"What about the Vanguard?"
"Micum, most likely, since he has also been touched by these events. For the love of Illior, Seregil, do stop that pacing and sit down."
Seregil came to a halt by the bookshelves.
"What do you mean, you hope it won't matter?"
Closing his eyes, Nysander massaged the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. "Just as there have been other Guardians, so have there been other Shafts, other Guides. It is as if they always exist from generation to generation, kept in readiness in case—"
"In case what?"
"I cannot say. I confess I still cling to the hope that this terrible evil may yet be forestalled. For now, I must guard my secret as I have done. What I can tell you, seeing that you have guessed so much, is that the four figures of the prophecy have always been known to the Guardians, but what their functions are has never been revealed. But if you are the Unseen One, Seregil, if Alec is the Shaft and Micum the Vanguard, then there is nothing any friend or foe can do to alter that."
Seregil let out an exasperated growl. "In other words, all we can do is wait for this terrible Something to happen. Or not happen, in which case we spend the rest of our lives waiting because we won't know that it isn't going to happen after all?"
"That is, no doubt, one of the reasons that the Guardians keep such knowledge from the others. It serves little purpose for you to know, and will only make you uneasy. On the other hand," he paused, looking up at Seregil with a mix of concern and pity—"I suspect that my hope to pass my burden on to a new Guardian will prove a vain one. Mardus had the wooden disks; other Plenimarans came to the Asheks on your very heels, seeking the crown.
There are other objects—magical ones—some in Plenimar, others thankfully scattered to lost corners of the world. It was only by chance that my master, Arkoniel, came into possession of the palimpsest that led you to the crown. Clearly the Plenimarans are making a more deliberate effort to recover them. It bodes ill, dear boy, most ill.
"As for your dilemma" — Nysander gave him a weary smile—"may I remind you that if you were not such a intolerable meddler you would not be in this quandary."
"What about the others?"
Nysander spread his hands. "I do not forbid you to tell them what you know, but reflect a moment on what you have just said. Even knowing, there is nothing yet to be done; our fates rest on the knees of the immortals."
"And a damned uncomfortable seat that is," Seregil grumbled.
"I agree. And perhaps a dangerous one now. We must all live cautiously for a time."
"I can keep an eye on Alec, if that's the way you want it, but what about Micum?"
"I placed a number of protective spells around the three of you as soon as you came back from the north. Since then someone has tried to break through those surrounding you and Alec a few times, but—"
"What?" An icy stab of fear lanced through Seregil's chest. "You never—"
"I was not surprised by such attempts," Nysander told him calmly, "and they have failed, of course. The spells surrounding all of you are intact, making it impossible for you to be seen magically. Thus far, there have been no disturbances in the spells surrounding Micum or his family."
"Bilairy's Balls! Do you know who was doing this?"
"Unfortunately, the seekers are equally well shielded. Their magic is very strong and they know how to protect themselves."
"I don't like this. I don't like this at all," muttered Seregil. "There are more ways than magic to find someone. Hell, Rhal showed up, didn't he? Who's to say Mardus or his dogs haven't, too? Poor Alec had no idea how to cover his tracks."
"Whatever happens, you must not blame the boy," cautioned Nysander.
"Who said anything about blame?" Seregil ran his fingers back through his hair in frustration. "He did a damn fine job, given the circumstances. He saved my life. Now it's up to me to protect him. And Micum; knowing what I do, I'm honor-bound to give him any warning I can."
Seregil braced for further argument, but instead, Nysander sighed and nodded. "Very well, but only as much as is absolutely necessary."
"Fair enough. Damn, they'll be wondering where we are by now." Seregil rose to go back upstairs, but Nysander remained where he sat.
"Seregil?"
He turned back to find Nysander regarding him sadly.
"I hope, dear boy, that no matter what the coming days bring, you will believe I never foresaw this time coming during my Guardianship, or that its advent would enmesh any of you."
Seregil gave him a grudging grin. "You know, I've spent most of my life listening to legends or telling them. It should be interesting being part of one. I only hope the bards who tell it years from now will be able to end with 'And the Band of Four all lived with great honor for many years thereafter'."
"As do I, dear boy. As do I. Make some excuse for me, would you? I would like to sit here for a while."
Silence closed in around Nysander after Seregil had gone. With his hands resting on his knees before him, he allowed himself to go limp in the chair, listening to the sound of his breathing and his heart until he was aware of nothing else. Then, slowly, he opened himself to the invisible currents of foreseeing, using the faces of his three chosen comrades to call in the energies he sought. Grey images stirred sluggishly before his mind's eye, the tangled flux of Shall/Might/Should.How to pluck crumbs of truth from a future as yet unfixed-
The hands of Tikarie Megraesh, the icon of his dreams and visions, opened before him. Voices came faintly through the murk, shouting, raging, weeping. He could hear the clash of weapons, men shouting.
Then, harsh as a blow, came the vision of a black disk surrounded by a thin white nimbus of fire. It seemed to glare at him like an accusing eye.
A familiar perfume wafted out to Seregil as he neared the workroom door. Opening it, he found Ylinestra sitting next to Magyana. A quick glance revealed an interesting tableau around the breakfast table. As usual, Ylinestra looked intentionally stunning as she chatted with Magyana, with her shining black hair braided loosely over one shoulder of her loose-flowing gown.
Magyana appeared to be a willing conversationalist, but Seregil thought he detected faint lines of distaste around her eyes. Feeya was not so subtle. She'd moved to the other end of the table and stood eyeing the sorceress with evident dislike.
Thero seemed torn between embarrassment and lust.
Alec stood at what might be considered a safe distance from his former seducer, carrying on some earnest conversation with Hwerlu.
All eyes turned Seregil's way as he entered.
"Ah, here they are," said Magyana. "But where is Nysander?"
"Oh, he got distracted by something down in his study," Seregil replied.
"How unfortunate," sighed Ylinestra. "I was hoping I could lure him out to the gardens for a while."
"You know how he is. He's likely to be a while."
"I'll tell him you were looking for him," Thero offered a trifle stiffly. "In the meantime, perhaps
I—"
"Ah well, another time," Ylinestra said breezily, gliding to the door.
When she was gone Feeya whistled something to Hwerlu, who laughed. "She says the smell of the woman makes her belly hurt," he translated.
"Mine, as well," Magyana agreed with a mischievous smile. "Although I daresay most men find the scent alluring enough. She must be missing Nysander. That's the third time this week she's come looking for him. Isn't that right, Thero?"
"I don't keep track," the young wizard said with a shrug. "If you'll all excuse me, I've got work of my own I'd better get started on."