Stalking Darkness

see to it.”
    “Did Valerius send you after us?” asked Seregil.
    “Yes, Nysander is stirring a bit.”
    Without waiting to hear more, Seregil and Micum ran for the tower.
    Magyana was still in the armchair by Nysander’s bedside where she’d spent the night, one hand still on his brow.
    Seeing her like that, Micum could almost feel her willing her own energy into her old love, trying to heal and sustain him with her own life force.
    To Micum, Nysander looked worse than ever. His face was a dull, chalky grey, his eyes sunken deep in their sockets beneath theunruly white brows. His breathing scarcely lifted the sheet covering him but Micum could hear it, rasping faintly as dry leaves across stone.
    The sight of him must have struck Seregil hard as well. He read a hint of despair in Seregil’s face as he approached Nysander, and knew it was born of the conflict between Seregil’s great love for Nysander and his desperate need to learn whatever he could to save Alec. Seregil paused long enough to cleanse his hands at the washstand, then knelt beside the bed and took Nysander’s hand between his own. Micum moved around behind Magyana’s chair in time to see Nysander’s eyes slowly open.
    “I found your map,” Seregil told him, not wasting any precious time.
    “Yes,” Nysander mouthed, nodding slightly against the pillow. “Good.”
    “The Pillar of the Sky, Yôthgash-horagh. It’s Mount Kythes, isn’t it?”
    Again, a slight nod.
    “This temple you spoke of, it’s on the mountain?”
    “No,” Nysander told them.
    “Beneath it, underground?”
    No response.
    Seregil watched the wounded man’s face for any movement, then asked as calmly as he could manage, “At the foot of it?”
    Nysander’s throat worked painfully as he struggled to speak. Seregil bent close, but after a few desperate efforts, the wizard’s eyes closed.
    Seregil rested his forehead against his clenched fists for a moment. Micum couldn’t see Magyana’s face from where he stood, but her hand was trembling as she reached to clasp Seregil’s shoulder. “He’s gone deep within himself again. I know how desperately you need to speak with him, but he’s just too weak.”
    “Could you make anything out of that last bit?” Micum asked, refusing to give up hope.
    Still kneeling by the bed, Seregil shook his head doubtfully. “He was trying to tell me something. It sounded like ‘late us’ or ‘lead us,’ but it was so faint I can’t be certain.”
    Magyana leaned forward, gripping his shoulder more forcefully this time as she turned him to face her. “Leiteus? Could it have been the name Leiteus?”
    Seregil looked up at her in surprise. “Yes! Yes, it could have been. And I’ve heard that name somewhere—”
    Magyana clasped her hands together over her heart. “Leiteus í Marineus is an astrologer, and a friend of Nysander’s! They’ve been consulting with each other about some comet for over a year now.”
    Seregil jumped to his feet and began searching the floor around Nysander’s hearth. At last he bent and pulled a book from beneath an armchair.
    “I noticed this lying open by his chair yesterday,” he said, handing it to her.
    She opened it and Micum saw that it was full of tables and strange symbols.
    “Yes,” she said, “this is one of Leiteus’ books.”
    “Have you ever heard the word ‘synodical’?” Seregil asked her with growing excitement.
    “I believe it refers to the movements of the stars and planets.”
    Micum looked to Magyana in surprise. “You mean Nysander really was trying to send us to this astrologer fellow?”
    “So it would seem.”
    “ ‘One place and one time.’ That’s what he said yesterday,” Seregil reminded them. “A synodical event, like the advent of this comet. It must have some bearing on whatever Mardus is up to.”
    He bent to lay a hand against Nysander’s pale cheek. “I don’t know if you can hear any of this,” he said softly, “but if you can, I’m going to Leiteus. Do you understand, Nysander? I’m going to speak with Leiteus.”
    Nysander gave no sign of consciousness. Seregil sadly stroked a lock of grizzled grey hair back from the old man’s brow. “That’s all right. I’m the Guide. You just leave it to me for now.”
    Outside the Orëska walls an early spring wind had blown up, clearing the sky and whipping corner whirlwinds out of the dead year’s dust and leaves.
    Galloping north out of the Harvest Gate, they left the highroad for