Free Luck in the Shadows by Lynn Flewelling

Seregil pulled out a tin whistle and struck up a dance tune for variety.
    More customers appeared as word spread, pushing in and calling for ale and songs. Among the newcomers were half a dozen men in brigandine leather armor and brimmed helmets. Heavy swords were slung from their belts. Alec didn’t need Seregil to point these out as the marines he’d been warned against. They looked like rough customers.
    Alec sang for over an hour before Seregil stopped to beg leave for a small rest.
    “Stay and mind the harp,” he told Alec, thrusting the instrument into the boy’s hands. “And see that you get some water towet your throat with. Ale’s good for the spirit but bad for the voice. You’re doing splendidly!”
    “But where are—”
    “I’ll be back soon.”
    Alec watched as Seregil made his way toward the far corner of the room where a tall, broad-shouldered man sat by himself. The fellow’s face was shadowed by a deep hood, but by his worn leather cuirass and the long sword at his belt Alec guessed he made his living as a caravan guard. Seregil exchanged greetings with the stranger and was invited to join him on the bench. They were soon deep in conversation.
    Having clearly been dismissed for the moment, Alec let his gaze wander over the rest of the crowd and discovered a drysian sitting near the door. Distinguished by her plain robe and the bronze serpent lemniscate pendant she wore on a leather thong around her neck, she was already surrounded by a small crowd of people seeking healing. They stood quietly, watching with a mixture of hope and awe as she examined an infant lying on her lap. Curious as ever, Alec headed over to join them.
    The dark braid that fell over her shoulder as she leaned forward was well streaked with grey, her weathered face set in stern lines, but her hands were steady and gentle as she examined the baby. She ran her hands over the little body, then lifted the child and put her ear to its chest and belly. Grasping the staff that leaned against the bench at her side, she spoke a few soft words over the child, then handed it back to its mother.
    “Boil one of these in a cup of clear water each morning,” she instructed, counting out six dried leaves from a pouch at her belt. “Add a little honey and some milk. Cool it and give it to her through the day. When the last leaf is gone, the child will be well. On that day place three copper marks on the altar at Dalna’s Temple and give thanks. You will give me one mark now and the Maker’s Mercy be with you.”
    She then went on to deal with the others, sometimes dispensing herbs or charms, sometimes merely praying over the sufferer. Several fishermen ventured near when she had finished with the children, and finally a wealthy merchant couple who timidly presented their young daughter. After the usual examination, the drysian gave the mother a bunch of herbs and charged her to give a silver offering rather than copper, as she had all theothers. Without a word, the husband paid her the money and the family left.
    Alec was about to turn away when the drysian looked straight at him and asked, “Why do you suppose I charged them more?”
    “I—I don’t know,” Alec stammered.
    “Because they could afford to pay more,” she stated, and startled him further by giving him a knowing wink. “Perhaps I could be of some service to your master. You’re lodging here tonight?”
    “Yes, in the room at the top,” Alec replied, wondering what she would make of Seregil’s sham illness. “Can I tell him your name?”
    “That won’t be necessary. Tell him I’ll attend to him later.”
    She stood to stretch and her staff slid sideways, clattering to the floor. Without thinking, Alec retrieved it and held it out to her. In the brief moment that both their hands were on it, he felt a strong and not altogether pleasant tremor pass through the wood.
    “The blessings of the Maker be with you this night,” she said and disappeared into the