Stalking Darkness

the narrow space between two sagging tenements and came out in a tiny, weed-choked courtyard.
    Here he bounded up a rickety exterior stairway to a disused attic. The cache of spare clothing and knives he’d hidden there months ago was still under the warped floorboards, no worse for wear except for a few beetles and some mouse turds. Whistling softly through his teeth as he shook them out, he changed clothes and settled down at the garret window to outwait his pursuers’ patience. It was only a filthy beggar they’d lost. They wouldn’t waste much time hunting for him.
    Hungry, wet, and footsore, Alec finally reached the edge of the woods by late afternoon. Through the trees ahead he could see a rolling valley stretching out before him.
    A small log house stood near the trail, with a low byre and a goat pen beside it. Too tired to care what he must look like, he headed for it, hoping to beg a little food and some directions.
    As he approached the place, a huge mongrel charged out of the byre, baying as it charged toward him.
    “Soora thasáli,”
Alec said quickly, making the left-handed charm sign Seregil had taught him. It worked to a degree; the dog halted a few feet away, but remained on guard, growling every time he moved.
    “Who’s that?” a man called out, emerging from the byre with an ax gripped in both hands.
    “Sir Alec of Ivywell,” Alec replied, holding his hands out, palm up. “I had some bad luck up the trail. Bandits stole my horse. Could you—”
    “That so?” The man stepped nearer, squinting for a better look at him.
    Alec had managed to wash off most of the blood, but his bedraggled clothing and sword appeared to inspire little confidence.
    “Lots of bandits about just now,” the man went on, still wary. “Stole two of my milch goats just the other day. Could be you’re one of ’em come back to rob me again. Tugger!”
    The dog crouched, baring its fangs.
    “No, please!
Soora thasáli.”
Alec fell back a pace, making the sign again. “Listen, I’m only trying to get down to—”
    “Here now, what’re you up to with my dog?” the man demanded. “Tugger, on him!”
    “No—
soora thasáli
—if you’d just listen—”
    “Damn you, Tugger, at him!”
    “Soora th
—Shit!” Alec took to his heels with Tugger snapping at the ends of his cloak close behind.
    The dog chased him until they were well out of sight of the cottage, then stood its ground in the center of the trail, snarling every time Alec chanced a backward look.
    Winded and irate, Alec ran on until he was certain the dog had given up, then collapsed on a rock to get his breath. Evidently Seregil’s dog magic worked best without the cur’s master on hand to countermand it.
    Less than half a mile farther on he struck the main road and soon met a string of heavy oxcarts heading for Warnik’s estate. Atthe sight of Alec’s gold the lead carter and his wife agreed to let him ride with them.
    Climbing into the cart, Alec stretched out gratefully among the bales and baskets.
    “Maker’s Mercy, lad! You’ve had rough traveling, ain’t you?” the woman asked, turning to look him over.
    “I had a little trouble coming over the hill trail,” Alec told her.
    “The hill trail,” snorted the carter. “What in the world made you go that route when it’s faster on the highroad?”
    “Faster?” Alec groaned. “I thought the hill track was a shortcut.”
    “What looby told you that? It’s my livelihood, driving these roads, so I guess I know a thing or two. It don’t take more than two hours by cart from this valley around to the next one, less on a good horse. The hill track this time of year? By Dalna, you’re lucky you got over at all.”
    The late afternoon light was already beginning to fail when they arrived at Lord Warnik’s fortified keep. A gate in the curtain wall swung wide for the carts and they rumbled to a halt in the bailey yard.
    “We’ve got someone looking for one of his lordship’s guests,” the carter told the reeve who came out to take charge of their stores.
    “I’m looking for Micum Cavish of Watermead,” Alec explained. “I need to speak with him at once.”
    The reeve gave him an appraising once over, then motioned to a stable boy loitering nearby. “Portus, go and find Sir Micum. Tell him there’s a messenger boy waiting his pleasure in the bailey.”
    Alec stifled a smile, then bid the carter and his wife farewell. A large brazier had been set up in the yard and he