Alec offered him a purplish-brown lobe of liver. "You want some of this? Good for your blood in the winter."
"Thanks." Accepting the morsel, Seregil sat down by the fire and watched him thoughtfully.
Alec colored a little under that frank gaze.
"Thank you for saving my life last night. I'm in your debt."
"You handled yourself well enough. How old are you, anyway? You look young to be roaming around
all by yourself."
"Sixteen last summer," Alec replied a bit gruffly. He was often taken for younger than he was. "I've lived my whole life in the woods."
"But not alone, surely?"
Alec hesitated, wondering how much he really wanted to reveal to this odd stranger. "My father died just after the summer solstice."
"I see. An accident, was it?"
"No, he had the wasting sickness." Tears stung Alec's eyes and he bent lower over the rabbit, hoping Seregil wouldn't notice. "It was a hard death. Even the drysians couldn't help him in the end."
"You've been on your own all of three months, then?"
"Yes. We missed the spring bird trade, so I had to spend the summer in Stone Tor working off our debt to the inn where Father lay sick. Then I came out for the fall trapping, like we always did. I already had a whole string of pelts, good ones, when ran into Asengai's men. Now, with no equipment, no horse, nothing, I don't know—" He broke off, his face grim; he'd walked the thin line of starvation before.
"Don't you have a family somewhere?" Seregil asked after a moment. "Where's your mother?"
"I never knew her."
"Friends?"
Alec handed him the dressed rabbit and took up the second. "We kept to ourselves mostly. Father didn't like towns."
"I see. So what will you do now?"
"I don't know. In Stone Tor, I worked in the scullery and helped out the ostler. I guess I'll have to go back to that for the winter."
Seregil made no comment and Alec worked in silence for a moment. Then, watching the steam from the open carcass rise between his fingers, he asked, "All that back there last night—was it you they were looking for?"
Seregil smiled slightly as he skewered the first rabbit on a long stick and propped it over the fire. "That's a dangerous question to ask a stranger. If I was, I'd probably kill you just for asking. No, I'm just a wandering collector of tales. I've picked up a lot that way."
"So you really are a bard, then?"
"Sometimes. I was up above Kerry not long ago, collecting stories of the Faie who were supposed to have lived up in the Ironheart Mountains beyond Ravensfell Pass. Being from that region yourself, you must know something about them."
"The Elder Folk, you mean?" Alec grinned. "Those were always my favorite stories. We used to cross
trails with a skald who knew all about them. He said they were magic folk, like trolls or centaurs. When I was little I used to look for them in the shadows of the trees, though Father said it was foolish. 'Those tales are nothing but smoke from a liar's pipe! he'd say" — Alec's voice faltered and he broke off, rubbing at his eyes as if smoke had blown into them.
Seregil tactfully failed to notice his distress.
"Anyhow, a few days ago I ran afoul of Asengai, same as you. I'm off Wolde now. I've got a bit of singing lined up there in three days' time."
"Three days?" Alec shook his head. "You'd have to go straight over the Downs to get there that quickly."
"Damn! I must be farther west than I thought. I hear the Downs are a dangerous place for anyone who doesn't know where the springs are."
"I could show you," Alec offered. "I've been back and forth across them most of my life. Maybe I could turn up some work there, too."
"Do you know the town?"
"We traded there every fall at the Harvest Fair."
"Sounds like I've found myself a guide." Seregil extended his hand. "What's your price?"
"I can't take your money," Alec protested. "Not after what you did for me."
Seregil waved this aside with a crooked grin. "Honor's for men with money in their pockets; you've got a long, cold winter ahead. Come now, name your price and I'll pay it gladly."
The logic was indisputable. "Two silver marks,"
Alec replied after a moment's calculation. Reaching to clasp hands on it, however, his father's voice spoke in the back of his mind and he drew back, adding, "Hard money, and half now."
"Very prudent of you."
As they shook on the bargain, Alec felt a curving edge against his palm and drew his hand from Seregil's to find himself holding a large silver coin. Two fingers wide and covered with fine designs, it lay heavy against his palm.
"This is too much!" he protested.
Seregil shrugged. "It's the smallest I have. Keep it and we'll settle up in Wolde. It's a pretty thing, don't you think?"
"I've never seen anything like it!" What little currency Alec had seen were crude lozenges of copper or silver, distinguished only by weight and a few crude symbols struck in. The designs on this coin were better than anything he'd seen in a jeweler's stall.
One side bore the slim bow of a crescent moon, tipped on its side like a smile with five stylized rays
fanning out beneath it to the lower edge of the coin.
Cradled within the crescent was the figure of a flame. The obverse showed a crowned woman. She wore a cuirass of some sort over her flowing gown, and held a large sword upright before her face.
"How did you get it into my hand?" he asked.
"Telling spoils the trick," replied Seregil, tossing him a square of wet sacking. "I'll tend to the cooking. You go clean yourself up. A quick swim should help."
Alec's smile disappeared. "Bilairy's Balls, it's nearly winter and you want me to take a bath?"
"If we're going to share blankets over the next few days, yes. No offense, but dungeon life hasn't done much for your general ambience. Go on, I'll mind the fire. And get rid of those clothes! I've got clean ones for you."
Dubious but not wanting to appear ungrateful, Alec picked up a blanket and went to the pool.
Noting the lacy edgings of that still rimmed the stones, however, he decided that gratitude only went so far. Stripping off his rags, he gave himself a scrubbing and pulled the blanket around his waist. As he bent to duck his head under the water, the sight of his reflection froze him, crouched and trembling, on the wet stones. Only the day before, Asengai's men had strapped him to a plank and titled him into a water butt, holding him under again and again until he thought his lungs would burst. He'd had enough of water for now thank you very much.
Seregil smiled wryly to himself as he watched the boy's hasty ablutions. These northerners seemed to develop a genuine aversion to water over the winter.
Tugging open his pack, he rummaged out an extra tunic, breeches, and a belt.
Alec hurried back to the fire and Seregil tossed him the. clothes. "These should do for you. We're almost of a size."
"Thanks." Shivering, Alec went off a few feet and turned away before letting the blanket drop.
"Asengai's men did a thorough job on you, I see," said Seregil, running a critical eye over the bruises on the boy's back and thighs.
"Dalna's Hands, there's such a thing as modesty," the boy muttered as he struggled into the breeches.
"Never had any use for it, myself, and I don't see why you're so bothered with it either. Under those bruises and that scowl— you're fairly pleasing to look at." Seregil's expression betrayed nothing more than the thoughtful concentration a man might show when sizing up a horse he was about to buy.
Indeed, Alec was well favored, Seregil thought, amused by his companion's discomfort. The boy was lightly built and supple with dark, intelligent blue eyes in a fair face that blushed easily and concealed little. This last was easily remedied, though at times an honest face was useful. The ragged, honey-gold hair looked like it had been trimmed with a skinning knife, but time would fix that, too.