Luck in the Shadows (3 page)

Fighting it down, he forced himself to concentrate on gauging the distance to the dark side of the wood stack.
I haven’t come this far to be abandoned for weakness,
he berated himself.
Maker Dalna, hold your hand over me now!

Drawing in a deep, silent breath, he darted forward. He got within arm’s length of the wood stack before a tall figure stepped from the shadow of the forge a scant few feet away.

“Who’s that?” the man demanded, pulling something from his belt. “Stand and speak, you!”

Alec dove for the stack, throwing himself down behind it. Something hard dug into his chest as he landed. Grabbing at it, he closed his hand around the smooth haft of an ax. Then he was rolling to avoid the heavy club the man was swinging at his head.
Gripping the ax like a quarter staff, Alec managed to deflect the sentry’s arcing swing. He was badly overmatched, however, and what little strength he had left after days of mistreatment soon faded as blow after blow rained down. Leaping back, he caught sight of Rolan near the stable door. Instead of coming to his aid, however, the bard faded back into the shadows.

That’s it then,
he thought.
I got into trouble and he’s left me
.

Driven by fury born of utter despair, Alec flew at the startled sentry, driving the man back with wild swings of the ax’s double blade. If he was going to die in this terrible place, he’d go down fighting under an open sky.

His adversary recovered quickly and was pressing in for the kill when they were both surprised by a clattering uproar nearby. The stable door slammed back and Rolan burst out mounted bareback on an enormous black horse. A pack of ostlers, stable boys, and guards spilled out after him, raising the alarm.

“The gate, damn it! Open the gate!” Rolan shouted, leading his pursuers in a fool’s chase around the courtyard.

Distracted, the sentry made a clumsy parry and Alec sprang under his guard with a savage swing. The blade struck home and the man went down screaming. Dropping the ax, Alec dashed to the gate, heaved the heavy bar out of its brackets, and pushed the doors wide.

Now what?

Looking around, he found Rolan occupied at the far end of the yard.

A guard had him by one ankle, and a stable hand was leaping for the horse’s bridle. Spotting the open gate, he reined the horse back on its haunches and kicked the beast into a furious gallop straight across the yard. His mount sprang effortlessly over the well and bolted for the gate. Hauling back on the reins, Rolan twisted the fingers of one hand into the black’s mane and leaned over its neck, other arm extended.

“Come on!” he yelled.

Alec reached up just in time. Rolan’s fingers clamped around his wrist, wrenching him off his feet and across the horse’s broad back. Clambering upright, he locked his arms around Rolan’s waist as they thundered though the gate and down the road beyond.

They skirted the little village nestled against the walls of the
keep and flew on along the road down the wooded mountainside below Asengai’s domain.

After several miles, Rolan left the road and plunged into the thick forest that flanked it. Safe among the trees, he reined their mount to a halt.

“Here, take these,” he whispered, shoving a bundle of some sort into Alec’s hands.

It was a cloak. The coarse fabric smelled rankly of the stable but the boy wrapped himself in it gratefully, drawing his bare feet up against the horse’s steaming sides to warm them.

They sat in silence, and after a moment Alec realized that they must be waiting for something. Presently they heard the clatter of hooves approaching. It was too dark to count the riders as they passed, but judging by the sound, there were at least half a dozen. Waiting until they were all well past, Rolan turned the black again to the road and started back in the direction of the keep.

“We’re going the wrong way,” Alec whispered, tugging at Rolan’s sleeve.

“Don’t worry,” his companion replied with a soft chuckle.

A few moments later he turned aside from the main road, this time onto a badly overgrown track. The ground fell away sharply, and branches whipped at their faces as they cantered along under the cover of the trees. Halting again, Rolan claimed the cloak and threw it over the horse’s head to keep the beast quiet. They soon heard the riders again, moving slower now and calling back and forth to one another. Two riders ventured down the track, passing within ten yards of where Rolan and Alec stood holding their breath.

“He must’ve been a wizard, I tell you!” one was saying. “Killing that southern bastard the way he did, disappearing out of the cell, and now this!”

“Wizard be damned,” the other retorted angrily. “You’ll wish you was a wizard if Berin don’t catch up with ’em down the road. Lord Asengai’ll skin the whole bunch of us!”

