They'd seen no signs of habitation since they'd left Half Moon Cove, and their only road was a succession of twisting game trails. It was just the sort of place to meet up with bandits. Adzriel assured them that there was no cause for worry, but she had brought an escort of twenty men from the ship.

Seregil's exile song had truly captured the beauty of this land. There were sweet cold springs along the way, and tumbling cascades that glittered in the sunlight. The forest was a mix of tall evergreens, oaks, beeches, and trees Alec didn't recognize. The few remaining leaves still clinging to branch tips--gold and yellow, and fiery orange and red--stood out against the dark firs and clear blue sky.

Seregil was their guide. They slept rough in clearings, singing and drinking around the fire as the moon rose overhead. During the day there was little to do but talk and hunt. And if their escort was anything to go by, the Bokthersans were a friendly, easygoing people, though most of them remained a bit leery of Sebrahn.

"Leather goods, swords, and horses, mostly," Seregil replied, walking just ahead of him.

"What happened if you were caught?"

"This is our fai'thast. No one has authority here but the khirnari, and my father turned a blind eye. We did have to watch out for other clans near the coast--and pirates."

They made camp that night in a circle of huge boulders Seregil referred to jokingly as the Sky Inn. As they carried their gear in from the horses, Alec saw that there were names, short messages, and crescents of Aura scratched all over the face of the rocks, from the snow line to as high as a man could reach. Seregil showed him his own name there, and Akaien's, etched close together. From the difference in height, Seregil had been a child when these marks were made. Alec added his name near Akaien's and had Seregil put his there, too.

Alec went around reading more, and saw dates that went back centuries. Suddenly his toe caught on something and he went sprawling, arms sinking up to the elbows in snow, filling his mittens.

"Ah, I see you've found the woodpile!" said Seregil.

While Alec and Micum dug out the pile of twisted pine branches and small logs, some of the others dug down through the snow at the center of the circle and uncovered a large stone fire pit. The haunches of venison they'd brought on one of the packhorses were frozen solid, so they shaved off thin slices with their knives and either cooked them over the fire on a stick or, like Alec, just ate them raw. They passed around the dwindling bags of hazelnuts and dried apples, and boiled snow for water, since the last of the tea had been used up. As always, Alec found a moment away from the others to feed Sebrahn and trim his hair.

Even in their heavy clothing, the cold sapped strength away. They bedded down early around the fire on cloaks spread across packed snow, and everyone shared blankets with someone.

Alec lay awake for some time, looking up at the night sky. The stars looked as big as half-sester pieces up here, so bright they cast shadows among the boulders. That, and the crackle of the smoky fire, made him think of his father again, and the winters they'd spent trapping in the Ironheart Mountains. When he fell asleep, he dreamed of his father--a tall, taciturn figure striding confidently on his long snow-shoes, the varnished rawhide webbing leaving a pattern like serpent skin for Alec to follow. In the dream his father never turned around, but Alec knew him by the ragged blond hair sticking out under his fur hat. Sometimes they'd gone on like that in silence for hours--or all day, if the traps were empty. Then the vision he'd had of his parents and his mother's death crept into the dream, and he saw his father through his mother's eyes--a handsome young hunter whose dark blue eyes were filled with anguish. In this dream, his mother turned into a dragon and flew away, only to be brought down by the arrows of her own kinsmen. Drops of her steaming blood fell on the snow, leaving a line of red spots like trail markers, leading north. Grief-stricken, Alec watched her fall in the distance, then turned to find her faceless murderers leveling their bows at him.

As they rode today, Seregil told funny stories about his exploits with Alec and Micum, including how Alec's first test as a nightrunner had been to break, unsuspecting, into Seregil's own villa in Rhiminee.

Alec ignored the laughter at his expense and lifted his face to the pale white sun showing dimly through the clouds. Some memories of his father didn't hurt; fresh snow had always meant easy tracking.

"Spotted cat," Micum said beside him, pulling him from his reverie.

