Stalking Darkness

rider I’ve had this year and I don’t want to lose her to the hearth.”
    “Valerius!” Seregil called as he came down the stairs, apparently having escaped from the poets on his own. “Did you get Old Sakor safely launched?”
    Valerius chuckled. “There’s considerable chop on the harbor tonight. Poor old Morantiel was as green as a squash before they left the mooring, but I suspect he’ll survive.”
    “I thought he sounded rather unsteady during the prophecy,” Seregil remarked casually, signaling for a wine server.
    “After all these years of shamming, I imagine it was a bit of a shock when something mystical actually occurred.”
    “Then you believe it was genuine?”
    Valerius raised a bristling eyebrow. “You know as well as I do it was. I don’t know what that ‘Eater of Death’ business was all about, but I didn’t like the feel of those ravens.”
    At the door, Runcer stepped forward again and announced, “Nysander í Azusthra Hypirius Meksandor Illandi, High Thaumaturgist of the Third Orëska, with the Lady Magyana ä Rhioni Methistabel Tinuva Ylani, High Thaumaturgist of the Third Orëska. And Sir Micum Cavish of Watermead, with Dame Kari and daughters Elsbet and Illia.”
    Nysander and Magyana, normally the least ostentatious wizards of the Orëska, had put on the rich ceremonial robes befitting their status in honor of the occasion. Behind them, the Cavishes were as splendidly rigged out as any lord in the room. Illia clung to her mother’s hand, squirming with excitement in her new dress. Elsbet looked poised and solemn in burgundy velvet.
    “Didn’t you invite Thero?” Alec whispered teasingly to Seregil.
    “I
always
invite Thero! But watch. We’re in for a treat.”
    At his signal, the musicians stilled their instruments. The other guests stepped back as Nysander escorted Magyana to the center of the room. With a slight nod to their host, he waved a hand about in a swift, careless gesture and the painted walls sprang to life.
    The high chamber was frescoed from floor to ceiling to imitate a forest glade. The branches of life-size oaks hung with flowering vines extended across the vaulted ceiling overhead. Between their grey trunks distant vistas of mountain and sea were visible. Even the stone gallery at the back of the room, where the musicians softly played, was carved and latticed to resemble a leafy bower.
    At Nysander’s command, golden light from some unseen sun glowed across the scene. A soft breeze stirred around the room, carrying with it the scent of flowers and warm earth overlaid with a hint of the distant painted sea. The painted trees stirred in the breeze, dappling shadows across the floor. Painted birds left their places and fluttered through the branches, filling the air with song.
    A murmur of delight greeted the display, but the wizards were not finished. Magyana drew a crystal wand from her sleeve and wove the tip of it in the air, conjuring a perfect sphere of iridescent light the size of a pomegranate.
    “Come, my lord.” She smiled, motioning to Seregil. “As host, the honor belongs to you.”
    “An honor which I in turn bestow on Sir Alec on this, his first Mourning Night with us.”
    Amid a flurry of applause, Alec followed Magyana’s whispered instructions and reached out a finger as if to burst a child’s soap bubble.
    At his touch the sphere burst in a brilliant scintilla of light. Seconds later the thud of hooves against turf sounded near the gallery as a herd of white deer materialized in the painted forest and galloped once around the room before settling to graze near the dining-room archway. Rainbow-winged serpents swooped up from a painted cavern, singing with beautiful voices. Winged sprites and willow branch maidens peeped shyly from tree trunks.
    Laughing and clapping delightedly, the guests spun around to take in the spectacle. Illia pulled loose from Kari and ran to Beka, leaping into her sister’s arms.
    “It’s magic, Beka! Real wizard magic! And you’ve got your uniform. You’re a horse guard!”
    Beka hugged her back, grinning. “That’s just what I am.”
    “We must have proper music!” cried Seregil. “Fiddlers, give us ‘The Shepherd’s Idyll’!”
    The musicians set to with a will and couples paired for the sprightly dance.
    “Here you are!” Kari exclaimed, coming to embrace her eldest daughter.
    “She was afraid we wouldn’t see you before tomorrow,” Micum explained. “She’s been fretting about it