Luck in the Shadows

turned his thoughts to the troubling gibberish elicited by the drawing. How was he to heed what was so obviously a warning unless he knew what the "eater of death" was, much less guard who or whatever the Guardian, Shaft, and Vanguard were?
    Under normal circumstances, Nysander would be his first recourse for advice, but that was out of the question now. Cursing in frustration, he let himself in through the kitchen at the Cockerel and went upstairs.
    One lamp still burned on the mantel, but the fire had gone out. The room was frigid.
    "Damn, damn, damn!" he muttered, crossing to the hearth to lay on more wood. As the flames sprang up, he discovered Alec asleep on the narrow couch behind him.
    He lay curled up in a tight ball, one arm bent beneath his head, the other hanging down to the floor and pale with cold. Ruetha had tucked herself up against his belly, tail folded around her nose.
    What's he doing out here?
    Seregil frowned down at the two of them, irked to think that Alec would be too bashful to take advantage of a proper bed. As he bent to spread his cloak over the boy, he was surprised to see the traces of dried tears on Alec's cheek.
    Something to do with his father? he wondered, mystified and somewhat distressed at the thought of Alec crying.
    Retiring to his own chamber, he undressed in the dark and slipped gratefully between the fresh sheets.
    But sleep didn't come with its usual ease. Lying there in the darkness, Seregil rubbed absently at the hidden scar and reflected that, on the whole, his life seemed to be in greater disarray than usual.

21 Swords and Etiquette
    Seregil stored away the mystery of the Oracle's words and launched back into Rhнminee life..
    News that the Rhнminee Cat had reappeared spread quickly, and intrigue jobs for various nobles-together with inquiries on Nysander's behalf were plentiful enough to keep him out most nights.
    Alec clearly resented being left behind, but Seregil was not ready to expose the boy to the dangers of the city just yet. Instead, he did his best to make it up to him during the day, showing him wonders and drilling him endlessly in the myriad skills necessary for survival in their precarious profession.
    Swordplay was paramount, and they spent most mornings practicing in the upstairs sitting room, bare feet scuffing softly over the rush matting as they circled slowly, moving through the basic blocks and parries with wooden practice battens.
    Unfortunately, these proved to be the most grueling lessons. Alec was old to be just starting and, hard as the boy worked, progress was discouragingly slow.
    The only other subjects Seregil pursued on any regular basis were reading and lock work.
    Otherwise, he tended to proceed in whatever direction caught his fancy at the moment. One day they might spend several hours poring over scrolls of royal lineage or sifting through the gems in the chest from the mantelpiece, Alec wide-eyed as Seregil extolled their properties and how to value them. Another day they might traipse off in disguise to practice with a band of market acrobats who knew Seregil as Wandering Kail. Dressed in gaudy tatters and besmudged with dirt, Alec watched gleefully as Seregil juggled, walked ropes, and mugged for the crowd.
    Alec's own clumsy first efforts were greeted as inspired clowning.
    Often they simply walked the labyrinthine streets of the city, exploring its various wards and markets. Seregil had small bundles of necessities stashed in disused attics and sheds all over Rhнminee, kept against the event that he should have to go to ground quickly.
    Gradually, Seregil introduced Alec to more clandestine procedures—a little innocent housebreaking, or making a game of evading the notice of the Harbor Watch in the rough byways of the Lower City.
    As the weeks passed, Alec realized that aside from certain rapidly diminishing ethical qualms, he had never been happier. The dark days in Mycena were quickly fading to uncomfortable memories and Seregil, healthy and back in his favorite setting, was once again the wry, dashing figure who'd first captured his imagination.
    In spite of the odd hours they kept, Alec found it difficult not to break the habit of rising with the sun. Seregil was seldom awake that early, so he'd slip quietly downstairs to break his fast with the innkeeper's family.
    The kitchen was an agreeable place at that hour.
    Whatever misgivings Thryis might have had about him that first night, she had soon taken to Alec and made