Luck in the Shadows

6 Alec Earns His Bow

From the inn window the three of them dropped thirty feet into water cold enough to knock the breath from their lungs. Alec floundered, gasping as he tried to hang on to his gear and keep his head above water.

A strong hand closed over his wrist; Micum hauled him to a handhold on the slimy pilings supporting the building.

"Quiet!" Seregil whispered against his ear.

Working their way back to the shallows, they crawled out onto a narrow mud bank and huddled there as the sounds of a violent search rang out overhead.

"I doubt you two will be welcome again at the Fishes," Micum whispered through chattering teeth.

It was a miserably cold vigil they kept, and dangerous. At one point several marines found their way under the building, forcing the three fugitives to turtle back into the icy water until they were gone. It was over an hour before Micum judged that it was safe to go.

They made a sorry trio as they staggered from the shadows of the tavern. Covered in mud, their hair and

clothing stiffened into fantastic configurations, they moved as fast as their numbed legs would allow, heading for the market square.

Micum led the way to the Temple of Astellus that stood next to the Fisherman's Guildhall on the square. It was a plain, windowless structure, but the large double doors at its front were elaborately carved with boats and water creatures. The lintel above displayed the stylized wave symbol of Astellus the Traveler.

By custom, the doors of the temple were never locked, and they slipped inside without challenge.

Alec had never been inside the place before, though he'd passed it often enough. The plastered walls of the central room glowed with fanciful underwater scenes and icons showing several of the patron deity's more noteworthy labors.

Near the central shrine a young acolyte dozed at his post. Passing quietly, they found their way to a door at the back of the temple and into the storeroom beyond.

Offerings, sacks of food for the priests, and oddments of furniture were stacked carelessly about. Alec sat down on an upended crate while Micum cast about, looking for something.

"Isn't it over to the left more?" asked Seregil.

"I've got it." Micum pulled open a trapdoor in the floor.

Looking over his shoulder, Alec saw a ladder descending into the darkness. Cold, earth-smelling air rose up the shaft.

"Let's hope the mayor neglected to tell his visitors about this route," Seregil muttered.

Micum shrugged. "A good fight puts the fire of Sakor in your blood. I think we could all use the warmth!"

Seregil cocked a wry eyebrow at Alec.

"He works as hard to find trouble as I do avoiding it."

With a derisive chuckle, Micum climbed down the ladder. Alec followed while Seregil took a moment to prop several small crates to fall over the door when it closed.

Once down, Micum rummaged in a belt pouch and drew out a small glowing object. Its pale radiance spilled out through his fingers, spreading a small circle of light.

"Magic?" Alec asked, leaning closer.

"A lightstone," Seregil told him. "I lost mine in a dice game two months ago and I've been fumbling around with flint and steel ever since."

"Too bad it doesn't give off any heat,"

Micum said, chaffing his arms as he led the way down the tunnel.

"Where are we?"

"An escape tunnel leading out of town," Micum explained. "It has openings near the lake shore and another just inside the woods. The Temple of Dalna has one, too. The idea was to be able to evacuate the town secretly if it was ever besieged. I doubt it would work, though-most likely bring you right up in front of the enemy. But it was thought up by merchants, not generals. As it is, Seregil and I have probably made the best use of them over the last few years."

"Where to now? The cave?" Seregil was shivering visibly now as he tried to pull his stiff cloak more closely about him.

"That's the closest place."

The passage ran in a fairly straight line back from the river. It was hardly wide enough for two men to pass, and the roof was so low that Micum had to stoop in places. The damp earthen walls, shored up at intervals with timber, gave off an unpleasant chill. Blotches of lichen and pale fungi sprouted from the support beams. After some time, the tunnel branched.

Taking the right fork, Micum drew his sword and whispered over his shoulder, "Look sharp, boy, in case we have company."

Alec moved to draw his own blade but Seregil nudged his hand away from the hilt. "Never mind that," he said. "You couldn't get by to fight and if you stumbled, you'd probably run Micum through. If we meet anyone, fade back with me and stay out of the way."

