Luck in the Shadows

otherwise."
    "You mean he could have died from this?" Alec gasped grasping the edge of the table to steady himself.
    Nysander clasped him by the shoulders, looking earnestly into his face. "He would certainly have died otherwise, and perhaps gone on to something far worse after death. I did not tell you that before because I did not want you distracted by such concerns."
    "Shall I send for Valerius now?" asked Thero.
    "Please do. I believe you will find him in the atrium."
    "Who's Valerius?" asked Alec.
    "A drysian. Seregil is damaged in body as well as in spirit. That will require special healing."
    This, at least, was something Alec understood. He set to work clearing away the remains of the ceremony.
    Gingerly picking up a few of the blacked stars, he found them as brittle as the dead spiders they resembled.
    "What are they?" he asked, dropping them in disgust.
    "A corporeal manifestation of the evil that came into him through the disk," Nysander replied, sifting a handful through his fingers. "It is very difficult to affect anything of insubstantial nature. By means of the procedure you just witnessed, I was able to draw the evil from Seregil's body bit by bit, binding it to a small amount of matter to lend it a tangible form. I could then act upon it by magic to dissipate it. These ashes are simply the residue of the temporary physical form I imposed upon it."
    "Is it difficult?"
    "More draining than difficult. But you must be exhausted, wrestling with our poor friend here for so long. How do you suppose an old fellow of nearly three centuries must feel?"
    Alec blinked. "Micum said you were the oldest of the wizards, but I never—"
    "I am hardly the oldest of all, my boy, merely the eldest in residence at the Orлska," Nysander corrected. "I know of several others half again as old as myself. As wizards go, I am in my prime. Please do not go making an antiquity out of me just yet!"
    Alec began a stammered apology, certain he'd given offense, but Nysander chuckled and reached to ruffle his hair. "If Micum spoke of me, he must have told you not to fear me. Speak your mind honestly, and I shall like you the better for it."
    "I'm still getting used to all this," Alec admitted.
    "I am not surprised. Once Seregil is settled, you and I shall have a nice, comfortable chat."
    Alec went back to his task in silence, wondering what he would have to say to a wizard, even one as friendly as Nysander. He was soon startled out of his reverie, however, by the sound of someone entering the front room.
    "What's the brat gotten himself into this time?" a brusque voice bellowed.
    The owner of the voice, a wild-looking man in rough clothing, strode into the room, bringing with him the smells of fresh air, wood smoke, and wild growing things freshly gathered. Thero trailed in the newcomer's wake, his thin mouth pursed into a vaguely disapproving line.
    "Valerius, old friend!" Nysander greeted the man warmly. "How fortunate to find you in Rhнminee today. I have dispelled the magic, but he still requires considerable healing."
    Tossing a battered satchel onto the table, the drysian scowled down at Seregil. Valerius unkempt black hair stood out in violent disorder beneath the cracked brim of his disreputable felt hat.
    His beard bristled belligerently, and the rich black thatch that covered the backs of his hands and forearms and curled forth from the unlaced neck of his tunic gave him a bearish look. His clothes, like those of most drysians, were plain and stained with hard travel. His heavy silver pendant and smooth-worn staff, together with the pouches of every size and description hanging from the belt girding his ample middle, marked him as a drysian. Deep lines bracketing his mouth warned of a formidable
    nature.
    "I believe it was curse magic of some sort," Nysander informed him.
    "I can see that," Valerius muttered, brown eyes glittering as he ran his hands over Seregil's body.
    "What's this?" he asked, tapping a finger under the open wound.
    "The imprint of a wooden disk Seregil wore next to his skin for several days. I do not know whether the mark is the result of magic, or happened when this boy inadvertently pulled the thing off. Alec, you did say you noticed a reddening of the skin there a few days before the final incident?"
    Pinned by the drysian's sharp attention, Alec nodded.
    "Never seen anything like this, but it stinks of sorcery."
    Valerius wrinkled his nose as he examined the faint tracery still visible. "Best to