Stalking Darkness (20 page)

“I’d like to introduce my sergeants,” Beka said. “Mercalle, Braknil, and Portus.” Shaking hands with the trio, Alec guessed that most of them had come up through the ranks. Sergeant

Mercalle was tall and dark-complected. She was also missing the last two fingers of her right hand, a common wound among warriors. Next to her stood Braknil, a big, solemn-looking man with a bushy blond beard and weather-roughened skin. The third, Portus, was younger than his companions and carried himself like a noble.

Alec wondered what his story was; according to Beka, it seemed unlikely that he would not be an officer of some rank.

Seregil shook hands with them. “I won’t embarrass your lieutenant by telling you how long I’ve known her, but I will say that she’s been trained by some of the best swordsmen I know.”

“I can believe that, your lordship,” Braknil replied. “That’s why I asked to serve with her.”

Beka grinned. “Sergeant Braknil’s too tactful to say so, but he was one of the sergeants assigned to train the new commissions when I came in. I started out taking orders from him.”

“A title may guarantee an officer’s commission, but it doesn’t guarantee the officer’s quality,” Mercalle put in rather sourly. “Especially if there hasn’t been a real war to winnow out the chaff in a while. I’ve seen a good many sporting the steel gorget who won’t see high summer.”

“Mercalle’s our optimist,” Portus chuckled, and Alec heard the remnants of a lower city accent behind the man’s smooth words.

“It’s early for you to be sent north, isn’t it?” he asked ingenuously.

“There are rumblings from Plenimar already,” Beka told him. “Queen Idrilain and the Archons of Mycena all want troops in place near the west border of Plenimar before the roads thaw into mud holes next month. They’re not making any secret of it, either. The Sakor Horse Regiment and a squadron of the Yourkani Horse have already headed up to Nanta. We’ll be going farther east.”

“First in, last out,” was Portus said proudly. “That’s been our motto since Gerilain’s day.”

“The Queen’s Horse Guard started as the token group of soldiers King Thelatimos gave his daughter after the Oracle said a woman was to lead the country,” Seregil explained. “She surprised everyone when she led them successfully in battle.”

Braknil nodded. “One of my ancestors was with Gerilain and there’s been at least one of my family with the Guard ever since.”

Stationed by the front door, Runcer announced gravely, “Captain Myrhini and Commander Perris, of the Queen’s Horse, my lords.”

Myrhini strode in, accompanied by a handsome uniformed man Alec had seen around the drilling field. Beka and her riders instantly snapped to attention.

Myrhini introduced her companion as Commander Perris, who led one of the other squadrons of the regiment, then looked around, scowling. “What, no one drunk yet? Lieutenant Beka, explain yourself.”

“I’ll see to it at once, Captain!” Beka replied, coloring a bit.

Seregil laid a hand on her arm. “I thought perhaps some of your soldiers might be a bit self-conscious dancing with each other, so I took the liberty of inviting a few other guests to liven things up.”

At his gesture, the musicians struck up a sprightly tune and a score of richly dressed men and women entered from the dining room, streaming out to partner the soldiers.

“Who are they?” asked Beka, her eyes widening in surprise.

Seregil exchanged an amused look with Alec.

“Oh, just a few friends of mine from the Street of Lights who think the Queen’s best regiment deserves nothing less than the best.”

Myrhini covered a smile as Beka’s eyes went wider still as she recognized the significance of the colored tokens each elegant “guest” wore discreetly on their clothing or in their hair-white, green, rose, or amber.

Alec leaned closer to Beka. “From what I understand, you’ll want to stick with amber.”

“From what I understand, Sir Alec, I think I’ll stick with you,” Beka retorted, slipping her arm through his. “Come on and show a soldier a good time, eh?”

“You are a generous patron,” Commander Perris noted with amusement. “Mind if I join in? I see a familiar face or two.”

“By all means,” Seregil said, smiling.

Myrhini followed Seregil to the table and accepted a cup of wine. “They can do with a bit of spoiling,” she said, watching the milling throng with obvious affection. “It’ll be cold camps and long riding for us between now and spring.”

