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!"
"Do you use this a lot?" asked Alec, trying the danger sign with indifferent results.
Seregil chuckled. "You'd be surprised."
They set off at a brisk canter. Seregil still found the terrain distressingly featureless, but Alec seemed to know what he was doing. Finding the spring the previous night had been heartening evidence of Alec's abilities as a guide and Seregil kept his doubts to himself.
Keeping one eye on the sky, the boy scanned the horizon for landmarks Seregil could only guess at. Left to himself, Alec was rather quiet by nature.
There was nothing reticent or strained about it—he simply seemed content to concentrate on the business at hand.
This soon proved not to be the only thing on his mind, however. Reining in at another small spring just before noon, he turned to Seregil as if they'd only paused for breath in an ongoing conversation and asked,
"Will you be working as a bard in Wolde?"
"Yes. Around the Woldesoke I go by the name Aren Windover. Perhaps you've heard of me?"
Alec gave him a skeptical look. " You're Aren Windover? I heard him sing last spring at the Fox, but I don't recall him looking like you."
"Well, I guess I don't look much like Rolan Silverleaf, either, just now."
"That's true," Alec admitted. "Just how many names do you go by, anyway?"
"Oh, whatever suits. And if you won't take my word that Aren and I are one and the same, I'll prove it. Which of my songs did you like the best?"
"The Lay of Araman," was Alec answered at once. "The tune stuck in my
"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!"
"Do you use this a lot?" asked Alec, trying the danger sign with indifferent results.
Seregil chuckled. "You'd be surprised."
They set off at a brisk canter. Seregil still found the terrain distressingly featureless, but Alec seemed to know what he was doing. Finding the spring the previous night had been heartening evidence of Alec's abilities as a guide and Seregil kept his doubts to himself.
Keeping one eye on the sky, the boy scanned the horizon for landmarks Seregil could only guess at. Left to himself, Alec was rather quiet by nature.
There was nothing reticent or strained about it—he simply seemed content to concentrate on the business at hand.
This soon proved not to be the only thing on his mind, however. Reining in at another small spring just before noon, he turned to Seregil as if they'd only paused for breath in an ongoing conversation and asked,
"Will you be working as a bard in Wolde?"
"Yes. Around the Woldesoke I go by the name Aren Windover. Perhaps you've heard of me?"
Alec gave him a skeptical look. " You're Aren Windover? I heard him sing last spring at the Fox, but I don't recall him looking like you."
"Well, I guess I don't look much like Rolan Silverleaf, either, just now."
"That's true," Alec admitted. "Just how many names do you go by, anyway?"
"Oh, whatever suits. And if you won't take my word that Aren and I are one and the same, I'll prove it. Which of my songs did you like the best?"
"The Lay of Araman," was Alec answered at once. "The tune stuck in my
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