Stalking Darkness

were scarcely older than he. Some had the bearing of landless second sons and daughters or merchant’s scions; others—those who stood gaping at the opulent room—came from humbler backgrounds and had earned their place by sheer prowess and the price of a horse and arms.
    “I’d like to introduce my sergeants,” Beka said. “Mercalle, Braknil, and Portus.”
    Shaking hands with the trio, Alec guessed that most of them had come up through the ranks. Sergeant Mercalle was tall and dark-complected. She was also missing the last two fingers of her right hand, a common wound among warriors. Next to her stood Braknil, a big, solemn-looking man with a bushy blond beard and weather-roughened skin. The third, Portus, was younger than his companions and carried himself like a noble. Alec wondered what his story was; according to Beka, it seemed unlikely that he would not be an officer of some rank.
    Seregil shook hands with them. “I won’t embarrass your lieutenant by telling you how long I’ve known her, but I will say that she’s been trained by some of the best swordsmen I know.”
    “I can believe that, your lordship,” Braknil replied. “That’s why I asked to serve with her.”
    Beka grinned. “Sergeant Braknil’s too tactful to say so, but he was one of the sergeants assigned to train the new commissions when I came in. I started out taking orders from him.”
    “A title may guarantee an officer’s commission, but it doesn’t guarantee the officer’s quality,” Mercalle put in rather sourly. “Especially if there hasn’t been a real war to winnow out the chaff in a while. I’ve seen a good many sporting the steel gorget who won’t see high summer.”
    “Mercalle’s our optimist,” Portus chuckled, and Alec heard the remnants of a lower city accent behind the man’s smooth words.
    “It’s early for you to be sent north, isn’t it?” he asked ingenuously.
    “There are rumblings from Plenimar already,” Beka told him. “Queen Idrilain and the Archons of Mycena all want troops inplace near the west border of Plenimar before the roads thaw into mud holes next month. They’re not making any secret of it, either. The Sakor Horse Regiment and a squadron of the Yrkani Horse have already headed up to Nanta. We’ll be going farther east.”
    “ ‘First in, last out,’ ” Portus said proudly. “That’s been our motto since Gërilain’s day.”
    “The Queen’s Horse Guard started as the token group of soldiers King Thelátimos gave his daughter after the Oracle said a woman was to lead the country,” Seregil explained. “She surprised everyone when she led them successfully in battle.”
    Braknil nodded. “One of my ancestors was with Gërilain and there’s been at least one of my family with the Guard ever since.”
    Stationed by the front door, Runcer announced gravely, “Captain Myrhini and Commander Perris, of the Queen’s Horse, my lords.”
    Myrhini strode in, accompanied by a handsome uniformed man Alec had seen around the drilling field. Beka and her riders instantly snapped to attention.
    Myrhini introduced her companion as Commander Perris, who led one of the other squadrons of the regiment, then looked around, scowling. “What, no one drunk yet? Lieutenant Beka, explain yourself.”
    “I’ll see to it at once, Captain!” Beka replied, coloring a bit.
    Seregil laid a hand on her arm. “I thought perhaps some of your soldiers might be a bit self-conscious dancing with each other, so I took the liberty of inviting a few other guests to liven things up.”
    At his gesture, the musicians struck up a sprightly tune and a score of richly dressed men and women entered from the dining room, streaming out to partner the soldiers.
    “Who are they?” asked Beka, her eyes widening in surprise.
    Seregil exchanged an amused look with Alec. “Oh, just a few friends of mine from the Street of Lights who think the Queen’s best regiment deserves nothing less than the best.”
    Myrhini covered a smile as Beka’s eyes went wider still as she recognized the significance of the colored tokens each elegant “guest” wore discreetly on their clothing or in their hair—white, green, rose, or amber.
    Alec leaned closer to Beka. “From what I understand, you’ll want to stick with amber.”
    “From what I understand, Sir Alec, I think I’ll stick with you,” Beka retorted, slipping her arm through his. “Come on and show a soldier a good time,