Stalking Darkness

of delight from the women. Micum pushed himself up as old Arna emerged beaming from the birthing room.
    “Oh, Master Micum!” she cried, wiping her hands on a towel. “He’s the sweetest little redheaded mite you ever saw. And strong, too, for an early babe. He’s sucking already, nice as you please. It was Dalna’s own mercy she brought him out early or she’d have had a worse time of it than she did, poor lamb. Give us a moment to clear up the bed and then come in, all of you. She wants you all!”
    “A son!” shouted Micum, wrapping his arms around his friends’ shoulders. “A son, by the Four!”
    “He’s all wrinkled up and red and covered in muck!” squealed Illia, bounding out to hug him. “And he has red hair like you and Beka. Come and see. Mother’s so happy!”
    Kari lay tucked up in the wide bed with a tiny bundle laid to her breast. To Alec, the least experienced in such matters, she lookeddreadful, as if she’d been ill, but the serene smile she greeted him with belied it.
    Micum kissed her, then took the child in his arms.
    “He’s as lovely and strong as all the others,” he whispered huskily, gazing down into the wizened little face beneath the damp shock of coppery hair. “Come on, you two, and greet my son.”
    “I’m so glad you were there this morning, Alec.” Kari reached for his hand and laughed. “You should have seen your face, though.”
    Seregil peered over Micum’s shoulder for a better look at the child, and Alec saw a smile of genuine pleasure soften his friend’s drawn features for the first time in months.
    “What will you call him?” Seregil asked.
    “We’d thought to call him Bornil, after my father,” Kari replied, “but looking at him now, it doesn’t seem to fit. What do you think, Micum?”
    He laughed and shook his head. “I’m too fuddled to think.”
    Kari looked up at Seregil, who was still smiling down at the child. “Then perhaps you can help us again, as you did with Illia. As the oldest and dearest friend of this family, help us name our son.”
    Micum handed the baby to Seregil. Gazing at him thoughtfully, he said, “Gherin, I think, if you’d have another Aurënfaie name in the family.”
    “Gherin?” Kari tried the sound of it. “I like that. What does it mean?”
    “ ‘Early blessing,’ ” Seregil replied quietly.
    Thank the Maker
, Alec thought gratefully, watching Seregil with the child.
That’s the most peaceful I’ve seen him since we got back. Maybe his spirit is finally healing after all
.
    A warm night breeze sighed in through the open window. The sound of it seemed to echo Seregil’s inner loneliness.
    It was ironic, really. The first time he and Alec had stayed in this room, Alec had kept stiffly to his side of the bed; these past weeks Seregil often woke to find him lying close beside him, as he was now. Alec had thrown one arm across Seregil’s chest, his breath soft against his bare shoulder.
    Why can’t I feel anything?
    Lying there in the moonlight, Seregil stroked Alec’s fair hairand summoned the memory of the kiss they’d shared that day in Plenimar.
    Even that had been sucked pale and flat. Since Nysander’s death all his emotions seemed to have fled to a distance, felt dimly, as if through a pane of thick glass.
    It was too late now, too late for anything. He was too empty. Covering Alec’s hand with his own, he watched the stars wheel toward morning, thinking of Gherin.
    His mind had ranged far these last weeks, turning round and round on itself as he struggled to reach some decision that would bring him peace. Looking down into the face of Micum’s tiny new son today, he’d suddenly felt that the sign he’d been waiting for had been given at last. With this last thread of the past tied off, he could go.
    An hour before dawn, he slipped out of bed and pulled on his clothes. Throwing his old pack over one shoulder, he took a small bundle from its hiding place behind the wardrobe, then closed the shutters to keep out the morning light. Alec mustn’t waken until he was well away from here.
    Moving with his natural silence past the sleeping servants in the hall, he went to Micum’s chamber. A night lamp still burned there, and by its light he watched his old companion sleeping so peacefully in his wife’s arms. Micum was home.
    Seregil laid a rolled parchment at the foot of the bed, along with small packets of jewels for each of the children. On his way out, he paused beside Gherin’s