Stalking Darkness

voice at last.
    Nysander leaned forward and clasped his hand. “He was your kinsman and Idrilain’s, Seregil. She thought it a fitting reward for solving the mystery of his disappearance. She hopes you shall wear it with honor among your own people one day.”
    “Give her my thanks.” Seregil tucked it reverently away in its bag. “But you didn’t magick me out of bed just for this?”
    Nysander sat back with a chuckle. “No. I have a task which may be of interest to you. However, there are conditions to be set forth before I explain. Agree to abide by them or I shall send you back now with all memory of this meeting expunged.”
    Seregil blinked in surprise. “It must be some job. Why didn’t you bring Alec?”
    “I shall come to that presently. I can say nothing until you agree to the conditions.”
    “Fine. I agree. What are they?”
    “First, you may ask no question unbidden.”
    “Why not?”
    “Starting now.”
    “Oh, all right. What else?”
    “Second, you must work in absolute secrecy. No one is to know of this, particularly not Alec or Micum. Will you give me your oath on it?”
    Seregil regarded him in silence for a moment; keeping secrets from Alec was no easy business these days. Still, how could something so shrouded in mystery fail to be interesting?
    “All right. You have my word.”
    “Your oath,” Nysander insisted somberly.
    Shaking his head, Seregil held out his left hand, palm up, before him.
“Asurit betuth dös Aura Elustri kamar sösui Seregil í Korit Solun Meringil Bôkthersa
. And by my honor as a Watcher, I swear also. Is that sufficient?”
    “You know I would never impose such conditions on you without good reason,” the wizard chided.
    “Still, it seems to be happening quite a lot these days,” Seregil retorted sourly.
“Now
can I ask questions?”
    “I will answer what I can.”
    “Why is it so crucial for Alec and Micum not to know?”
    “Because if you let slip the slightest detail of what I am about to tell you, I shall have to kill all of you.”
    Though spoken calmly, Nysander’s words jolted him like a kick in the throat; he’d known the wizard too long to mistake his absolute sincerity. For an instant, Seregil felt as if he were looking into the face of a stranger. Then suddenly, everything fell into place as neatly as a three-tumbler lock. He sat forward, slopping hot tea over his knees in his excitement.
    “It’s to do with this, isn’t it?” he exclaimed, tapping his chest. There, beneath Nysander’s obscuring magic, lay the branded imprint of the wooden disk he’d stolen from Duke Mardus at Wolde—the same strange, deceptively crude disk that had nearly taken his life. “You went white the night I told you about showing a drawing of it to the Illioran Oracle. I thought you were going to fall over.”
    “Perhaps now you understand my distress,” Nysander replied grimly.
    They’d never spoken of that conversation, but the dread Seregil had felt then returned now in full force. “Bilairy’s
Balls!
You’d have done it, too.”
    Nysander sighed heavily. “I would never have forgiven myself, I assure you, but I would also have been furious with you forforcing me into such an act. Do you recall what I said to you then?”
    “To pray I never found out what that disk really is?”
    “Precisely. And to undertake this task, you must continue to accept that as my answer on the subject.”
    Seregil slouched glumly in his chair. “Same old answer, eh? And what if I say no to all this? That if you don’t tell me the whole story I want no part of it?”
    Nysander shrugged. “Then as I said before, I shall remove all memory of this conversation from your mind and send you home. There are certainly others who could aid me.”
    “Like Thero, I suppose?” Seregil snapped before he could stop himself.
    “Oh, for—”
    “Does
he
know the Great Secret?” The old jealousy gripped Seregil’s heart. The last thing he wanted to hear was that the young assistant wizard knew more of this than he did.
    “He knows less than you,” Nysander replied, exasperated. “Now do you want the task or not?”
    Seregil let out a frustrated growl. “All right, then. What’s this all about?”
    Nysander pulled a sheet of vellum from his sleeve and handed it to him. “To begin with, tell me what you make of this.”
    “Looks like a page from a book.” The vellum was darkened with age or weather. Seregil rubbed a corner of it between his fingers and sniffed