“And then?” asked Seregil.

Myrhini glanced at him over the rim of her cup, then sighed. “And then it will get worse. Most likely a lot worse.”

“Will this lot be ready?”

“As ready as green soldiers can be. These ones here are some of the best, and so is Beka. I just hope they can stay alive long enough to get seasoned. Nothing but battle experience can do that for them.”

By midnight Alec was drunker than he’d ever been in his life and not only knew all the riders and courtesans by name, but had danced with most of them.

He’d just staggered through a reel with a blue-eyed, tipsily amorous rider named Ariani when Corporal Kallas and his twin brother Aulos grabbed him and hoisted him onto one of the tables.

“Lieutenant says you’re lucky,”

Kallas bawled, pulling off his tabard and handing it up to Alec. “So we’re making you our mascot, young Alec my lad.”

Alec pulled on the uniform and made the company an exaggerated bow. “I am honored!” “You are drunk!” someone shouted back.

Alec considered this, then nodded solemnly. “I am that, but as the Maker teaches us, in the depths of the cup lies the back door to enlightenment—or something like that, anyway.” Snatching up a half-full bottle of wine, he waved it in their general direction. “And the drunker I get, the braver and worthier you all look to me!”

“A visionary of the vine,” Kallas exclaimed, spreading his arms in mock reverence. “Give me your blessing, O beardless sage!”

Alec obligingly slopped some wine on the man’s face. “Long life and a hollow leg, my son.”

Laughing and cheering, the rest of them asked for his benediction. Quite a number were missing, he noted, and so were most of the courtesans.

He sprinkled the supplicants liberally until he came to the last, Beka. Her freckled face was flushed with wine and dancing; her wild red hair had escaped her braid and floated in untidy wisps around it. She was as drunk as any of them, and as happy.

As she grinned expectantly up at him, however, Alec felt a brief, sobering chill. His friend, his almost sister, was going off to war.

“Come on, mascot, don’t you have any better luck left for me?” she demanded.

Grabbing up a fresh bottle, Alec upended it over her head. “Long life, and luck in the shadows and in the light.”

Beka sputtered and laughed and those around her cheered. “Well done, mascot,” Kallas said. “A blessing that wet’s likely to make her immortal!” “I hope so,” Alec whispered, looking down at her. “I do hope so.”

M
aster Micum, there’s riders coming up the hill,” a servant shouted to him across the snowy pasture.

Standing atop the hayrack, Micum shaded his eyes against the late afternoon sun and quickly scanned the frozen river boundary. Two horsemen were riding up from the bridge a mile below.

He’d been leery of unannounced visitors since returning from the northlands that past autumn.

Despite all Nysander’s assurances to the contrary, he still didn’t feel easy in his mind about Mardus and his gang.

So he studied the riders with a chary eye. Seeing that they kept to the main track, and rode at an unhurried canter with weapons sheathed, he ruled out enemy or messenger. They were still too far away to make out faces, but he soon recognized the horses.

Frowning, he pushed his way through the colts milling around the hayrack and set off for the house. More often than not, unexpected visits from Seregil meant a summons to Watcher business. Kari was three moons gone now and the sickness had passed, leaving in its wake the glowing bloom of mid term pregnancy. Nonetheless, she was older this time and he disliked the thought of leaving her.

A farm hand met him apologetically in the courtyard. “Illia run ahead with the dogs to meet ‘em soon as she made out who it was, Master Micum. I didn’t think it no harm.”

“Not this time maybe, Ranil, but I don’t like her getting in the habit of it,” Micum retorted gruffly.

Seregil and Alec clattered into the court a few moments later, with Illia perched proudly on Alec’s saddlebow. They were both looking a little pale, Micum noted, but they seemed in good spirits otherwise.

“So I might have to marry Alec when I’m grown,” Illia was prattling across to Seregil. “I hope that won’t hurt your feelings too much.”

Seregil slapped a hand over his heart like a troubadour in a mural. “Ah, fair maiden, I shall slay a thousand evil dragons for you, and lay their steaming black livers at your dainty feet, if only you will restore me to your favor.”