But they met nothing except a few rats and slow-moving salamanders, and soon the tunnel began to slant upward, ending at a narrow cave. It was hardly more than a thin cleft in the rock and the floor of it narrowed sharply to a y making for uncomfortable going.

Barking shins, hands, and heads against sharp-edged stones, they clambered up the fissure. Micum pocketed the lightstone as they reached the top and they pushed their way through a dense thicket of bramble at the mouth of the cave.

Looking around, Alec saw that they were somewhere in the woods; stands of oak, birch, and fir grew thickly around them. The sinking moon cast netted shadows through the canopy of branches overhead, curling darkness beneath the firs. Dawn was a few hours away and all was still.

Seregil was trembling more violently than the others.

"You never could stand the cold," Micum said, unclasping his cloak. When Seregil moved to shrug it away, Micum stopped him with a stern look and swung it around his shoulders himself.

"Save your pride for warmer days, you damn fool. The boy and I are bred to it. Your blood's too thin. Come on."

Still scowling, Seregil tied the cloak strings under his chin without further protest.

Moving quietly over the snowy ground, they headed deeper into the forest. The ground rose and fell sharply, and the shadows were thick, but Micum went along as confidently as if they were hiking a highroad.

Halfway up a hillside, they reached another cave. It was larger than the last and its opening lay in plain

sight. High-roofed and shallow, it narrowed at the back to a tiny passage leading farther into the hillside. Alec and Seregil were slim enough to pass through sideways without much trouble, but Micum grunted and swore as he worked his way in.

"I don't recall you having so much trouble a few years back," observed Seregil.

"Shut up, you," Micum wheezed, pulling free at last.

The crevice twisted sharply several times, threatening to close altogether, but finally opened into a wider space.

Micum brought out his light again, and Alec saw that they were in another cave, this one quite large.

Wood lay arranged for a fire in a circle of stones. Hunkering down beside it, Seregil found a small jar among the logs and shook what appeared to be hot coals onto the tinder.

"More magic for you." Grinning, he handed Alec the jar. Small chips of stone glowed bright as embers but, like the lightstone, gave off no heat.

"Those are fire stones," he explained. "Be careful with them. They won't hurt skin but the second they touch anything that will burn-cloth, wood, parchment-they ignite. I've seen too many accidents to carry them traveling."

Flames licked up through the dry wood, dispelling the chill and darkness. The natural chamber narrowed overhead to a crevice, and by some trick of the draft the smoke was drawn neatly up this natural chimney.

Firewood, folded blankets, and a number of pottery jars lay on various ledges around the caves. Piles of dry bracken and fir boughs were formed into rough pallets against the walls.

"This is snug camp," said Alec, admiring it.

"Micum found it a while back," Seregil said, huddling over the flames as closely as he dared. "Only we and a few friends know about it. Who was here last?"

Micum inspected the stone shelf that held the jars and held up a black feather. "Erisa. She must have stopped here before going into town. Let's see what she's left in the larder."

Carrying a few of the jars to the fire, he inspected some marks carefully incised on the wax seals. "Let's see. There's a bee on these, that's honey. A wheat stalk, that's hard biscuit.

A bee and a cup-mead. What've you got?"

"I'm not certain." Seregil held a jar closer to the light. "Dried venison. And here's some tobacco for you."

"Bless her kind heart." Micum took a pipe from somewhere inside his tunic and filled it. "I left my pouch behind in all the scuffle."

"And these two must be herbs," Seregil continued.

"Looks like yarrow and fever bane. Well, thanks to our good friend Micum Cavish, we're in no need of

healing. I just want to get dry!"

Stripping off their filthy garments, they spread them by the fire and wrapped up in blankets.

Too cold to concern himself with modesty for once, Alec noticed that both of his companions had a number of scars, though Micum's were by far the more numerous and serious. The worst was a pale rope of tissue that began just beneath his right shoulder blade. It curved down around his back to end just short of his navel. Noticing the boy's interest, he turned to the light and ran a thumb proudly over the end of the welt.