A horse stumbled and reared.

“Bilairy’s Guts! This way’s hopeless in the dark. They’d have broke their necks by now,” the lead man grumbled. Giving up, the riders turned back the way they’d come.

Waiting until all was quiet, Rolan mounted in front of Alec and handed him back the cloak.

“What do we do now?” whispered Alec as they headed down the mountain track again.

“I left some supplies a few miles from here. I just hope they’re still there. Hang on tight. We’ve got a rough ride ahead of us.”

A
lec opened his eyes to the noonday light. For a drowsy moment he blinked up at the branches overhead, trying to recall where he was and wondering why the scratchy roughness of the blankets felt so good against his skin.

Then a sudden onslaught of memories slapped him fully awake. Scrambling to his knees, he pulled the blankets around him and looked about in alarm.

Rolan was nowhere in sight, but their stolen horse was still in the little clearing, along with the bay mare and the battered leather pack Rolan had cached here before venturing into Asengai’s domain. Burrowing back beneath the blankets, Alec closed his eyes again and waited for his heartbeat to slow.

He was amazed that Rolan had been able to find his way back here at all. To Alec, exhausted beyond measure, the ride had seemed one long, impossible series of difficulties: thickets, streams, and a skree field they’d crossed on foot. Never faltering, Rolan had urged him on with promises of hot food and warm blankets. By the time they’d reached the clearing, Alec had been too tired and cold to do more than collapse onto the bracken pallet that lay ready beneath the shelter of a thick fir.

The last thing he remembered was listening to Rolan curse the cold as he joined him beneath their shared pile of blankets and cloaks.

It was bitterly cold now, despite the brightness of the sun. Long crystals of frost thrust up through the mossy loam next to his pallet, like bundles of tiny glass blades. Overhead, mackerel-striped clouds ribbed the hazy sky. There’d be snow soon, the first of the year.

Their camp lay next to a small waterfall, and the sound of it had gotten into his dreams. Pulling the stolen cloak around his shoulders, he went into the bushes to relieve his bladder, then walked down to the edge of the pool below the falls. Every bruise and welt protested as he dipped up a handful of icy water, but he was too happy to care; he was alive and he was free! Whoever, whatever this Rolan Silverleaf was, Alec owed him his life.

But where was the man?

Branches rattled on the opposite side of the pool as a doe stepped from the trees to drink. Alec’s fingers itched for the taut pull of a bowstring.

“Maker keep you fat until we meet again!” he called softly. Startled, the deer sprang away on slender legs and Alec set off to see what he could forage.

It was an old forest. Towering firs had long since choked out all but the most persistent undergrowth, so that a man could easily have driven a cart between their thick, straight trunks. High overhead, the dense canopy of interlaced boughs filtered the sunlight to muted underwater tones. Moss-crusted boulders studded the slope. Between them, patches of dead ferns whispered dryly as he passed. Finding a few late mushrooms, he gathered them, nibbling at one as he went along.

As he passed a large boulder, he was surprised to find a rabbit dead in a snare. Hoping this was Rolan’s work, he freed the carcass and sniffed it. It was fresh. Mouth watering at the first prospect of hot meat in days, he headed eagerly back to the camp. As he neared the clearing he heard the knock of steel against a flint and hurried on to show Rolan their breakfast.

Stepping from the shelter of the trees, he froze in terror.

O Dalna, they found us!

A rough-clad stranger was standing with his back to Alec, looking out over the pool. His tunic of green homespun and leather
breeches were unremarkable; it was the long scabbard slung low on the intruder’s left hip that caught the boy’s attention.

Alec’s first thought was to melt back into the woods, find Rolan. As he took a cautious step back, however, his heel struck a dry stick. It snapped loudly and the man whirled about, sword drawn. Dropping the rabbit and the mushrooms, Alec turned to bolt. A familiar voice behind him brought him to a halt.

“It’s all right. It’s me. It’s Rolan.”

Still poised to run, Alec took a wary look back and realized his mistake. It was Rolan, after all, though he bore little resemblance to the foppish coxcomb of the night before.

“Good morning,” Rolan called. “You’d better go get that coney you dropped. I’ve only got one other and I’m famished!”

Alec’s cheeks flushed hotly as he hastily gathered up the rabbit and mushrooms and brought them to the fire.

