Luck in the Shadows

more."
    "Sound advice indeed. And did you heed it?"
    "Yes."
    "That is a wonder. Have you spoken of this to anyone else? Alec? Micum? You must tell me the truth, Seregil!"
    "No one. I told no one. I'll swear an oath on it if you like."
    "No, dear boy, I believe you." A little color had returned to the old wizard's cheeks. "Listen to me, I implore you. This is not a game. You have no idea the precipice you have danced along, and I am still bound not to tell you— No, no interruptions!
    "I want no oaths from you now, but a promise made on your honor—on your love for me if nothing else—that you will be patient and allow me to proceed as I must. I swear the wizard's oath to you, by my Hands, Heart, and Voice, there is no doubt now that I shall reveal everything to you one day. You have my word. Can you abide by that for now?"
    "I will." Still shaken, Seregil clasped Nysander's cold hands between his own. "By my love, I will. Cover the damned thing up!"
    "Thank you, my impatient one." Nysander embraced him tightly for a moment, then placed his hand on Seregil's chest. The scar melted from sight beneath his fingers.
    "You must tell me at once if it reappears," he cautioned. "And now you had best be about the business at hand."
    "The others must be wondering what happened to us."
    "Go on. I shall sit here quietly a moment longer. You gave me quite a turn!"
    "I suppose I'll understand that, too, at some later date. Well, we're off to tour the charnel houses now. We'll be back before dawn, but I doubt any of us will be wanting breakfast."
    "Probably not. And Seregil?"
    "Yes?"
    "Watch your back, my boy, and Alec's, too. Now, more than ever, I pray that you will live by your natural caution."
    "I generally do, but thanks for the warning." Seregil paused, his hand on the latch. "You're the Guardian, aren't you? Whatever that means—and I'm not asking—but it was you the Oracle meant, wasn't it?"
    To his great surprise, Nysander nodded. "Yes, I am the Guardian."
    "Thank you." With a last thoughtful look, Seregil went out, unaware that his dearest friend had, for a fleeting instant, been his sworn executioner.

33 Among the Scavengers
    By virtue of its function, the Scavenger Guild was the caretaker of Rhнminee's unwanted dead. Combing the streets and sewers for refuse, the Scavenger crews were often the first to find the murdered and destitute, the cast-off, cast-out, and abandoned ones.
    There were three charnel houses in the city: two in the upper city, one in the lower. Seregil and Micum had often visited them as a final recourse. For Alec, however, they proved to be a harsh new experience.
    They began with the closest, which stood near the north wall of the city. Alec had hardly set foot inside the place before he staggered out again, hand clamped over his mouth. Retching, he grasped the top of a street marker to steady himself. He'd gotten a good look at the interior of the plain building, seen the corpses lying face up on the stone floor in rows like bundles of used clothing in the marketplace. Even on such a cold winter night, the smell was appalling, and all the more so to a Dalnan nose.
    After a moment, he was aware of Seregil beside him.
    "They ought—they should have been burned before now!" he gagged.
    "The Scavengers have to keep them for a few days after they find them, in case they're claimed," Seregil explained. "The ones dragged up out of the sewers are the worst. Perhaps you'd better stay with the horses."
    Torn between shame and relief, Alec watched through the open doorway as Seregil returned to his unpleasant task. He and Micum paced up and down the rows, looking into bloated faces and examining clothing until they were satisfied that none of the three people they sought were there. Scrubbing their hands in a basin of vinegar provided by the keeper of the place, they rejoined Alec outside.
    "Looks like we get to keep hunting," Micum told him grimly.
    The second charnel house was situated a few streets away from the Sea Market. Alec kept silent during the ride, listening to the even rhythm of Patch's hooves as they galloped through the lamp shadows of the Street of the Sheaf. By the time they reached their destination, he'd made up his mind. He dismounted with the others.
    "Wait just a second," Seregil said. Ducking in through the low doorway, he came back with a rag soaked with vinegar. "This helps," he told Alec, showing him how to drape it loosely over his nose and mouth.
    Clasping the acrid rag to