Luck in the Shadows

immaculate workroom, Nysander watched as she set about the familiar ritual of tea making. "Evidently he and the boy stole something from Mardus in the northlands. It appears to be an object of little consequence but, as you saw, it proved to be extremely dangerous. I can tell you no more than that, I fear."
    Setting the kettle on the hook, Magyana turned and studied his face; they'd known each other too long and too well for her not to read the import of his silence.
    "Oh, my dear," she whispered, a hand stealing to her throat. "Oh, no!"
    Seregil's strength returned quickly over the next few days and, as Valerius had predicted, he soon grew restless. On the fourth day he'd had enough of bed rest.
    "Valerius said another day at least!" Alec admonished, frowning down at him as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
    "I won't tell him if you don't. Bilairy's Balls, I'm sore all over from lying around so long!"
    As soon as he stood up, however, the floor seemed to shift under him. Drenched in a sudden cold sweat, he swayed heavily against Alec.
    "There now, you see? It is too soon." Alec helped him back onto the bed. "Maker's Mercy, there's nothing left of you. I can feel your ribs."
    "I thought I heard voices," Valerius rumbled, striding in to glower at the two of them. "Are you going to stay in bed as I ordered, or be tied there?"
    "The former, I think," Seregil replied contritely. Pressing a hand dramatically over his eyes, he sank back against the pillow. "I'm sure you know best."
    "I certainly do. Not that it's ever made the slightest damn bit of difference to you!"
    Still scowling, he lifted the dressing and went about cleaning the wound. "There, this shouldn't give you any more trouble."
    Looking down as his chest, Seregil saw the scar for the first time and felt his stomach lurch. The last of the scabs had fallen away and the ridged imprint of the coin's design was visible in the shiny pink circle of new skin.
    "What is that doing there?" he demanded, fingering the area around the scar.
    Valerius threw up his hands. "You'll have to ask Nysander. I was all for having it off that first night, but he said to leave it. It should fade in time. I'm off for Mycena today, so you're in Alec's care now. Try not to drive yourself into a relapse if that's possible, which I doubt. You won't die, but you'll land your ass back in bed for another week if you don't take care. Maker's Mercy be with you both."
    Stumping out, he slammed the door after him.
    "See? He was angry with you," said Alec, obviously glad not to have been the focus of his displeasure.
    "Angry?" Seregil took a last worried look at the mark and pulled the shirt lacings closed again.
    "He wasn't angry. When Valerius gets angry the furniture catches fire, or walls fall down, things like that. There's no mistaking it when he's upset."
    "Well, he wasn't exactly happy with you, either."
    "He seldom is." Shifting against the pillows, he settled with one hand behind his head. "Even the other drysians consider him an irascible old bugger. Still, we find one another useful on occasion. How's your hand?"
    "Better."
    "Let me see." He inspected the circle of tender skin on Alec's Palm; it was smooth and featureless except for the small square greater-than not the center. "Has Nysander said much about any of this?"
    "Only that the disk was something called a telesm."
    "Well, that's obvious!" Seregil snorted. "I want more of an answer than that. Fetch him for me, will you?"
    Alec found Nysander at his high desk in the workroom.
    "Seregil was wondering if you could come down," he told the wizard.
    "Certainly." Nysander laid his quill aside.
    "I was expecting Thero in a moment. Could you wait and tell him where I am?"
    It wasn't until the old man had disappeared downstairs that it occurred to Alec to wonder why Nysander hadn't just sent a message by magic.
    Minutes passed, and there was still no sign of Thero.
    Impatient to get back to Seregil, Alec wandered restlessly around the room. The stairs leading up to the little gallery beneath the tower dome soon caught his eye and, climbing up, he looked out through a thick, leaded pane.
    With a startled gasp, he caught at the ledge in front of him; the dome bowed out beyond the stonework, affording a view of the ground hundreds of feet directly below. He'd never been this far off the ground and the sensation was not particularly pleasant.
    Concentrating on the solid floor beneath his boots, he made himself look out over the