22 One Horse,Two Swans, and Three Daughters

The livestock marketplace lay just outside the city walls by the Harvest Market gate. Mounted on a borrowed horse, Alec looked around eagerly as they rode among the horse traders' enclosures there.

"That's who we want," Seregil said, pointing out a woman in a dusty riding kirtle and boots. At the moment she was engaged in a heated discussion with several of her fellows beside one of the corrals.

Dismounting, Seregil led Scrub over and joined the circle of conversation. The trader nodded to him and hooked a thumb at a large wooden building a few hundred yards away.

"Damn fool thing to do," she grumbled. "Look at my poor beauties, what it does to them!"

"The new Butcher's Hall, you mean?" asked Seregil, wrinkling his nose. A faint breeze carried the sickly sweet smell of the place and the cries of ravens and gulls fighting over the piles of discarded entrails in the pits beyond the slaughterhouse.

Leaning on the upper rail of the corral, the horse trader watched her horses stamping nervously as they scented the wind. "We've petitioned before to have a market of our own, farther away from the damned butchers, but the Council can't be bothered with us, it seems! Cows, pigs, sheep; they're too dim to mind the smell of blood if they was swimming in it. But my poor beauties there—look at 'em! How am I supposed to show you a steady beast when they've all got that stench up their noses?"

"Petition the Queen's Court directly," Seregil advised. "Idrilain understands horses a good deal better than the fat merchants on the Council of Streets and Markets."

One of the other traders nodded. "Aye, that's not a bad idea."

"You and I, Mistress Byrn, we've done enough business for me to trust the quality of your beasts."

Seregil pointed to Alec, who was already scrutinizing the herd. "I think my friend here favors them, too. Let's have a closer look."

With a pleased nod, the trader tucked the hem of her woolen skirt up into her belt and climbed over the rail.

Seregil waded into the herd beside her, rubbing necks and rumps and crooning softly to them. Following in his wake, Alec marveled at how the animals seemed to calm under his hand. Other horses crowded up to their mistress.

"They're just a pack of great colts, as you see," she said, grinning at Alec over their backs.

"Northern stock mostly, with a few drops of faie mixed in here and there. They're strong and they're smart. I doubt you'd find better between here and Cirna."

Alec wandered among the shifting herd, trying to sort out those that showed the best natures and conformations from those he only liked the looks of. He was just reaching out to stroke a pale sorrel filly when a shove from behind nearly knocked him off his feet. A dark nose pushed under his arm and he found a brown mare nipping at his belt pouch.

"You, Patch!" the horse dealer shouted. "Get out of that, you hussy!"

The mare, a plain-looking beast, looked longingly back at Alec as she sidled away.

Despite her unremarkable appearance, he was taken with the disdainful set of her ears. He put a hand put to her and she butted him under the arm again, nuzzling at his belt.

"It's the leather she's after," the dealer confessed.

"Crazy for it as others are for apples. She's a losel with the tack, I'll warn you."

"All the same, she's not half bad," Seregil remarked, coming over to see.

Running a critical eye over joints and hocks, Alec noticed an irregular spot of white hair the size of a child's hand just behind her right flank.

"How did she come by this scar?" he asked.

The woman smoothed a hand fondly over the mark.

"Wolves got into my enclosure last winter. Killed three foals before we got out with the torches. One tore at her here, as you see, before she brained it with a kick. She's a feisty one, my Patch, and stubborn, but she has a smooth, strong gait and she'll go all day for you. Saddle her, young sir, and see what you think."

A gallop across the open ground around the marketplace was enough to win Alec over. The mare showed no skittishness, and took the reins well.

"That's settled, then," Seregil said approvingly as he paid out the money.

Moving his saddle and pack onto Patch, Alec slung his bow over one shoulder and followed Seregil onto the Cirna highroad.

Several miles out from the city they turned onto a road leading up into the hills. Seregil seemed to be in

no particular hurry and they rode easily, giving the horses their head and enjoying the crisp, clear afternoon.

Winter was beginning to take hold in Skala now, though the breeze still carried the stinging scent of smokehouse meats, yellowed hay, and the last sour tang of the cider presses from the farmsteads they passed along the way.

They'd ridden for some time in comfortable silence when Seregil turned to Alec and asked, "I suppose you're wondering why I didn't tell you sooner?"

"You never say much about yourself," Alec replied with a touch of reproach. "I've gotten used to not asking."

"Delicate manners will get you nowhere with me," Seregil advised, nonplused. "Go on, ask away."

"All right. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Well, at first it was because you had so many misconceptions about the faie," replied Seregil. "You seemed to think we were all great mages or nectar-sipping fairy folk."

Alec's cheek went hot as he recalled the childish fancies he'd shared with Seregil in their first days.

Seregil shot him a sidelong grin. "Oh, you northern barbarians do have some strange notions. Anyway, I decided I'd better let you get used to me first. Then I got sick."

He paused, looking a little sheepish himself. "I've been meaning to tell you since we got to the city, really, but—I don't know. The right moment just didn't seem to come. What I said to Nysander is sort of true; I am proud of you for figuring it out on your own. What else would you like to know?"

What wouldn't I like to know! thought Alec, wondering how long this strange humor of Seregil's would last. "How old are you?"

"Fifty-eight, come Lenthin month. In the reckoning of my race, that doesn't make me all that much older than you, though I've certainly had more experience. It's difficult to draw comparisons between Aurлnfaie and human ages; we mature differently. Under Aurлnfaie law, I'm not old enough yet to marry or hold land." He chuckled softly. "For the most part, I've done very well for myself in Skala."

"Because you're related to the Queen?"

"To some degree, though it's a very distant and threadbare tie. Just enough to have gotten me an introduction and a place as a high-class servant.

Lord Corruth, consort to Idrilain the First, was a cousin of my grandmother's mother. My claim to Skalan nobility is a tenuous one at best."

Alec'd had hints enough from both Micum and Nysander to know better than to ask Seregil why he'd left Aurлnen in the first place. "What's it like there, in Aurлnen?"

Seregil rode on in silence for a moment, his face half turned away. Alec feared he'd taken a misstep after all and was about to take back the question when Seregil began to sing.

The language was unfamiliar, yet so liquid, so graceful in the ear that it seemed Alec could almost grasp it—and that if he did it would reveal a depth of meaning his own language could never achieve. The melody, simple yet haunting and full of longing, brought tears to his eyes as he listened.

Seregil sang it a second time, translating so that Alec could understand.

"My love is wrapped in a cloak of flowing green and wears the moon for a crown.

And all around has chains of flowing silver.

Her mirrors reflect the sky.

O, to roam your flowing cloak of green under the light of the ever-crowning moon.