Luck in the Shadows

have it off."
    The wizard cupped a hand over the mark for a moment, then shook his head slowly. "I think it would be better to leave it as it is for the time being."
    "The last thing Seregil wants is another scar on his pretty skin," Valerius glowered. "Especially one as distinctive as this! Besides, who knows what this thing means?"
    "That was my first thought," Nysander concurred, unperturbed by the drysian's manner. "Nonetheless, I feel it would be best to leave it as it is."
    "Some mystical presentiment, no doubt?"
    Valerius gave a derisive snort. "Suit yourself, then. But you explain it to him when he makes a fuss."
    Shooing everyone from the room, the healer set to work.
    Wethis was summoned to assist him, and soon the room was choked with clouds of steam and incense.
    Nysander cleared a space at one of the less cluttered worktables and Thero and Alec joined him.
    "Illior's Hands, that was thirsty work." He spoke a quick spell and a tall, burlap-wrapped jar appeared on the table before them, a crust of melting snow clinging to the coarse material. Alec reached out a tentative finger to see if it was real.
    "Mycenian apple wine is best well chilled."
    Nysander smiled, delighted with Alec's open amazement. "I keep a supply up on Mount Apos."
    The three of them settled down over the mild, icy wine, waiting for the drysian to finish.
    Poor Wethis scatted in and out on errands for Valerius so often that Nysander finally propped the front door open so they wouldn't have to keep letting him in.
    Valerius emerged from the casting room at last, streamers of vapor trailing from his beard. Dropping
    unceremoniously onto the bench beside Alec, he unhooked a cup from his belt and helped himself to the wine. Ignoring their expectant looks, he drained the cup at one gulp and let out a deep, satisfied belch.
    "I've gotten the last of the poison out of his blood. He'll mend now," he announced.
    "Was it acotair?" Thero inquired.
    Valerius saluted him with his cup. "Acotair it was. An uncommon poison, and very effective. I daresay it leached into his skin from the disk, weakening him so that the magic could work more quickly."
    "Or from a distance," suggested Nysander.
    "Possibly. The combination would have killed most men, considering how long he wore the damned thing."
    "Well, you know Seregil and magic," Nysander sighed. "But you are fortunate not to have handled it any more than you did, Alec."
    "What did you mean, about Seregil and magic?" asked Alec.
    "He resists it somehow—"
    "You mean he fouls it up!" scoffed Valerius.
    The drysian's derisive tone bothered Alec less than Thero's discreet smirk; he found he was liking Nysander's assistant less all the time.
    "Whatever the case, it has saved his life," said Nysander. "And Alec's as well, judging by his description of Seregil's behavior. Had he decided to kill you, dear boy, I doubt you could have stopped him."
    Recalling the look on Seregil's face that night in the barn, Alec knew Nysander spoke the truth.
    "He'll sleep for another day, perhaps two," said Valerius. "He should stay in bed a week; knowing him, five days will have to do. But no less than that, mind you. Lash him to the bedposts if you have to. I'll leave some herbs for an infusion. Force as much of it down him as you can, and make him eat. Nothing to drink but water and lots of it. I want him properly purged before we let him go. Thanks for the wine, Nysander."
    Rising to his feet, he swung his satchel over his shoulder. "Strength of the Maker be upon you!"
    Alec watched him stride out, then turned to Nysander. "He knows Seregil, doesn't he? Are they friends?"
    Nysander smiled wryly, considering the question. "I cannot recall hearing either of them use the term in relation to one another. Still, I suppose they are, after their own peculiar fashion. But I suspect you will have an opportunity to form your own opinions over the next few days."

16 Dinner With Nysander
    Exhausted as he was after the ceremony, Alec insisted on helping Wethis carry Seregil down the back stairs of Nysander's tower to the living quarters. A short, curving hallway led past several closed doors to a comfortable bedchamber near the end of the passage.
    The room was simply furnished. Two narrow beds flanked an embrasured window on the far side of the room. Thick, colorful carpets covered the floor, and a cheerful blaze crackled in the fireplace near the door.
    They laid the unconscious man in the right-hand bed and Nysander bent over