A smuggler maybe? Altaïr had no need of a smuggler. (Yet.) Rather than bending under his gaze, he remained exactly as he was, half-turned to him with a guarded expression on his face. His robes were designed to mimic a scholar's from far away, but the tall man with square shoulders could conceivably be built for something other than books. His hands were calloused, and he was missing a finger.

"Better maps would be a start," he said, frowning at the snow. "I have many questions as well, but I fear they do not have easy answers, and each person may only tell me their incomplete version of the truth." He thought of that story about the blind men and the elephant, each touching reporting a different description of the creature.