Stalking Darkness

horror-struck at what he had done.
    “Did you think us so lacking in imagination that we would not anticipate such a noble action on your part?” Irtuk chided. “You forget how intimately I know you, Alec. One of the first wards I placed upon you was one to guard against such ridiculous heroics. Anytime you try to hurt yourself, you shall only end up hurting another, like this poor innocent.”
    “O Illior!” Alec groaned, covering his face with his hands.
    “Perhaps I am somewhat to blame,” Mardus sighed. “My explanation may have given the boy the impression that he and Thero are necessary for the final realization of our plans.”
    Mardus’ hands closed over Alec’s, squeezing painfully as he pulled them aside to fix Alec with a look of sardonic pleasure.
    “Understand this. The presence or absence of either one of you will not make the slightest difference to the god. It merely pleases me, and Vargûl Ashnazai as well, I am certain, that the two of you should be the final victims. Just imagine, dear Alec—watching all those others die, and you quite helpless to save them. And then, as your chest is split and your heart pulled free, your final thought will be that after all your meddling, all that extraordinary effort, it
is your
life bringing the Helm back into being! I’m only sorry that your friends will not be there to share in your reward. Now do try to eat something more. You’re looking quite pale again.”

42
L ANDFALL
    S eregil woke drenched in sweat, still caught in the nightmare’s grip. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to hang on to the images of the dream, but as usual could recall nothing but the vague memory of a tall figure towering over him and the terrible sensation of drowning.
    Micum had already gone above. Seregil lay a moment longer, half dozing as the first faint light of dawn brightened the cabin’s single window. Was Alec awake, seeing that same light? he wondered, as he’d wondered every morning of the voyage. Was Alec alive at all? Would he be when the sun set?
    He rubbed at his eyelids and felt the wetness seeping through his lashes. Early morning was the worst. During the day he could keep busy, bury his fear in the semblance of doing something useful. At night he simply closed his eyes and escaped into dreams and nightmares.
    But here, in the half world of dawn, he had no defenses, no diversion. The longing for Alec’s presence, the guilt and remorse at having brought him to this, the shame at never having told the boy how much he cared for him—it was all as raw as a wound that refused to heal.
    And there was nothing to do but go on tothe end. Rolling out of the bunk, he threw on a surcoat over his shirt and went above without bothering to fasten it up.
    On deck he turned his face to the wind and spread his arms. The cold salt breeze lifted his hair from his neck and blew his coat open, whipping his shirt against his ribs. Tilting his head back, he inhaled deeply, trying to cleanse away the sense of oppression. As he did so, he noticed a new scent on the wind, the smell of land.
    Going to the starboard rail, he saw a dark, uneven line of mountains looming through the morning mist like a promise just out of reach. His sail-changing ploy had worked. They’d sailed within sight of Plenimar’s northwestern coastline without challenge.
    Rhal called out sharply somewhere to stern and Skywake barked an order. Looking around the deck for Micum, Seregil spotted him sitting on the forward bulkhead. He had a small mirror propped on one knee and was shaving his chin with the aid of a knife and a cup of water.
    Micum looked up as he approached, then frowned. “Another bad night, eh?”
    “Worst yet.” Seregil combed his fingers back through his windblown hair. “It feels like someone’s trying to tell me the most important thing in the world in a language I can’t understand.”
    “Maybe Nysander can make something of it when he gets here.”
    “If he
gets here,” Seregil replied listlessly. He felt as if they’d been on this ship for years instead of weeks; Rhíminee, Nysander, Alec, the deaths they’d left behind, perhaps it was just all part of the same bad dream.
    Micum gestured with his knife at a lonely peak to the north. “Rhal says that’s Mount Kythes there. He thinks we can put ashore tonight. There’s a—Bilairy’s Balls, you’re bleeding!”
    Setting his knife and cup aside, he stood and tugged at the loose ties of Seregil’s