Luck in the Shadows

down over his forehead from a scalp cut; another trickle oozed at the corner of his mouth.
    "Maker's Mercy!" Alec gasped, pushing at the rocks on Seregil's chest. "Don't be dead! Don't you be dead!"
    Seregil's right hand twitched and one grey eye flickered open.
    "Thank the Four!" cried Alec, nearly weeping with relief. "How bad are you hurt?"
    "Don't know yet," Seregil rasped, closing his eyes again. "I thought you went over—"
    "I thought you did!"
    Seregil let out a shaky breath. "Scrub, poor Scrub—"
    With a queasy shudder Alec recalled the falling object he'd glimpsed as he swung out over the edge of the cliff.
    "Had that horse eight years," Seregil groaned softly, a hint of moisture darkening the dust beneath his eyes. "Bastards! Ambushers killed my best horse."
    "Ambushers?" Alec asked, wondering if Seregil was fully conscious after all.
    But the grey eyes were open now, and alert. "When the rocks started falling, I looked up and saw a man silhouetted against the sky."
    Alec risked an uneasy glance of his own but saw nothing. "When I rode back just now, I noticed a little switchback trail leading up the rocks. It's just around that next bend. He could have gotten up that way, I bet."
    "That would explain a lot."
    "But if they're still up there they'll have seen me come back! We've got to get out of here."
    "No, wait." Seregil lay quiet a moment, thinking. "Whoever they are, they seem to know their business. If we run they'll just track us and finish the job."
    "What about the highroad garrisons? We must be within five miles of one by now."
    "More than that, I think. With only one horse and night coming on, I doubt we'd make it."
    "Then we're trapped!"
    "Quiet, Alec, quiet. With a little luck, we can lay a trap of our own right here. It's going to take a bit of
    acting on your part, though." He shifted slightly, feeling under his left thigh, then gave a soft, anguished groan. "Oh, hell. I've lost my sword. It must've torn loose as I scrambled up here."
    "I've still got mine," Alec assured him, fearful that Seregil was in serious pain after all. "I had it strapped behind my saddle."
    "Fetch it, but cover your actions. Make it look like I'm dying and you're starting to panic."
    "Lure him down to finish us off, you mean?"
    "Exactly, though there'll be more than one of them, I suspect. Let them believe they're up against a distraught boy and a dying man. Reach in my boot. Is my poniard still there?"
    "It's there."
    "Then I'm not completely fangless, anyway. Go on now, we may not have much time."
    Alec slid back down to the road, expecting every moment to feel an arrow strike him between the shoulder blades. Doing his best to act panicked, he kept his sword concealed beneath his blanket roll as he carried it and a water skin back to Seregil.
    Badly battered as Seregil was, he seemed to have escaped with no broken bones. With the sun sinking into the sea in front of them, they settled down to wait.
    Alec hunkered down with his back to the cliff, his sword unsheathed and hidden against his outstretched leg.
    Seregil lay propped up slightly, dagger in hand beneath the blanket.
    They hadn't long to wait. As the last ospreys winged off to their nests, they heard the sound of hooves against stone. Riders were approaching from the expected direction, beyond the curve of the road to their left.
    A moment later two men rode into sight, coming on at a steady walk. Studying them in the red sunset light, Alec could see that they were hard-faced characters in rough traveling garb. One was lean, with ragged, greying hair and a long, somber face. His companion was round and red-faced, his shiny bald pate fringed with curly brown hair.
    "This will be them," Seregil murmured beside him. "Play your role well, my friend. I doubt we'll have more than one chance."
    The riders made no pretense as to their intentions.
    Reaching the edge of the slide, they dismounted and drew swords.
    "How's your friend, boy?" The bald one asked, leering up at him.
    "He's dying, you rotten son of bitch! Can't you leave him in peace?" Alec spat back, letting some genuine fear show in his voice.
    "Wouldn't be kind to let him linger, now would it, lad?" the other replied placidly. He had the same air of
    dispassionate assurance Alec had seen in Micum Cavish; this was a killer who knew his business. "And then there's the matter of you, isn't there?"
    "What do you want with us?" Alec quavered, tightening his grip on his sword hilt.
    "I've nothing against you