Luck in the Shadows

not see it and Seregil soon gave up calling his attention to it; whatever the visitations meant, they were for him alone.
    The worst came just as the sun was stooping to the horizon. He hadn't seen the specter for nearly half an
    hour. Suddenly a wave of appalling coldness engulfed him. Jumping unsteadily to his feet, he whirled to find the creature crouched in the tail of the cart, arms outstretched as if to gather both Alec and him to its breast. The hem of its black sleeve actually brushed Alec's head.
    Then it laughed. An obscenely rich chuckle bubbled up from the depths of the black hood and with the sound came a charnel stench so revolting that Seregil retched dryly even as he grappled with Alec for the boy's sword.
    Obviously convinced that Seregil had gone completely mad at last, Alec fought him for it and they both toppled over the side.
    They came down hard with Seregil on top. The pony continued on a few yards, then shuffled to a stop. Looking up, Seregil saw that the cart was empty.
    He rocked back on his heels and drew in deep, shuddering breaths, one hand pressed to his chest.
    "Look at me!" Alec demanded angrily, scrambling up to grasp him by the shoulders. "Never mind about the pony. It's not going anywhere. You've got to tell me what's going on! I want to help you, but damn it, Seregil, you've got to talk to me!"
    Seregil shook his head slowly, still staring over his shoulder at the cart. "Get us off the road before dark!" he whispered.
    "Tell me what you saw!" Alec cried, shaking him in frustration.
    Seregil focused on Alec then, clutching at the front of the boy's tunic in desperation. "We must get off the road!"
    Alec regarded him for a long moment, then shook his head resignedly. "We will," he promised.
    They came to a ramshackle crossroads inn just before dark. Seregil's legs buckled as he stepped down from the cart and Alec had to help him inside.
    "I want a room. No, two rooms," Alec told the innkeeper curtly.
    "Top of the stairs." The man eyed Seregil nervously. "Is your friend here sick?"
    "Not so sick that I can't pay," Seregil said, forcing a smile. It took all his concentration to make it convincing and as soon as he was out of the man's sight he dropped the pretense, sagging against Alec as they climbed the narrow stairs.
    Suddenly he was tired, so tired! He was already half asleep as Alec lowered him onto a bed.
    He dozed, woke, dozed again. Alec was there for a time. He tried to help Seregil drink, but he wasn't thirsty, just tired. Presently, Alec left and Seregil heard a key turn in the lock.
    It was all very strange, but he was too sleepy to think about it anymore. Turning onto his side, he drifted deeper into a murky doze.
    He woke up shivering sometime later. The room had grown cold and Alec was crowding him off the bed against the wall, digging an elbow into the small of his back in the process. Twisting a bit, he tried to reclaim some space, but it was just too cold to sleep. Could the window be open? Did this room have a window? It seemed to him it didn't.
    Giving up, he opened his eyes to check and found the night lamp still burning.
    "Damn it, Alec, move—" The words died in his throat.
    It wasn't Alec pressing against him, but his tormentor, the black specter. It lay face up, arms crossed over its breast in the frightful parody of a tomb effigy. It remained perfectly motionless as Seregil dragged himself over the foot of the bed and scrambled for the door. Too late he remembered hearing the key turn; he was locked in.
    "Alec! Alec, help me!" he shouted, pounding on the door. Dizzying panic constricted around his chest like bands of iron.
    "No one will hear you."
    The creature's voice was like a high wind rushing through the naked branches of winter trees-sardonic, inhuman, the embodiment of desolation. Seregil turned and the dark thing sat up, its upper body levering in a single rigid motion like the folding of a clasp knife. In the same unnatural fashion it bent forward slightly and stood up. It seemed to fill the cramped room.
    Seregil tried to cry out again, but no sound came out.
    "He can't help you now." Waves of frigid cold radiated from the figure, and with it the same terrible stench.
    "What are you?" Seregil demanded in a strangled whisper.
    The specter advanced a step, halving the distance between them. "You led a good chase," it replied in its soft, moaning voice. "But there is no escape, no forgiveness for such as you."
    Seregil flattened himself against the