Stalking Darkness

early the responsibility of the Guardians, allowing him to share the weight of the secret they preserved. Whom did he share it with?
    No one.
    Seregil could have been trusted, but the magic had failed him. Thero had the magic, but lacked—what?
    Humility, Nysander decided sadly. The humility to properly fear the power contained in this tiny, silver-lined chamber. The more apparent Thero’s abilities became over the years of his apprenticeship, the more certain Nysander was that temptation would be his undoing. Temptation and pride.
    Feeling suddenly far older than his two hundred and ninety-eight years, Nysander pressed a hand to the wall, bolstering the warding spells, changing and strengthening them to conceal what must remain concealed. It was a task he’d once thought he would pass along as his master had passed it to him. Now he felt no such certainty.

12
B EKA’S S END-OFF
    S eregil and Alec were lingering over a late lunch one bright afternoon toward the middle of Dostin, when Runcer entered the room with a ragged young girl in tow. Seregil looked up expectantly, recognizing her as the sort who made her living as a message carrier.
    “Beka Cavish sends word that the Queen’s Horse is riding out at dawn tomorrow,” the girl recited stiffly.
    “Thanks.” Seregil handed her a sester and pushed a plate of sweets her way. Grinning, the child snatched a handful and hid them away in the folds of her ragged skirt.
    “Take this message to Captain Myrhini, of the Queen’s Horse,” he told her. “As Beka Cavish’s patron, I’m honor-bound to give her and her turma a proper send-off. The captain is asked to attend and keep order. She may bring anyone else she likes, so long as she gives Beka and her riders a night out. Got that?”
    She proudly repeated it back word for word.
    “Good girl. Off you go.” Turning back to Alec, Seregil found his young friend frowning worriedly.
    “I thought you said nothing would happen before spring?” Alec asked.
    “The war? It won’t,” Seregil replied, somewhatsurprised by the news himself. “The Queen must have some reason to think the Plenimarans mean to move in early spring, though, and wants troops near the border in case of trouble.”
    “This doesn’t give us time enough to send for Micum and Kari.”
    “Damn! I didn’t even think of that.” Seregil drummed his fingers on the polished tabletop a moment. “Oh, well. We’ll ride out tomorrow with the details. In the meantime, we’ve got a party to prepare for.”
    Word soon came back by the same messenger that Captain Myrhini would release Lieutenant Cavish and her riders for the evening, with the expectation that sufficient food and drink were included in the offer. Seregil had already turned his attention to the preparations with an efficiency that astonished Alec.
    Within a few hours, extra servants had been engaged, a raucous group of musicians was installed in the gallery with their fiddles, pipes, and drums, and a steady stream of deliveries from the market had been whipped into a proper feast by the cook and her crew.
    In the meantime, the salon was cleared of all breakables and three long trestle tables set up, together with hogsheads of ale and wine set on pitched braces at the head of the room.
    Beka and her turma rode into Wheel Street at sunset. They were an impressive sight in their spotless white breeches and green tabards sewn with the regimental crest.
    A little daunting even, thought Alec, standing next to Seregil at the front door to welcome them. He’d always envied Beka just a little, being part of such an elite group. The idea of riding into a pitched battle surrounded by comrades had a certain romantic appeal.
    “Welcome!” Seregil called.
    Beka dismounted and strode up the front steps, her eyes shining almost as brightly as the burnished lieutenant’s gorget hanging at her throat.
    “You do us a great honor, my lords,” she said loudly, giving them a wink.
    Seregil bowed slightly, then looked over the crowd of riders milling behind her. “That’s a rough-looking bunch you brought. Think they can behave themselves?”
    “Not a chance, my lord,” Beka replied smartly.
    Seregil grinned. “Well then, come on in, all of you!”
    Alec’s awe diminished somewhat as the men and women of Beka’s command filed past into the painted salon. He’d only seen them at a distance on the practice field before—dashing figures clashing in mock battle. Now he saw that most of them