Luck in the Shadows

place—with all suitable restraints, of course—for the time it takes to apprehend our man."
    "It must be done quietly," cautioned Barien.
    "If word of this business should get out to the people, especially about Vardarus, I shudder to think of the reaction."
    Idrilain waved a hand impatiently. "It's the tracking I'm concerned with. There's no room for failure. Barien, Phoria, leave us."
    Accustomed to such peremptory dismissals, the Princess Royal and Viceregent withdrew at once. Nysander watched them go, troubled by something in Barien's manner.
    "He's been terribly upset by this whole business," said Idrilain. "I wish you'd mentioned your concerns about the Lerans to him before. He's always found the whole idea so upsetting."
    "My apologies," Nysander replied. "It was simply a stab in the dark."
    "But a good one, the more evidence I see. Damn it, Nysander, if those traitors have grown strong enough for something like this, then I want them destroyed! This delivery has to be handled perfectly, and anyone who can get their hands on a Queen's Warrant may well know the faces of my spies. Your people are another matter; even I don't know who most of them are."
    Nysander bowed deeply, relieved that she'd reached the desired conclusion on her own. "The Watchers are at your command, as always. Have I your permission to pursue the matter in my own fashion?"
    Idrilain clenched a fist around the hilt of her sword. "Use whatever means you see fit. Whoever this traitor is, I want his head on a pike by week's end!"
    "As do I, my Queen," replied Nysander, "though I will be surprised if there is only one."

29 An Abrupt Change of Scenery
    Caught in midpace, Seregil ran headlong into something in the darkness. Backing up hastily, he could just make out two tall forms that had somehow materialized in the cell. For a chilling instant, his mind skipped back to the lonely Mycenian inn and the dark presence he'd grappled with there; then he caught the familiar smell of parchment and candle smoke.
    "Nysander?"
    "Yes, dear boy, and Thero." Drawing Seregil to the back of the cell, he spoke close to his ear.
    "Thero has come to take your place."
    "How?"
    "No time for explanations. Join hands with him."
    Biting back a flood of questions, Seregil did as Nysander asked. Thero's hands were cold but steady in his as Nysander took them firmly by the shoulders and began a silent incantation.
    The transformation happened with dizzying swiftness. For an instant the shadows of the cell seemed to brighten, swirl, engulf them all-and when Seregil's vision cleared, he found himself on the wrong side of the room facing a slim, all-too-familiar figure.
    Raising a hand to his face, he felt a coarse mat of beard covering a gaunt cheek.
    "Bilairy's Balls and Kidneys—"
    "Quiet!" hissed Nysander.
    "Take care with my body," Thero warned, touching his own new face.
    "I'm more anxious to trade back than you, believe me!" Seregil shuddered, swaying a little in his new, taller frame. He could guess what was next and dreaded it.
    Nysander slipped a firm hand beneath his arm and led him to the back wall of the cell. Reluctantly, Seregil took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped forward into the aperture that yawned, blacker than darkness and staggered out again, blinking and gagging, into the sudden brightness of Nysander's casting room.
    "Steady now, I've got you," Micum said, catching him as his knees gave way. "Alec, the brandy. And the basin, too, by the looks of him,"
    Seregil crouched over the brass basin for a moment, fighting down the intense nausea brought on by the spell; translocation spells had by far the worst aftereffect. Settling back on his heels, he gratefully accepted a cup of brandy.
    Alec stared at him, goggle-eyed. "Seregil, is that really you in there?"
    Seregil examined the pale, bony fingers wrapped around the cup, then knocked back the fiery liquor in a single gulp. "Gruesome, isn't it?"
    "Thero was no more pleased than you by the prospect," sighed Nysander. "He was , however, a good deal more gracious."
    "Forgive me," Seregil retorted. "I'm just not myself tonight."
    Alec was still staring. "You've got Thero's voice, but somehow—I don't know, it still sounds more like you. Is it different than when you changed into an otter?"
    "Decidedly." Seregil looked down at his new body warily. "It's like wearing an ill-fitting suit of clothes you can't take off. He wears his linen rather tight, too. I didn't know you could do this,