Stalking Darkness

Wheel and Golden Helm. A right turn would bring him to the Astellus Circle and the Street of the Sheaf. There was a chance of meeting with a Watch patrol there, but he couldn’t be sure of it. A left turn would take him toward Silvermoon Street and the Palace.
    At the corner he deliberately walked through the pool of light and swung sharply to the right. Once beyond it, he doubled quickly back toward Silvermoon. His pursuers caught the trick, however, and charged after him, their boots clattering on the paving stones.
    There was nothing left to do but run. Abandoning any attempt at stealth, Alec pelted down the center of the broad boulevard, cloak flapping behind him. High garden walls presented an unbroken barrier on either side, blocking any hope of a quick sidestep. The pounding of his feet and those closing in on him echoed like the clatter of dice in a cup.
    Tearing his cloak strings loose, Alec let it fall away behind him. A muffled curse rang out an instant later, and the sound of a man falling heavily.
    Dashing past another lantern, he glanced back to see two swordsmen no more than twenty yards behind.
    He veered into Silvermoon Street and saw the wall surrounding the palace grounds looming on his right. As he’d hoped, a watch fire burned in front of one of the postern gates. He dashed toward it, lungs bursting.
    A cluster of soldiers of the Queen’s household guard were huddled around the brazier. At the sound of Alec’s approach, four came forward with swords drawn.
    “Help!” gasped Alec, praying they didn’t attack as he barreled into their midst. “Footpads—chasing me—back there!”
    Two men grasped him by the arms, half restraining, half supporting him as he skidded to a halt.
    “Steady, lad, steady there,” said one.
    “I don’t see anyone,” growled another, squinting in the direction Alec had come from.
    Looking back, Alec saw no sign of his mysterious pursuers.
    The first guard ran a skeptical eye over his fine coat and sword. “Footpads, eh? More likely an angry father or husband at this hour. Been up to mischief, have you?”
    “No, I swear,” Alec panted. “I was coming home late from—from the Street of Lights.” The others grinned knowingly at this.
    “Just the place to get your purse lightened, one way or another, eh?” the sergeant said with a chuckle. “Well, it’s late for the nighthawks to be out, but they might just lurk around for you. Do you live close by?”
    “No, across the city.”
    “Then you’re welcome to tuck up here with us round the fire ’till first light.”
    Alec gratefully accepted a spare cloak and a pull from a water skin, then settled down with his back to the wall, the warmth of the brazier warming his face and chest. All in all, he thought as he drifted off to sleep, it wasn’t the worst end to an evening’s work.

4
H ORNS OF C RYSTAL
    R etak’s daughters bid Seregil a fond farewell as he and their father left to meet Timan at the council house early the next day. To Seregil’s dismay, a crowd had already assembled and many had snowshoes and poles ready.
    Timan presented a young man to him. “I am too old now to make the journey, but my grandson, Turik, knows the place. He can guide you. These others will carry your belongings and gift offerings for the spirit.”
    Seregil groaned inwardly. The last thing he wanted was an audience, but he was too close to his objective to risk offending the village. Amid much cheering and singing, they set off for the head of the valley.
    The Dravnian youths marched along easily, talking and joking as they broke trail. Seregil toiled doggedly in their wake, struggling with the thin air and a poor night’s rest. One of Retak’s sons fell in beside him, grinning.
    “You had good hospitality last night, eh? My sisters were happy this morning.”
    “Oh, yes,” wheezed Seregil. “I was kept very warm, thank you.”
    They reached the base of the pass just after midday. Turik called a halt while an older man named Shradin went ahead to scout the snow.
    Turik pointed up the pass. “The spirit home is there, but it’s difficult going from here—fissures beneath the snow and avalanches. Shradin can read the snow better than anyone in the village.”
    Squatting on their snowshoes, the others watched as the guide explored the pass.
    “Well, what do you think?” asked Seregil when Shradin returned.
    The Dravnian shrugged. “It’s only a little dangerous today. Still, it would be better if just a