"You ran out!"

"No! In the bowls. What did you see?"

"The dessert, you mean?" Alec asked in confusion.

"Baked apples."

Striding to the cabin's single small window, Seregil threw it open and inhaled deeply. Fear, keen as a dagger's point, coursed through him; every instinct screamed for him to arm himself, watch his back, run somewhere, anywhere.

His head was pounding again, too, twisting his empty belly into a painful knot.

Turning to face Alec again, he said softly,

"That's not what I saw. The dishes were full of a steaming mess of—" He stopped at anxiety that had

overwhelmed him at the sight. "Never mind. It's not important. But it wasn't baked apples."

A convulsive shudder racked him and he sagged against the cabin wall.

More alarmed than ever, Alec drew him to the bunk and made him sit down again. Seregil curled into the corner at the head of the bunk, back pressed to the wall. But he was still master of himself enough to send Alec to Captain Rhal with Lady Gwethelyn's apologies; it seemed that in her present state, she could not bear the odor of certain foods.

When Alec returned, he found Seregil pacing restlessly in the narrow confines of the cabin.

"Bolt the door and help me out of this damned dress!" Seregil hissed, but could scarcely stand still for the unlacing. When Alec had finished, he pulled on his leather breeches beneath his nightdress, wrapped a mantle about his shoulders, and returned to his corner of the bunk, sword hidden between the pallet and the wall behind him.

"Come here," he whispered, motioning for Alec to sit beside him.

Pressed shoulder to shoulder with Seregil, Alec could feel the occasional fits of trembling that still seized him, and the feverish heat of his body.

But Seregil's voice was steady, though barely audible. "Something's happening to me, Alec. I'm not sure what, but you should know about it because I don't know how I'm going to end up."

With that said, he told Alec of his latest nightmare, and of the unreasoning dread that had come over him before.

"It's either magic or madness," he concluded grimly. "I'm not sure which would be worse. I've never felt anything like this. The things in the bowls? I've seen sights a hundred times worse and scarcely given it a second thought. I may be a lot of things, Alec, but I'm no coward! Whatever this is, I imagine things are going to get worse before they get better—if they get better." He tugged distractedly at the wooden disk hanging around his neck. If you want to move on without me, I'll understand. You don't owe me anything."

"Maybe not," Alec replied, trying not to think about how frightened he suddenly felt, "but I wouldn't feel right about it. I'll stay on."

"Well, I won't hold you to that, but thank you."

Drawing up his knees, Seregil cradled his head on his arms.

Alec was about to retreat to his alcove when he felt another shiver rock through Seregil. Leaning back against the wall, he stayed silently by him well into the night.

10 Seregil Descending

Seregil struggled free of another nightmare just before dawn. Throwing open the window, he dressed quickly, then sat watching the sky brighten. The anxiety of the dream gradually faded, but the first hint of a renewed headache seemed to grow with the light. Before long he heard Alec moving around in the alcove.

"You've had another bad night," the boy said, not bothering to make it a question.

"Come hold the mirror for me, will you?" Seregil opened a pouch of cosmetics and set to work. Dark circles stood out like bruises under his eyes; the hand holding out the mirror was not as steady as it had been a week before.

"I think Lady Gwethelyn will keep mostly to her cabin today. I'm not up to lengthy dissemblements," he said, inspecting his handiwork when he'd finished.

"Besides, it will give us a chance to get on with your training. It's high time you learned to read. In fact, you can hardly manage our trade without it."

"Is it difficult?"

"You've caught on to everything else I've thrown at you," Seregil assured him. "There's a lot to it, but once you know the letters and their sounds, it comes quickly. Let's take a short walk on deck first, though. I could use the air before attempting breakfast. Let the captain see how ill I look and perhaps he'll leave us alone."

It was snowing in earnest this morning; wet, heavy flakes draped into a heavy curtain about the ship, deadening sound and making it impossible to see much farther than the end of the bow. Every rope and surface was outlined in white, and the deck was a mass of slush.

Captain Rhal stood by the mast, giving orders to several men at once.

"Tell Skywake to keep her in the middle of the channel if he can figure out where it is!" he called to one sailor, jerking a thumb in the direction of the helmsman. "Keep dropping that lead until this clears. We're less likely to get hung up so long as we stay well out in the channel. By the Old Sailor, there's not enough breeze to fill a virgin's— Well, good morning to you, my lady. Feeling better, I trust?"

"The motion of the ship is most unsettling," Seregil answered, leaning on Alec's arm for good effect. "I fear I shall have to spend the remainder of our journey below."

"Aye, it's filthy weather, and damned early for it this far south. At this rate we'll be lucky to reach Torburn by dark tomorrow. It's going to make for a long day, so if you'll excuse me—Ciris, why don't you fetch your mistress some hot wine from the galley?"

With this, he strode off toward the helm.

"I don't know whether to be relieved or insulted!" Seregil chuckled under his breath. "Go fetch us some

breakfast. I'll meet you below."

Despite the strange visions of the previous night, Seregil wasn't prepared for what he saw in the porridge Alec brought back. Pushing his bowl away, he retreated to the bunk.

Alec frowned. "It's happening again, isn't it?"

Seregil nodded, not caring to describe the slithering mass he saw in the bowl, or the stench that wafted up out of the teapot. Gathering up the dishes, Alec carried them away and returned with a mug of water and a bit of bread.

"You've got to get at least this into you," he urged, pressing the cup into Seregil's hand.

Seregil nodded and downed it quickly, doing his best to ignore the disturbing sensations that skittered across his tongue.

"You won't last long on that," Alec fretted.

"Can't you manage a little bread? Look, it's fresh from the ship's oven."

Alec unwrapped a napkin and showed him the thick slice. Sweet, yeasty steam curled up in the sunlight and Seregil's empty belly stirred at the fragrance. As he reached for it, however, maggots erupted out of the bread, tumbling through the boy's fingers onto the table.

Seregil averted his eyes with a grimace. "No, and I think it might be better if you took your meals elsewhere until this is over.

They commenced the writing lesson later that morning.

Seregil's battered leather pack yielded up several small rolls of parchment, quills, and a pot of ink. Crowded together over the small table, Alec watched Seregil draw the letters.

"Now you try," he said, handing Alec the quill.

"Copy each letter underneath mine and I'll tell you its sound."

Alec knew as little about handling a quill as he did about swordplay, so they paused for a brief lesson in penmanship. He was soon inked to the wrists, but Seregil saw progress being made and held his tongue. After he'd mastered the characters, Seregil took the quill and swiftly spelled out their names, then the words for bow, sword, ship, and horse. His script flowed graceful and elegant next to Alec's smudgy scrawls.

Alec watched all this with growing interest. "That word there; that means me?"