"I don't like it, Nysander. I don't like it at all, but I trust you. Come on, Alec, let's go find Seregil. If he won't cool off on his own, you can help me dunk him in the horse trough."
They made a quick check of the bedchamber first.
Seregil's old pack lay open on the clothes chest, along with an untidy pile of maps and parchment scraps. His traveling cloak lay in a heap next to a chair, along with several tunics and a crumpled hat. The tip of one old boot protruded from beneath the coverlet of the bed like a dog's nose. Combs, a ball of twine, a tankard, and fragments of a broken flint lay along the windowsill as if set out for a ceremony.
"He hasn't stormed off just yet," Micum observed, looking the mess over. "Before we go on, I'd like to hear what happened to you two."
Once again Alec went over the details of their journey and Seregil's strange malady. When he'd finished, Micum rubbed a hand wearily over the coppery stubble on his chin.
"That's not the sort of thing a person just walks away from, I grant you. Still, he ought to know that Nysander wouldn't put him off without good reason. I swear, Seregil is one of the smartest people I've ever known, and the bravest, but he's worse than a child when he comes up against something he can't twist around to suit himself." He yawned again heartily.
"Let's get this over with."
"Where do we look?" Alec asked, following him out. "He could be anywhere."
"I know where to start."
Micum led the way out to the Orлska stables.
Seregil was in a stall halfway down the mews, currying Micum's exhausted horse.
"You nearly spavined the poor beast," he said, not bothering to look up as they approached. His boots were soiled with barn muck; dust and horse hair clung to his clothing. A piece of sweat-soaked sacking swung from one shoulder as he worked down the animal's flank. A streak of mud down one wan cheek gave him a decidedly mournful look.
Micum slouched against the newel post at the end of the stall. "You acted like a fool back there, you know. I should think you'd want to set a better example for Alec."
Seregil gave him a sour glance across the horse's back, then went back to work.
Micum watched the motion of the curry comb for a moment. "You'll speak with Nysander before you leave?"
"Soon as I finish this."
"Looks like we won't have to toss him in the trough after all, eh?" Micum grinned at Alec. "And I was looking forward to it."
Seregil scrubbed at a patch of dry mud, sending up a cloud of dust. "You off to Watermead tomorrow?"
Micum heard the thinly veiled challenge the question often carried. "At first light. Kari will skin me if I stay away any longer. Why don't you two come out with me? The hunting should be good just now, and we could work on Alec's swordplay. Beka's a perfect match for him."
"I want to get settled at the Cockerel first," Seregil replied.
"Suit yourself. You're no use to anyone when you're like this."
Micum yawned again, then clasped hands with Seregil for a long moment, holding his friend's gaze until Seregil managed a tight, grudging smile.
Satisfied, Micum released him and clapped Alec on the shoulder. "I'll be asleep before you get upstairs, so it's farewell for now. Luck to you in the shadows."
"And to you," Alec called after him.
Upending a bucket, Alec sat down to watch Seregil finish with the horse. "He doesn't stay around long, does he?"
Seregil shrugged. "Micum? Sometimes. Not like he used to." Something in Seregil's voice warned Alec that this, too, was a subject not to be pursued.
"What's this Cockerel place we're going to?"
"Home, Alec. And home is where we're bound tonight." Seregil hung the curry comb on a nail.
"Give me a minute to square things with Nysander, then come say goodbye."
Thero answered Seregil's knock. Exchanging their usual terse nods, they strode back through the stacks of manuscripts to the workroom. Walking behind the assistant wizard, Seregil read tension in the set of Thero's shoulders and smiled to himself.
There had never been any specific basis for their strong mutual dislike, yet it had sprung up full-blown the first time they'd laid eyes on each other. Out of regard for Nysander's feelings, a grudging truce had developed between them. Nonetheless, they'd never been at ease in the other's presence, though either one would have eaten fire before they'd admit it aloud.
Seregil considered himself to be above such petty emotions as jealousy or envy; so what if Thero had taken his place at Nysander's side, filling it better, in some respects, than he ever had?
Seregil had no reason to doubt Nysander's personal regard for him, or the importance of their professional association. His continuing dislike of Thero, he'd long since concluded, must be on a purely instinctual level, and thus irreconcilable and probably justified.
"He's downstairs," Thero informed him, returning to his work at one of the tables.
Nysander was still sitting pensively by the fire.
Leaning against the door frame, Seregil cleared his throat. "I was an idiot just now."
Nysander waved his apology aside. "Come in, please, and sit with me. Do you know, I was just trying to think how long it has been since you spent so many nights under this roof."
"Too long, I'm afraid."
Nysander regarded him with a sad smile.
"Too long indeed, if you could imagine that I would keep anything from you out of distrust."
Seregil shifted unhappily in his chair. "I know. But don't expect me to just nod and smile about it."
"Actually, I think you are taking it all rather well. Do you still plan to leave tonight?"
"I need to get back to work, and Alec's feeling a bit lost. The sooner we get busy, the better we'll both feel."
"Mind you pace him in his training," Nysander cautioned. "I should not like to see either of you with your hands on the executioner's block."
Seregil regarded his old friend knowingly. "You like him."
"Certainly," Nysander replied. "He possesses a keen mind and a noble heart."
"Surprised?"
"Only that you would take on such a responsibility at all. You have been solitary for so long."
"It was nothing I planned, believe me. But as I get to know him better, well—I don't know. I guess I'm
getting used to having him around."
Nysander studied his friend's face for a moment, then said gently, "He is very young, Seregil, and obviously has great respect and fondness for you. I trust you are aware of that?"
"My intentions toward Alec are perfectly honorable! You, of all people, ought to—"
"That is not what I was alluding to," Nysander replied calmly. "What I am saying is that you must consider more than his mere education. You should be a friend to him as well as a teacher. The time will come when the master must accept his pupil as an equal."
"That's the whole point, isn't it?"
"I am glad to hear you say so. But you must be honest with him, too." Nysander regarded him with sudden seriousness. "I know of at least one thing that he is not aware of. Why have you not told him of his true—?"
"I will!" Seregil whispered quickly, hearing Alec's step on the stairs. "I wasn't certain at first, and then things went to pieces. I just haven't found the right moment yet. He's had enough to contend with these last few weeks."
"Perhaps so, yet I confess I do not understand your reluctance. I wonder how he will react?"
"So do I," murmured Seregil. "So do I."
20 Homecoming
Tattered clouds were scudding across the face of the moon when Seregil and Alec set out for the Cockerel.
A bitter wind off the sea clattered through the trees along Golden Helm Street. The night lanterns grated on their hooks, making the shadows dance.