"Alec of Kerry is all I've ever gone by."
"He's the son of a wandering hunter, not a lord," Seregil reminded him. "That sort hasn't the use for long names that we do."
"I suppose not. Still, the lad ought to have a proper name if he is going to trail about with you. Alec, what were the names of your father, and his father, and his father before that?"
"My father's name was Amasa. I never knew any of the others," answered Alec.
"In the southern fashion, that would make you Alec i Amasa of Kerry," said Nysander. "I suppose that will have to suffice."
"He's not likely to use his real name much at all if he runs with Seregil," Thero observed impatiently.
"True." Nysander placed his hand over Alec.
Alec thought of clear water as hard as he could and heard Nysander say, "Alec i Amasa Kerry, let thy inner symbol be revealed!"
Alec staggered, found his balance, braced for flight.
Everything appeared in varying tones of grey, yet the slightest movement caught his eye. More overwhelming still were the scents. The pool gave off the sweet message of water and there were horses nearby, mares among them. The countless plants of the garden wove a green tapestry of aromas, some stinking of Poison, others succulent and inviting.
Most emphatic, however, was the warning stink of the men. Some new part of him signaled innate alarm. He couldn't understand their ridiculous noise or the strange grimacing that accompanied it.
Then the smallest of the three moved closer, making calmer sounds. Watching the other man creatures with suspicion, he stood his ground, allowing this one to come close enough to stroke his neck.
"Magnificent!" exclaimed Seregil, looking over the young stag Alec had transformed into. Its nostrils flared nervously, scenting the breeze as he touched its powerful neck. Tossing its antlered head, it looked at him with wide blue eyes.
"Remarkable," Thero admitted, taking a step closer. "Bring him over to the pool so that he can see—"
"Thero, no! I think he's—" Seregil hissed, too late.
At the young wizard's sudden approach, the stag reared in panic. Seregil threw himself back out of reach of the flailing hooves.
Grasping at the back of Thero's robe, Nysander managed to yank him to safety just as the startled animal leapt forward, lashing out with its antlers.
"Change him back!" yelled Seregil. "He's lost in the shape. Change him back before he bolts!"
Nysander shouted the command, and the stag form shifted and dissolved, leaving Alec in a dazed heap on the grass.
"Easy now," Seregil soothed, wrapping a cloak around the boy's shoulders.
"Did it work?" Alec asked, feeling dizzy and odd. "Things went all funny for a minute."
"Did it work?" Seregil rocked back on his heels, laughing "Let's see now. First you changed into as handsome a stag as I've ever seen, then you tried to gut and trample Thero. Nysander stopped you, of course, but otherwise I'd call it a grand success!"
"The transformation was rather too complete," said Nysander less satisfied. "How do you feel?"
"A little wobbly," Alec admitted. "I'd like to try it again, though."
"So you shall," promised Nysander, "but first you must learn to govern your mind."
Left to himself that afternoon, Alec wandered out into the gardens again. He had still not entirely thrown off the morning's disorientation; the world seemed rather muted after experiencing it through the senses of an animal.
As he neared the centaur's grove he caught the sound of harp music and paused. Mastering his shyness, he entered the trees. Hwerlu and Feeya stood close together in the clearing, Feeya leaning languidly on her mate's back as he played.
There was an intimacy to the scene that made Alec halt, but before he could withdraw Feeya caught sight of him and broke into a broad, welcoming smile.
"Hello, little Alec," Hwerlu called, lowering his harp. "You have the look of one in need of companionship. Come and sing with us."
Alec accepted the invitation, surprised at how at ease he felt with the immense creatures. He and Hwerlu traded songs for a while, then Feeya attempted to teach him a few words of her flat, whistling language. With Hwerlu's help he managed to learn "water," "harp," "song," and "tree." He was just attempting «friend» when the centaurs suddenly raised their heads, listening.
"That animal is being driven too hard," Hwerlu stated with a disapproving frown.
Seconds later Alec's ears also picked up the distant staccato of a galloping horse. Looking out through the trees, he saw a rider heading for the main entrance of the House. As the man reined in and dismounted, his hood fell back from his face.
"That's Micum," Alec exclaimed, setting off at a run. "Hey, Micum! Micum Cavish!"
Already halfway up the stairs, Micum turned and waved to him.
"Am I glad to see you!" cried Alec, noting as he clasped hands with him that Micum looked haggard, and that his clothing was stained and spattered with mud. "Seregil and Nysander wouldn't say so, but I think they were beginning to worry. It looks like you've had a hard ride."
"I did," the big man answered. "How'd you and Seregil make out?"
"We had some trouble on the way back, but he's fine now. I think he's with Nysander."
"Trouble?" Micum frowned, glancing back at Alec as they hurried toward the wizard's tower.
"What kind of trouble?"
"Bad magic from that wooden thing. He got sick, but Nysander put him right. I'm just glad we got here soon enough. I still don't understand much of it, but Nysander and Seregil can tell you."
"Let's find them, then. I've something I want you all to hear and I don't want to have to go through it a dozen times."
Micum felt a rush of relief as Nysander let them in at the tower door. This was one Watcher report he was anxious to share the burden of.
"Here you are at last!" said Nysander.
"Is that Micum?" Seregil looked up from something on Nysander's desk, then hurried over to greet him. "Bilairy's Balls, man, you look like hell!"
"So do you." Micum inspected Seregil with concern.
He was thinner than ever, and looked tired in spite of his usual grin. "The boy here says you had some trouble on the road?"
"I think it would be best if we heard your report first," said Nysander. "Come down to the sitting room, all of you."
"All of them" didn't appear to include Thero, Micum noted as Nysander shut the study door.
"Seregil, pour the wine," the wizard said, taking a seat by the fire. "Now, Micum, you have some news?"
Micum dropped into the other armchair and accepted the cup gratefully. "Yes, and it's not good."
"You found the place marked in the Fens, didn't you?" Seregil asked eagerly.
"Yes. After Boersby, I rode to the southern end of the Fens. From what you'd told me, I figured the Plenimarans must have come up the Osk and followed the river trail in. I soon picked up word of them in the villages along that route. Mardus and his men had been through less than a month before."
"The Blackwater Fens are a bad place to travel," Alec said, shaking his head. "One minute you're on solid ground, the next you're up to your waist in mud."
"That's the truth. If the cold weather hadn't firmed the ground up as much as it had, I'd have lost my horse before I got out of there," Micum told him. "Mardus had gone clear into the heart of the Fens. It's a cursed waste of quaking bog in there. The villages had given out miles back, and I was about ready to turn back when I came upon a little settlement set up on a rise.