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surrounding them, its brightness dazzling after several days of sullen weather.
    The horses were pawing at the snow in search of forage and Seregil's belly growled sympathetically at the sight; tired as he was of tough sausage and old cheese, this morning's scant breakfast would exhaust the last of the food.
    "Thank the Maker for a sight of the sun!" Alec exclaimed, crawling out behind him.
    "Thank Sakor, you mean," yawned Seregil, pushing his hair back from his eyes. "Of the Four—Oh, hell, it's too early for philosophy. Do you think we'll make Wolde today?"
    Alec peered hard to the south, then nodded. "Before sundown, I'd say."
    Seregil waded over to the horses and scratched his bay under the forelock. "Oats for you tonight, my friends, and a hot bath and supper for me. If our guide's worth his silver, that is."
    Seregil was uncharacteristically quiet as they rode along that morning. When they stopped to rest the horses at midday, however, Alec sensed something was up.
    Seregil had that same bemused look about him that Alec remembered seeing when he'd offered to rescue him from Asengai's keep, as if he wasn't certain what he was about to do was the wisest move.
    "The other night I joked about an apprenticeship for you," he said over his shoulder as he adjusted his saddle girth. "What do you think of the idea?"
    Alec looked at him in surprise. "As a bard, you mean?"
    "Perhaps apprenticeship isn't exactly the right term. I'm not a guildsman of any sort, much less a bard. But you're quick and smart. There's a lot I could teach you."
    "Like what?" Alec asked, a little wary now but interested.
    Seregil hesitated a moment, as if sizing him up, then said, "I specialize in the acquisition of goods and information."
    Alec's heart sank. "You're a thief."
    "I'm nothing of the sort!" Seregil frowned. "At least not in the sense you mean."
    "Then what?" Alec demanded. "A spy like that Juggler fellow you killed?"
    Seregil grinned. "I'd be insulted if I thought you knew what you were talking about. Let's just say for the moment that I'm acting as an agent of sorts, engaged by an eminently respectable gentleman to collect information regarding certain unusual occurrences here in the north. Discretion prevents me from saying more, but I assure you the goal is noble—even if my methods don't always seem so."
    Hidden somewhere in his companion's suddenly high-flown, convoluted discourse, Alec suspected he'd just admitted to being a spy after all. Worse, he had nothing but Seregil's word that what he was telling, or half telling him, was the truth. Still, the fact remained that Seregil had rescued him when he could more easily have left him behind, and had since offered him nothing but friendship.
    "I imagine you're already fairly skilled in tracking and that sort of thing," Seregil went on casually. "You say you're a fair shot with a bow, and you made good use of that ax, now that I think of it. Can you handle a sword?"
    "No, but—"
    "No matter, you'd learn quickly enough, with the right teacher. I know just the man. Then, of course, there'd be palming, etiquette, lock work, disguise, languages, heraldry, fighting—I don't suppose you can read?"
    "I know the runes," Alec retorted, though in truth he could only make out his own name and a few words.
    "No, no, I meant proper writing."
    "Hold on, now," cried Alec, overwhelmed. "I don't mean to be ungrateful—you've saved my life and all, but—"
    Seregil waved this aside impatiently. "Given the circumstances of your capture, getting you out of there seemed the least I could do. But now I'm talking about what you want, Alec, beyond tomorrow, beyond next week. Honestly, do you really mean to spend the rest of your life mucking out stalls for some fat innkeeper in Wolde?"
    Alec hesitated. "I don't know. I mean, hunting and trapping, it's all the life I've known."
    "All the more reason to give it up, then!" Seregil declared, his grey eyes alight with enthusiasm. "How old
    did you say you