Luck in the Shadows

increasingly frequent fits of irrational rage at a manageable level. It was exhausting work. In his more lucid moments he was relieved at how well Alec was managing, though the fact that the boy had not yet slipped away, despite ample justification and opportunity, continued to baffle him.
    Their first night ashore in Torburn, they'd taken a tiny room near the riverfront and changed back into their stained traveling clothes. It was then that Alec had calmly outlined his plan.
    "You're sick," he began, looking very deliberate. "Since you think this Nysander is the only one who can help, I say we push on for Rhнminee."
    Seregil nodded.
    Taking a deep breath, Alec continued, "All right then. The way I understand it, the fastest route this time of year is to go overland to Keston, then take a ship to the city—one that goes by way of a canal at somewhere called Cirna. I don't know where any of those places are. You can help me or I'll ask directions as we go, but that's what I mean to do."
    Seregil began to buckle on his sword. After a moment's hesitation, however, he handed it instead to Alec. "You'd better take this, and these."
    He gave Alec his belt dagger and a small, razorlike blade from the neck of his cloak.
    Alec took them without comment, then said almost apologetically, "There's one more."
    "So there is." Seregil drew the poniard from his boot and handed it over, fighting back another twinge of hot rage as he did so.
    It was an uncomfortable moment for both of them, each knowing perfectly well that these precautions would be useless if Seregil made up his mind to retrieve his weapons. Alec, Seregil noted, kept his own weapons about him.
    "How many days will it take to reach Keston?" Alec asked when they were done.
    Seregil lay back on the bed and fixed his gaze on the rafters. "Two, if we ride hard, but I doubt I'll be able to do that."
    His head hurt again; how long now until another fit came on? A brisk walk in the night air might have helped, but he was too sick to attempt it. Better to concentrate on helping Alec with the details at hand.
    "I'll need money," Alec said. "What do you have left?"
    Seregil tossed him a purse containing five silver marks and the jewelry he'd worn aboard the Darter.
    Turning out his own pouch, Alec added two copper halfs and the Skalan silver piece.
    "Hang on to the jewels for now," Seregil advised. "You're not dressed well enough to hawk them without attracting notice. Sell the clothes, though."
    "They won't bring much."
    "Illior's Hands, money's not the only way to get something! I should think you've been around me long enough to have learned that."
    It was dark by the time Alec entered the Torburn marketplace. Only a few of the booths around the square were open, but he finally found a clothier. The dealer proved to be a shrewd bargainer and he came away with a disappointing four silver pennies.
    He let out a harsh sigh, tucking the coins away. "That's not going to make my task any easier."
    Passing a woman frying sausages on a brazier, he paused longingly, then moved on still hungry.
    An hour later, after some hard bargaining, he was the owner of a battered pony cart. Though hardly more than a large box set on a single axle, it looked sturdy enough. This, and the purchase of a few modest provisions, left him with exactly two copper halfs and the Skalan coin. Buying a horse was clearly out of the question.
    Time I turned thief for good, he thought, still stinging from Seregil's parting admonition.
    He returned to the inn for a few hour's sleep, then slipped quietly downstairs just before dawn.
    Letting himself out a side door, he pulled on his boots and headed for the stable.
    Great droves of silver-gilded clouds moved slowly past the sinking moon. Alec's heart hammered uncomfortably in his chest as he lifted the latch on the stable door. With a silent prayer to Illior, protector of thieves, he crept in.
    A guttering night lantern gave enough light for him to avoid the drunken stable hand snoring in an empty stall. Moving on, a shaggy brown and white pony caught his eye. Throwing a halter around its neck, he led the beast out to the nearby alley where he'd hidden the cart and harnessed it. With this completed, he hurried back to the room.
    Seregil was awake and ready to go. One look told Alec that his night had not been a peaceful one.
    Despite this, he eyed Alec's cart and pony with a shadow of his old crooked smile, his face just visible in the failing moonlight.
    "Which