"Closest I ever came to Bilairy's gatepost." Lighting his pipe, Micum puffed out a few rings of mellow smoke. "It was nine winters ago, wasn't it, Seregil?"

"I believe it was." Seregil gave Alec a wink. "A group of us were traipsing up around the Fishless Sea and ran into a particularly unfriendly bunch of nomads."

"Unfriendly!" snorted Micum. "I'd never seen their like before-great hairy giants. We still don't know where they came from. They were too busy trying to kill us to answer questions. We stumbled across their camp by accident one evening, and figured we'd say hello and try to trade for supplies. But just as we reached the pickets, a whole pack of them—big as bears and twice as mean—came charging out of nowhere at us on foot. We were mounted, but they had us surrounded before we realized what was going on. The weapons they used looked something like a big flail; a long haft with several lengths of chain attached, each two or three feet long.

Only the links of the chains were flattened and the edges ground keen as razors. Of course, we didn't know about that until after we'd started to fight. Cyril lost an arm, cut clean off, and Berrit was blinded and died soon after. One of the bastards took the front legs off my horse and then laid into me. That's when I got this beauty." He ran a hand over the knotted ridge of flesh again. "I was all tangled up in the stirrups, but I managed to get my sword up in time to block his swing— all but one of the chains, and that laid me open to the bone right through my jerkin. If I hadn't blocked the rest, I believe he'd have cut me in half. Seregil popped up from somewhere and killed him just as he was going for another stroke. It's lucky we had the drysian Valerius traveling with us, or I'd have crossed over right then and there."

"I suppose this was my worst," said Seregil, showing Alec deep indentations in the lean muscle on either side of his left thigh.

"I was exploring an abandoned wizard's keep. She'd been dead for years, but a lot of her wards were still in place. I'd been very careful, spotted all the symbols, disarmed device after device. She'd been something of a genius in that way and I was feeling pretty proud of myself. But no matter how good you are, there's always a trap with your name on it somewhere, and I found one that day. I missed a trigger of some sort—never did see it—and the next I knew my foot went through the floor. An iron spike shot across, pinning my leg like a speared fish. Half an inch to the left and I'd have bled to death. I couldn't reach far enough into the hole to free myself, short of cutting off my leg. I've no stomach for pain. From what little I remember, I did a lot of yelling and fainting until Micum found me and carried me out. Not a very heroic tale, I'm afraid."

Alec had stripped the oilskin cover from his bow to check for damage. Without looking up from his work, he ventured shyly, "Still, you were brave enough to do all that."

"You've got a short memory all of a sudden,"

Seregil scoffed, passing him the mead jar. "Aren't you the same half-starved lad who survived Asengai's dungeons and followed me out, not to mention what we did tonight? That's a lot to claim before you're even grown."

Alec shrugged, embarrassed. "That wasn't bravery. There just wasn't anything else to do."

Micum laughed grimly. "By Sakor, then you've learned the secret of being brave. All you need is some training."

Reaching over the fire, he retrieved the mead jar from Seregil. "So what will you do now?"

Seregil shook his head. "I'd planned to blend into some caravan and take the Gold Road all the way to Nanta, but now I'm not so sure. What was all that fracas about tonight? I was certain nobody saw us."

"I was watching the house from the square. Everything was quiet until well after you left. The party broke up soon after, the guests went home, and the lamps inside were mostly out. I was just about to leave myself when all hell broke loose. Someone started yelling, then there were lights all over the place, and soldiers running everywhere. I got as close as I could—which wasn't too hard with all the excitement—and looked into the hall. That big fellow, Boraneus, had the mayor cornered. All I heard was that anyone who'd been at the feast was to be arrested and brought back immediately. That's when I lit out after you. Those Plenimarans are a damned well-organized bunch. I didn't think I was going to get to you in time."

Seregil tapped his chin with one long forefinger. "If someone had actually seen us, then they wouldn't be arresting all the guests. That's a bit of luck, I'd say."

