Stalking Darkness

tears of relief rolling down his own cheeks. “I never thought—How did you find us?”
    Reaching through the bars, Seregil cupped Alec’s face in his hands. “No time to explain,
talí
. I’ve got to get you out of there.” Releasing Alec reluctantly, he went to the back of the cart to examine the lock.
    “Be careful. Vargûl Ashnazai put some kind of magic on it.”
    Seregil glanced up. “Who?”
    “The necromancer who was with Mardus in Wolde. And he’s not the only one around, either. They’ve got a dyrmagnos with them.”
    “Bilairy’s Balls! But there’s got to be some way. I’m not leaving you here!”
    Alec’s heart hammered in his chest as he watched Seregil inspect the lock. It was torture, being this close but still separated.
    “Ah, here’s something—” Seregil began, but just then torchlight flared behind him.
    “Seregil, look out!”
    Turning, they found Vargûl Ashnazai leering up at them, flanked by a half-dozen armed soldiers.
    “How clever of you to have found us,” the necromancer gloated. “I much appreciate your effort. And your boy played his part very convincingly, no?”
    Seregil shot Alec a startled look.
    It was the crudest blow yet, that accusing look. It froze Alec’s throat, so that he could only shake his head imploringly.
    Seregil drew his sword and sprang from the wagon, away from Ashnazai’s men. But others were waiting for him in the shadows.
    Flinging himself against the bars, Alec watched with horror as Seregil fought for his life. He ran a guard through and slashed another across the neck before the others leapt at him from behind, knocking him to the ground and pinning him.
    The necromancer barked an order and they yanked Seregil to his feet. His face was bloody, but he held his head high and spat at the necromancer, eyes blazing with hate.
    Ashnazai gave another order. This time Seregil was dragged up into the bear cart and lashed hand and foot to the bars facing Alec.
    “I didn’t help him, I swear,” Alec whispered hoarsely. “Oh, Seregil, I—”
    “It doesn’t matter much—now,” Seregil growled, turning his face away.
    “Not in the least,” Ashnazai agreed, climbing into the cart behind him with Seregil’s sword in his hand. “It’s a pity you were cut, but then I’d hardly dare chance putting the two of you together again.” He grabbed Seregil by the hair, pulling his head back. “Who knows what mischief you’d make, eh?”
    Stepping back, he placed the point of the sword against the small of Seregil’s back and pushed slowly, twisting the blade.
    Seregil let out a strangled cry and grasped the bars. Alec reached through, grappling for the sword, but one of Ashnazai’s men pulled him away, holding him back as the necromancer drove the blade out through Seregil’s belly and then yanked it free.
    Seregil let out a harsh scream and sank to his knees. Struggling free, Alec caught at him, trying to hold him through the bars. He felt hot blood under his hands. More ran from the corner of Seregil’s mouth.
    Alec wanted to speak, but no words would come. Seregil looked at him, his wide grey eyes full of sorrow and recrimination.
    Pulling the dying man’s head back again, Ashnazai drew the blade across Seregil’s throat. More blood pumped from the severed arteries, spattering Alec’s face and chest.
    Seregil struggled weakly for a moment, his last breath gurgling horribly through the gaping wound. With a final spasm, he went limp, eyes open and vacant.
    Sobbing, Alec clung to his friend’s body until the soldiers cut it loose from the bars and dragged it from his grasp.
    Ashnazai looked down at him with disdain. “That was most enjoyable. Your turn comes soon, but not so mercifully. But then, you know that, I think.”
    It had been an illusion, just another of Ashnazai’s tricks.
    Alec repeated this over and over to himself as the cart rumbled north the next day.
    But the dried blood on his hands and clothing was real enough. So were the stains on the canvas ticking of the mattress and the wood at the back of the cart where Seregil had fallen.
    Seregil is dead
.
    It was an illusion
.
    Seregil is dead
.
    It was—
    His grief was too deep for tears. It was so vast that it blotted out everything else. He couldn’t eat or sleep or take in his surroundings. Hunched in a corner of the cage, he clasped his hands around his knees and rested his head on them, shutting out the world.
    Seregil is dead
.
    •  •  •
    As the flat,