Luck in the Shadows

give this a try."
    He placed his coin on the ground beside him and rested his hand to the left of it, an inch or so away. With a subtle twitch of his little finger, he swept it beneath his palm without even disturbing the dust. When he raised his hand, the coin was gone. Shaking it from the sleeve of his tunic with a comic flourish, he demonstrated how the snap was done. Again Alec managed it after only a few tries.
    "You've got the hands of a born thief," Seregil observed. "Perhaps I'd better not show you any more of those just now!"
    Left-handed compliment that it was, Alec returned the grin as he snapped the coin up his sleeve a final time. They ate quickly, then covered all signs of their camp, burying the fire and tossing their refuse into the pool. As they worked, Seregil found himself again pondering what he'd seen of Alec so far, wondering what he could make of such a boy. Alec was quick and surprisingly well spoken. His nature—a blend of stubborn persistence and appalling openness—made for an interesting mix.
    With a bit of positioning and greater training— Shaking his head, Seregil pushed the thought away.
    As they mounted to leave, a tiny owl flew across the clearing and perched in a dead tree. Blinking in the afternoon light, it fluffed up and let out a mellow too too too.
    Seregil gave the owl a reverent nod; the Lightbringer's own bird seen in daylight was no small omen.
    "What do you suppose he's doing out so early?" Alec remarked.
    Bemused, Seregil shook his head. "I have no idea, Alec, no idea at all."
    A cold wind carried the first light snow down through the trees as they set off down the mountainside.
    Giving the bay a loose rein, Seregil scanned the forest around them for any sign of Asengai's soldiers as he rode along behind Alec. Without a saddle, the boy had to cling on with knees and hands.
    He managed well enough, but it was hard going and made for little conversation.
    They reached the edge of the Downs by late afternoon and cantered from the shelter of the trees. Before them monotonous, dun-colored grasslands rolled away to the distant horizon. The wind moaned steadily over the waste, sweeping the fine, gritty snow up into feathery gusts. A rumpled grey blanket of clouds had sealed itself across the sky.
    "Illior's Finger, but I hate the cold!"
    Seregil exclaimed, stopping to secure his hood and tug on a pair of gloves.
    "And you the one all for bathing," Alec chided. "This is nothing compared to what it will be come next—"He broke off suddenly, staring at Seregil. "You swore by Illior!"
    "And you swear by Dalna. What of it?"
    "Only southerners swear by Illior. Are you from the south? The Three Lands?"
    "As a matter of fact, I am," Seregil replied, enjoying the boy's guileless astonishment.
    To most northerners the Three Lands were hardly more than places of fancy in a bard's tale; he might as well have said, "I'm from the back of the moon."
    "Do you know much of the south?"
    "A little. The Gold Road goes down from Wolde all the way to the country of Mycena. Most of the caravaneers I've met have been Mycenians, though there have been a few Skalans, too. Skala's near there, isn't it?"
    "Yes, it's a huge peninsula between the Inner and Osiat seas, west of Mycena. To the east is Plenimar, which lies on another peninsula to the east of Mycena, along the coast of the Gathwayd Ocean.
    The Gold Road, as you call it, is the main trade route between the Three Lands and the northern freeholdings."
    "Which country are you from?"
    "Oh, I travel around."
    If Alec noticed the evasion, he let it go.
    "Some of the traders claim that there are dragons in the south, and powerful wizards. I saw a wizard once at a fair." His face brightened at the memory, easy to read as a tavern bill. "For a price she'd hatch salamanders from hen's eggs and make fires burn blue and red."
    "Indeed?" Seregil had performed those tired fakeries a few times himself. Still, he understood all too well the wonder they could evoke.
    "A Skalan trader tried to tell me the streets of his cities were paved with gold," Alec went on.
    "I didn't believe him, though. He was the one who tried to buy me from Father. I was only eight or nine. I could never figure out what he wanted me for."
    "Really?" Seregil lifted a noncommittal eyebrow.
    Luckily, Alec was more interested in the matter at hand. "I've heard that Skala and Plenimar are always at war."
    Seregil gave a wry smile. "Not always, but often."
    "Why?"
    "That's an old question,