Stalking Darkness

on foot. Thero seems to have had a hand in his escape—”
    “That traitorous bastard?” Seregil’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
    “Stop it, Seregil!” Nysander ordered, finally giving rein to his own anger. It flashed across his face, startling as lightning from a clear sky. “Whatever Thero’s past actions may have been, it would appear that he used his own magic to aid Alec’s escape, quite possibly at the expense of his own life. Alec is alone. This has brought him closer to us than losing either of you would have. If Mardus’ scouts have reached us already, then the man himself cannot be far behind.”
    Seregil opened his mouth to protest but Micum spoke first.
    “I don’t like it either, but he’s right and we both know it,” he said grudgingly.
    “Well, what about now, then?” demanded Seregil, still boiling. “We can’t just sit here hoping he finds us by sheer luck! Bilairy’s Balls, Nysander, if you’re so certain of where he is, magick him in!”
    “You know I cannot expend that kind of power now. However, I was able to send a summoning and place some protections around him, as well. Mardus will not find him by magic.”
    Seregil reached for his boots and sword belt.
    “But you knew about him last night,” Micum said, frowning. “How did you do that, if not with magic?”
    “I did nothing. The knowledge simply came to me.”
    “Then why don’t Micum and I sense him?” Seregil demanded.
    “Who knows? Go to him now; help him He is coming from the south.”
    “Ah, that’s one of my titles, isn’t it? The Guide?” Seregil growled, grabbing up a water skin and pushing out through the branches.
    Micum moved to follow, but Nysander laid a hand on his arm.
    “Let him go.”
    Seregil’s anger quickly gave way to cautious joy as he loped along over the rocks. During the long days on the
Lady
, hope had dwindled to a stubborn refusal to imagine the worst. Now it seemed Nysander’s faith in the prophecy had been proven. Against all odds, the four of them were being brought together again on this hostile shore.
    The tide had just turned past low, leaving tide pools and treacherous masses of bladder wrack gleaming in the morning sun. Great green swells rolled in from the open sea, wave upon wave smashing to geysers of glistening spume against the rocks. A freshening wind off the water carried the spray up the shore; Seregil turned his face to it as he stalked along, tasted salt on his lips.
    Nothing else mattered. Alec was alive.
    He kept one eye on the trees as he went. One patrol had shown up already; there would be others. Within the hour he spied the glint of sunlight off metal.
    Taking cover in a rocky cleft, he listened as a group of riders passed at a gallop. From the sound of it, there were at least a dozen of them. Waiting until the last sound of their horses had faded away to the north, he continued on his way.
    Another hour passed and he began to worry that they’d somehow missed each other. Alec could have taken refuge, as he had, under an outcropping or in the forest. Or had an accident or been recaptured. Reining in these dark thoughts, Seregil sat down on a damp block of stone to catch his breath.
    His arrival dislodged a small nation of striped periwinkles,which clattered and rolled away like a cascade of marbles into the tide pool at his feet. A gull circled down to drink on the opposite side.
    “I’ll find him,” Seregil sighed aloud, resting his head in his hands. “He’s here and I’ll find him.”
    The gull regarded him with one skeptical yellow eye, then flapped off with a derisive jeer. Turning his head to watch it, Seregil froze in disbelief. A wan, battered spector stood looking down at him from a shelf of rock not twenty feet away.
    “Alec!”
    Thin, bruised, and naked, Alec swayed visibly as the wind buffeted him. Despite his obvious exhaustion, however, he was poised for flight.
    “Alec, it’s me,” Seregil said more gently, watching hope and fear warring in those dark, narrowed eyes. What had put such deep distrust there? “What’s wrong, tolí?”
    “What are you doing here?” Alec croaked, and the wariness in his voice went through Seregil like a knife.
    “Looking for you. Nysander’s here, too, and Micum. They’re back that way.”
    “Nysander’s dead,” Alec said, taking a step backward.
    “No, he almost died, but he’s alive, I promise you. We know what Mardus is up to now. We were right, Alec. We are the Four—you, me, Nysander,