I knew Cilia would want him here, rather than raised by strangers who knew nothing of his people. I didn't think you'd mind."

"Of course not," replied Micum, watching in bemusement as Luthas tugged at Alec's hair, crowing with delighted recognition. "But with the new one coming, do you think you're up to it?"

"Up to raising the orphaned child of a friend? I should think so!" Kari scoffed. "With the older girls gone, I've got far too much time on my hands. And Illia adores him."

She looked up at Seregil, standing alone by the hearth. "When he's old enough, I'll tell him how you saved his life," she added.

"It might be better if he didn't know," Seregil replied, watching Alec and Illia fussing over the child.

"I'll leave it to you, then," Kari said, catching another glimpse of the desperate unhappiness she'd sensed in him on the road.

Lying close to Micum that night, she listened in silence as he slowly explained the manner of Nysander's sacrifice and death.

"No wonder Seregil's so lost," she whispered, stroking her husband's strong, freckled arm. "How could Nysander have demanded such a thing of him?"

"I don't completely understand it all myself," Micum admitted sadly. "But I do believe Nysander was right in thinking that no one but Seregil would have the heart to strike him down when the time came. I couldn't have done it, and I don't think Alec could have, either."

"We forget sometimes how cruel the gods can be!" Kari said bitterly. "To turn love to murder like that."

"You'd have to have been there," Micum said, staring up into the shadows cast by the fire on the hearth. "If you could have seen Nysander's face—It wasn't murder. It was an act of mercy, and love."

During the weeks that followed mixed reports came of the war; for the time being the Plenimaran army was held back in eastern Mycena, but their black ships ruled the seas, raiding the eastern coast of Skala as far north as Cirna, though they hadn't yet won control of the Canal.

Except for the absence of the young men who'd gone off to war, life at Watermead continued on largely unchanged. Gorathin followed Nythin, and then Shemin, bringing with it the lushness of high summer.

Gentle morning rains nourished the fields and strong spring lambs and colts bounded after their dams in the meadows.

Kari flourished with the land and her great belly swayed proudly before her as she went briskly about her daily work and the welcome tasks of summer. But she continued to worry about Seregil, though the only outward sign of trouble was his unusual quietness.

She knew Micum and Alec felt the same concern, yet none of them could see a way to help him.

He sought no solace from any of them, to be sure, but kept himself busy around the estate. Micum had made it clear that he and Alec were welcome to live at Watermead for as long as they wished, and Seregil seemed content to do so. From Alec, Kari learned that he'd sworn never to set foot in Rhiminee again.

If he'd been morose or self-pitying, she might have tried to cajole him out of it, but he wasn't. When asked, he would tell tales and play the harp. He worked with the horses, helped build a new stable, and spent his evenings devising clever devices to help Micum cope with his crippled leg, including a specially designed stirrup that let him ride again. Of late he'd even been able to bring himself to hold Luthas again, but left to himself he sank again into that inner stillness.

Alec, who'd endured the most abuse of any of them, was the quickest to recover. Farm labor agreed with him and he quickly grew brown and cheerful again. Kari saw him watching Seregil, however, trying to gauge the inner turmoil that underlay his friend's long silences and distant eyes.

At night they shared the bed in the guest chamber, but Kari could tell that no comfort was being found there either.

One morning in mid-Shemin Kari awoke just before dawn, too uncomfortable to sleep. No matter how she turned, her back ached. Not wanting to wake Micum, she threw a shawl on over her shift, checked Luthas, who lay asleep in the cradle by their bed, then went off to the kitchen to make tea.

To her surprise, the kettle was on the hook over the fire already. A moment later Alec came in carrying a basket of pears from the tree in the backyard.

"You're up early," he said, offering her the fruit.

"It's this wretched child." She frowned comically, kneading her lower back. "He kicks his mother and puts his knees and elbows in all the wrong places. What woke you so early?"

"Seregil was tossing around in his sleep again. I thought maybe I'd go hunting."

"Sit with me a moment, won't you? It's so peaceful this time of the day." Kari sat on the hearth bench to warm her back while Alec made the tea.

"Seregil isn't getting any better, is he?"

"You and Micum both see it, too, don't you?" he said wearily, pulling up a stool beside her. He held out one tanned, callused hand. "He hasn't once told me to wear gloves. He was always after me about it. Before."

He looked up at her and Kari saw the depth of unhappiness in his young face. "Now he goes out at night or sits up writing. He hardly sleeps at all."

"Writing what?"

