"You said that the fighting between Skala and Plenimar is an old question," Alec said at last. "What did you mean?"
"That's a long story," Seregil said with a chuckle, pulling his cloak tighter. "But a long story can make a long night seem shorter, I suppose. To begin with, did you know that the Three Lands were once one country?"
"No."
"Well, they were, and they were ruled over by a priest king called a Hierophant. The first Hierophant and his followers came from somewhere far across the Gathwayd Ocean over two thousand years ago. It's from them that your Dalna the Maker comes, along with Astellas and the others. They made their first landfall on the Plenimaran peninsula. Benshal, the capital city of Plenimar, stands on the site of the Hierophant's first city."
Alec's eyes narrowed skeptically at the thought of a city that old, or his familiar patron deity having such exotic origins. He kept his doubts to himself, though, not wanting to interrupt the tale.
"Over the years, these people and their religion spread around the Inner and Osiat seas, founding what eventually became Mycena and Skala," Seregil went on.
"And it was these people who brought the worship of Dalna north?"
"That's right. The Hierophant's people worshiped the Sacred Four: Dalna the Maker and Astellus the Traveler, whom you know; and Illior Lightbearer and Sakor of the Flame, who never caught on up in these parts.
"But getting back to the subject at hand, the unity of the Three Lands didn't last. As centuries passed the different regions developed ways of their own. The Plenimarans, for instance, stayed by the great Gathwayd Ocean, a body of water larger than you've ever dreamed of. They're still great sailors and explorers. It was the Plenimarans who sailed south beyond the Strait of Bal to discover the Aurлnfaie—was
"Hold on! Aurлnfaie? Like the Faie up beyond Ravensfell?" Alec broke in excitedly, then felt his
cheeks go warm as Seregil chuckled.
"That's right. Your Elder Folk, properly called the Hazadrielfaie, are said to be the descendants of a group of Aurлnfaie who went into the northern lands before the time of the Hierophant. Aurлnen lies south of the Three Lands, across the Osiat and beyond the Ashek Mountains."
"Then the Aurлnfaie aren't human, either?"
"No. Faie, in their tongue, means 'people" or 'belonging to, while Aura is their name for Illior; hence, Aurлnfaie, the People of Illior. But that's another story alt—"
"But they are real?" Alec persisted; this was more than Seregil had let on previously. "Have you ever seen any? What are they like?"
Seregil smiled. "Not so different from you and me, really. No pointy ears or tails, anyway. They're a handsome folk, for the most part. The main difference between Aurлnfaie and humans is that the 'faie generally live for three or four hundred years."
"No!" Alec snorted, certain this time that his companion was pulling his leg.
"Think what you like, but that's what I've understood to be true. More important, however, is the fact that they were the first to possess magic. Not that they're all wizards, of course."
"But priests have magic," Alec interjected.
"Especially the drysians. Long ago, when the Maker still lived among the people, Dalna came to a woman named Drysia and revealed to her all the secrets of the land and its proper use. The drysians can draw on the power of the earth and they know the secret uses of herbs and stones. Some even know the speech of beasts."
Seregil regarded him with that peculiar tilted grin again. "You've got a touch of the skald, too, I see. You're correct about priests having magic, but it's not the same as true wizardry. If you ever see a real wizard at work, you'll recognize the difference."
"So all wizards are really Aurлnfaie?"
"Oh, nothing of the sort. But they did mix blood with the Tirfaie."
"Tirfaie?"
"Sorry. A good story teller should always know his audience. Tirfaie is the Aurлnfaie word for outsiders. Roughly translated, it means 'the people of short lives'."
"I guess they'd think so, if they live as long as you say," Alec allowed.
"Just so. Anyway, during the years when the Aurлnfaie had open commerce with the Three Lands, the peoples mingled and many of the half-blood children were born with magic. Some stories even claim that Aura—or Illior, depending on which side of the Osiat you're from—sent a messenger in the form of a huge dragon to teach these half bloods how to use their powers."
"Dragons are real, too?" breathed Alec, more wide-eyed than ever.
Seregil grinned. "Don't get your hopes up. As far as I know, no one's seen a dragon in Skala since then."
"Skala? But I thought the Plenimarans were the ones who found the Aurлnfaie."
"And I thought you hadn't heard this story before," Seregil countered dryly.
"I haven't, but you said that the Plenimarans—"
"They did, but the Aurлnfaie got on best with the Skalans in the end. Most of those who stayed in the Three Lands settled there. But that was a very long time ago, more than eight hundred years. Eventually most of the Aurлnfaie withdrew to their own land again."
"Why did they leave?"
Seregil spread his hands. "As with anything, there were many reasons. But their legacy remains. Wizard children are still being born and they still go to Rhнminee for training. That's the capital city of Skala, by the way."
"Rhнminee." Alec savored the exotic sound of it. "But what about the wizards? Have you ever seen one?"
"I know a few. We'd better get some sleep now. I suspect we've a hard few days ahead of us."
Although Seregil's expression scarcely changed, Alec sensed once again that he'd strayed into forbidden territory.
They settled down for the night, sharing what warmth they could beneath their blankets and cloaks as the wind wailed across the Downs.
The following morning Alec tried the coin catches again but his cold fingers were too stiff.
"As soon as we get to Wolde we'd better find you some gloves," said Seregil, hovering over their meager fire. He lifted his hands to show Alec the fine leather gloves he wore. He'd had them on yesterday, too, the boy realized. "Let me look at your hands."
Turning Alec's palms up, he clucked disapprovingly as he examined the cracks and calluses that covered them.
"Too much rough living. No delicacy of touch."
Pulling off a glove, he slid his palm across Alec's. The skin was surprisingly smooth.
"I can tell gold from silver in the dark just by the feel of it. Looking at my hands, you'd think I'd never done a day's work in my life. But you! We could dress you up like a gentleman dandy and your hands would give you away before you ever opened your mouth."
"I doubt I'll ever have to worry about that. I like those tricks, though. Can you show me something else?"
"All right. Watch my hand." Without lifting his arm from where it rested across his knee, Seregil moved the fingers quickly in a smooth ripple, as if drumming briefly on an invisible tabletop.
"What's that?" Alec asked, mystified.
"I just told you to have the horses ready. And this—" He raised his right index finger as if to scratch under his chin, then looked slightly to the left, drawing the finger back a little toward his ear. "That means we're in danger from behind. Not every sign is that simple, of course, but once you learn the system you can communicate without anyone being the wiser. Say we were in a crowded room and I wanted to tell you something. I'd catch your eye, then lower my chin once just a bit, like this. Now you try it. No, that's too much. You might as well shout! Yes, that's better. Now the horse sign. Good!"