Luck in the Shadows (26 page)

Nysander went to a small side door at the right side of the room and sent the litter bearers through with Seregil. Alec followed them into a small whitewashed chamber. In the middle of the room was a rectangular table of dark polished wood inlaid with ivory; a smaller one of similar design stood against the right-hand wall with a simple wooden chair.

At Nysander’s command, the servants placed Seregil’s litter on the floor next to the long table and withdrew. No sooner had they gone than a thin young man in a spotless blue and white robe hurried in with an armload of leafy branches. His curly black hair was closely cropped and the sparse black beard edging his cheeks accentuated the gaunt planes of his pale, angular face.

Setting his bundle down beside the smaller table, he brushed a few leaves from the front of his robe and glanced down at Seregil, his pale green eyes narrowing with distaste.

“Ah, just in time!” Nysander said. “Alec, this is Thero, my assistant and protégé. Thero, this is Alec, who has brought Seregil back to us.”

“Welcome,” Thero said, though neither his voice nor his manner evinced any warmth.

“Are the preparations complete?” asked Nysander.

“I’ve brought extra branches, just to be certain.” Looking down at Seregil again, the young wizard shook his head. “It seems we’ll need them.”

With Thero’s terse assistance, Alec pulled off Seregil’s filthy tunic and cut away the linen bands covering the dressing. Thero, who’d handled the tunic as if it were smeared with excrement, took a step back, making a quick warding sign as he did so.

“What is it?” Alec exclaimed in growing alarm. “Nysander, please! Why do people keep doing that?”

“You and Seregil have been in contact with a telesm of the most dangerous sort,” the wizard replied calmly, bending to scrutinize the wound. “You are both tainted with a miasmal effluence most offensive to any with thaumaturgic powers.”

Glancing up, Nysander saw Alec’s blank look and gave the boy an apologetic smile. “Forgive me. What I mean is that you two have been in contact with a cursed object of some sort and, while only the physical effects are apparent to the ordinary observer, to a wizard you both smell like you just crawled out of a cesspit.”

“I should say so!” Thero concurred wholeheartedly.

Kneeling beside Seregil, Nysander drew a small silver knife from his belt and gently pressed the flat of the blade here and there against the seeping flesh, his unruly eyebrows drawing together as he noted the round mark left by the wooden disk. Setting the blade aside, he sat back on his heels, frowning.

“It is time I saw the cause of all this.”

Alec opened Seregil’s pack and pulled out the old tunic. He hadn’t touched the bundle since the night of the strange attack.

“Place it there, in the center of the small table,” Nysander instructed. “We must work with extreme care. Are you ready, Thero?”

Unrolling the tunic, he lifted the disk out with a long pair of silver tongs. “Just as I feared,” he muttered. “Thero, the jar.”

His assistant placed a small crystal jar on the table and Nysander dropped the disk into it. There was a brief flash of light as he set the lid in place and the jar sealed seamlessly shut.

“That much is done, at least,” Nysander said, dropping the jar unceremoniously into his pocket. “Now we must see to the purification. We shall begin with you, Alec, for we will need your assistance with Seregil. Come now, there is no need to look so apprehensive!”

Thero positioned the chair at the center of the room and motioned for Alec to sit. Gripping the arms nervously, Alec watched as Thero fetched a tray.

Nysander patted his shoulder. “There is nothing to fear, dear boy, but you must not speak again until I tell you that I have finished.”

Producing a lump of blue chalk from a wallet on his belt, the wizard drew a circle on the floor around the chair and added a
series of hastily scrawled symbols around its perimeter. Meanwhile, Thero poured water from a silver ewer into a silver bowl on the side table, then selected three branches from the bundle on the floor, laying them out neatly beside the bowl. The branches were of three different types: white pine trimmed so that the long needles at the tip formed a sort of brush; a simple birch switch; and a straight branch covered in round green leaves that gave off a sharp, unfamiliar aroma.

Adding a shallow clay dish of ink and a fine brush to the arrangement, Thero placed a thick wax candle behind the bowl and lit it with a quick snap of his fingers.

“Everything’s ready,” he said, moving to stand behind Alec’s chair.

