Stalking Darkness

to keep you warm.”
    Overhead the children shouted with delight as the older girls craned for a better look at Seregil.
    Seregil blinked, “What?”
    “To get a round belly from a guest gives a young woman highest status,” Retak explained happily. “New blood brings new strength to the whole village. My own grandfather was a light-eyed Aurënfaie, as you can see. But not a great magician like you! Tomorrow Ekrid’s clan will offer you hospitality, and then Ilgrid’s and—”
    “Ah, of course.” Seregil looked around to find mothers reckoning on their fingers their place in the hierarchy. Clearly, there were a few Dravnian guesting customs he’d forgotten about.
    Ah, Nysander
, he groaned inwardly, scanning the gaggle of moonfaced maidens, reading clearly enough the greedy gleam behind their modest smiles.
This had damn well better be the right valley!
    Alec lowered himself from the villa window, then whirled in alarm as a menacing snarl erupted on his right. There’d been no sign of a dog when he’d first climbed into the baron’s courtyard, but there was sure as hell one here now.
    What he could see of it in the darkness was big, and the rising timbre of the growl was enough for him to imagine the beast closing in on him, ears laid back, teeth bared.
    It was too far to the courtyard wall for a dash. Racking his memory for the thief’s charm Seregil had shown him, he raised his left fist with index and little fingers extended. Snapping his hand to point the little finger down, he whispered hoarsely, “Peace, friend hound.”
    The growling ceased at once. A cold nose thrust briefly against his palm, then he heard the dog padding away.
    It had never occurred to Alec to ask how long the charm lasted. Taking no chances, he ran for the wall. The top was studded with shards of glass and crockery set in mortar; in his haste he reached carelessly and caught his left hand on one of the jagged points, gashing the palm just above the wrist. Pain bloomed through his hand as a warm trickle oozed down into his sleeve. Hissing softly through his teeth, he slid down the far side and headed for home.
    His route took him by Wheel Street and he halted a moment at the corner, holding his torn hand to his chest. It would only take a moment to duck in there, and he knew where Seregil kept bandages and salve—
    The growing throb in his hand decided him.
    Letting himself in the front door, he took out a lightstone and whistled softly to the dogs, making himself known. A huge white shape materialized at once. Marag padded out of the dining room, wagging a greeting as he sniffed Alec’s hand. His mate would be on patrol in the back court. Accompanied by the hound, Alec walked through the main hall to the kitchen.
    The supplies he wanted were on the shelf by the door. Carrying the rags and salve pot to the table, he set his lightstone by them and examined the gash. It was jagged and sore, but no major veins or tendons seemed to be damaged.
    “This must be my unlucky hand,” he muttered, rubbing his thumb over the shiny circular scar left by the cursed disk they’d stolen from Mardus. They’d both been branded by it—Seregil on his chest where it had hung, Alec on the palm of the hand as he’d grasped it during their strange struggle at the inn.
    He bandaged the cut as best he could one-handed, then sat back and stroked Marag’s silky head. The thought of his own bedchamber upstairs was tempting. He was cold and tired and suddenly Blue Fish Street felt very far away. But there was always the complication of appearances; Sir Alec and Lord Seregil were not expected to arrive for several more days and it wouldn’t do to have untoward signs of occupation just yet. With a resigned shrug, he cleared away the evidence of his visit and set out through the dark, cold streets.
    Within a block of Wheel Street he suddenly sensed pursuit. Stealth was difficult on the icy streets and whoever it was shadowing him was making a poor job of concealing their movements. When Alec slowed, they came on. When he increased his pace, so did they. It was too dark to see, but he could hear more than oneset of feet. One of them had metal nails on the soles of his boots; in the silence of the street, Alec could hear them scraping against the cobbles.
    There was no question of returning to the house. Even if he could get back past his pursuers, he couldn’t risk leading them there.
    Ahead of him, a street lantern burned at the intersection of