It began to snow during their third day on the plain, fine white flakes dancing and whirling in the cold wind that blew from the west. A heavy blanket of snow already lay over the land north of the wood, so that it seemed the only colors left in the world were grey and white. Even the road they were on, no doubt a muddy brown every other time of year, was covered with a thick grey carpet of half-melted ice and snow that made for slow walking.

As the snowfall increased, Dario halted to check on his lute. He always kept it wrapped in a soft cloth when they traveled, and now he added a second layer of animal skin.

“The cold’s bad enough,” he muttered as he tucked the skin snugly around his instrument. “But this snow will damage the wood.”

“We won’t go much farther,” Cadel told him. “Just another league or two.”

The lutenist looked up. “We can make the gates tonight if we keep at it.”

Cadel hesitated. The truth was, he didn’t want to reach the city just yet. There were matters he and the younger man needed to discuss first. “Perhaps, but I’d rather not stay out in this cold for too long. I feel a bad throat coming on.” He grimaced. “If I can’t sing, we’ll have to pay for a room.” It was a lie, but under the circumstances a necessary one.

Dario eyed him a moment longer, then gave a small shrug, his answer whenever they disagreed.

There were few inns anywhere along the road between the Great Forest and Mertesse, and fewer still as one drew nearer the city. The two assassins journeyed farther that day than Cadel had intended, stopping at last at a small farmhouse just beside the road that looked too small to be an inn, but had a sign swinging in the wind out front. They couldn’t have been more than two or three leagues from Mertesse-Cadel thought he could just make out the walls of the castle looming above the plain in the distance, stark against Mertesse Forest, but shrouded in the swirling snow.

The innkeeper was an old woman, a widow, with rheumy eyes and yellow teeth. She had only one room for rent, which made it unlikely that she would give them their beds in exchange for a performance, but Cadel was determined to stop before they reached the city.

After haggling with them briefly, she agreed to six qinde for the room and their meals, provided they would play for her, and her daughter’s family, after supper. It seemed a fair price. Cadel paid her and she led them up a narrow stairway to the room. Their quarters were quite small, as were the straw beds, but the chamber was no worse than others they had stayed in since leaving Dantrielle.

The woman left them, saying that their meal would be ready before long. Dario sat on one of the beds and began carefully to unwrap his lute.

“What are you doing?” Cadel asked.

He didn’t even look up. His yellow hair fell over his brow, hiding his eyes and much of his face. But Cadel could imagine his expression as he said in a flat voice, “I assumed you’d want to practice. We’re to perform tonight, and you still don’t seem happy with how we sound.”

Cadel frowned. As difficult as he found the younger man, he had to admit that he had handled things poorly since they started traveling together.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” he said, drawing the other man’s gaze. “I’d rather we talked for a bit.”

Dario looked uncertain, but he laid his lute gently on the bed. “All right.”

Faced now with the prospect of actually carrying on a conversation with Dario, Cadel found that he didn’t know how to begin. He started to say something, then stopped himself, realizing that he hadn’t the words. After doing this several times, he rubbed a hand over his brow, exhaling through his teeth.

“What’s this about?” Dario asked, narrowing his eyes. “Is there something else I’ve done wrong?” Almost immediately he shook his head. “Actually that couldn’t be it. You never have trouble telling me that.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Cadel told him, ignoring the gibe. “Before we reach the city, I… I feel that we should know more about each other. We want to convince people that we’re…”

“Friends?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve talked about this before.”

“No, we haven’t.”

“Sure we have. It’s no different from what I said before about our performances not being perfect, and about musicians finding new partners. If we don’t know everything about each other nobody’s going to notice.”

Again, the lutenist had a point, but Cadel didn’t care. He’d had enough of the younger man challenging him at every turn. Cadel was the one who would be doing the killing. It was his reputation that had gotten them this job in the first place, just as it would get them every subsequent job they were likely to have. Dario would do as he said, or Cadel would find himself another partner.

He was ready to say as much, but then thought better of it. It might make him feel better to tell Dario how angry he was, but it certainly wouldn’t help matters. He was about to kill a Qirsi, and he needed a partner for that. Would he have preferred Jed? Of course. But Jed was gone, and for better or worse, he had chosen this man to take his place. Driving him away now would have been folly. Still, he did need to make Dario understand which of them was in command.

“Nobody else may notice,” he said, managing to keep his voice even.

“But I think we should talk anyway. We’re about to enter Mertesse. We’re not just musicians learning to play together anymore. We’re assassins, and we’re hunting a sorcerer. I expect you to guard my back, to keep me from getting killed or captured while I find this man and earn our gold.” He grinned. “I think I’d feel a bit more comfortable with that if I knew for certain that you wanted me to come out of this alive.”

Dario’s expression didn’t change. “So you do the killing? Always?”

“Most of the time. Certainly when we’ve been hired to kill a Qirsi. That’s the way I’ve always worked. When I find a partner who’s my equal with a blade, I may change my mind. But that hasn’t happened yet.”

The other man nodded and looked away.

“Depending on the job, we might be able to work differently,” Cadel said after a brief, awkward silence. “But not this time. This is our first job together, and as I said, we’re hunting a Qirsi.” He regarded the lutenist for a moment. “Have you ever killed a white-hair?”

Dario faced him again, seeming to search for some sign that Cadel was mocking him. “No,” he admitted. “Have you?”

“Seven times.”

“All right,” Dario said, turning away again. “I guess this one’s yours.”

“They’re all mine,” Cadel said pointedly, “unless I decide differently.”

Silence.

“Tell me how you became a blade.”

Dario shrugged. “It just happened. I needed gold, and I couldn’t wait for my apprenticeship to end.”

“Why did you need the gold?”

He gave a small laugh, looking at Cadel again. “All right,” he said. “If you really want to know, I needed the gold to take care of my sister and brother. I grew up on the Plain of Stallions, south of Tounstrel. People who live in the Great Forest think they have trouble with road thieves, but that’s nothing compared with what we used to face. The thieves down there roam in large groups, usually on horses they’ve broken themselves. Mounted raiders we call them.”

He picked up his lute and plucked two of the strings. “One day they attacked our village. It was early, the sun wasn’t even up yet. They attacked us in our homes-in our beds, really-stealing what they could, killing those who fought back, and burning our houses and barns. My family didn’t have much-a bit of gold, a silver ring my father had given my mother, and my father’s lute. When the raiders tried to take the ring, my father fought them. He was killed, as was my mother. One of them tried to cut off my mother’s finger to get the ring, and another grabbed the lute. Before I knew it, I’d grabbed a meat knife and killed them both. They hadn’t even noticed me.”