Stalking Darkness (43 page)

“I’m looking for Micum Cavish of Watermead,” Alec explained. “I need to speak with him at once.” The reeve gave him an appraising once over, then motioned to a stable boy loitering nearby. “Portus, go and find Sir Micum. Tell him there’s a messenger boy waiting his pleasure in the bailey.”

Alec stifled a smile, then bid the carter and his wife farewell. A large brazier had been set up in the yard and he drifted over to join the knot of guards and servants who’d gathered around it. Sitting in the cart in wet clothes had chilled him through.

Leaning close to the fire, he ignored the curious glances his sword and filthy clothes attracted.

A few minutes later he saw Micum stride into the bailey. He was dressed in a fine coat and furs, and looked rather harried.

“Someone looking for me?” he called out.

“Me, sir,” Alec said, reluctantly leaving the brazier.

“What is it then?” Micum asked impatiently.

He stopped, recognizing Alec as he came closer. “By the Flame—“

“Greetings, Sir Micum,” Alec said, covering a discreet warning gesture with a bow. “Is there someplace we could speak privately?”

Taking Alec by the arm, Micum drew him into the stable. Grabbing a horse blanket from a nearby stall, he handed it to Alec.

“What happened to you?” he whispered. “And what are you doing here of all places?”

Alec pulled the smelly blanket around him gratefully and sat down on an upended bucket with his back against a post. “It’s a long story,” he sighed. “I ran into a bandit on the hill track—“

“The hill track. What possessed you to come that way this time of year?” Alec cut him short with a weary gesture. “Believe me, I won’t do it again.” “And you were attacked by bandits. Were you on foot?”

“As a matter of fact, no. I borrowed a fresh mount at Watermead, and they took it. That is, she took it, his woman. I killed the man. Anyway, I’ll pay you for the horse and I’ll need another to get home from here. But that’s not what I came to tell you. Seregil and Nysander think the four of us—them, you and I—may be mixed up in some sort of prophecy having to do with the Eater of Death and that wooden coin we found up in Wolde.”

Micum looked less surprised than Alec had expected. “After what I saw up in the Fens, that makes some sense. But what have we got to do with it?”

Alec told him what Nysander had revealed, his own dreams, and the possible connections between the coin and the Plenimarans.

Micum listened without comment. When Alec finished, he shook his head slowly. “These Illiorans and their dreams. You mean to tell me that he sent you clear up here by yourself in this weather just to tell me that something bad might happen and that he’s not even certain what it is?”

“Well, yes. But Seregil says he thinks Nysander’s not telling us everything yet, and that he seems genuinely worried.”

“If Nysander’s worried, then we’d do well to pay heed. But first we need to get you into some dry clothes. I’ll wager you haven’t eaten all day, either. Come on in.”

“I’d better not,” Alec said. “Seregil didn’t want Kari or anyone to see me up here like this.” “All right, then. You wait here and I’ll bring things out. Stay here.”

Micum returned quickly with a bundle of clothes and a mug of steaming soup, a hunk of fresh bread balanced on top.

“Strip off those wet things,” he ordered.

Alec pulled off his coat and shirt, anxious to get into warm clothes. As he was about to pull on the thick tunic Micum had brought him, the man let out a low whistle and touched a finger to a long purple bruise darkening across Alec’s left shoulder.

“Fetched you a good one, didn’t he?”

“I was lucky; he was aiming for my head. My arm’s fine, though.” Pulling on the tunic and breeches, he wrapped his hands around the hot mug and took a sip of the thick, steamy broth.

“Maker’s Mercy, that’s good! So, about that horse? I mean to go back tonight.”

Micum’s heavy red brows drew together ominously. “Now look here, Alec. You’re hurt, tired, and chilled through and it’s already starting to get dark. Stay here tonight and get an early start in the morning.”

“I know I should, but I can’t. Seregil’s trying to track down some Plenimaran spies, and he may need my help.”

Whether he knows it or not, he added mentally. It wasn’t exactly lying to Micum. Not exactly.

Micum looked like he was about to argue the point, but then he just shook his head and said gruffly, “All right then. I can’t force you. I’ve got a horse you can take if you promise to stick to the road and not go gallivanting around through the woods with it in the dark!”

Alec grinned as he clasped his friend’s hand. “You have my word on it.” Alec saddled Micum’s Aurenfaie black quickly, not wanting to give him time to reconsider.

“I should be home before midnight,” he said as he mounted and settled his sword against his thigh under his borrowed cloak.

“Maybe,” said Micum, still looking dubious. “Don’t gallop yourself into a ditch for the sake of an hour, you hear?”

“I hear.”

Micum reached up and clasped Alec’s hand tightly again, a shadow of worry crossing his face as he looked up. “Safe journey to you, Alec, and luck in the shadows.”

Alec returned the grip, then walked the black toward the gate. He was just about to ride out, however, when he realized he’d for gotten something. Turning, he rode back to where Micum stood watching by the stable door.

“By the way, Seregil wanted me to ask if you’ve had any strange dreams lately.”

Micum shrugged, grinning. “Not a one. Tell him I leave that sort of thing to you. I do my best fighting when I’m awake.”

T
hryis and the others sat pushing their suppers around their plates in silence that night. The announcement of war had come at midmorning and the news of Plenimar’s attack on Mycena the previous day had thrown the city into an uproar.

Bluecoat patrols were out in force, rounding up beggars and keeping the peace. Down in the harbor, fighting ships that had rocked at anchor like winter ducks hoisted their colors and sailed out through the moles to join others from ports up and down the coast.