Sure enough, the unmistakable pattern of paw pads and tick marks of the claws crossed their path in a wandering line. For the rest of the afternoon they made a game of identifying tracks in the snow to break up the monotony. They saw the spoor of rabbit and deer, great Aurenen stags, bear, and mice, along with a strange pattern Alec thought he recognized. It was a sort of hand-and footprint combination, and always appeared in great numbers, seldom far from a stand of trees. It looked like a whole family of tiny people had crawled along on all fours. Tiny people with tails.

"Are those porie tracks?" he asked, surprised to see them this far north.

"Red ones," said Mydri. "They're on their way to the lowlands. They come down to forage in the winter. The village children coax them in to eat from their hands."

"Not just the children," Adzriel said with a chuckle. "I watched your grand wizard sit outside for hours with apple slices and bread crusts."

"Thero had them climbing up on his shoulders by spring," Mydri added. "There aren't many who can do that! He swears he didn't use any magic on them, either. But it takes considerable patience and gentleness."

Seregil raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "I can imagine the first, but gentleness?"

"The children loved him," said Adzriel. "He did little magics for them, too. Mydri, remember the time he made a pastry rabbit get up and run around the table while the dishes floated around in circles?"

Seregil looked over at Alec with a smirk. "Thero?" It was the sort of playful magic Nysander had delighted in at feasts, especially if there were children present; the very sort that a younger Thero had held in such disdain.

Adzriel shook her head, smiling. "One time I said I looked forward to his next performance at some feast. He went a bit stiff and told me, 'I don't perform, I entertain.' But you could see the twinkle in his eye."

It wasn't long before Alec heard a familiar rustle and chirping in the branches overhead. Not all the pories had gone south yet, he was glad to see, just as he was glad that none of his companions considered them game. These had reddish brown fur rather than grey, like those in the south, and were the size of a large cat. Otherwise, they had the same clever little hands, golden eyes in blunt-nosed faces, and long, bushy ringed tails they used like rudders as they leapt among the branches overhead, or ventured cautiously down to snatch away bits of bread the riders held up for them.

While they were at it, Alec spied a small black squirrel on a branch overhead. It froze for an instant, then decided it had been seen and darted away up the trunk.

"Haba!" Alec exclaimed. It was the first one he'd seen.

Mydri smiled. "Are you speaking to Seregil or the squirrel?"

"The squirrel. Seregil doesn't like being called that."

"Why not?"

Alec shrugged and said nothing. The fact that Seregil could only associate it now with Ilar was no one's business but his own.

"First dragon! Little brother's the luck bringer," said Adzriel, leaning over to touch her brother with mock reverence. According to custom, Seregil was the luck bringer until they reached their destination.

Sebrahn leaned out from Alec's saddle to see it.

Seregil held out his arm so the rhekaro could have a better look. The fingerling immediately took flight to land on Sebrahn's knee.

Sebrahn pointed to the little creature and looked up at Alec. "Drak-kon?"

Seregil sidled up to Adzriel and asked something in a low voice. Adzriel looked at Sebrahn for a moment, then shook her head.

Sebrahn touched the dragon's spiny head with one finger as two more fingerlings fluttered down to his shoulders, tangling their tiny talons in his hair. A fourth and fifth joined them.

"Sit still," Alec warned, but suddenly all five dragons took flight like flock of ducks on a lake.

Sebrahn held out his hand as if to stop them. "Drak-kon!"

"Maybe he's the luck bringer," said Micum, shaking his head.

"I've never seen them do that before," said Adzriel. She gave Alec a meaningful look.

"They probably want some of his hair for their nests." Several of them had flown off with long blond strands clutched in their claws.

She nodded as she watched the rhekaro hold out his hand for another little dragon to land on. "Maybe he really is one of their own."

"Sebrahn, no!" Seregil said quietly, so as not to startle rhekaro or dragon.

But the dragon just perched on the back of Sebrahn's right hand with its tail wrapped around the rhekaro's thin wrist.

"If it bites him, do we put lissik on it?" Alec wondered.

But as before, the fingerling flew away without nipping Sebrahn. The rhekaro followed it with his eyes as it fluttered into the trees.