"That's understandable," Nyal threw in, then gave Beka an embarrassed look. "I mean no insult."

Beka gave him a wry look. "None taken."

"I'd been in Skala for over ten years and was terribly homesick," Seregil continued. "To find other 'faie, no matter who they were, became an obsession. Everyone I talked to warned that the Hazadriel-faie killed strangers, but I figured that only applied to Tirfaie.

"It was a long, cold journey and I'd decided to go alone. I started through the pass in late spring, and a week or so later finally came out in a huge valley and saw what looked like a settled fai'thast in the distance. Certain of a warm welcome, I headed for the closest village. Before I'd gotten a mile down the valley, though, I ran into a group of armed horsemen. All I saw at first was that they were wearing sen'gai. I greeted them in Aurenfaie, but they attacked and took me prisoner."

"What happened then?" Beka demanded as soon as he paused.

"They held me in a cellar for two days before I managed to escape."

"That must have been a bitter disappointment," Nyal remarked kindly.

Seregil looked away and sighed. "It was a long time ago."

The column had slowed steadily as they talked, and now came to a complete halt.

"This is the first hidden stretch," Nyal explained. "Captain, will you trust me as your guide?"

Beka agreed just a tad too readily, Alec noted with amusement.

Skalan riders paired off with Aurenfaie, handing over their reins and tying white cloth blindfolds over their eyes.

A pair of Gedre riders approached Alec and Seregil.

"What's this?" asked Seregil as one of the men sidled his horse up next to Seregil's and held out a blindfold.

"All Skalans must ride blind," the man replied.

Alec choked down a hard knot of resentment, almost grateful when his own blindfold hid the scene. How many more little ways would the 'faie find to underline the fact that Seregil was returning as an outsider?

"Ready, Alec i Amasa?" his own guide asked, clasping his shoulder.

"Ready." Alec gripped the saddlebow, feeling off balance already. Renewed grumbling among the Skalans came from all sides, then a brief chorus of surprise as a peculiar sensation came over them, a tingle on the skin. Unable to resist, Alec lifted a corner of the blindfold just enough to peek out from under it, then pulled it hastily back into place as his eye was assaulted by a stinging burst of swirling color that sent a bolt of pain through his head.

"I wouldn't do that, my friend," his guide chuckled. "The magic will hurt your eyes, without the covering."

To make amends to their guests, or perhaps to drown out the complaining, someone began to sing and others quickly joined in, voices echoing among the rocks.

Once I loved a girl so fair, with ten charms woven in her hair. Slim as the tip of the newborn moon, Eyes the color of a mountain sky. For a year I wooed her with my eyes And a year with all my heart. A year with tears unshed, A year with wandering feet, A year with silent songs unsung, A year with sighs replete.

A year until she was the wife of another and my safety was complete.

The play of sun and shadow across Alec's skin told him that the trail twisted sharply and it wasn't long before he dug in his pouch for the root Seregil had given him. It smelled of moist earth, and the pungent juice made his eyes water, but it did settle his stomach.

"I didn't think I'd be sick," he said, spitting out the stringy pith. "It feels like we're riding around in circles."

"That's the magic," said Seregil. "Whole miles of the pass are like this."

"How are you doing?" Alec asked softly, thinking of Seregil's frequent difficulties with magic.

Warm, ginger-scented breath bathed his cheek as Seregil leaned close and confessed, "I'm managing."

The blind ride went on for what seemed like a dark, lurching eternity. They traveled beside rushing water for a time, and at others Alec sensed walls closing in around them. Riagil finally called a halt, and the blindfolds were removed. Alec

rubbed his eyes, blinking in the afternoon brightness. They were in a small meadow bounded on all sides by steep cliffs. Looking back, he saw nothing but the usual terrain.

Seregil was bathing his face at a spring that bubbled up among the rocks a few yards away. Joining him, Alec drank as he studied the stunted bushes and clumps of tiny flowers and grasses clinging in clefts of rock. A few wild mountain sheep clattered among the rocks overhead.

"Would fresh meat be welcome tonight?" Alec asked Riagil, who was standing nearby.

The khirnari shook his head. "We have food enough with us for now. Leave these creatures for someone who needs them. Besides, I think you'd have a hard time making such a shot. They are a good distance off."

"I'd bet a Skalan sester he can shoot that far," Seregil told him.

"An Akhendi mark says he can't," Riagil countered, producing a thick, square coin seemingly out of thin air.

Seregil gave Alec a mischievous wink. "Looks like it's up to you to defend our honor."

"Thanks," Alec muttered. Shading his eyes, he looked up at the sheep again. They were still on the move, at least fifty yards away now, and the breeze was uncertain. Unfortunately, a number of people had heard the challenge and were watching him expectantly. With an inward sigh, he went back to his horse and pulled an arrow from the quiver slung behind his saddle.

Ignoring his audience, he took aim in the general direction of the hindmost sheep and released purposefully high. The shaft glanced off the rocks just over the large ram's head. The creature let out a bleat and sprang away.

"By the Light!" someone gasped.

"You'll make a living for yourself with that bow in Aurenen," Nyal laughed. "Archery's a betting sport here."

Objects of some sort were changing hands around the circle of onlookers.

Several men showed Alec their quivers, where masses of small ornaments strung on thongs hung from bosses set into the sides. Some were carved from stone or wood, others cast in metal or fashioned from animal teeth and bright feathers.

"These are shatta, betting trophies, used only by archers," Nyal explained, plucking one made of bear claws from his own considerable collection and tying it onto Alec's quiver strap. "There, that shot of yours should earn you something. This marks you as a challenger."

"You may not be able to lift that quiver of yours before we head home again, Sir Alec," said Nikides. "If they let us bet for drinks, I'll be laying my luck on you every time."

Alec accepted the praise with a shy grin. His shooting was one of the few things he'd been proud of growing up, though more for the success it had brought him as a hunter.

As he returned to the spring to drink, he felt glad of those skills again. In patches of soft ground around the spring he saw the marks of panther and wolves, together with several larger tracks he didn't recognize.

"Just as well we missed him," Seregil remarked.

Looking where his friend pointed, Alec saw a splayed, three-toed print twice the length of his foot.

"A dragon?"

"Yes, and of the dangerous size."

Alec placed his hand in the track, noting the deep imprint of talons at the end of each toe. "What happens if we meet one of these while we're blindfolded?" he asked, frowning.

Seregil's impassive shrug was less than reassuring.

The trail grew narrower still from here, barely wide enough in places for a horse to pass. Alec was pondering what it must be like to venture through here in the winter when something landed on the turned-back hood of his cloak. He reached back, expecting to find a clump of dirt. Instead, something slithered elusively beneath his fingertips.

"There's something on me," he hissed, praying to Dalna that whatever it was wasn't poisonous.