“I didn’t recognize you,” he exclaimed. “How can you look so different?”

“Just changed my clothes.” Rolan pushed back the thick brown hair that hung now in damp waves over his shoulders. “I don’t suppose you got a very good look at me before, racing around in the dark as we did.”

This was true, Alec reflected, sizing his companion up. Rolan somehow seemed taller in the daylight, though he was not a large man at all. Rather, he was slender and fine-featured, with large grey eyes set over high cheekbones and a long, narrow nose. His mouth was fine, almost thin, and tilted at the moment in a lopsided grin that made him look younger than Alec would have guessed before.

“I don’t know, Rolan—”

“Oh, and about the name.” The grin tilted a bit higher. “It isn’t actually Rolan Silverleaf.”

“What do I call you, then?” asked Alec, not particularly surprised.

“You can call me Seregil.”

“How’s that?”

“
Ser
-ah-gill.”

“Oh.” It was an odd-sounding name, but Alec sensed it was all he was going to get for the moment. “Where were you?”

“Checking to see if anyone tracked us. There’s no sign of Asengai’s men yet, but we’d better move on soon in case they get lucky. We’ll eat first, though. You look starved.”

Alec knelt by the fire, inspecting the two lean coneys with a rueful smile. “We’d be eating venison if I had my bow. Those bastards took everything I owned. I don’t even have a knife! Lend me one and I’ll clean these.”

Reaching into the top of one tall boot, Seregil handed him a long poniard.

“Maker’s Mercy, that’s a beauty!” Alec exclaimed, running a thumbnail appreciatively along the edge of the narrow, triangular blade. As he set about cleaning the first rabbit, however, it was Seregil’s turn to be impressed.

“You’re pretty handy at that sort of thing,” he remarked as Alec opened the belly with a single quick stroke.

Alec offered him a purplish-brown lobe of liver. “You want some of this? Good for your blood in the winter.”

“Thanks.” Accepting the morsel, Seregil sat down by the fire and watched him thoughtfully.

Alec colored a little under that frank gaze. “Thank you for saving my life last night. I’m in your debt.”

“You handled yourself well enough. How old are you, anyway? You look young to be roaming around all by yourself.”

“Sixteen last summer,” Alec replied a bit gruffly. He was often taken for younger than he was. “I’ve lived my whole life in the woods.”

“But not alone, surely?”

Alec hesitated, wondering how much he really wanted to reveal to this odd stranger. “My father died just after the summer solstice.”

“I see. An accident, was it?”

“No, he had the wasting sickness.” Tears stung Alec’s eyes and he bent lower over the rabbit, hoping Seregil wouldn’t notice. “It was a hard death. Even the drysians couldn’t help him in the end.”

“You’ve been on your own all of three months, then?”

“Yes. We missed the spring bird trade, so I had to spend the summer in Stone Tor working off our debt to the inn where Father lay sick. Then I came out for the fall trapping, like we always did. I already had a whole string of pelts, good ones, when I ran into Asengai’s men. Now, with no equipment, no horse, nothing, I don’t know—”

He broke off, his face grim; he’d walked the thin line of starvation before.

“Don’t you have a family somewhere?” Seregil asked after a moment. “Where’s your mother?”

“I never knew her.”

“Friends?”

Alec handed him the dressed rabbit and took up the second. “We kept to ourselves mostly. Father didn’t like towns.”

“I see. So what will you do now?”

“I don’t know. In Stone Tor I worked in the scullery and helped out the ostler. I guess I’ll have to go back to that for the winter.”

Seregil made no comment and Alec worked in silence for a moment. Then, watching the steam from the open carcass rise between his fingers, he asked, “All that back there last night—was it you they were looking for?”

Seregil smiled slightly as he skewered the first rabbit on a long stick and propped it over the fire. “That’s a dangerous question to ask a stranger. If I was, I’d probably kill you just for asking. No, I’m just a wandering collector of tales. I’ve picked up a lot that way.”

“So you really are a bard, then?”

“Sometimes. I was up above Kerry not long ago, collecting stories of the
Faie
who were supposed to have lived up in the Ironheart Mountains beyond Ravensfell Pass. Being from that region yourself, you must know something about them.”