Winded and irate, Alec ran on until he was certain the dog had given up, then collapsed on a rock to get his breath. Evidently Seregil's dog magic worked best without the cur's master on hand to countermand it.
Less than half a mile farther on he struck the main road and soon met a string of heavy oxcarts heading for Warnik's estate. At
the sight of Alec's gold the lead carter and his wife agreed to let him ride with them.
Climbing into the cart, Alec stretched out gratefully among the bales and baskets.
"Maker's Mercy, lad! You've had rough traveling, ain't you?" the woman asked, turning to look him over.
"I had a little trouble coming over the hill trail," Alec told her.
"The hill trail," snorted the carter.
"What in the world made you go that route when it's faster on the highroad?"
"Faster?" Alec groaned. "I thought the hill track was a shortcut."
"What looby told you that? It's my livelihood, driving these roads, so I guess I know a thing or two. It don't take more than two hours by cart from this valley around to the next one, less on a good horse. The hill track this time of year? By Dalna, you're lucky you got over at all."
The late afternoon light was already beginning to fail when they arrived at Lord Warnik's fortified keep. A gate in the curtain wall swung wide for the carts and they rumbled to a halt in the bailey yard.
"We've got someone looking for one of his lordship's guests," the carter told the reeve who came out to take charge of their stores.
"I'm looking for Micum Cavish of Watermead," Alec explained. "I need to speak with him at once."
The reeve gave him an appraising once over, then motioned to a stable boy loitering nearby.
"Portus, go and find Sir Micum. Tell him there's a messenger boy waiting his pleasure in the bailey."
Alec stifled a smile, then bid the carter and his wife farewell. A large brazier had been set up in the yard and he drifted over to join the knot of guards and servants who'd gathered around it. Sitting in the cart in wet clothes had chilled him through.
Leaning close to the fire, he ignored the curious glances his sword and filthy clothes attracted.
A few minutes later he saw Micum stride into the bailey. He was dressed in a fine coat and furs, and looked rather harried.
"Someone looking for me?" he called out.
"Me, sir," Alec said, reluctantly leaving the brazier.
"What is it then?" Micum asked impatiently.
He stopped, recognizing Alec as he came closer. "By the Flame—"
"Greetings, Sir Micum," Alec said, covering a discreet warning gesture with a bow. "Is there someplace we could speak privately?"
Taking Alec by the arm, Micum drew him into the stable. Grabbing a horse blanket from a nearby stall, he handed it to Alec.
"What happened to you?" he whispered. "And what are you doing here of all places?"
Alec pulled the smelly blanket around him gratefully and sat down on an upended bucket with his back against a post. "It's a long story," he sighed. "I ran into a bandit on the hill track—"
"The hill track. What possessed you to come that way this time of year?"
Alec cut him short with a weary gesture. "Believe me, I won't do it again."
"And you were attacked by bandits. were you on foot?"
"As a matter of fact, no. I borrowed a fresh mount at Watermead, and they took it. That is, she took it, his woman. I killed the man. Anyway, I'll pay you for the horse and I'll need another to get home from here. But that's not what I came to tell you. Seregil and Nysander think the four of us—them, you and I—may be mixed up in some sort of prophecy having to do with the Eater of Death and that wooden coin we found up in Wolde."
Micum looked less surprised than Alec had expected. "After what I saw up in the Fens, that makes some sense. But what have we got to do with it?"
Alec told him what Nysander had revealed, his own dreams, and the possible connections between the coin and the Plenimarans.
Micum listened without comment. When Alec finished, he shook his head slowly. "These Illiorans and their dreams. You mean to tell me that he sent you clear up here by yourself in this weather just to tell me that something bad might happen and that he's not even certain what it is?"
"Well, yes. But Seregil says he thinks Nysander's not telling us everything yet, and that he seems genuinely worried."
"If Nysander's worried, then we'd do well to pay heed. But first we need to get you into some dry clothes. I'll wager you haven't eaten all day, either. Come on in."
"I'd better not," Alec said. "Seregil didn't want Kari or anyone to see me up here like this."
"All right, then. You wait here and I'll bring things out. Stay here."
Micum returned quickly with a bundle of clothes and a mug of steaming soup, a hunk of fresh bread balanced on top.
"Strip off those wet things," he ordered.
Alec pulled off his coat and shirt, anxious to get into warm clothes. As he was about to pull on the thick tunic Micum had brought him, the man let out a low whistle and touched a finger to a long purple bruise darkening across Alec's left shoulder.
"Fetched you a good one, didn't he?"
"I was lucky; he was aiming for my head. My arm's fine, though." Pulling on the tunic and breeches,
he wrapped his hands around the hot mug and took a sip of the thick, steamy broth.
"Maker's Mercy, that's good! So, about that horse? I mean to go back tonight."
Micum's heavy red brows drew together ominously. "Now look here, Alec. You're hurt, tired, and chilled through and it's already starting to get dark. Stay here tonight and get an early start in the morning."
"I know I should, but I can't. Seregil's trying to track down some Plenimaran spies, and he may need my help."
Whether he knows it or not, he added mentally. It wasn't exactly lying to Micum. Not exactly.
Micum looked like he was about to argue the point, but then he just shook his head and said gruffly, "All right then. I can't force you. I've got a horse you can take if you promise to stick to the road and not go gallivanting around through the woods with it in the dark!"
Alec grinned as he clasped his friend's hand. "You have my word on it."
Alec saddled Micum's Aurenfaie black quickly, not wanting to give him time to reconsider.
"I should be home before midnight," he said as he mounted and settled his sword against his thigh under his borrowed cloak.
"Maybe," said Micum, still looking dubious.
"Don't gallop yourself into a ditch for the sake of an hour, you hear?"
"I hear."
Micum reached up and clasped Alec's hand tightly again, a shadow of worry crossing his face as he looked up. "Safe journey to you, Alec, and luck in the shadows."
Alec returned the grip, then walked the black toward the gate. He was just about to ride out, however, when he realized he'd for gotten something. Turning, he rode back to where Micum stood watching by the stable door.
"By the way, Seregil wanted me to ask if you've had any strange dreams lately."
Micum shrugged, grinning. "Not a one. Tell him I leave that sort of thing to you. I do my best fighting when I'm awake."
30
Thryis and the others sat pushing their suppers around their plates in silence that night. The announcement of war had come at midmorning and the news of Plenimar's attack on Mycena the previous day had thrown the city into an uproar.
Bluecoat patrols were out in force, rounding up beggars and keeping the peace. Down in the harbor, fighting ships that had rocked at anchor like winter ducks hoisted their colors and sailed out through the moles to join others from ports up and down the coast.