"And what, exactly, did you steal?"

"Just this." Seregil dug into his belt pouch and handed Micum the wooden disk. "I wanted to show Nysander the pattern."

Micum turned it over on his palm and tossed it back to him. "Looks like a gaming piece to me-not the sort of thing anyone would make that kind of fuss over. You know, I think you might not have been the only ones ghosting around there tonight. Could be one of the guards got a case of light fingers."

"We saw one coming out of Boraneus room before we went in, carrying a box," Alec recalled. "And someone nearly caught us in the other room as we were leaving. It could have been one of them."

"I suppose so." Seregil frowned into the fire for a moment. "At any rate, we've certainly made ourselves look guilty enough, leaving the way we did. I say we avoid the Gold Road. We'll find some horses—"

"Find?" Micum interjected wryly.

"And head cross-country to Boersby Ford," Seregil went on, ignoring the remark. "That should be far enough to shake loose of any pursuit. Then we can take passage down the Folcwine to Nanta. With any luck, we'll be there in less than a week. If the weather holds, we can get a ship across to Rhнminee."

"I think I'd better stay clear of Wolde until the Plenimarans are well gone," Micum said, stretching out on a pallet and yawning until his jaws cracked. "I'll go back with you as far as Boersby, in case there's any trouble."

"Did they get a good look at you?"

"I'm not sure they didn't. They were right on my heels all the way to the Fishes. Better safe than dead, eh?"

Sheltered in their hidden cave, they slept deeply until afternoon.

"We'd better wait until dark to move on," said Seregil, squinting up at the narrow crack of light from the smoke hole. Pulling his harp from its case, he satisfied himself that it had survived the dunkings of the previous night, then set about tuning it. "We've still got a few hours to kill. Micum, how would you like to give my young apprentice a few lessons in swordsmanship? He'll benefit from learning your methods as well as my own."

Micum winked at Alec. "What he means is that my ways aren't as dainty as his, but I manage to make my way well enough."

"Come on now, old friend," Seregil demurred, "I'd be hard pressed if I had to face you in a fight."

"That's true—but it would be the time I wasn't facing you that I'd worry about! Come on, Alec, I'll show you daylight methods."

Micum began with the basics, teaching Alec how to grip the weapon so that it balanced to his advantage, what stances presented the smallest target to an opponent, and simple slash and parry maneuvers. Seregil finished his tuning and lazily plucked out a tune, pausing occasionally to offer advice or argue points of style.

As Alec moved slowly through Micum's drills, he began to suspect that he was learning from two masters of uncommon ability. His arm was soon aching as he tried to deflect Micum's mock attacks. Though Micum's blade was of a heavier make than his own, the man flashed it about as if it weighed no more than a glove.

"I'm sorry," Alec said at last, slicking sweat from his forehead. "It's hard, moving so slow."

Micum flexed his shoulders. "It is, but you have to learn to control the movements and direct the blade, not just wave it about until it hits something. Come on, Seregil, let's show him how it's done."

"I'm busy," replied Seregil, working on a tricky bit of fingering.

Moving to stand over him, Micum growled, "Put away that twopenny toy, you tit-sucking coistril, and show me the length of your blade!"

Seregil laid his harp aside with a sigh. "Dear me, that sounds rather like a challenge-" Lunging swiftly past Micum, he sprang to his feet and drew his sword, then swung a flat-bladed attack at Micum's sword arm.

Micum blocked and countered. Grinning fiercely and showering each other with blistering insults, they battled around the confines of the cave, leaping over the fire pit and threatening to trample Alec underfoot until he wisely retreated to the narrow crevice at the back. From there he watched with delighted admiration as the two of them moved over the uneven floor, graceful as acrobats or dancers.

At first it seemed to him that Seregil spent more time avoiding attacks then returning them—his movements seemingly effortless as he sprang here and there, his sword flashing up to block a blow, then dodging away, making Micum change his stance to follow him.

