"But is it an honest living?" Alec persisted, clinging to his last shred of resolve.
"Most of those who employ me are great lords or nobles."
"It sounds like a pretty dangerous line of work,"
Alec remarked, aware that Seregil had once again side-stepped the question.
"That's the spice of it, though," cried Seregil. "And you can end up rich!"
"Or at the end of a rope?"
Seregil chuckled. "Have it your way."
Alec gnawed absently at a thumbnail, his brow creased in thought. "All right, then," he said at last. "I want to come with you, but first you've got to give me a few straight answers."
"It's against my nature, but I'll try."
"This war you spoke of, the one that's coming. Which side are you on?"
Seregil let out a long sigh. "Fair enough. My sympathies lie with Skala, but for your safety and mine, that's as much as I'll say on the matter for now."
Alec shook his head. "The Three Lands are so far away. It's hard to believe their wars could reach us here."
"People will do quite a lot for gold and land, and there's precious little of either left in the south, especially in Plenimar."
"And you're going to stop them?"
"Hardly," scoffed Seregil. "But I may be of some help to those who can. Anything else?"
"After Wolde, where would we go?"
"Well, home to Rhнminee ultimately, though first—"
"What?" Alec's eyes widened. "You mean to say that you live there! In the city where the wizards are?"
"What do you say?"
Some small, final doubt held Alec back a moment longer. Looking Seregil in the eye, he asked, "Why?"
Seregil raise one eyebrow, perplexed. "Why what?"
"You hardly know me. Why do you want me to come with you?"
"Who knows? Perhaps you remind me just a bit of—"
"Someone you used to know?" Alec interjected skeptically.
"Someone I used to be." The crooked grin flashed again as Seregil pulled off his right glove and extended his hand across to Alec.
"So it's settled?"
"I guess so." Alec was surprised to catch a glimpse of what looked like relief in his companion's eyes as they clasped hands. It was gone in an instant and Seregil quickly moved on to new plans.
"There are a few details to take care of before we reach town. How well known are you in Wolde?"
"My father and I always stayed in the trader's quarter," replied Alec. "We generally put up at the Green Bough. Except for the landlord, though, most of the people we knew wouldn't be there this time of year."
"Just the same, there's no use taking chances. We'll need a reason for you to be traveling with Aren Windover. Here's a lesson for you; give me three reasons why Alec the Hunter would be in the company of a bard."
"Well, I guess I could tell how you rescued me and—"
"No, no, that won't do at all!" Seregil interrupted. "First of all, I don't want it known that I—or rather Aren—was anywhere near Asengai. Besides, I make it a rule never, never, never to use the truth unless it's the last possible option or so outlandish that nobody would believe you anyway. Keep that in mind."
"All right then," said Alec. "I could say I was attacked by bandits and you—"
Seregil shook his head, motioning for Alec to continue.
Alec fidgeted with the reins, sorting through various inspirations. "Well, I know it's sort of the truth, but people would believe that you hired me as a guide. Father and I hired out sometimes."
"Not bad. Go on."
"Or" — Alec turned to his companion with a triumphant grin—"perhaps Aren has taken me on as his apprentice!"
"Not bad, for a first effort," Seregil conceded. "The rescue story was very good, actually. Loyalty to one who saves your life is well understood and seldom questioned. Unfortunately Aren's reputation is such that nobody would believe it. I'm afraid he's a bit of a coward. The guide story, however, is seriously flawed. Aren Windover is a well-known figure in the Woldesoke; if bards make their living as wanderers, why would he need to engage a guide in the territory he's familiar with?"
"Oh." Alec nodded, a bit crestfallen.
"But the apprentice idea should do nicely. Luckily, you can sing. But can you think like a bard?"
"How do you mean?"
"Well, suppose you're in a tavern on the highroad. What sort of customers would you have?"
"Traders, wagoneers, soldiers."
"Excellent! And suppose there's a great deal of drinking going on and a song is called for. What would you choose?"
"Well, probably something like the 'The Lady of Araman'."
"A good choice. And why?"
"Well, it's about fighting and honor; the soldiers would like that. And it's widely known, so everyone could join in. And it has a good refrain."
"Well done! Aren's used that song many times, and for just those reasons. Now suppose yourself a minstrel in a lord's hall, performing for fat barons and their ladies."
"Maybe 'Lillia and the Rose'? There's nothing coarse in it."
Laughing, Seregil leaned across to clap Alec on the shoulder. "Perhaps you should take Aren on as apprentice! I don't suppose you play an instrument?"
"Afraid not."
"Oh well. Aren will just have to apologize for your green skills."
They spent the rest of the afternoon extending Alec's repertoire as they rode along.
By late afternoon the Downs gave way to the rough, sloping terrain of the Brythwin River valley. In the distance they could make out the squares of bare fields and distant farmsteads that marked the boundary of the Woldesoke district. The river itself, a black, tree-fringed line far below, flowed into Blackwater Lake several miles east of the waterfront town.
Bordered along its northern shore by the great Lake Wood, the shimmering expanse of water stretched unbroken to the far horizon.
"You say the Gathwayd Ocean is bigger than that?" asked Alec, shading his eyes. He'd hunted along the Lake's shores all his life and couldn't imagine anything larger.
"By quite a margin," replied Seregil cheerfully. "Let's move on before we lose the light."
The late-afternoon sun cast a mellow glow across the valley. Picking their way down the stony slope, they struck the main road leading along the river toward Wolde. The Brythwin was low, its course laced with gravel spits. Stands of ash and willow grew thickly along the banks, often screening the river from view.
A mile or so before reaching the lake shore, the road curved away from the river to skirt a dense copse of trees. Reining in, Seregil studied the wall of branches for a moment, then dismounted and motioned for Alec to follow.
Bare willow branches stroked over them, catching at hoods and harness as they pushed their way through to a clearing beside the river. A tiny stone cottage surrounded by a wattle and daub fence stood on a rise close by the water's edge.
As Seregil approached the gate a brindle hound came rushing at them from around the corner of the cottage, growling and showing its teeth. Alec retreated hastily back in the direction of his horse, but Seregil stood his ground. Muttering a few low words, he made some sort of sign with his left hand. The dog skidded to a halt on the other side of the gate, then skulked back the way it had come.
Alec gaped. "How did you do that?"
"Just a little thief's trick I picked up somewhere. Come on, it's perfectly safe."
A very old, very bald little man answered Seregil's knock.
"Who's that?" he demanded, peering blankly past them. A deep scar, faded white against the old fellow's leathery skin, ran in a ragged line from the top of his skull to the bridge of his nose.
"It's me, old father," Seregil replied, slipping something into his outstretched hand.
The old man reached to touch Seregil's face. "I thought as much when Crusher went quiet like that. And