Alec shrugged. "He won't talk about it. I even thought of stealing a look at his papers, but he's got them hidden somewhere. It's like he's fading inside, Kari, leaving us behind without going away. And I keep thinking about something he told me once, about when he was exiled from Aurenen."

He spoke of that to you? thought Kari. Even Micum knew almost nothing of that part of Seregil's life.

"Another boy was sent away with him then, but he threw himself off the ship and drowned," Alec went on. "Seregil says most Aurenfaie exiles end up suicides because sooner or later they fall into despair living among the Tirfaie. He said it hadn't happened to him. But the way things are now, I think maybe it has."

Kari watched his hands tighten around the mug he was holding. There was something else going on behind those blue eyes, something too painful to share. She reached to stroke his cheek.

"Then keep good watch over him, Alec. You two share the same blood. Perhaps in his sadness he's forgotten that."

Alec sighed heavily. "He's forgotten more than that. The day he found me again in Plenimar, something happened, but now he won't—" Kari flinched suddenly as a sharp stab of pain lanced down one leg.

"What it is?" he asked, concerned.

Kari gasped through her teeth again, then grasped his arm to raise herself. "It's only the eight-month pains. A walk in the meadow will ease them and we can keep talking." The pain passed and she gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't look so worried. It's just the Maker's way of preparing me for the birth. You know, I've got a craving for some of that new cheese. Run and fetch us a bit from the dairy, would you?"

"Are you sure? I don't like to leave you."

"Maker's Mercy, Alec, I was bearing children before you were even thought of. Go on, now." Pressing her fists into the small of her back, she went outside by the kitchen door so as not to waken the servants still sleeping in the hall.

Alec was halfway to the dairy before he realized he'd forgotten to bring a dish for the fresh curds.

By the time he found one, Kari was already out of sight around the corner of the house. Going around to the courtyard, however, he saw that the postern was still barred.

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 Aurenfaie name in the family."

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

"Early blessing," was 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 at 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 Seregil'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, tali.

The stars were dying as he led Cynril down the road below Watermead. 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 tali,

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 Rhiminee 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 Rhiminee 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 Aurenfaie, 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, tali, 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."

Alec started to protest but Seregil smiled and pressed a finger across his lips. "As long as I have a place in your heart, I'm satisfied."

"You always have to have the last word, don't you?" Alec growled, then kissed him again. The feel of Seregil's lean body pressing against his own suddenly felt as natural and easy as one stream flowing into another. His last remaining worry was that he had very little idea about how to proceed from here.

The sound of a horse coming up the trail at a gallop forestalled the issue for the moment.

"I can guess who that is," Seregil groaned, standing up.

Micum burst into the clearing. "So here you are!" he exclaimed, glowering down at Seregil. "By the Flame, the whole house is in an uproar because of you!"

He pulled a rolled letter from his coat and held it up angrily. "You gave us a scare with this, you idiot. I don't know whether to kiss you or kick your ass from here to Cirna!"

For the first time in months, Seregil summoned a cocky, crooked grin. "Don't strain your leg on my account. Alec already done both."

Micum took a second look at the two of them and returned this'. grin knowingly. "Well, it's about time!"

Two days later Micum and his family gathered in the courtyard to wish Alec and Seregil a proper farewell.

"Will you be heading to Mycena from here?" asked Micum as they made a final check of their horses and gear.

"I imagine the queen will have some use for a couple of trustworthy spies." Seregil shrugged noncommittally. "Winter's not that far off. Idrilain is supposed to be somewhere above Keston now. There won't be much to do once the snow flies. Maybe in the spring."

Kari shifted Gherin in her arms and embraced him tightly, then Alec. Blinking back tears, she whispered, "Take care, both of you."

Micum rested a hand on Seregil's shoulder, looking at him as if he didn't expect to see him again. "By the Flame, it's hard not riding out with you. I wish you'd take my sword."

Seregil shook his head. "That blade belongs with you. I'll find another if I ever feel the need of one again. In the meantime, Alec'll keep an eye on me."

"You see that you do, Alec, or you'll answer to us," Micum said with gruff affection, exchanging a quick look with Kari. They'd both noted the new light in Seregil's eyes whenever he looked at Alec, and how that same warmth was returned.

After all their farewells had been said, Seregil and Alec swung up on their Aurenfaie mounts and rode out the gate.

"What if the Queen doesn't want us for spies in the spring?" Alec asked as they cantered down toward the bridge.

Seregil shrugged again. "Well then, we're still some of the best damned thieves I know of. Never any shortage of work there."

Kicking their mounts into a gallop, they raced down the hill side by side, and swung north to the open road beyond.