Lynn Flewelling - Luck in the Shadows

Badly battered as Seregil was, he seemed to have escaped with no broken bones. With the sun sinking into the sea in front of them, they settled down to wait.

Alec hunkered down with his back to the cliff, his sword unsheathed and hidden against his outstretched leg.

Seregil lay propped up slightly, dagger in hand beneath the blanket.

They hadn't long to wait. As the last ospreys winged off to their nests, they heard the sound of hooves against stone. Riders were approaching from the expected direction, beyond the curve of the road to their left.

A moment later two men rode into sight, coming on at a steady walk. Studying them in the red sunset light, Alec could see that they were hard-faced characters in rough traveling garb. One was lean, with ragged, greying hair and a long, somber face. His companion was round and red-faced, his shiny bald pate fringed with curly brown hair.

"This will be them," Seregil murmured beside him. "Play your role well, my friend. I doubt we'll have more than one chance."

The riders made no pretense as to their intentions.

Reaching the edge of the slide, they dismounted and drew swords.

"How's your friend, boy?" The bald one asked, leering up at him.

"He's dying, you rotten son of bitch! Can't you leave him in peace?" Alec spat back, letting some genuine fear show in his voice.

"Wouldn't be kind to let him linger, now would it, lad?" the other replied placidly. He had the same air of

dispassionate assurance Alec had seen in Micum Cavish; this was a killer who knew his business. "And then there's the matter of you, isn't there?"

"What do you want with us?" Alec quavered, tightening his grip on his sword hilt.

"I've nothing against you or your friend," the greying man replied, taking a step up the pile. "But there are those who don't like having their business nosed into. Now be a good lad and I'll make a quick job of it. You'll be dead before you know it."

"I don't want to be dead!" Alec rose and threw a rock at the men with his left hand. They ducked it easily and Alec backed away as if to bolt.

"Get the other one, Trake," the grey man ordered, pointing to Seregil who still lay as if dying.

"I'll take the whelp here."

Alec moved back a few steps, then froze like a frightened hare. Waiting until his assailant was within sword's reach, he grabbed up the blade and struck at him.

At the critical instant, the loose skree underfoot spoiled his lunge for a killing thrust, but he still managed to hit the fellow hard enough across the ribs to knock him off balance. Scrambling awkwardly, he tried to strike at Alec, but instead fell and tumbled heavily almost to the cliff's edge.

Just then a strangled cry rang out behind Alec, but he didn't dare look back. His opponent had already regained his footing and was starting back up after him.

"Full of tricks, are you?" he glowered. "I'll tie you with your own guts, boy, and ram that—" Alec was overmatched and he knew it. Hardly pausing to think, he snatched up another fist-sized stone and threw it. It struck the assassin in the forehead. Stunned, the man pitched backward and slid down to the cliff's edge again. He might have stopped there if his fall hadn't dislodged more rocks.

With a grinding rumble, an entire section of the pile gave way just below where Alec stood, sweeping the swordsman over the edge.

Flailing desperately, Alec came down hard on his back and slid feet first toward death. Too terrified to cry out, he stared helplessly up at the fiery sky, knowing it was the last thing he'd ever see.

Suddenly a strong hand grasped his left shoulder.

Clutching at it, Alec slid a few yards farther before coming to a stop with his feet jutting out into empty air. Scarcely daring to breathe, he looked up and saw Seregil stretched spread-eagle on his belly above him, face white with dust or fear.

Don't move!

Seregil mouthed. Then, in the faintest whisper, "Roll sideways, toward the horses.

We're only a few feet from level ground.

Mind your sword. Try not to lose it if you can help it."

Loose stone shifted treacherously beneath them as they clung together and slowly rolled toward the narrow strip of bare roadway cleared by the last slide. They reached it just as another layer of the pile let go.

Hauling each other to their feet, they scrambled forward to safety as another great jumble of stone careened off over the cliff, carrying with it the body of the other assassin, whom Seregil had taken by surprise at the beginning of the attack.

Still clutching each other by the arm, they turned to watch the last stones plummet over the edge.

"I don't know how many times a day I can stand to watch you almost die," Seregil gasped.

"Twice is my limit," croaked Alec, sinking to his knees. As he glanced back at what had nearly been the scene of his death, however, he caught the glint of metal near the top of the remaining rubble.

"Seregil, look there. Do you see it?"

"Well, I'll be damned." Seregil limped back to the rocks and gently worked his battered sword free. The hilt was scarred and missing a quillon, but the scabbard had protected the blade from serious damage.

" Aura elthл !" he cried, not bothering to conceal his relief. "My grandfather gave me this sword when I was younger than you. That last slide must have uncovered it. Two fresh horses and now this! It seems our two recently departed visitors did us almost as much good as harm."

Seregil led the way as they rode into the yard at Watermead early the next morning. Micum was there among his hounds. "Back already?" the big man said, looking up. His grin faded, however, as he got a closer look at them. "What the hell happened to you two?"

"We attracted some attention up in Cirna," answered Seregil, dismounting stiffly and limping inside.

"We got ambushed on the way back," Alec explained. "I think they were assassins."

"You think?"

Seregil raised a wry eyebrow. "We didn't have much time for conversation, but I suspect he's right. Chances are I've been watched ever since Thero came out of the Tower with my body."

"I thought I heard familiar voices!" called Kari, looking noticeably wan as she came out of her chamber into the main hall. "Seregil, you're hurt! Let me get my herbs."

"I'm fine," he assured her, easing down on a bench by the fire. "We slept at a garrison station last night. Their surgeon patched me up. I could do with a hot soak, though."

"I'll have Arna put some birch catkins and arnica leaves in the water to draw out the hurt. Some willow bark tea wouldn't do you any harm, either."

"She looks peaked," observed Seregil. "Been sick, has she?"

"Not sick, exactly," Micum replied, avoiding his friend's eye. "More like—unwell."

Seregil studied Micum's expression for an instant, then broke into a knowing grin. "I know that look. She's pregnant again, isn't she?"

"Well—"

"Oh, go on and tell them," she said, returning with a pair of mugs. "It's no use you trying to keep anything from him!"

"You are, then?" exclaimed Seregil.

"Bilairy's Balls, Micum, how long have you known?"

"She told me when I came home the other day. Baby's due at late summer, Maker willing."

"Maker willing," Kari repeated, pressing her palms to her apron front. "It doesn't always go well with me at the best of times, and I'm old now for bearing. I hadn't thought to be with child again, but Dalna must have seen we'd have room for one more." She smiled pensively. "Perhaps this time we've made a son. They say a boy makes you sicker in the first months."

"Poor thing's been vomiting morning and night," Micum explained, rising to slip a supportive arm around her waist.

"And I'm not feeling too pert just now," Kari sighed. "I'd better lie down again. The girls won't be troubling you. They're away for the day."