Nysander stood over the bowl, hands held palm downward above it, and spoke a few quiet words. Instantly a soft glow radiated up from the surface of the water, followed by a sweet, pleasant fragrance that filled the room. Taking up the small dish and brush, Nysander painted blue symbols on Alec’s forehead and palms, taking special care with the wounded hand.

This step completed, he passed one of the aromatic branches several times over the candle flame, dipped it in the glowing water, and sprinkled Alec from head to foot, repeating the flame and water process several times. The droplets glowed with the same magical light as the water in the bowl. They clung to Alec’s skin and clothing, winking like fireflies.

Laying aside the first branch, Nysander passed the birch switch through the flame and water and struck Alec lightly on his cheeks, shoulders, chest, thighs, and feet, then snapped the stick in two. Small puffs of brown, foul-smelling smoke rose up from the splintered ends. He uttered a few more, incomprehensible words; the sweet perfume of the water intensified, dispelling the odor.

Finally, he took up the pine branch and repeated the spargefaction. This time the glowing drops vanished as they touched Alec, leaving a faint tingling sensation in their wake. At a final command from Nysander, the painted symbols simply vanished.

“Your spirit is cleansed,” Nysander told him, tossing the last branch onto the table. “I suggest you do the same with your body while we prepare Seregil.”

Alec glanced anxiously at Seregil.

“There is time,” Nysander assured him. “Thero and I have preparations of our own to make. The task before us is an arduous one. I shall need you refreshed and ready. For Seregil’s sake, if not for your own, do as I ask. My servant Wethis will conduct you down to the baths. You may also deliver a message for me to Lady Ylinestra on your way. Please tell her that I shall be detained.”

Thero paused on his way out with the tray, giving his master a look Alec couldn’t quite decipher. “If you’d like to go to the lady yourself, I can begin the preparations.”

“Thank you, Thero, but I must keep my mind clear for the ceremony, as must you,” replied Nysander.

Thero gave his master a respectful nod. “Come along, Alec.”

A lanky, towheaded youth answered Thero’s summons.

“This is Wethis,” the young wizard said. Turning on his heel, he disappeared back into the side room without a backward glance.

Alec looked back at Wethis just in time to catch him making a sour face at Thero’s back. As the two of them exchanged guilty grins, Alec realized how ill at ease he’d been among the wizards.

“We’re to stop at the chambers of someone called Ylinestra,” he told Wethis as they began the winding descent back down. “I’m supposed to deliver a message to her for Nysander. Do you know who she is?”

“Ylinestra of Erind?” Wethis shot him an unreadable look. “Everyone knows who she is, sir. Come this way, her chambers are in the visitors’ wing.”

“She’s not an Orëska wizard?”

“No, sir, a young sorceress up from the south to study.” They walked on a moment in silence, then Wethis stole another sidelong glance at Alec. “You’re the one who came in with Lord Seregil, aren’t you, sir?”

“Yes,” he replied, thinking
Lord
Seregil? “And you don’t have to call me sir. My name’s Alec.”

Continuing down through the warren of stairways and passages, they came out on a gallery overlooking the atrium. From here, Alec saw that the mosaic on the floor below depicted an immense, scarlet dragon crowned with a silver crescent. Its leathery wings were outstretched in flight; beyond its coiling body, as if seen from a distance, lay what Alec took to be the harbor and walled city of Rhíminee itself.

“That must be the dragon of Illior,” he observed, leaning over the rail for a better look.

“The very one.”

Stopping at the last door on the gallery, Wethis knocked and stepped back to make way for Alec.

A woman opened the door, her welcoming smile one a man could happily die for. It vanished as soon as she saw the two of them, however. Suddenly Alec couldn’t have spoken a word if his life depended on it.

Ylinestra was stunningly beautiful. Framed in a mass of raven hair, her face was at once delicate and sensual. Her eyes were the deep, velvety purple of a summer iris. The loose-flowing garment she wore was made of embroidered silk so sheer it did little more than tint the voluptuous body it draped.

Alec, who had never seen a naked woman before, stood rooted to the spot, too shocked to think. Wethis stood to one side in respectful silence.

“Yes?” Ylinestra demanded imperiously, folding her arms beneath her breasts.