But Micum was no clumsy bear, either. There was a powerful grace to his motions, a steady, implacable rhythm as he pressed his attacks. Soon Alec couldn't have said if Micum was driving or chasing, if Seregil was leading or being driven.

The mock battle ended in a draw of sorts; choosing his moment, Micum side-stepped an attack, slapped Seregil's blade away, and skewered a loose fold of his tunic.

At the same moment, however, the wickedly slender poniard appeared somehow in Seregil's left hand, its tip pricking through Micum's jerkin just below his heart. They stood frozen for an instant, then broke away laughing.

"So arm in arm we tumble down to Bilairy's gate!" Micum said, sheathing his sword. "You marred my jerkin, I see."

"And you ventilated my new tunic."

"By Sakor, it serves you right for pulling that rat-sticker in the middle of a proper sword fight, you sneaky bastard!"

"Isn't that cheating?" Alec inquired, emerging from his crevice.

Seregil gave the boy a wink and a crooked grin.

"Of course!"

"It's no wonder you swear by Illior's Hands,"

Micum growled in mock exasperation. "I always have to keep an eye on both of yours."

"Illior and Sakor." Alec shook his head. "You say they're like my gods, but that they've been forgotten in the north."

"That's right," said Seregil. "Dalna, Astellus, Sakor, and Illior; all part of the Sacred Four. You'll need to know more of them, down in Skala."

Micum rolled his eyes. "We could be here the rest of the week now. He's worse than a priest on such things!"

Seregil ignored the protest. "Each one of them rules a different part of life," he explained.

"And they possess the sacred duality."

"You mean like how Astellus helps with birth and guides the dead?" asked Alec.

"Exactly."

"But what about the others?"

"Sakor guards the hearth and directs the sun,"

Micum told him. "He's the soldier's friend, but he also inflames the mind of your enemy and brings on storms and drought."

Alec turned back to Seregil. "And you always swear by Illior."

"Where's that coin I gave you?" Taking it, Seregil turned it to the side with the crescent moon.

"This is the most common sign of Illior. It symbolizes the partial revelation of a greater mystery. The Lightbearer sends dreams and magic, and watches over seers and wizards and even thieves. But Illior also sends madness and nightmares.

"All the Four are a mix of good and ill, bane and blessing. Some even speak of them as both male or female rather than one or the other. The Immortals show us that it's the natural way of things that good and ill be mixed; separate one from the other and caret both lose their significance. That's the strength of the Four."

"In other words, if some must be priests, then others must be murderers," Micum noted wryly.

"Right, so my cheating in a fight is actually a sacred act."

"But what about the other gods?" asked Alec. "Ashi, and Mor of the Birds, and Bilairy and all?"

"Northern spirits and legends, for the most part,"

Seregil said, rising to gather his belongings. "And Bilairy's just the gatekeeper of souls, making certain that none go in or out before the time appointed by the Maker. As far as I know, there was only one other god great enough to challenge the Four—an evil, dark one."

"Seriamaius, you mean?" said Micum.

Seregil made a hasty warding sign. "You know it's bad luck to speak the name of the Empty God! Even Nysander says so."

"Illiorans!" the big man scoffed, nudging Alec. "They've got superstitious streaks a mile wide. It was all legends anyway, started by the necromancers back in the Great War. And good true steel took care of them."

"Not without considerable help from drysians and wizards," Seregil replied. "And it took the Aurлnfaie to put an end to it."

"But what about this other god?" asked Alec, feeling a chill go up his back. "Where did it come from if it wasn't part of the Four?"

Seregil snugged down the straps of his pack.

"It's said the Plenimarans brought the worship of the Empty God back from somewhere over the seas. It's supposed to have been a pretty unpleasant business, too—all kinds of nasty ceremonies. This deity

was said to feed off the living energy of the world. He did grant uncanny powers to the faithful, but always at a terrible price. Still, there are always those who will seek such power, whatever the risk."

"And this Empty God is supposed to have started that great war?"

