Stalking Darkness

’cept Micum Cavish, and those two have been friends for years and years. Besides, it’ll give you and me a chance to talk shooting again, eh? There’s still a trick or twoI haven’t shared and that fine black bow of yours shouldn’t be gathering dust.”
    “I guess not.” Alec gave her a quick peck on the cheek and went to sit across from Seregil at the breakfast table.
    Studying his friend’s face as Seregil joked with Cilla over breakfast, Alec felt certain he saw small lines of tension around his eyes. Whatever this secret job was, there was more to it than he was letting on.
    There was no use asking further about it, though. Upstairs in their room again, Seregil finished with his scant collection of gear and clapped a battered hat on his head.
    “Well, take care of yourself,” he said, “especially on that job for the baron. I don’t want to find you in the Red Tower when I return.”
    “You won’t. Want help getting all that down?”
    “No need.” Shouldering his pack, Seregil clasped hands with him. “Luck in the shadows, Alec.”
    And with the flash of a crooked grin, he was gone.
    Alec listened to his footsteps fading rapidly away. “And to you.”
    Seregil paused in the kitchen on his way out. Pulling up a stool beside Thryis, he slipped her a flat, sealed packet.
    “I’m leaving this with you. I’ve got to go off for a few days. If I don’t come back, this should take care of Alec and the rest of you.”
    Frowning, Thryis fingered the wax seals. “A will, is it? No wonder young Alec was looking so dark.”
    “He doesn’t know, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
    “You’ve never left a will before.”
    “It’s just in case I meet with an accident or something.” Shouldering his pack, he headed for the door.
    “Or something!” The old woman’s mouth pursed into a skeptical line. “Mind that a ‘something’ don’t jump up and bite you on the arse when you’re not looking.”
    “I’ll do my best to avoid it.”
    Outside, the sleet had turned to rain. Pulling the hood of his patched cloak up over his hat, he dashed across the slick cobbles to the stable where Rhiri had his new mare saddled and ready. Tossing the fellow a gold half sester, Seregil swung up into the saddle and set off at a gallop for the Orëska House.

3
H ORNS OF S TONE
    I t was midafternoon before Nysander completed his preparations for the translocation.
    “Are you ready, Seregil?” he asked at last, looking up from the elaborate pattern chalked on the casting-room floor.
    “As ready as I’m likely to be,” Seregil said, sweating in his heavy sheepskins. He carried his pack, snowshoes, and pole to the center of the design and piled them on the floor.
    “These should establish your reputation as a wizard.” Nysander held up a half-dozen short willow rods covered with painted symbols. “When broken, each will produce a different gift for your hosts. But you must be certain to keep this long one with the red band separate from the rest. It contains the translocation spell that will carry you back.”
    Seregil tucked the red wand carefully away in a belt pouch, then slipped the others inside the white Aurënfaie tunic he wore beneath his heavy coat.
    “These are the most crucial items, however,” the wizard continued, stepping to a nearby table. On it sat a wooden box two feet square and fitted with a leather shoulder strap and a strong catch. It was lined with sheets of silver engraved with magical symbols and contained two flasks wrapped in fleece.
    Seregil frowned. “What if this crown or whatever it is that I’m after is too big to fit inside?”
    “Do the best you can and return to me at once.”
    Seregil lifted the flasks. They were heavy, and the wax seals covering the corks were also inscribed with more symbols. “And these?”
    “Pour the contents around the crown and inscribe the signs of the Four within the circle. It should weaken any wards protecting it.”
    A nasty twinge of uncertainty shot through Seregil’s innards. “Should?”
    Nysander wrapped the flasks carefully in the fleece and shut them in the box. “You survived the magic of the disk with no assistance. This should be sufficient.”
    “Ah, I see.” Seregil glanced doubtfully at his old friend. “You believe the same inner flaw that kept me from becoming a wizard protects me from magic as well.”
    “It seems to be the case. I only wish it did not cause you such distress with translocations. Considering