Free Luck in the Shadows by Lynn Flewelling Page A

crowd.
    The singing went on until midnight. Though Alec’s modest repertoire was exhausted long before that, the drinkers called on Seregil to keep playing and a number of them stood to lead the song. When at last the owner announced that he must put the shutters up, the crowd gave the bard and his apprentice a rousing round of applause and most left a coin or two on the table near the door. Well pleased with his investment, the taverner poured them each a final mug of ale and, drinks in hand, they went upstairs.
    Collapsing on the bed, Seregil inspected the night’s earnings and passed half the coins to Alec. “We did well. Thirty coppers, two silver. You met Erisa, I noticed.”
    “Who?”
    “The drysian. What do you make of her?”
    “She seemed like any of the others. Sort of—” He paused, seeking the proper word.
    “Unsettling?”
    “Yes, that’s it. Not frightening, just unsettling.”
    “Believe me, drysians can be pretty damn frightening when they choose to.” Before he could expound on the subject, however, the latch lifted and Erisa herself slipped quietly in.
    “I thought you’d keep the poor lad at it all night,” she scolded. “I suspect you’re not really in need of my ministrations?”
    Seregil shrugged, grinning crookedly. “I could hardly expect to fool you. Alec, run down to the kitchen, will you? We both need something to eat after all that ale, and I’m certain Erisa’s had no time for supper.”
    “Just tea and a little bread for me,” said Erisa, folding her arms. Clearly they were both waiting for him to leave.
    Ordered about again!
he thought as the door closed firmly behind him. He was more intrigued than irritated, however. This drysian must be the mysterious “she” spoken of by the blind man, but who was the hooded swordsman?
    Halfway down the passage he hesitated, then crept back as silently as he could to the door.
    “A force of fifty was reported heading into the Western Barrens above Wyvern Dug,” Erisa was saying. “Connel spotted them near Enly Ford on the seventh of Erasin, but there’s been no sign of them since.”
    “I can understand them courting the mountain lords and trying to get a hold on the Gold Road,” said Seregil, “but there’s nothing in that direction but a few barbaric tribes. What in the world are they after up there?”
    “That’s what Connel hoped to learn. He set out to follow them as soon as we heard what was going on. Unfortunately, nothing’s been heard from him, either—Alec, please do hurry with my tea.”
    An unpleasant tingling sensation that had nothing to do with the burning of his cheeks engulfed Alec briefly as he hurried downstairs. He took his time heating the water, dreading having to face her again. When he returned to the room, however, she simply thanked him and took her leave.
    “Well now, this is a good enough bed, but only wide enough for one. Where are you going to sleep?” Seregil yawned, stripping off his tunic. Apparently he had nothing to say on the subject of Alec’s eavesdropping.
    “As your apprentice, I guess I’d be expected to sleep in the stable,” Alec ventured, not relishing the prospect.
    “You’re thinking like a tinker’s brat. What good would you be to me out there? Your place is in front of the door in case we have any visitors in the night. Make yourself a pallet.”
    As they settled down to sleep, Alec found himself thinking of the drysian again.
    “Have you known her long?” he asked, looking up into the darkness.
    “Erisa? Oh, yes.”
    It became evident after a moment’s silence that Seregil considered this sufficient reply. Alec decided to press on.
    “How did you meet her?”
    For a moment he thought Seregil had gone to sleep or was refusing to answer, but then he heard the bed ropes creak.
    “I had business at Alderis,” Seregil told him. “That’s in Mycena, near the coast. It was a difficult job and I was new at my trade, very young. Anyway, I botched it and got caught.