Stalking Darkness

a shifting silver mirror that reflected nothing. Just beyond the surface something dark moved, like a man standing against the sky—
    Seregil uncurled with a startled grunt as something prodded him roughly between the shoulder blades.
    “Told you he was alive!” he heard a woman say.
    Two bluecoats were looking down at him from horseback, early morning light glinting from their helmets. A third stood over him holding a truncheon in both hands.
    “Come on, you. On your feet,” the one with the truncheongrowled, looking like he’d just as soon give a beggar another good jab for good measure.
    “Maker’s mercy and blessings on you,” Seregil whined.
    “Keep your blessings, you Dalnan mudlark.”
    Seregil pulled his dirty rags closer about him and got stiffly to his feet, wondering how in hell he’d let himself doze off in the middle of the east end stews.
    He’d been watching a nearby slophouse, hoping to snag a certain informant who often drank there. The dingy establishment was shuttered now, his man long gone.
    Grabbing Seregil roughly by the arm, the bluecoat marched him past the horses to a high-sided cart. “Get up there and be quick about it.”
    Scrambling over the tailboard, Seregil found half a dozen sullen beggars and whores already huddled inside.
    Disgusted with himself, Seregil clung to the hard bench as the cart lurched on. Something nagged at the back of his mind, some dream he’d been having when the bluecoats had woken him. But it was gone. Time now to deal with the present situation.
    “I ain’t done nothing,” he protested querulously, tucking his chin down against his chest. “I’ve done nothing a’tal. What are they at, taking a poor cripple up like this?”
    “Haven’t you heard?” a ragged girl asked tearfully. “Word come that war’s started. It’s the Beggar Law for us!”
    Seregil stared at her mutely as the irony of the situation struck home. Ancient and time-honored, the Beggar Law stated that in time of war all vagrants, beggars, and criminals were to be either pressed into military service or cast out of the cities to fend for themselves. In the event of a siege, no precious stores would be wasted on societal parasites.
    Looking around at his fellow unfortunates—the tearful whore, a pair of vaguely familiar thieves, a one-armed drunken giant covered in sour vomit, a half-starved boy—Seregil had all he could do not to laugh at his own unwitting miscalculation in choosing a disguise.
    Stay with this lot and I’ll find myself facing down a Plenimaran cavalry charge with nothing but a pike in my hands
, he thought grimly.
I might just as well have taken a pleasant ride out to Watermead with Alec for all the use I’ve been so far
.
    •  •  •
    Alec didn’t see the otters as he rode past their pool, although there were footprints and slide marks enough to show that they were still in residence there.
    Beyond the pool, the trail grew steeper, winding steadily uphill around thick fir trunks and boulders bigger than his borrowed mare. Crusts of snow still lingered under roots and rocky overhangs, but the air was sweet with the scents of tender new growth and moist earth. Despite the rain already pattering down through the boughs, it felt good to be in the woods. After a winter spent mostly in the confines of Rhíminee’s intricate streets, the simple task of following a disused woods trail held a comfortable familiarity.
    Spring runoff and fallen needles had obscured long stretches of the trail. In other places, it crossed open expanses of bare ledge with nothing but the tumbled remains of a few small cairns to show the way.
    The forest grew thicker as he went along. Thick stands of hemlock and fir laced their branches overhead, shutting out what little light the day had to offer. Winter storms had felled trees across the trail, forcing him to dismount frequently and lead his horse around or over.
    After an hour of struggling along, he still hadn’t seen any sign that he’d reached the pass Ranil had spoken of. The wind picked up suddenly, lashing a torrent of icy rain down through the trees. Cursing, Alec pulled his cloak around him and tucked it under his thighs to keep out the wet as long as he could.
    At last he reached the crest of the pass. From here the trail seemed to open up a bit, but before he could make up any lost time he rounded a bend and found himself faced with the worst deadfall so far.
    The ground was steep here, and the path hugged a