"The worship of that god would have been well established by that time—"

"Sakor's Flame, Seregil, a man could grow old waiting for you to draw breath once you start talking!" Micum interrupted impatiently.

"We've a long ride ahead of us, and horses to 'find. " Seregil made him a rude gesture, then went to the supply shelf and left a few coins.

"We don't have much for the larder, but I think this will do." He replaced Erisa's feather token with a bit of knotted cord.

Micum fished a fir cone from a pouch and added it to the collection. "We'll need a sign for you, now that you know the place," he said to Alec. "It's good manners to let others know when you've been here."

Alec found a bit of fletching and placed it with the other things.

Micum clapped him on the shoulder approvingly.

"I guess I don't need to ask you to keep our secrets."

Alec nodded awkwardly and turned to pick up his gear, hoping the others didn't see his embarrassed blush. Whoever these men really were, it felt good to have their trust.

They left the woods as soon as it was dark and made their way back to the edge of the farmland surrounding the town. It was impossible not to leave a trail across the snow-covered fields, so they kept to the back roads and lanes as much as possible, eyeing each farm as they passed.

As the last lights in the distant town winked out, Seregil paused on a rise overlooking a prosperous steading.

"That's what we want," he said. "Dark house, big stable."

"Good choice," said Micum, rubbing his hands cheerfully. "That's Doblevain's place. He breeds the best horses in the area. You see to the animals. Alec and I will find the tack."

"All right," Seregil agreed. "Alec, we'll continue your education with a lesson in horse thieving."

Keeping to the road and the trampled ground of the corral, they managed to leave almost no trail at all as they approached the stable. Just as they reached the door, however, two large mongrels came out of the shadows and advanced on them with raised hackles.

Facing them calmly, Seregil spoke softly and made the left— handed sign Alec had seen him use on the blind man's dog a few days earlier, with nearly the same effect. Both curs halted for a moment, then trotted forward to lick Seregil's hand, tails whipping happily. He scratched their ears, murmuring to them

in a friendly tone.

Micum shook his head. "What I wouldn't give to be able to do that! He's got a drysian's own touch with animals. Must come from his—"

"Come on, we haven't got all night," Seregil interrupted impatiently, and Alec thought he saw him make some sign to Micum, though he couldn't make out what it was.

The stable shutters were down, so they decided to risk a light. Micum reluctantly cracked his lightstone into two pieces, handing half to Seregil.

By the light of the remaining half, he and Alec located the small tack room and began pulling down saddles and gear.

Seregil soon emerged from the rich, sour darkness of the stalls leading three glossy horses, the dogs still padding contentedly at his heels.

Snowflakes were spiraling down again as they led their mounts away from the farm. When Seregil judged they were out of earshot, they mounted and set off at a gallop over the fields, trusting the new snow to cover their tracks.

By sunup they'd covered the miles of open hill country between Wolde and the Folcwine Forest. They came within sight of Stook at the forest's northern border but avoided the town, heading instead down the highroad through the forest.

New snow lay deep on the road and weighed heavily on the boughs of the trees that flanked it. The sky overhead was a stolid, even grey.

Seregil and Micum rode slightly ahead of Alec, deep in conversation. Studying their profiles, Alec wondered at how his old life sometimes seemed years gone already, and with it the simple hunter he'd been.

Lost in his own thoughts, it took a few seconds for him to make the connection between the searing pain that suddenly burned across the top of his left thigh, and the arrow protruding from his horse's side just in front of the girth strap. The animal screamed and threw him, then bolted down the road.

The snow cushioned his fall. Dumbfounded, he reached down and felt the shallow gash in his leg. The wound was minor, but the suddenness of it all seemed to numb him momentarily. It wasn't until he'd struggled up to check his bow that he truly understood what was happening. As if time had paused and was now resuming its normal course, the air around him was instantly filled with an angry hail of arrows.

"Alec, get down!" Seregil shouted from somewhere nearby.