“Livers!” Illia buried her face against Alec’s shoulder with an outraged giggle. “You wouldn’t bring me livers, would you, Alec?”

“Of course not,” Alec scoffed. “What a disgusting present. I’d bring you the eyeballs for a necklace, and all their scaly pointed tongues to tie your braids with.”

Shrieking with delight, Illia slid off into her father’s arms.

“Hey, little bird, what are you doing running off by yourself?” he asked sternly.

“It’s just Uncle Seregil and Alec. And I wasn’t alone,” she added coyly, shawl askew as she spread her arms grandly over the pack of great shaggy hounds jostled around them, like a general over her troops. “Dash and all the others came with me.”

“You know the rules, young miss,” Micum remonstrated. “Run in now and tell your mother who’s here.”

“What brings you two up?” he asked, turning back to the others with a twinge of relief; they were dressed for visiting rather than traveling.

Seregil waded through the dogs to hand him a stitched packet of letters. “Beka asked us to bring this out to you. Her regiment left at dawn.”

“What, today? We should have been there to see her off!”

“There wasn’t time,” Alec explained quickly, coming up beside Seregil. “The orders came yesterday. We gave her and her riders a proper send-off last night, though.” He rubbed his head with a rueful grin. “I think I’m still a little drunk.”

Seregil ruffled Alec’s hair with playful impunity. “Runcer will be a couple of days clearing up the wreckage. Between that, and the complaints from the neighbors, we figured it might be a good time for Lord Seregil and Sir Alec to lay low for a few days. We thought we’d put up here, if that’s agreeable.”

“Yes, of course,” Micum replied distractedly, fingering the packet of letters. “Where were they headed?”

“The western border of Mycena,” Seregil told him. “Word is Idrilain wanted them in place before the Klesin thaws muck up the roads next month. The Queen’s Horse was the first to go, but the city was swarming with soldiers by the time we rode out. Idrilain isn’t taking any chances.”

Micum shook his head, wondering how Kari was going to take this news. “Ranil, see to their horses. If you two will excuse me a minute, I want a look at these.”

Seregil laid a hand on his arm as he turned to go.

Casting a quick glance toward the door, he said in a low voice, “There’s something else. Rhal tracked us down in Rhiminee about a month ago.”

Micum tensed. “That river trader?”

Seregil nodded. “Some foreign-sounding swordsmen showed up looking for the three of us after Alec and I had gotten off. Rhal covered our tracks, and soon after the Darter went down under questionable circumstances. We’ve been careful since, and there’s been no sign of trouble so far, but with spring coming on—you never know. That’s another reason we want to move back to the inn.”

“What’s Nysander say to all this?” Seregil shrugged. “He’s keeping a wizard eye out for trouble. So far he hasn’t spotted anything.”

“They must have lost us in Mycena,” Alec put in, sounding as if he and Seregil had had this discussion before. “Otherwise, we’d have been approached or attacked.”

“So you’d think,” Micum allowed. “Still, you’re smart to be careful. Go see to your gear. I’ll break the news to Kari.”

“We won’t hurry, then, eh?” Seregil said, giving him an understanding look.

Kari took the news of Beka’s departure more calmly than Micum had feared. Reading over Beka’s letter, and those from Elsbet, she merely nodded and then folded them carefully back into the wrapper.

Old Arna and the other household servants joined them by the central fire in the hall as Seregil described Beka’s departure in glowing detail.

“They looked grand, riding out of the city by torchlight,” he said. “Klia and the high officers rode at the fore in full uniform, helmets and all. And there was our Beka at the head of her turma with a steel lieutenant’s gorget at her throat. The horses had bronze chest plates and cheek pieces that jingled like bells as they rode.”

“She wrote that she’s in Captain Myrhini’s troop,” noted Kari, stroking Illia’s dark head as the little girl leaned against her knee.

“Myrhini’s as good a captain as there is,” Micum said, pulling her close. “The frontier will be quiet for a while yet, too. The Plenimarans couldn’t get that far west much before mid-Lithion at the earliest and probably not until early summer. She’ll have time to find her feet before any trouble starts.”