At the Harvest Market vendors’ stalls were being moved aside to make way for ballistas and catapults.

Diomis had spent the afternoon in the streets, trying to sort some sense out of the ebb and flow of rumors flying freely around the city: the Plenimaran fleet had been spotted off the southern tip of Skala; the fighting was centered around the island of Kouros; it was a land attack-the enemy had crossed the Folcwine and was marching west toward Skala; Plenimaran marines were at the Cirna Canal.

A Queen’s herald had arrived at the market at last with solid news; the Plenimarans had made a surprise attack against Skalan troops somewhere in Mycena.

“It makes my old fingers itch for a bow string even now,” Thryis commented wistfully as her family and Rhiri gathered in the kitchen for the evening.

“I still remember that battle we fought above Ero. A clear summer morning, not a breath of wind to spoil the shot, and a hundred of us lined up behind the infantry with our longbows. When we let fly, the Plenimarans fell like a swath of wheat before a scythe.”

“They’ll be fighting in mud and rain, starting in this early. I wonder how Micum Cavish’s girl is making out.” Diomis broke off in surprise as a tear trickled down his daughter’s cheek.

“Why, Cilia, you’re crying. What’s the matter, love?”

Cilia wiped her cheek and hugged the baby to her, saying nothing.

“Luthas’ dad is a soldier, isn’t he, dear?” her grandmother asked gently, patting the girl’s shoulder.

Cilia nodded mutely, then hurried up the back stairs with Luthas in her arms.

Diomis rose to follow, but Thryis stopped him.

“Let her go, son. She’s never talked of the man before; I don’t suppose she’ll say anything now until she’s a mind to.”

“What do you know about that?” he said, scratching under his beard in bemusement. “You’d think if she cared for whoever this fellow is enough to weep for him now, she’d have said more about him to us. Why do you suppose she keeps it such a damned secret?”

“Who knows? I always thought maybe he’d broken promises to her, but she wouldn’t cry for him if he had. Ah well, Cilia’s always had her own way of doing things.”

They sat quietly a moment, listening to the crackle of the fire. Then Rhiri tapped the table with his spoon and made a hand sign. “No, I have had no word of them since yesterday,” Thryis told him. “Alec’s Patch was gone this morning, but both of Seregil’s horses are still in their stalls, aren’t they?”

Rhiri nodded.

“I wouldn’t worry about those two,” said Diomis. “You go on up to bed now, Mother. Me and Rhiri will see to things down here.”

“Make certain the doors are barred,” Thryis warned as he helped her to her feet.”Rhiri, don’t you forget to put oil in the lanterns out front. With all the excitement today some folks may get up to mischief. I want the court well lit.”

“Aye, we will, Mother,” sighed Diomis.

“Haven’t we seen to the closing up these last twenty years? Rhiri, you go on out and check the stable. I’ll take care of the front room.”

Rhiri gave a quick salute and went out through the lading-room door to the back court.

In the front room Diomis checked the bar on the door and extinguished the lamp. The hearth fire was out; with only two guests in the inn, he hadn’t bothered to keep it burning when they’d turned in early. He was just checking the shutter hooks when he heard the familiar rattle of the front door latch.

Diomis peered through the crack of the shutter but saw no horses in the courtyard. “Who’s that?” he called. There was no answer except a crisp rap on the door. Diomis had no patience for games tonight. “We’re closed up! Try the Rowan Tree, two streets over.”

The unseen visitor knocked again, more insistently this time.

“Now look here—” Diomis began, but was cut short by the crash of the kitchen door slamming back on its hinges.

T
opping the crest of a hill just north of Watermead, Alec was surprised to see a long line of torches in the distance. As they came closer, he saw it was a column of cavalry under the red and gold insignia of the Red Serpent Regiment. Reining in, he hailed the first of the outriders as he came abreast of him.

“What’s going on?” Alec called out. The soldier slowed his horse. “War, son. It’s war at last. Pass it on to all you meet.” “This early in the year?” Alec exclaimed.

“Looks like the bastards were spoiling for a fight,” the man replied grimly. “A Plenimaran raiding party ambushed some of our cavalry up in the Mycenian hill country. We’re headed north to join with the Queen’s Horse Guard. Word is they took the brunt of it, as usual.”

“The Queen’s Horse? I know someone in that regiment. Could you take a message for me?”

“No time, son,” the man said, spurring away as the column caught up.

The hundred or more riders wore red and gold tabards over their chain, and their huge black horses rang with harness and breast plates. Then, like an apparition in the deepening dusk, they disappeared over the crest of the hill.

“Maker’s Mercy, here you are at last!” Arna exclaimed, coming out into the courtyard to meet him.

“Did you have trouble on the way?”

Alec was in too much of a hurry to properly address that. “Just tell that fellow Ranil not to send anyone else that way,” he said, leading Micum’s black to the stable. “I had news on the road, though. The war’s started.”

Arna’s hands flew to her wrinkled cheeks. “Oh, my poor Beka! She’s up on the border already. Do you think she’s in it yet?”

Alec didn’t have the heart to lie. Turning, he took the old servant by the shoulders.

“The soldier who gave me the news said the Queen’s Horse was in it, yes. Micum didn’t know any of this; word hadn’t reached Warnik’s yet. I imagine they’ll hear it there before long, but in case they haven’t, you tell Micum first, then let him break it to Kari, all right?”

“I will, love, I will,” Arna sighed, dabbing her eyes with a corner of her shawl. “Wouldn’t you just know it? Nothing will do for her but to enlist, then doesn’t she land smack in the middle of things. And her not even twenty yet.”