Stalking Darkness

do? Alec’s life may depend on it!”
    Taking Seregil by the arm, Valerius drew him away from the bed. “Give him a little time. He must rest or he may never recover. You look like you could use some attention yourself. I’ll call for Darbia.”
    “I don’t need anything,” Seregil hissed through clenched teeth, straining to see over the drysian’s shoulder as the larger man urged him toward the door. “I’ve got to know what he meant! It may be too late already.”
    “If he doesn’t rest now he’ll never be able to tell you anything again. A few hours, perhaps less. Don’t leave the tower, I’ll come to you as soon as I’ve finished here. Now get out!” With a final none-too-gentle shove, Valerius thrust Seregil out into the corridor and shut the door in his face.
    Seregil stood there, alone in the corridor, Alec’s dagger clutched in one fist. Smoothing the lock of hair between his fingers, he spoke half aloud the words he’d bitten back in the sickroom.
    “Tell me, Nysander, can your magic protect him now?”

33
A FTERMATH
    M icum felt the roundness of Kari’s belly between them as they embraced. Magyana’s message sphere hovered nearby, gleaming greenly in the corner of their guest chamber at Lord Warnik’s keep.
    “I’m sorry, love, but something’s happened and Magyana’s waiting.” Micum gently stroked a tear from her cheek. How many times had there been someone waiting, calling him away? How many times had she sent him on his way with that small, tight-lipped smile?
    “Go on then,” she said brusquely, folding her arms. “Sakor guide you safely back.”
    Shouldering his traveling bundle, Micum turned to the sphere. “I’m ready.”
    A large oval of darkness yawned where the sphere had been. With a final wave, he stepped through. An instant later he found himself standing in Nysander’s casting room. A few feet away the wizard sat on a low stool, looking utterly exhausted. Her brocade robe was dirty and bloodstained, her long silver hair in disarray over her shoulders.
    “What’s happened?” Micum asked in alarm. Sinking down on one knee in front of her, he took her hands in his and found them icy cold.
    “The Orëska House was attacked last night,” she told him, her voice trembling.“Nysander was hurt terribly, and many others are dead. I’d have brought you in sooner, but I had to rest a bit first. Oh, Micum, it was terrible, so terrible.”
    “Then they were right, after all,” he groaned, gathering the old woman in his arms. “It was the Plenimarans?”
    “Led by Duke Mardus himself. He had necromancers, and a dyrmagnos.”
    “Where’s Seregil? And Alec?”
    Magyana shook her head. “Wethis was sent to fetch them. They may be here already. Come, I must be with Nysander.”
    Downstairs they met a drysian woman coming out of Nysander’s chamber with a basin and stained clothes.
    “How is he?” asked Magyana.
    “No worse,” the woman replied gently.
    Valerius was applying compresses to Nysander’s chest and side as they entered. He pulled the sheet back over him as Micum approached, but not before he’d seen the terrible burns there. Nysander appeared to be asleep or unconscious, his face white as carved marble. Magyana drew a chair to the head of the bed and placed her hand on Nysander’s brow.
    “He’s got a dragon’s own constitution,” Valerius said quietly, stroking his unruly black beard thoughtfully as he gazed down at Nysander. “How he fights! He’ll heal if I can keep the infection from him. Have you seen Seregil yet?”
    “No, I only just arrived. But they’re here? They’re all right?”
    The drysian laid a hand on his arm and Micum’s heart sank. “Seregil burst in about half an hour ago. He hasn’t spoken to anyone except Nysander, but Alec’s not with him. Wethis says he set fire to the Cockerel. As far as I know, only the baby—”
    “Damnation!” Micum spun for the door. “Where is he?”
    “The sitting room. If you—”
    Micum didn’t wait to hear more. Dashing the short distance down the corridor, he found the door open. Seregil stood leaning against the mantel, dressed in what appeared to be borrowed breeches and shirt. A great drift of maps and scrolls lay spread out around one of the armchairs, as if he’d been sitting there going through them earlier. There was a wine cup on the floor beside it, but as he looked up, Micum knew his friend was far from drunk. His pale face was nearly expressionless, except for