Luck in the Shadows

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