Luck in the Shadows

wharf, Alec looked with growing dismay at the bustling waterfront, the relief he'd felt at reaching the city quickly giving way to alarm at the prospect of trying to
    find a single wizard somewhere in the incomprehensible city before him.
    He caught Biny by the sleeve as the young sailor hurried by. "Have you heard of a place called the Orл ska House?"
    "Who ain't?" Biny exclaimed, jerking a thumb at the upper city. "See that shiny bit, over to the left? That's the top of the great dome on it."
    Alec's heart sank further; he'd have to find some way to get Seregil up there, traversing the width of the city. He fingered the packet of jewels inside his tunic, silently resolving to get Seregil to the Orлska House before nightfall even if he had to buy a wagon to do it.
    Several men had come on board to speak with Captain Talrien. Alec was just turning to go below when one of them caught sight of him and touched his sleeve.
    "Are you the friend of the sick man?" the stranger asked.
    Taken by surprise, Alec turned to find a tall, thin old man smiling down on him. His long, good-natured face was seamed with age around the eyes and brow, and his short beard and the curling hair that thickly fringed his balding pate were silvery white, yet he stood as straight and easy as Alec himself. The dark eyes beneath the unruly white eyebrows revealed nothing but friendly interest. By his clothes-a simple surcoat and breeches under a worn cloak-Alec took him for a trader of some sort.
    "What business do you have with him?" Alec asked warily, wondering how he'd known of Seregil's presence on the ship.
    "I have come to meet you, dear boy," the old man replied. "I am Nysander."

15 Rhнminee At Last
    Alec's legs felt shaky as he led Nysander into the hold.
    "It is as I feared," the wizard murmured, cupping Seregil's face between his hands. "We must get him to the Orлska House at once. I have a carriage waiting. Fetch the driver."
    Cold with dread, Alec found the driver and helped him bundle Seregil, well wrapped in cloaks and blankets, into the carriage.
    In the meantime, Nysander spoke briefly with Captain Talrien, pressing a purse into his hands. Talrien nodded his thanks and turned to make his farewells to Alec.
    "Many thanks, Captain," Alec said warmly, wishing he could find better words.
    "You've a brave heart in you, Aren Silverleaf." Talrien clapped him on the shoulder. "May it bring you luck."
    "It has so far," replied Alec, glancing anxiously toward the carriage. "I just hope the luck holds a bit longer."
    As the carriage set off at last, Nysander knelt beside Seregil and peeled away the dressing. A single glance was enough; recoiling, he laid the bandages back in place.
    "How long ago did this happen?" he asked, glad that his back was to the boy.
    "Five days."
    Shaking his head, Nysander began a series of silent incantations. If this was indeed what he suspected, who but Seregil could have survived such an attack?
    When he'd finished, he sat back to take a second look at the boy. Pale and grim, he sat clutching Seregil's pack and sword, eyes darting back and forth between his companion and the spectacle of the city passing by the carriage window.
    Worn to a shadow , thought Nysander, and scared to death of me .
    This was a wild-looking lad to be sure, with his rough northern clothes and tousled hair. Nysander noted the ragged bandage bound around the boy's left hand, and how he held it palm up on his knee as if it pained him. Taut lines scored his chapped young face, making him look older than his years. There was a great weariness about him, too, and an air of uncertainty. Yet beneath all that Nysander sensed the ingrained determination that had carried both him and Seregil through whatever evil had overtaken them.
    "Another Silverleaf, eh?" Nysander smiled, hoping to put him at ease. "Seregil claims it is a fortuitous name. I hope that you have found it so?"
    "At times." The boy glanced up for just an instant.
    "He told me never to use my real name."
    "I am certain he would not mind if you told it to me."
    The boy blushed. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm Alec of Kerry."
    "A short name, that. They call me Nysander i Azusthra Hypirius Meksandor Illandi, High Thaumaturgist of the Third Orлska. But you must call me Nysander, for that is how friends address one another here."
    "Thank you, sir—Nysander, I mean," Alec stammered shyly. "I'm greatly honored."
    Nysander waved this aside. "Nothing of the kind. Seregil is as dear to me as a