Clutching his bow and quiver, Alec dropped and scrambled on his belly to the nearest trees. Rolling into their shelter, he peeked cautiously around a tree trunk, realizing too late that he was on the opposite side of the road from Micum. Four archers stood in the road less than two hundred feet away, sending out a volley of arrows. Alec also caught a glimpse of others working their way through the trees in his direction.

The archers kept up their steady attack; arrows sang in the air, nipping off a hail of twigs around him,

thudding into the trees he sheltered behind. There was no sign of Seregil except a third track snaking off through the snow into the trees beyond Micum.

Left more or less on his own, Alec knew what his next step had to be.

His heart pounded sickeningly as he fitted an arrow to the string and took aim at a man for the first time in his life. A tall archer standing boldly at the edge of the road presented an easy target, but try as he might, Alec couldn't seem to hold steady.

Startled by a horse's scream, he released the shaft high and it sped off uselessly into the trees.

Micum's gelding drove itself into a heap just in front of him, a shaft protruding from its throat. Another arrow slammed into the beast's chest and it gave a final bellowing groan.

"The bastards know their business, killing the horses," Micum called over to him. "I hope you have a few shafts left—I'm pinned down here!"

Nocking a second arrow, Alec drew the fletching to his ear and tried again.

"O Dalna!" he whispered as his bow arm wavered again. "Let me pull true!"

Damn, he can't do it, Micum thought in alarm, watching Alec's face.

Before he could decide how to get across to help him, however, a bandit with a sword rushed him from the trees.

Silently commending Alec to whatever gods he had, Micum turned to meet the attack.

It was his habit to look into his opponent's eyes as he fought; in this scarred, swarthy face he read no fear. Their swords rang out a steady, grim music as each, conscious of the uncertain footing beneath the snow, tried to draw the other into a clumsy misstep. Suddenly Micum saw the man's gaze flicker to the left.

Jumping aside, he faced the second swordsman before the man had time to swing at his back. Thinking Micum had off-balanced himself, the first man overextended a lunge and Micum's blade took him under the ribs.

Even as he jerked the blade free, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and barely avoided a slicing cut at his shoulder from a third swordsman. Drawing a long dagger with his left hand, Micum moved back, trying to keep them both in front of him. These two were younger, less sure of themselves than the first, but they knew their trade. Learing like wolves, they stayed wide apart, making it difficult to defend from both at once. One would cut at him to draw a parry, while the other tried to hamstring him on his open side. But Micum had been in too many fights like this to be drawn. Using his sword and dagger, he managed to fend off their attacks and return a few thrusts of his own.

Pinking one of them on the arm, he said easily, "I think it's only fair to tell you that my purse is far too light for you to go to such trouble to take it." His attackers exchanged a quick glance but made no reply, grimly pressing to break his guard.

"Suit yourselves, then."

The man to his right feinted forward strongly, managing to nick Micum on the ribs just deeply enough to make him regret leaving his mail shirt behind in Wolde. Springing back, however, the man missed his footing in the churned snow and staggered. Micum killed him before he'd regained his balance and was just turning to address his final opponent when a sharp blow from behind knocked him to his knees. Looking down, he found a bloody arrowhead protruding from the front of his leather shirt just beneath his right arm. The two swordsmen, unable to break through his defense, had managed to push him out onto the road and into the archers range.

Serves me right for not paying attention, he thought angrily, seeing the final stroke coming down. Before it could, though, the bravo fell backward with a red-fletched arrow squarely through his chest.

Ducking for cover again, Micum looked across the road. Alec knelt behind the dead horse, returning the archers' shots with a singing volley of his own. Two lay dead already, and another dropped as Micum watched.

"By the Flame," Micum gasped. " By the Flame!»

Seregil disappeared into the forest at the first sign of ambush. Making a wide circuit, he outflanked three swordsmen headed in Alec's direction and then worked his way into their path, concealing himself behind a fallen tree until they came abreast of him. When all three had passed, he jumped out and swung at the hindmost, killing him with a slash across the back of the neck. The second man turned in time to catch Seregil's blade in the throat.

