Stalking Darkness

Watch might stop them to ask why two such ill-dressed strangers were hurrying through the streets of the Noble Quarter.
    But Seregil soon took the lead, heading into poorer courtyards and alleyways. He was still limping slightly, but seemed not to feel it as he strode silently along. Along the way they passed Lazarda’s Black Feather brothel. The door stood open and, glancing in, Alec saw that the carved ship on the mantelpiece was facing west, signaling that a message had been left there for the Rhíminee Cat. If Seregil saw this, he ignored it and they wandered on like ghosts through the familiar shadows of their city.
    A slender moon stood high over the rooftops before Seregil finally broke his silence. Stopping suddenly in a weed-choked courtyard, he turned to Alec as if they were in mid conversation.
    “He thinks he might die, you know?” he said, his face half-lost in shadow. The part Alec could see was a mask of misery.
    “Micum? I don’t think he will,” Alec replied, adding without much conviction, “Valerius wouldn’t have made us leave if he thought he would.”
    “I don’t think I could stand to lose him, too,” Seregil said, betraying more emotion than he’d shown in days. But before Alec could respond he was off again, heading west.
    They’d gone several blocks in silence before Alec realized where it was that they’d been headed all along.
    One scorched brass cockerel remained to guard the courtyard gate, its upraised claw empty. Beyond the low wall lay nothing but a gaping foundation hole choked with charred timbers. Everything had burned—the inn, the stables, the wooden gate of the back court. The stink of rain-soaked ashes hung rank on the air.
    “O Illior!” Alec whispered in stunned dismay. “I knew it was gone, but still—”
    Seregil looked equally bereft. “It was just starting to burn when I left. Cilla was only two years old when I bought it.”
    Alec shuddered, hating Vargûl Ashnazai all the more for giving him such memories of her and the others. “Do you think their ghosts are here?”
    Seregil kicked at a bit of cracked stone. “If they did linger, you gave them peace the moment you strangled that bastard.”
    “What about Luthas?”
    “I suppose the drysians at the temple will foster him out or make a priest of him—”
    Seregil broke off as a small form bounded up out of the cellar hole with a loud, familiar trill. Purring frantically, Ruetha went back and forth between them, twining herself around their ankles and arching to have her ears scratched.
    They stared down at the cat for a moment in mutual amazement, then Seregil scooped her up with shaking hands. She butted him under the chin with her head.
    “By all the gods! Thryis used to complain about the way she’d disappear until I came back.” Burying his fingers in the sooty fur of her ruff, he muttered huskily, “Well, old girl, you’d better come with us this time. We’re not coming back.”
    “Not ever.” Alec rested a hand on Seregil’s shoulder as he reached to stroke Ruetha. “Not ever.”
    When they returned to Wheel Street a few hours later, Seregil and Alec found Valerius just finishing a hearty late supper in the dining room.
    “Cheer up, you two. Micum will be fine,” the drysian told them, brushing crumbs from his beard.
    “What about his leg?” asked Seregil.
    “Go see for yourself.”
    Elsbet was at her father’s side, holding his hand as he slept. Weariness made her look older than her fifteen years; with her smooth dark hair bound back in a thick braid over the shoulder of her simple blue gown, she was the image of Kari as Seregil had first known her.
    “He’s going to be all right,” she whispered.
    The room smelled of healing herbs and fresh air. Bending over Micum, Seregil saw with relief the faint flush of healthy color that tinged the sleeping man’s cheeks. Fresh blood had soaked through the lines wrapped around his thigh, but the leg was still intact.
    “Valerius says he’ll be able to ride again in time,” she told them. “I’ve already arranged for a carriage to take him home tomorrow. Mother’s been so worried!”
    “We’ll come out with you,” Seregil replied, wondering what sort of reception he’d have from her mother.

52
L AST W ORDS
    “M other, Mother! A carriage is coming, and riders,” cried Illia from the front gate. “It must be Father coming home!”
    Shading her eyes against the slanting afternoon sun, Kari joined her at the gate and