Stalking Darkness

stirred, sighing through the forest at their backs, mingling its sound with the rhythmic surge of the waves. An owl sailed by close enough for Alec to hear its wings cutting the air. Its hooting call drifted back to them through the darkness.
    They remained like this for some time before Seregil finally spoke, his voice barely audible.
    “I’m sorry, Alec. Sorry for everything.”
    “Nobody blames you. You did what you had to, just like the rest of us.”
    Seregil’s short, angry laugh was startling after such silence. “What choice did I have?”
    They sailed the following morning, heading north along the coast. Still running with stolen canvas, the
Green Lady
again raced unchallenged through enemy waters, though she caused something of a stir at Nanta until Rhal showed his commissioning papers.
    They lay in port for two days while Rhal refitted the sails and took on fresh stores. Beka found a drysian to tend Micum’s wounds and Seregil’s, then set about making her own preparations for departure. She and her riders were duty-bound to find their regiment. By the second day Braknil and Rhylin had rounded up sufficient horses and supplies, as well as word that their regiment was stationed a few days ride to the north.
    Rhal had given over his cabin to the survivors of Nysander’s Four and Micum lay on the narrow bunk, his leg swathed in linen bandages. Sitting down beside him, Beka pushed her long braid back over her shoulder.
    “Word around the city is that the Plenimarans have been pushed behind their own borders for the moment,” she told him. “We’ll ride northeast until we find Skalan troops, then start asking directions from there.”
    Micum clasped her hand. “You take care of yourself, my girl. This war is far from over.”
    Beka nodded, her throat tight. “By the Flame, Father. I don’t like to leave you, but I have to get back. I sent some of my people on ahead before we met up with you and I’ve got to see if they made it.”
    Micum waved aside her concern with a smile. “I’ve been talking with your Sergeant Braknil and some of the others. Fromwhat they say, you’re a good officer and a brave fighter. I’m proud of you.”
    Beka hugged him tight, feeling the familiar roughness of her father’s cheek against her own. “I had the best teachers, didn’t I? I just wish—”
    “What?”
    Beka sat back and wiped a hand across her eyes. “I always thought, once I had some experience on my own, that maybe Nysander would, you know, find use for me the way he did with you and Seregil.”
    “Don’t you worry about that. There’ll always be enough trouble in the world to keep our kind busy. None of that dies with Nysander. I’ll tell you, though, it’s Seregil I’m worried about.”
    Beka nodded. “And Alec, too. You can see what it’s doing to him, having Seregil so silent and sad. What’s happened with them?”
    Micum lay back against the bolsters with a sigh. “Poor Alec. He cares so much for Seregil he doesn’t know what to do about it, and now this. And Seregil’s hurting so deep I don’t know if any of us can help him.”
    “Perhaps he has to help himself.” Beka rose reluctantly. “You get Valerius to see to that leg when you get back. I still don’t like the look of it. And take my love to Mother and the girls. Send word of my new brother when he’s born.”
    “You keep yourself in one piece, you hear?”
    Beka kissed him a last time, then hurried above. Seregil was standing alone by the rail.
    As they clasped hands, he turned her palms up to look at the faded traces of the symbols there.
    “You’ve got your father’s heart as well as his hair,” he said with a ghost of the old smile. “Trust either one of you to show up when you’re least expected and most needed. Luck in the shadows, Beka Cavish, and in the light.”
    “Luck to you, too, Seregil, and the Maker’s healing,” Beka returned warmly, relieved to see even this small break in his sorrow. He’d scarcely spoken since they’d set sail. “Bring Father safe home again.”
    Alec was waiting for her by the longboat. Putting her arms around him, Beka squeezed him tight and felt the embrace returned.
    “Take them to Watermead, both of them,” she whispered againsthis cheek. “Stay there as long as you need to. Poor Nysander, I can’t believe he’d ever have wanted things to turn out like this.”
    “Me neither,” Alec said, still holding her by the arms as he stepped back.
    He looks so much