Unfortunately, the third man—a great, heavyset villain armed with a broadsword—had ample time to face him. He caught Seregil's first blow at midblade, throwing it back in an attempt to wrench it free. Seregil maintained his grip, but the force of the blow sent an unpleasant shock up his arm.

He considered a timely retreat into the woods, but the snow was too deep for sprinting. Springing back a pace, he sized up his opponent.

Evidently the other man was doing the same; he gestured derisively at the slender blade Seregil carried, spat into the snow, then launched a mighty swing at his head. Hoping for the best, Seregil pulled a dagger and ducked under the blade, throwing himself at his adversary's knees. The unexpected move caught the man off guard just long enough for Seregil to bury the knife in his thigh. With a bellow of pain, the man tumbled backward, dragging Seregil with him, and immediately rolled to pin him.

Caught face down under the larger man's bulk, Seregil choked on the powdery snow. Try as he might, he couldn't break free. Then the weight shifted and cold, callused hands were around his throat, cutting off his wind and shaking him like a rat.

Summoning all his will, he managed to draw up his leg to reach his boot top. A sizzling haze of stars swam before his eyes, but practiced fingers found the grip of his poniard. With the last of his strength, he

drove it back between his assailant's ribs.

The big man let out a startled grunt, then crumpled over on top of him, still pinning him down.

Gasping for air, Seregil heaved the body aside and staggered to his feet.

"Illior's merciful today," he panted, bending to make certain the man was dead.

Something buzzed past his head like an angry wasp and he flung himself down, pulling his poniard free of the body. But it was Alec, another arrow ready on the string, who stepped from the trees. The boy's left thigh was bloody and he looked decidedly pale. Micum Cavish was with him, holding a bloodstained wad of cloth against his side.

"Behind you." Micum nodded past Seregil's shoulder.

Turning, Seregil found another ambusher sprawled dead in the snow not four feet from his back, a red-feathered arrow through his throat.

"Well," he gasped, standing up to brush off the snow, "I believe you just repaid me for that bow."

"By Sakor, this child can shoot!" Micum grinned.

"He just put me in his debt back at the road, then picked off two more as easy as you please. I saw another take off through the trees when Alec was coming over to tend me."

"Damn," Seregil muttered as he collected his weapons and searched the dead men scattered around.

"Get your arrow from that one, Alec."

Alec approached the dead man and gingerly tugged on the shaft protruding from his neck. As he pulled it free, the man's head rolled to the side, his open eyes seeming to fix on his killer. Alec backed away from him with a shudder, carefully wiping the arrowhead in the snow before dropping it into his quiver.

Back at the road they gathered the other bodies into a heap. Alec pulled the arrow from the first man he'd shot, but before he could clean it, Micum took it from him.

"That was your first man, wasn't it?" he asked.

"Micum, it's not his way," Seregil warned, knowing what his friend was up to.

"It's best to do these things proper," Micum replied quietly. "I did it for you, remember? It's you should be doing it for him."

"No, it's your ritual," Seregil sighed, slouching against a tree. "Go ahead, then. Get it over with."

"Come here, Alec. Stand facing me." Micum was uncommonly serious as he held up the arrow.

"There's a twofold purpose in this. The old ways, the soldier ways, say that if you drink the blood of your first man, none of the others you ever kill will be able to haunt you. Open your mouth."

Alec shot a questioning look to Seregil, who only shrugged and looked away. Under Micum's

commanding gaze, Alec opened his mouth. Micum laid the arrowhead briefly against his tongue, then withdrew it.

Seregil saw the boy grimace, remembered the salt and copper taste that had flooded his own mouth years before when Micum had done the same with him. His stomach stirred uneasily.

When it was over, Micum patted Alec's shoulder.

"I know you didn't enjoy that much, any more than you enjoyed killing those fellows. Just remember that you did it to protect yourself and your friends, and that's a good thing, the only good reason to kill. But don't ever get so that you like it, any more than you liked the taste of the blood. You understand that?"

Alec looked down at the steaming crimson stains spreading out from the bodies in the snow and nodded.