Luck in the Shadows

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 head for weeks after but I could never remember all the verses."
    "The Lay of Araman" it is, then."
    Seregil cleared his throat and launched into the song, his voice a rich, lilting tenor. After a moment Alec joined in. His voice wasn't as fine, but he could carry a tune.
    "Across the sea sailed Araman, a hundred men he led. His ship was black as Death's left eye, her sails were deep bloodred. They sailed to Simra's distant shore to answer Honor's call. A hundred men sailed out to sea, but none sailed home at all.
    For Honor's price is blood and steeland Death will be your brother. A soldier's life is full of strife, but I swear I'd have no other!
    On the city walls stood King Mindar,
    he watched the ship draw nigh.
    Five hundred men were at his back and gave the battle cry.
    Then marched they to the battle plain to meet the seaborne foe,
    While Araman and his hundred men came all ashore below.
    For Honor's price is blood and steel
    and with your life you'll buy it. But the ladies love a fighting manand there's none that will deny it!
    Then Araman strode on the field and Mindar stepped to meet him. "Your lying tongue has brought us here!" cried Araman to greet him. "I see your force is greater, you have numbers on your side, But by my sword, I'll see you dead 'ere the turning of the tide."
    For Honor's price is blood and steelthough flesh won't stop a sword. The glory of a soldier's death will be your last reward!
    Then on the plain the armies met and sword rang out on shield.
    Helms were cloven, limbs were hacked,
    yet neither side would yield,
    Until the generals found themselves alone upon the plain.
    Six hundred soldiers, brave and bold,
    would never fight again.
    For Honor's price is blood and steeland well the widows know The worth of Honor to the lads now lying down below!
    Then toe to toe and blade to blade the two fierce warriors fought. To steal the heart's blood of his foe was each one's only thought. From their wounds the blood flowed down to stain the trampled sward And