looking for a route to pass the wagon. There were many tales about the Ramblers, some of them quite unsavory.
As they crisscrossed the lands of Issandria, traveling over territorial borders as if they did not exist, the Ramblers paid for their bread in whatever way they could. They presented themselves as tinkers and entertainers, passing from village to village, building and fixing, singing and dancing. But some said they also left each town carrying more than they had paid for. Many was the villager who noticed a missing axe or strayed sheep after the Ramblers had departed. And more than a few villagers had danced late into the night in a Rambler camp only to find themselves pennyless and alone the next morning. Following after them never led to any recovery, neither of coin nor of dignity. The Ramblers could melt into the countryside faster than seemed natural.
In fact, from what Cassian had heard, it was uncommon to come across a Rambler on the road. Folktales said they had their own roads that ordinary folk knew nothing about. The wilder legends said Ramblers didn't travel any roads all, but appeared mysteriously just around the bend outside of town.
Well, he now knew that much wasn't true. He had a very large obstacle in his way as proof to the contrary. He still could find no way around the wagon that didn't involve dismounting so that he could pass under the low branches that lined the path. His suspicion began to grow that this location was selected as a spot to park the wagon and create just such a problem.
`"Cassian!" He turned towards Sera's call, and saw that she was slightly ahead of him, on a parallel path a couple dozen yards away through the woods. She was on her horse, looking back towards him. Her worried expression only made him more anxious.
He turned his horse to find his way through the dense trees to her, reaching up to move the closest obstructing branch out of his way. From the corner of his eye, he saw the door of the vardo open. He stopped and turned to face the door.
An old man emerged from the wagon. Tall and gaunt, the man walked down the stairs from the door, using a thick wooden staff to balance himself as he descended. His thin gray hair clustered in sparse clumps around his head, but Cassian somehow felt this man was not as frail or as old as he seemed. Something in the way he moved. A small bird flew from the roof and alighted on the old man's arm.
Sera was watching intently through the woods, her hands moving subtly in a slow pattern.
"Hullo!" the man said, meeting Cassian's eyes for the first time. The older man's eyes sparkled with life, reinforcing a sense of vigor that contrasted strongly with his appearance.
"Hello. A fine morning to be out in the forest, is it not?" Cassian was a bit nonplussed by the situation and fell back on a shopkeeper's patter while he sorted it out.
The man laughed. "Every morning is a fine morning for the forest. I have spent many more mornings in the alum albinari than anywhere else. And what brings you out to enjoy the sun and the winds with the wrens and the robins?"
"My path takes me afield today, sir, and requires me to cross many leagues ere the sun sets." The old man had used classical Correndal to describe the idea of forests of the world being one vast and changing sea, and then quoted the poet Lysipus. Cassian felt he knew how to talk with him then, and slipped into a more learned pattern of speech himself.
"Ah, a fellow scholar. I had thought you had the look about you."
Cassian was deciding what to make of that when the old man continued. "My name is John. Johannes in full truth, but here in Correndrum..." The man trailed off, seemingly lost in thought. "I am John," he stated more firmly, "and this morning I am on a hunt."
"A hunt, sir? Are you trapping? Headed round to check your lines this morning?" Cassian thought the man an unlikely trapper, but even more unlikely to be chasing game through the woods with a bow. John may have a surprising amount of vitality for his age, but there were limits.
Cassian saw that Sera had found a way through the trees back to his path, but that it would put her in front of the vardo while he remained behind it with John.
"I hunt no ordinary game, young man, no more than you do yourself."
Cassian looked back at the man.
John continued, "Both you and your harvester friend are afield looking for rare herbs, are you not? Are you looking for something in particular? Perhaps I can help. I have been traversing this area for the past several days, and I have been far off the well-worn trail."
