Still, there was something more than Alec's appearance that intrigued him. The lad was neat-handed, and there was a familiar quickness about him that had little to do with training.
And he asked questions.
Alec finished dressing and reached to put the silver coin Seregil had paid him into a pouch on his borrowed belt.
"Wait a second. Watch this," said Seregil, producing another like it from his own purse. Balancing it on the back of one hand, he gave a quick snap of his wrist, pulled his hand out from under it, and caught the coin before it dropped half an inch. "Want to try?"
Puzzled but intrigued, Alec tried the trick.
On the first attempt he dropped his coin. On the second and third try it bounced off his fingertips.
The fourth time, however, he grasped it before it had fallen more than a few inches.
Seregil nodded approvingly. "Not bad. Now try it with your left."
When Alec could do the catch with either hand, Seregil had him try it using only his thumb and forefinger, and finally to perform the trick with his eyes shut.
"Ah, but this is too simple for you," Seregil said at last. "Here, give this a try."
He placed his coin on the ground beside him and rested his hand to the left of it, an inch or so away. With a subtle twitch of his little finger, he swept it beneath his palm without even disturbing the dust. When he raised his hand, the coin was gone. Shaking it from the sleeve of his tunic with a comic flourish, he demonstrated how the snap was done. Again Alec managed it after only a few tries.
"You've got the hands of a born thief," Seregil observed. "Perhaps I'd better not show you any more of those just now!"
Left-handed compliment that it was, Alec returned the grin as he snapped the coin up his sleeve a final time. They ate quickly, then covered all signs of their camp, burying the fire and tossing their refuse into the pool. As they worked, Seregil found himself again pondering what he'd seen of Alec so far, wondering what he could make of such a boy. Alec was quick and surprisingly well spoken. His nature—a blend of stubborn persistence and appalling openness—made for an interesting mix.
With a bit of positioning and greater training— Shaking his head, Seregil pushed the thought away.
As they mounted to leave, a tiny owl flew across the clearing and perched in a dead tree. Blinking in the afternoon light, it fluffed up and let out a mellow too too too.
Seregil gave the owl a reverent nod; the Lightbringer's own bird seen in daylight was no small omen.
"What do you suppose he's doing out so early?" Alec remarked.
Bemused, Seregil shook his head. "I have no idea, Alec, no idea at all."
A cold wind carried the first light snow down through the trees as they set off down the mountainside.
Giving the bay a loose rein, Seregil scanned the forest around them for any sign of Asengai's soldiers as he rode along behind Alec. Without a saddle, the boy had to cling on with knees and hands.
He managed well enough, but it was hard going and made for little conversation.
They reached the edge of the Downs by late afternoon and cantered from the shelter of the trees. Before them monotonous, dun-colored grasslands rolled away to the distant horizon. The wind moaned steadily over the waste, sweeping the fine, gritty snow up into feathery gusts. A rumpled grey blanket of clouds had sealed itself across the sky.
"Illior's Finger, but I hate the cold!"
Seregil exclaimed, stopping to secure his hood and tug on a pair of gloves.
"And you the one all for bathing," Alec chided. "This is nothing compared to what it will be come next—"He broke off suddenly, staring at Seregil. "You swore by Illior!"
"And you swear by Dalna. What of it?"
"Only southerners swear by Illior. Are you from the south? The Three Lands?"
"As a matter of fact, I am," Seregil replied, enjoying the boy's guileless astonishment.
To most northerners the Three Lands were hardly more than places of fancy in a bard's tale; he might as well have said, "I'm from the back of the moon."
"Do you know much of the south?"
"A little. The Gold Road goes down from Wolde all the way to the country of Mycena. Most of the caravaneers I've met have been Mycenians, though there have been a few Skalans, too. Skala's near there, isn't it?"
"Yes, it's a huge peninsula between the Inner and Osiat seas, west of Mycena. To the east is Plenimar, which lies on another peninsula to the east of Mycena, along the coast of the Gathwayd Ocean.
The Gold Road, as you call it, is the main trade route between the Three Lands and the northern freeholdings."
"Which country are you from?"
"Oh, I travel around."
If Alec noticed the evasion, he let it go.
"Some of the traders claim that there are dragons in the south, and powerful wizards. I saw a wizard once at a fair." His face brightened at the memory, easy to read as a tavern bill. "For a price she'd hatch salamanders from hen's eggs and make fires burn blue and red."
"Indeed?" Seregil had performed those tired fakeries a few times himself. Still, he understood all too well the wonder they could evoke.
"A Skalan trader tried to tell me the streets of his cities were paved with gold," Alec went on.
"I didn't believe him, though. He was the one who tried to buy me from Father. I was only eight or nine. I could never figure out what he wanted me for."
"Really?" Seregil lifted a noncommittal eyebrow.
Luckily, Alec was more interested in the matter at hand. "I've heard that Skala and Plenimar are always at war."
Seregil gave a wry smile. "Not always, but often."
"Why?"
"That's an old question, and a complicated one. This time, I suspect it'll be to gain control of the Gold Road."
"This time?" Alec's eyes widened.
"They're going to have another war? And way up here?"
"Looks that way. There are those that believe Plenimar means to drive out the Skalan and Mycenian merchants and extend their own political influence over the northern freeholds."
"You mean by conquering them?"
"Given their past history, I imagine that will be Plenimar's solution."
"But why haven't I heard any of this before? In Stone Tor, even at the Harvest Fair, nobody was talking of war!"
"Stone Tor is a long way from the main trading routes," Seregil reminded him. "The fact is, very few northerners are aware of it at the moment, except those who already have a hand in it. As it stands now, no one will be able to make a move until spring."
"But Asengai and that man Morden, are they part of it?"
"An interesting question." Seregil pulled his hood forward again. "I think the horses have walked long enough, don't you? We need to make some distance before dark!"
The Downs made for smooth riding. Alec knew of a spring they could camp by and set a steady pace until dark.
He knew the landmarks well, but could imagine what it must look like to his companion. Seregil was clearly uneasy as they left the mountains behind, and kept looking back over his shoulder as if trying to use the distant peeks to gauge their progress.
But the mountains were quickly obscured by the lengthening darkness and windblown snow. The sun, never more than a pale hint behind the lowering clouds, was their only guide.
"We'll have to make your food last," Alec remarked when they'd halted for the night. "Most of the summer game has moved south—not that I'd be able to get anything without my bow anyway," he added bitterly.
"I've got cheese and sausage enough for both of us," Seregil told him. "Good with a bow, are you?"
"Good enough." In truth, Alec felt like he was missing a limb without one. The bow he'd lost at Asengai's had been the best he'd ever made.
Dismounting, they scavenged around for firewood but found nothing except low, resinous bushes that burned too quickly, giving off more light than heat. Bundling up as best they could against the wind, they sat close together over their cold supper.