"So yes, I lied to you a little at first," Seregil was saying. "Think of how many strangers you've lied to since you hooked up with me. It's the nature of our work. Since Wolde, though, I swear I've been as honest with you as I could be. I wanted to tell you more, prepare you, but then the sickness came on." He paused.
"In your place, I doubt I'd have been as faithful. Anyway, after Wolde and the ambush in the Folcwine Forest I began to think of you as a friend, the first I'd made in a long time. I'd assumed you understood that, and for that assumption I beg your kind forgiveness."
"There's no need," muttered Alec, embarrassed.
"Oh, I think there is. Damn it, Alec, you're as much of a mystery to me as I probably am to you. I keep forgetting how young you are, how different we are. Micum and I were almost of an age when we met. We saw the world with the same eyes. And Nysander! He always seemed to know my thoughts before I did myself. It's so—so different with you! Blundering around the way I do, I seem to end up hurting you without even realizing it."
"Not so much," Alec mumbled, overcome by this unexpected openness. "It's just that sometimes it seems as if—as if you don't trust me."
Seregil gave a rueful laugh. "Ah, Alec! Rei phцril tцs tуkun meh brithir, vri sh'ruit'ya."
"What's that?"
Seregil held out his poniard hilt first to Alec. "Though you thrust a knife at my eyes, I will not flinch," was he translated. "It's a solemn pledge of trust and I give it to you with all my heart. You can take a stab at me if you want."
"Do you just make those things up?"
"No, it's genuine, and I'll swear ten others just as dire if it will convince you I'm sorry."
"Maker's Mercy, Seregil, just tell me about Wheel Street!"
"All right, Wheel Street." Seregil slipped the knife back into his boot. "It all started after I'd failed with Nysander. I ran off and lived rough for a few years. That's when I learned thieving and all that. When I came back, I saw at once how I could keep myself nicely employed with the intrigues of the Skalan nobility. I had to establish myself somehow, but that didn't prove too difficult. My checkered past, together with my status as Queen's Kin, the novelty of being Aurлnfaie, and my new skills as a thief and general busybody—"
He spread his hands comically. "That all pretty much guaranteed success in Rhнminee society. Posing as the reformed exile, Lord Seregil soon established a reputation as a sympathetic listener, a reliable buyer
of drinks, a willing roisterer, and a holder of no strong opinions on any subject. Altogether, a person of little consequence and therefore the man everyone talks to."
"I got to be quite a favorite among the younger nobles, and through them I managed to pick up valuable information. After that it wasn't hard to spread the rumor that Lord Seregil, charming as he was, didn't always keep the best company. Word soon trickled out into the right circles that I could sometimes aid in the hiring of a certain discreet but shady character who would carry out any sort of silly undertaking for the right price."
"The Rhнminee Cat?"
"Exactly. Nysander was the only one who knew my secret. I've been more use to him as a spy than I ever was as an apprentice. Even back then, though, I liked my freedom too much to play the noble role all the time. So I bought the Cockerel and fixed up some rooms there. Nysander found Thryis for me. Cilia couldn't have been much older than Illia—"
"Yes, but Wheel Street?" insisted Alec, wanting to hear the end of the tale before dark. Once Seregil made up his mind to explain something, he tended not to leave out any details.
"Sidetracked again, am I? Well, as time went on the young nobles I'd rooked around with settled down and had young nobles of their own. Aurлnfaie or not, I was expected to do the same. To maintain the confidence of those I depended on, I had to give some outward sign that I was of their ilk. I began by investing in shipping concerns and managed to do fairly well. Small wonder, really, considering the sort of information I was privy to. Aside from the money, my supposed business concerns give me ample excuse to be away for the better part of the year.
"Unfortunately, the charade has grown rather cumbersome. If I didn't love Rhнminee so much, I might just kill off Lord Seregil and start over again somewhere else. What it all boils down to for you, though, is that Sir Alec of Ivywell has a lot of educating ahead of him."
"I'll be an old man with a beard to my knees before I've learned half what you expect me to know!"
Seregil gazed out over the sea a quizzed look on his face. "Oh, I doubt that. I doubt that very much indeed."
They spent that night at the Pony, a respectable wayfarers' inn, then set out again at dawn under a clear sky. By late morning they reached the southern end of the isthmus that linked the Skalan peninsula to the mainland to the north.
Jutting up from the sea like a blanched backbone, the land bridge was scarcely five miles wide at any point. The road ran along the crest of it and Alec could see water on either side: the Osiat steely dark, the shallow Inner Sea a paler blue.
Just after midday they came to the small outpost guarding a fork in the highway. From here the roads diverged to the two bridges, east and west, which led down to the opposing Canal ports of Cirna and Talos.
Taking the right fork, they soon came within sight of the east bridge, arching smoothly across the black chasm of the Canal. It was a broad, sturdy structure, wide enough for the heaviest drays to pass without
crowding.
"It's an amazing sight from up here, don't you think?" said Seregil, reining in. At the moment several wagons were coming across from the far side, followed by a turma of cavalry.
Alec felt cold sweat break out down his spine as he looked at the precipice beneath it. He'd been at the bottom of that chasm, seen its depth. To him, the great bridge looked as tenuous as a spider's web by comparison.
"Illior's Fingers, you've gone white!"
Seregil observed, looking over at him. "Maybe you'd better walk your horse. Lots of people are a bit nervous their first time across."
Alec gave a quick, tense shake of his head. "No. No, I'm fine, I–I've just never crossed anything that deep."
Embarrassed by his sudden weakness, he gripped the reins resolutely and nudged Patch into a walk.
Keeping to the center of the road as much as traffic allowed, he fixed his attention on a string of donkeys plodding along ahead of him and did his best not to think about what lay below.
"See, it's perfectly safe," Seregil assured him, riding close beside him. "Solid as the highroad itself."
Alec managed another tight nod. From far below came the faint creak of oars and ropes; sailor's voices rose like the whispering of ghosts.
"There's a good view of the west bridge from here,"
Seregil said, directing Alec's attention out over the left side of the bridge.
Alec looked and felt his belly lurch. From here, the western bridge looked like a child's construction of dry branches across a ditch, a fragile toy poised over the dizzying gorge. Closing his eyes, he fought off a sudden mental image of the stonework beneath him giving way.
"How did they build these?" he gasped.
"Those ancient wizards and engineers understood the value of forethought. They built the bridges first, then dug the Canal out beneath them."
At the far end of the bridge, Alec unclenched his aching fingers and drew a breath of relief.
A switchback road led down the cliffs to the harbor town below. Cirna was a confusing city of square, closely packed buildings lining a maze of narrow streets so sharply inclined in places that it was difficult for riders going down not to pitch forward over their horses' necks. The local inhabitants apparently favored foot traffic, for many parts of the town were accessible only by narrow stairways.