Luck in the Shadows

the year.
    "Unfortunately, the charade has grown rather cumbersome. If I didn't love Rhнminee so much, I might just kill off Lord Seregil and start over again somewhere else. What it all boils down to for you, though, is that Sir Alec of Ivywell has a lot of educating ahead of him."
    "I'll be an old man with a beard to my knees before I've learned half what you expect me to know!"
    Seregil gazed out over the sea a quizzed look on his face. "Oh, I doubt that. I doubt that very much indeed."
    They spent that night at the Pony, a respectable wayfarers' inn, then set out again at dawn under a clear sky. By late morning they reached the southern end of the isthmus that linked the Skalan peninsula to the mainland to the north.
    Jutting up from the sea like a blanched backbone, the land bridge was scarcely five miles wide at any point. The road ran along the crest of it and Alec could see water on either side: the Osiat steely dark, the shallow Inner Sea a paler blue.
    Just after midday they came to the small outpost guarding a fork in the highway. From here the roads diverged to the two bridges, east and west, which led down to the opposing Canal ports of Cirna and Talos.
    Taking the right fork, they soon came within sight of the east bridge, arching smoothly across the black chasm of the Canal. It was a broad, sturdy structure, wide enough for the heaviest drays to pass without
    crowding.
    "It's an amazing sight from up here, don't you think?" said Seregil, reining in. At the moment several wagons were coming across from the far side, followed by a turma of cavalry.
    Alec felt cold sweat break out down his spine as he looked at the precipice beneath it. He'd been at the bottom of that chasm, seen its depth. To him, the great bridge looked as tenuous as a spider's web by comparison.
    "Illior's Fingers, you've gone white!"
    Seregil observed, looking over at him. "Maybe you'd better walk your horse. Lots of people are a bit nervous their first time across."
    Alec gave a quick, tense shake of his head. "No. No, I'm fine, I–I've just never crossed anything that deep."
    Embarrassed by his sudden weakness, he gripped the reins resolutely and nudged Patch into a walk.
    Keeping to the center of the road as much as traffic allowed, he fixed his attention on a string of donkeys plodding along ahead of him and did his best not to think about what lay below.
    "See, it's perfectly safe," Seregil assured him, riding close beside him. "Solid as the highroad itself."
    Alec managed another tight nod. From far below came the faint creak of oars and ropes; sailor's voices rose like the whispering of ghosts.
    "There's a good view of the west bridge from here,"
    Seregil said, directing Alec's attention out over the left side of the bridge.
    Alec looked and felt his belly lurch. From here, the western bridge looked like a child's construction of dry branches across a ditch, a fragile toy poised over the dizzying gorge. Closing his eyes, he fought off a sudden mental image of the stonework beneath him giving way.
    "How did they build these?" he gasped.
    "Those ancient wizards and engineers understood the value of forethought. They built the bridges first, then dug the Canal out beneath them."
    At the far end of the bridge, Alec unclenched his aching fingers and drew a breath of relief.
    A switchback road led down the cliffs to the harbor town below. Cirna was a confusing city of square, closely packed buildings lining a maze of narrow streets so sharply inclined in places that it was difficult for riders going down not to pitch forward over their horses' necks. The local inhabitants apparently favored foot traffic, for many parts of the town were accessible only by narrow stairways.
    Clinging to the back of his saddle, Alec looked across the bay and located the shining columns of Astellus and Sakor, his first landmarks in Skala. There were far fewer vessels anchored in the harbor now.
    Seasonal storms were already whipping all but the most hardy coasters into port for the winter.
    By the time they'd wended their way down to the customs house by the harbor, both of them were grateful to set foot on level ground again. Entering the whitewashed building, they found a ruddy woman in salt-stained boots at work over a table cluttered with documents.
    "Good day to you," she greeted them, as she finished with a wax seal. "I'm Katya, the harbor mistress. You gentlemen need some assistance?"
    "Good day to you," Seregil replied. "I'm Myrus, merchant of