Stalking Darkness

Vanguard, and the Shaft. And there’s a fourth, the Unseen One or Guide. That’s me, it seems, and Nysander’s the Guardian. After hearing about your dream, we think you might be—”
    “The Shaft,” Alec said softly, remembering the headless arrow and the feeling of helplessness he always felt at the sight of it.
    “Apparently Nysander has had some presentiment that Micum is the Vanguard.”
    “But the Eater of Death is Seriamaius.” He saw Seregil flinch as he said the name aloud. “This Shaft and Guardian business, it’s connected somehow. Oh, wait a minute—” Alec’s belly twisted into a queasy knot. “That disk, that damned wooden disk that made you so sick and crazy. That’s what you went to the Oracle to ask about, so it must have something to do with the prophecy.”
    “It does,” said Seregil. “But what, I don’t know. Nysander won’t say, except that the disk is part of something bigger, something the Plenimarans are willing to go to any lengths to get. When I went away just before the Festival of Sakor, it was to get another object before the Plenimarans did, a sort of crown. It had the samesort of evil magic about it, only worse.” His face darkened as some memory surfaced. “Much worse, and much more dangerous. But I got it.”
    “There were other disks just like the one we stole,” Alec recalled, his mind racing. “Maybe they had to be all together to have their full effect.”
    “That’s right. Which means if we’d been greedy and taken them all, you and I probably wouldn’t have made it as far as Boersby. I’ve wanted to tell you all this before, but Nysander swore me to silence. I wouldn’t be telling you now, except that you seem to be part of it, too.”
    “Of what?” demanded Alec. “What does the Shaft do? If Nysander has the disk and the crown, then the Plenimarans aren’t going to get them and whatever they’re part of can’t happen, right?”
    “I guess that’s the idea. But why would you be having these dreams now, if that’s all there is to it, eh?”
    “Do you think Mardus could still be after us? Bilairy’s Balls, Seregil, if Rhal could find us, then why not him?”
    Seregil shrugged. “It’s not impossible. He didn’t strike me as the sort who gives up easily. But why hasn’t he shown up yet? It’s been months now, and if he had any idea that we have the crown as well, then he or somebody like him will be certain to come after it sooner or later. There’s something else, too. You remember Micum’s description of the ritual sacrifice he found up in the Fens?”
    “All those bodies cut open,” Alec said with a small shudder.
    “I found the same sort of thing with the crown. All the bodies were ancient there, but the mutilations were the same, breastbone split, ribs pulled back like wings. Now Nysander claims that all this may come to nothing, that there have always been Guardians and Shafts and so forth chosen just in case. But he didn’t sound all that confident. That’s why I’m telling you this, and why we’ve got to warn Micum. I want you to ride out there tomorrow and tell him just what I’ve told you.”
    “What about you?”
    Seregil smiled darkly. “There are a few old mates of Tym’s I’d like to have a chat with. If Plenimarans are getting into Rhíminee, then someone has got to know about it.”
    “They covered their tracks pretty well with that business in the sewers,” Alec reminded him.
    “Except for Rythel. There’s almost always a Rythel in any plot. When you get to Watermead, what I’ve told you is for Micum’s ears alone. Do whatever you can to get him alone but try not to raise suspicion. Kari usually knows when something’s up. And ask him about his dreams while you’re at it, although I expect he’ll scoff.
    “It’s a lot to take in, I know. Like I said, Nysander claims this may all come to nothing, but I don’t think he really believes it. I know I don’t.”
    Half-realized images whirled through Alec’s mind, too chaotic to grasp. Yet bits and pieces seemed to stand forth from the general maelstrom, like branches in an eddy. “So Nysander has at least two pieces of whatever this thing is: the disk and the crown. But there must be something else, right?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Well, if he’s been the Guardian all these years, then what’s he guarding?”
    Seregil’s eyes widened in surprised realization. “That’s a good question. But somehow I doubt we’ll ever