Stalking Darkness

Heileus Quirion of Rhíminee, dear sir.”
    “Not the acclaimed actor, who just played ‘Ertis’ at the Tirarie?” gasped Seregil.
    The man puffed visibly. “The same, my lord. I pray you’ll forgive my intrusion, but my companions insisted.”
    “On the contrary, I’m delighted! I hope you’ll let me know when you next perform. By all reports, you’re the next Kroseus.”
    “I’ve been fortunate,” Pelion demurred modestly.
    “And well patronized,” a man beside him announced. “Do you know that his current role was written specifically for him?”
    “We knew you wouldn’t mind,” a sallow youth confided smugly to Seregil. “Poor Pelion is in love, you see, and his lady friend may turn up here tonight. It’s all very tragic and impossible. But we’ve got another treat for you. Donaeus has composed the most cunningly subtle epos in twenty-three parts. It’s a marvelous piece of art!”
    Seregil turned to the poet in question, a petulant-looking giant in worn velvets. “Twenty-three parts? What a monumental undertaking.”
    “It’s glorious,” a girl effused. “It’s all about the death of Arshelol and Boresthia, but done in the most original fashion. And of course, he’ll need a patron. You really must hear it.”
    “Donaeus, read it for him at once!” cried the sallow one. “No one appreciates the new verse styles so well as Lord Seregil. I’m sure Sir Alec could spare him for a bit.”
    The slight was not lost on Alec. There were a few suppressed titters, but he maintained his composure.
    “Go on, by all means.” He smiled, locking gazes with his ostensible rival. “The significance of poetry has always eluded me. Honest ballads and sword fights are more to my taste.”
    “Well then, let’s go up to the library,” said Seregil, giving Alec an amused wink as he ushered them upstairs.
    Turning, Alec nearly collided with Myrhini and Beka Cavish, who’d drifted over with their uniformed comrades.
    “Arrogant little turds, aren’t they?” Beka muttered, glowering after the poet’s entourage. “I run into a bit of that myself now and then.”
    “What could they have against me?” Alec burst out, not knowing whether to be more amused or insulted.
    “Nothing, except that you had the poor taste to be born north of the Cirna Canal.”
    “There are always a few like that.” Myrhini shrugged, then skillfully snagged a tray of wine cups from a passing server. “Scattering a few teeth usually quiets ’em down. In your case though, it’s more likely just whey-blooded jealousy. There’s more than a few among that set who’d like to be in your boots.”
    She paused to run an eye over him. “You’re looking fitter than last time I saw you. Klia’s at the Vigil, and sends her regards. I goon duty in a few hours, but felt honor-bound to assess the new recruit here, seeing as how she’s under my command. Rider Beka tells me you’ve crossed blades a time or two—But here’s someone else we know!”
    “Valerius of Colath, Drysian of the First Order and High Priest of the Temple of Dalna at Rhíminee,” Runcer announced.
    Valerius strode into the room still clad in his ceremonial robe and circlet, though he’d exchanged the ivory staff for his old wooden one.
    “The blessing of Dalna be on this house and those within it,” he intoned, thumping the floor.
    Alec hurried forward to greet him. “Welcome. Seregil just went upstairs to hear a poet, but he should be back soon.”
    The drysian let out an inelegant snort. “That fool Donaeus, no doubt, spouting his doggerel in twenty-three fatuous farts? He must still be scratching around for a patron. He read bits of the mess at Lady Arbella’s banquet last week. Fairly took away my appetite. If he corners Seregil with the whole of it, we’re not likely to get him back before dawn.”
    “Maybe Alec should go rescue him,” suggested Beka.
    “No, leave him. Serves him right for encouraging that pack of pedantic buffoons. What knavery have you two been up to these days? Learning swordplay, I hear, Alec?” The drysian lowered his voice to a confidential rumble. “You’ll need it, considering the company you’ve fallen into.”
    “And look at you!” he exclaimed, glowering at Beka. “Running off to join regiments instead of getting married like a good Dalnan girl? This young fellow here is about your age, isn’t he?”
    “Leave off, you,” Myrhini cried, laughing as Beka shifted uncomfortably. “She’s the best