"I have come to meet you, dear boy," the old man replied. "I am Nysander."

15 Rhнminee At Last

Alec's legs felt shaky as he led Nysander into the hold.

"It is as I feared," the wizard murmured, cupping Seregil's face between his hands. "We must get him to the Orлska House at once. I have a carriage waiting. Fetch the driver."

Cold with dread, Alec found the driver and helped him bundle Seregil, well wrapped in cloaks and blankets, into the carriage.

In the meantime, Nysander spoke briefly with Captain Talrien, pressing a purse into his hands. Talrien nodded his thanks and turned to make his farewells to Alec.

"Many thanks, Captain," Alec said warmly, wishing he could find better words.

"You've a brave heart in you, Aren Silverleaf." Talrien clapped him on the shoulder. "May it bring you luck."

"It has so far," replied Alec, glancing anxiously toward the carriage. "I just hope the luck holds a bit longer."

As the carriage set off at last, Nysander knelt beside Seregil and peeled away the dressing. A single glance was enough; recoiling, he laid the bandages back in place.

"How long ago did this happen?" he asked, glad that his back was to the boy.

"Five days."

Shaking his head, Nysander began a series of silent incantations. If this was indeed what he suspected, who but Seregil could have survived such an attack?

When he'd finished, he sat back to take a second look at the boy. Pale and grim, he sat clutching Seregil's pack and sword, eyes darting back and forth between his companion and the spectacle of the city passing by the carriage window.

Worn to a shadow, thought Nysander, and scared to death of me.

This was a wild-looking lad to be sure, with his rough northern clothes and tousled hair. Nysander noted the ragged bandage bound around the boy's left hand, and how he held it palm up on his knee as if it pained him. Taut lines scored his chapped young face, making him look older than his years. There was a great weariness about him, too, and an air of uncertainty. Yet beneath all that Nysander sensed the ingrained determination that had carried both him and Seregil through whatever evil had overtaken them.

"Another Silverleaf, eh?" Nysander smiled, hoping to put him at ease. "Seregil claims it is a fortuitous name. I hope that you have found it so?"

"At times." The boy glanced up for just an instant.

"He told me never to use my real name."

"I am certain he would not mind if you told it to me."

The boy blushed. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm Alec of Kerry."

"A short name, that. They call me Nysander i Azusthra Hypirius Meksandor Illandi, High Thaumaturgist of the Third Orлska. But you must call me Nysander, for that is how friends address one another here."

"Thank you, sir—Nysander, I mean," Alec stammered shyly. "I'm greatly honored."

Nysander waved this aside. "Nothing of the kind. Seregil is as dear to me as a son, and you have brought him back. I am in your debt."

The boy looked up at him again, more directly this time. "Will he die?"

"That he has survived this long gives me hope," Nysander replied, wishing he could be more encouraging. "You did well to bring him to me. But however did the two of you meet?"

"He saved my life," answered Alec. "It was almost a month ago now, up in the Ironheart Mountains."

"I see." Nysander looked at Seregil's still, white face, wondering if he would ever hear his side of the story.

After a moment's silence, Alec asked, "How did you know we were coming?"

"A week ago I was suddenly blinded by a vision of Seregil in some desperate difficulty." Nysander signed heavily. "But such visions are fleeting things. By the time I had managed to recapture it, the crisis seemed to have passed. I had my first glimpse of you then, too, and sensed that he was in capable hands."

The boy colored again, fidgeting with the hem of his worn tunic.

"I have had other flashes of your progress over the past few days. You are a most resourceful young man. But now tell me what has happened, for I see that you are wounded as well."

Nysander continued his discreet appraisal of the boy while Alec gave an account of their escape from Asengai's domain and subsequent adventures.

A bit of gentle magic satisfied him that Seregil had been very astute in his choice of companion, although his friend's reason for taking on the youngster at all remained something of an enigma.

In describing the blind man's house outside Wolde, Alec admitted to his eavesdropping and seemed relieved when Nysander merely smiled.

"They spoke of a man called Boraneus,"

Alec told him, "but then Seregil called him Mardus. He sounded upset or surprised when he said the name."

Nysander frowned. "As well he should. You saw this man?"

"At the mayor's hall. Seregil got us in there as minstrels, so he could get a look at him, and the other, a diplomat of some sort who was traveling with him."

"This Mardus, was he a tall, dark fellow with a scar under one eye?"

"From here to here." Alec drew a finger from the inner corner of his left eye to his cheek. "You could call him handsome, I guess, but there was something cold about him when he wasn't smiling."

"Excellent! And the other?"

Alec thought for a moment. "Shorter, thin, with the look of a town dweller. Thin, greyish hair." He shook his head. "He wasn't one that you took much notice of. Anyway, we, ah, well—we burgled their rooms that night."

Nysander chuckled. "I should hope so. And what did you learn from your burglary?"

"That's where we found the—" Nysander held up a warning hand, then pointed questioningly to Seregil's

chest.

Alec nodded.

"Then we must speak of that later," warned the wizard.

"Tell me everything else, however."

"Well, I was keeping watch most of the time while he worked. He found several maps. He and Micum Cavish talked about those later on, after we left Wolde. There were some places marked, towns in the northlands. Micum's gone to find one marked in the Fens. I'm afraid that's all I know about it. Seregil will have to tell you the rest."

Let us hope you can, thought Nysander again.

His expression must have betrayed his concern, for Alec suddenly exclaimed, "You can help him, can't you? He said if you couldn't, then no one could!"

Nysander gave the boy's hand a reassuring pat. "I know what must be done, dear boy. Go on, please. What happened after that?"

Nysander chuckled appreciatively at Alec's description of their hasty escape from Wolde, but grew serious as he tried to explain Seregil's frightening decline aboard the Darter and the difficult journey that followed.

"And through all that, he never spoke further to you of what he discovered in Wolde, or of those men?"

"No, Seregil wouldn't talk about any of it much after we left town. He kept saying it was safer if I didn't know certain things."

Nysander regarded Alec in bemusement; even in one so young it was surprising to find such unquestioning trust—if trust it was. Familiar as Nysander was with Seregil's powers of persuasion, he still wondered that Alec should have followed him so far and through so many trials on the strength of little more than a few tales and fewer empty-handed promises.

No, thought Nysander, trust there certainly must have been, and he had no doubt of Alec's loyalty, but there was something else at work here. Seregil would never have involved a green boy in the burglary in Wolde if he himself had not sensed something deeper in Alec's character and been taken with it.

Apprentice indeed!

Alec shifted nervously. "Is something wrong?"

"Certainly not!" Nysander smiled. "I was lost in my own thoughts for a moment, a habit we wizards often drop into. Seregil and Micum were both working for me when you met them. At a more opportune time I will explain what that entailed."