Stalking Darkness Read Online Free PDF Page B

conscription. Seregil had politely declined. While his interest in women seemed marginal at best, Alec suspected the real reason for Seregil’s reticence was that it would have cost him his friendship with her grandmother. Thryis had been a sergeant in the Queen’s Archers in her youth and despaired that neither her son nor granddaughter had followed a military career before settling down. Cilla had never revealed who the child’s father was, but the man must have been dark. She was fair, while her son’s eyes and hair were as brown as a mink’s.
    Going to the hearth, Alec leaned down next to Thryis and reached for the teapot warming by the fire.
    “You’re looking down in the mouth today,” Thryis observed shrewdly. “Going off without you, is he?”
    “He told you?”
    The old woman gave a derisive snort. “He didn’t have to,” she scoffed, deftly quartering a turnip and pitching it into a kettle beside her. “There he is in his old rambling boots, chipper as a sparrow. And you here with the long face and still in your shirtsleeves? Don’t take no wizard to figure that one.”
    Alec shrugged. Thryis had run the Cockerel since Seregil secretly bought it twenty years before. She—together with her family and Rhiri, the mute ostler—was among the select few who knew anything of Seregil’s double life.
    “Now, don’t go fretting yourself over it,” she whispered. “Master Seregil thinks the world of you, and no mistake. There’s none he speaks so well of ’cept Micum Cavish, and those two have been friends for years and years. Besides, it’ll give you and me a chance to talk shooting again, eh? There’s still a trick or twoI haven’t shared and that fine black bow of yours shouldn’t be gathering dust.”
    “I guess not.” Alec gave her a quick peck on the cheek and went to sit across from Seregil at the breakfast table.
    Studying his friend’s face as Seregil joked with Cilla over breakfast, Alec felt certain he saw small lines of tension around his eyes. Whatever this secret job was, there was more to it than he was letting on.
    There was no use asking further about it, though. Upstairs in their room again, Seregil finished with his scant collection of gear and clapped a battered hat on his head.
    “Well, take care of yourself,” he said, “especially on that job for the baron. I don’t want to find you in the Red Tower when I return.”
    “You won’t. Want help getting all that down?”
    “No need.” Shouldering his pack, Seregil clasped hands with him. “Luck in the shadows, Alec.”
    And with the flash of a crooked grin, he was gone.
    Alec listened to his footsteps fading rapidly away. “And to you.”
    Seregil paused in the kitchen on his way out. Pulling up a stool beside Thryis, he slipped her a flat, sealed packet.
    “I’m leaving this with you. I’ve got to go off for a few days. If I don’t come back, this should take care of Alec and the rest of you.”
    Frowning, Thryis fingered the wax seals. “A will, is it? No wonder young Alec was looking so dark.”
    “He doesn’t know, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
    “You’ve never left a will before.”
    “It’s just in case I meet with an accident or something.” Shouldering his pack, he headed for the door.
    “Or something!” The old woman’s mouth pursed into a skeptical line. “Mind that a ‘something’ don’t jump up and bite you on the arse when you’re not looking.”
    “I’ll do my best to avoid it.”
    Outside, the sleet had turned to rain. Pulling the hood of his patched cloak up over his hat, he dashed across the slick cobbles to the stable where Rhiri had his new mare saddled and ready. Tossing the fellow a gold half sester, Seregil swung up into the saddle and set off at a gallop for the Orëska House.

3
H ORNS OF S TONE
    I t was midafternoon before Nysander completed his preparations for the translocation.
    “Are you ready, Seregil?” he asked at last, looking up from the elaborate