Cassian kept his face blank. Clearly John was a clever man, working out what they were doing so easily and so quickly. He hadn't even seen John look at Sera, but the man had absorbed her style of dress and her gear. Cassian's profession was obvious to anyone who had spent time in the better quarters of a large city. Cassian realized he should make no assumptions about the Rambler. He could have lived a series of any sorts of lives. Ramblers could play at a variety of roles, and there had even been a few who served as a sort of temporary apprentice to alchemists in the past. When you had all the time in the world, you could use it as you chose.
However, Cassian could see no reason not to answer John truthfully. He could not think of any way it would give the old man any advantage, if indeed advantage he sought.
"Mero's breath. We need a stock for my master's research, and time is running short for this season."
John raised his eyebrows. "Your master must need it sorely to send his apprentice out looking for it. I wonder what he could be up to." The Rambler's eyes twinkled. "Whatever the reason, there's no mero's breath here, as I'm sure you must know. Far too many other plants here for a hermit vine such as that."
Sera had finally found her way to them, and John turned to greet her.
"My lady, it is an honor to meet you," he said, seeming to mean it sincerely. "With guide such as you, I'm sure this handsome young man will find everything he seeks." Now it was Sera's turn to blush. "I am John the Rambler, at your service." The small sparrow flitted from his arm to her shoulder, startling her, but she kept looking at John.
Sera said, "I am pleased to meet you as well, sir. You are quite kind to offer to assist us, though what we seek is many miles down the path. We must be on our way soon if we want to reach our destination."
Cassian shifted in his saddle. Now that Sera was holding John's attention, he let his eyes take in the wider scene. There were a number of birds flying to and from the roof of the vardo. When he looked, he noticed they carried small twigs and pieces of bark, and though he couldn't be sure, he thought each bird might be leaving with a different piece than the one it arrived with. What was going on there?
Sera continued. "What is it you seek, John the Rambler? Perhaps we have seen it this morning."
The birds were definitely exchanging their tiny cargos. Cassian was fascinated by their comings and goings.
"I seek the rarest of birds. A type which has not been seen in over a century, and perhaps has never been seen in this land. Though all the signs point to it coming now to these forests."
"That seems as if it is a hunt much more ambitious than our own. What sort of bird is this rare gem?"
John laughed. "Some say its eggs are truly gems, though my reading of the ancient stories leads me to believe the old chronicles are as much poetry as reality."
Cassian looked at John. "You seek a legend? Surely you don't believe the stories about the phoenix?" Cassian reconsidered John. Perhaps he had been giving him too much worth if the man gave credence to those old tales. "It's a fine symbol for kings and their dynasties, but it cannot exist. Not in this world."
"Even the oddest legends are true, young man, if you know how to look at them." John looked at the birds on his roof. "The scholar must spend time learning to become the hunter, learning how to see."
Cassian realized the birds were bringing twigs and bark not to each other, but to John. The Rambler was looking for the bark of a urosh tree, which the phoenix was said to prefer in building its nest. Cassian then thought to wonder how the Rambler could be getting the birds to aid in his hunt. He doub
led back on himself again, raising his estimation of the old man. If he was an orinthomancer, he had indeed been studying ancient arts. But the phoenix?
Sera had been following the same chain of thoughts. She had a deep respect for those able to work magic with animals, and John clearly had a talent for it.
"Have your birds returned with what you're looking for?" she asked. "You have them working hard."
John smiled. "They work for themselves. They come here to exchange the news of the forest. They merely allow me to eavesdrop." A wren sang from the vardo roof and then darted into the trees. "They have not yet found the tree of charred iron. The urosh, as it is called in this tongue."
"The word is far older than this tongue," Cassian said. "As is the legend of the phoenix itself. And in all that time not one reputable report of the firebird or even a hint of it."
At this John reached into his vest and extracted a long black feather on a leather strap. He presented it to Sera. "Take this. It will assist you in your studies, and it may keep you safe when you least expect."
Sera's expression changed when she took the dark feather in her hand. She seemed startled by it. The feather was quite black, blacker than even the darkest raven. It reflected no light, and in fact it almost seemed it was an emptiness more than a feather.
Cassian began to ask what sort of bird wore such