Stalking Darkness

around in the mirror. I hadn’t thought of it before, but since this is a brand, the whole design is backward.”
    Nysander tugged thoughtfully at his beard. “If this sigla is intrinsically magical rather than merely symbolic, such a reversal would have a significant effect on its power. It may even have helped protect you from the effects of the crown.” He smiled ruefully. “I should have guessed it sooner, I suppose, but I had been putting your survival down to your magical dysfunction. This may well have been an ameliorating factor.”
    Seregil, hoping to get a little sleep stretched out beside Alec. “I’d call that left-handed luck, but I guess I’ll take any kind I can get. I just hope it works for us tomorrow.”
    Nysander took up his brush again. “As do I, dear boy.”

49
U NDER THE B LACK S UN
    A lec slept on through the night while Nysander and the others listened to the Plenimarans at work preparing the temple site. They also heard the chanting, and later the screams and moans that drifted to them on the wind from the encampment. Micum wanted to investigate, but the wizard forbade it.
    “We know well enough what they are doing. The dyrmagnos is more dangerous than ever during such ceremonies. If not for the protective magic I have placed around us, she would have sensed us already. We are safe enough for now, but we must wait for morning before we move. You should rest while you can. I fear there will be little opportunity to do so tomorrow.”
    Scratching a circle around the base of the pine, he seated himself against the opposite side of the trunk and closed his eyes.
    Alec woke just before sunrise the next morning and was surprised at how rested he felt. He had a few scrapes and aches from the previous day’s journey, but he scarcely noticed them.
    Seregil was asleep close beside him, onearm under his head, the other stretched out toward Alec. His face was wind-burned and there were pine needles tangled in his long dark hair, but that only seemed to enhance his strange beauty.
    I kissed him!
Alec thought in a sudden agony of embarrassment. In the midst of all the horror they had faced, and all they’d face today, he had kissed Seregil. His teacher. His friend. His—what? Worse yet, if Nysander hadn’t been sitting a few feet away, he might have been tempted to do it again.
    I can’t think about that now
, he groaned inwardly, cheeks flaming. It wasn’t that he regretted it. He just didn’t know yet what it meant, or what he wanted it to mean.
    Sitting up, he saw that Micum had gone out already. Nysander was sitting on the other side of the tree and didn’t stir or look around when Alec went over to the pile of packs. He found a spare set of breeches and some low boots in Seregil’s, then turned his attention to his bow.
    Stringing it, he ran careful fingers up and down the braided string, looking for any frays or weak spots. After so many weeks of disuse, it needed waxing.
    There was a tack pouch in his quiver, but he didn’t see it with the rest of the gear. Looking around, he spied it lying on the ground next to Nysander. In with his red-fletched arrows were four newly fletched with white swan feathers. Taking up the quiver, he touched one of the crisp white vanes and felt a sharp tingle of magic against his finger. He jerked his hand away, then gingerly pulled the arrow from the quiver for a closer look. The shaft was covered from point to nock with tiny, intricate symbols painted in blue ink.
    “No spell can improve on the skill of your hand and eye,” Nysander murmured, eyes still closed, “but those four arrows carry magic that will pierce the skin of the dyrmagnos. She must be your first target once the Helm is complete. See no one else, aim for nothing else until one of these has struck her. Even my magic cannot kill her, but it will weaken her while we attack. Strike her in the heart if you can manage it.”
    “You can depend on it,” Alec replied stonily. The boy who’d wavered taking first aim at a man was long gone. He touched the nock, imagining the feel of it on the string just before he let it fly.
    I hope I see her face when it hits her
.
    Seregil sat up and brushed pine needles from his hair. “Any sound from our neighbors?”
    “Not for some time now,” Nysander told him, opening his eyes and stretching. “Micum went out a short while ago to check their camp.”
    Seregil peered out through the pine boughs. “I think I’d like a look at the temple