“I’ve come from Nysander,” Alec said, finding his voice at last. He wanted desperately to keep his eyes on hers, but the onslaught of her gaze was too much. Knowing that he’d be lost if he looked lower than her shoulders, he finally settled on her chin and blurted out his message. “He—he said to tell you that he’ll be late.”

“Did he say when he
would
come?” she demanded, her tone ominous.

“No,” Alec replied, resisting the strong urge to fall back a pace.

“Thank you,” she snapped and slammed the door in his face. A series of loud crashes from behind it quickly followed as Alec and Wethis beat a hasty retreat.

“If I’d known what your message was, I’d have warned you about her temper,” Wethis apologized. “She and Nysander are lovers, you see. I think she must have been expecting him in person.”

“His lover!”

“The latest one, anyway,” Wethis answered with obvious admiration. “Nysander’s one of the few Orëska wizards who doesn’t hold with celibacy. Far from it, in fact. Still, I’m not certain even he is a match for Ylinestra, if you know what I mean.”
Lowering his voice, he added with a knowing wink, “But I’ll warrant she’s worth the trouble!”

Reaching the atrium, Wethis led Alec into a long gallery lined with statuary of every size and description.

“This is just the anteroom of the baths,” he explained, seeing Alec’s look of wonder. “The really unusual things are in the museum across the way. Lord Seregil could show you around there; he knows the place better than some of the wizards.”

Steamy air enveloped them as Wethis swung back a large door and ushered him into an immense vaulted chamber. Having always associated washing with chilly streams and draffy bathhouses, Alec wasn’t prepared for the opulence that now lay before him.

At the center of the huge chamber lay a broad octagonal pool lined with red and gold tiles. Marble griffins with gilded wings stood at four opposing corners and spewed arching streams of water into it. The tinkling plash of falling water echoed pleasantly around the chamber.

The walls of the room were decorated with frescoes depicting water nymphs and undersea scenes. Beneath these, set into the floor in the same manner as the pool, were individual tubs. Attended by servants, a number of other bathers were already making use of these. Alec could feel the warmth of the heated floor through the soles of his boots.

A carved bench, clothes rack, and the largest looking glass he’d ever seen were arranged around the tub prepared for him. Nearby a servant stood ready with a basket, and another was approaching with a tray of food. The scented water in the tub did look inviting, but Alec felt acutely uncomfortable undressing under so many eyes. Noting his hesitation, Wethis shooed the servants off and turned away himself while Alec slipped hastily into the water.

“Looks like Nysander wants you to eat,” Wethis observed pushing the tray of food over to him.

In spite of his resolution to hurry, the aromas wafting up from the various bowls stirred Alec’s empty belly. Taking up a spoon, he hastily wolfed down a few mouthfuls until a fiery red sauce brought him to an abrupt, choking halt.

Grinning, Wethis handed him a goblet of cool water. “You’d better slow down. Skalan food can take you by surprise if you’re not used to it.”

“I guess so!” Alec croaked, holding out his cup for more water. Taking a last piece of bread, he pushed the rest away. “You want any of this?”

“No,” Wethis declined with a bemused smile. “I’ll take it away.”

Alec ducked his head under, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. When he came up again he found a young bath servant preparing to assist him. Grabbing the sponge out of the startled servant’s hands, Alec sent him off with a dark look.

Making cursory use of the soap, he clambered out to find that his soiled clothing had been removed. Clean linen, a loose shirt, soft leather breeches, and a fine scarlet surcoat were laid out on the rack. A broad belt of embossed leather hung over the shoulder of the coat.

“Where’s my bow?” he demanded in some alarm as Wethis returned. “Where are my sword and purse?”

“Your purse is here.” Wethis handed it to him. “Weapons are not allowed in the Orëska House. They’ll be kept safe for you until you leave.”

The bath attendant drifted hesitantly back as Alec finished dressing, offering him a tray of oils and combs. Alec was about to wave the boy away again when he caught sight of himself in the glass. For the first time in his life, he saw his entire image at once and scarcely recognized the finely dressed figure he saw reflected there. His hair stuck out in damp disarray. Feeling a little awkward, he accepted a comb and took a moment to smooth it back.

Returning to the wizards tower, Alec found that Seregil had been washed and laid naked on the larger table in the side room. His thin, pale body looked frailer than ever against the dark wood. Angry lines of infection bloomed across his breast like a vile, livid flower.