"Everyone says so. They praise you whenever your name is mentioned.” He tilted his head to one side, watching her. “I was drinking with Vole Under the Snow a few nights ago. He told me that it has not always been this way for you."

Her hands tightened on her reins. “No,” she said in a clipped tone. What did he want from her? “Leaf Dancing is my granduncle. On my Naming Day, when I was five, he told my mother that she was a fool for ignoring me. He took me into his household, gave me my name, and began to train me to be the Champion."

"What did you mother say?"

"She told him not to get too attached to me, as I would surely be killed the first time I faced a real Champion."

Balthazar nodded. “But you have shown that she was wrong and that Leaf Dancing was right. You have made her regret her words."

"I suppose.” Arrow looked away, wondering why bitterness remained in her heart if she had in fact gained all that she had ever wanted.

"I understand,” Balthazar said. “You and I have more in common than you might guess. My people, the Athraskani, equate magical power with personal worth. Great magicians are held in high regard, no matter how vile they are, while those with little power are ignored, treated worse than servants, no matter their other accomplishments."

"But you have great power."

"Now.” His hand lightly stroked the red jewel at his throat. “But that has not always been the case. My magic never advanced beyond the simple abilities of a child. I tried to please them in other ways, ways that would mean little to you. I studied obscure languages and deciphered old hieroglyphs. I excelled at those things requiring thought rather than magic. But it didn't matter. I was still mocked and scorned. Without worth."

Arrow nodded. “I understand."

He smiled at her, but it was a sad smile. “I know that you do, Arrow. And like you, I have finally reached a time and a place where I can show my people that I have worth. They will have to pay attention to me, to mark my actions and listen to my words."

Arrow didn't see how he could accomplish such a thing here on the steppe, so far from the Empire and his people. But Balthazar obviously believed that he could. “Then I wish you luck,” she said fervently. Balthazar nodded and clapped her on the shoulder. “We are alike, you and I. I will help you in any way that I can."

Her heart lightened suddenly. She was no longer alone, apart. Now there was someone else who understood. Someone who would be her true friend. Surely loneliness was why she had remained so bitter despite all her victories. “And I will help you,” she said solemnly, gripping his wrist with her hand. “From this day on, you will be as my brother."

Chapter Six—Pride

Viabold closed his door with an air of regret, as if he did not expect to see it again. He wore a shabby blue robe that appeared to have been washed several thousand times. Beside Thraxis’ resplendent black traveling robe, it made him look like a wandering huckster rather than a true man of power.

"I've spelled the house against mice and weather,” he said. “The wards will start to wear thin just in time for winter, I expect. A shame you couldn't help me, my boy—I suppose that a spell you set stays set forever."

Thraxis tugged his hood forward and stared at Stalker's cropped mane. “If I could help you, I wouldn't be taking you from your home in the first place."

"True, true,” Viabold replied, as if they were commenting on the weather. But Arrow saw the close eye he kept on the other Athraskani.

The day went quietly. The older Athraskani had a mule that pulled him in a tiny cart, which he had in the past used to visit the nearby settlements. Stalker and Nightwing looked at the animal askance, for the Skald kept no such creatures, but eventually resigned themselves to it as just one more oddity of their journey. That night, they camped in a pleasant field near a stream. Viabold offered to take a turn at watch, and Arrow agreed. He also showed no reticence in pitching in to help make the camp, perhaps because he had done things for himself for so long.

The next morning, Thraxis composed himself for his first meditation of the day at the base of a tree near the stream. Viabold studied him for a moment, and then walked over so that he stood between Thraxis and the rising sun. Thraxis frowned at the sudden shadow and looked up. “What?"

"Are you going to just sit there?"

Thraxis’ brows climbed towards a non-existent hairline. “No. I'm going to flap my arms and fly to the top of the tree."

"Hmph.” Viabold folded his arms across his chest. “I've always found that a kai'ten is a good way to start the morning. Gets the blood moving."

Thraxis scowled. “I get my blood to move just fine using my heart alone, thank you." Arrow looked up from where she was apologizing to the Fire Goddess prior to smothering the campfire.

“What is a kai'ten?” she asked curiously. Thraxis had not taught her this word. Viabold smiled at her, apparently pleased to have an interested student. “It is the coupling of meditation and movement,” he said. “We Athraskani believe that the mind and body are closely linked. Movements of the body in a set pattern can focus and free the mind. There are many different kinds of kai'ten, some very complex and demanding. I've always found them to be more satisfactory than thinking alone."

"You would,” Thraxis muttered. “I don't. Novices are forced to practice them in the morning as a group, and I don't recall the experience as a pleasant one. Fortunately, the Black Council realized that my valuable time was being wasted by such silly exercises and excused me from them." Although his tone was arrogant, Arrow remembered the vision she'd had at Viabold's house. It seemed likely that part of Thraxis’ aversion to the kai'ten stemmed from the fact that he was not the most graceful and coordinated person in the world. She knew all too well the cruel taunts that children could inflict on one another.

Viabold turned to Arrow and winked. “I should leave Thraxis alone, then. I'm sure he doesn't remember any of the kai'ten after so much time."

"I do so,” Thraxis snapped, rising to the bait so quickly that Arrow had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. If knowledge equaled status, then Viabold had just handed him a profound insult. “It's a waste of time, but I can see already that you're going to plague me until I perform one with you." Arrow settled back onto her heels to watch. The two men took up position beside one another in a clear space near the stream. A stiff breeze cut across the meadow, flapping Thraxis’ robes around his bony frame and twisting Viabold's long tail of hair into knots. “Which shall we do?” Viabold asked.

“Something easy, for my old bones, if you please."

Thraxis scowled at him briefly, probably suspecting that Viabold's bones had nothing to do with it. “The Graceful Swan Comes to Earth."

"Good choice."

They started into a series of slow, ritualized movements that flowed from one to the other with the grace of a dance. Or, at least, Viabold's did. Thraxis, long out of practice, moved with stiff awkwardness. Viabold said nothing, however—in fact, he had his eyes closed, as if concentrating on inner peace. Arrow watched, fascinated. These movements would be good for limbering the muscles, she saw immediately, and could be valuable to a warrior's training. She wondered if outsiders were permitted to learn the kai'ten. But no—it would be too easy to reveal her unnatural transformation through such movements.

"This might help the pain in your joints,” Viabold remarked to Thraxis, not bothering to open his eyes. Thraxis’ face was flushed with effort. “Perhaps,” he said, as if he seriously doubted that it would do anything but kill him faster.

"If nothing else, it keeps a man flexible. The ladies like that, as I'm sure you know." Thraxis’ face got even redder, but he made no reply. Viabold opened one eye and gave him an assessing look. “Oh, come on. A powerful black robe such as you must have had women fighting over him. You've surely had at least a dalliance or two."

"Don't tell me what I have to have done."

Now Viabold was starting to look truly surprised. “There aren't any strictures against love-making in the Rule or the Vows."

"There are a lot of things that aren't expressly forbidden in the Rule and Vows. That doesn't mean that they should therefore be done."

Viabold laughed. “You sound like a Kahvenite!"

Thraxis dropped out of the kai'ten. His hands curled into fists, and he glared at Viabold as if wishing he had something to hurl at him. “Why does everyone suppose that, just because I wear the black, I must be like some kind of—of stallion, ready to mount anything that walks by?” Flinging up his arms in anger, he stalked away. As he passed by Arrow, his smoke-scented robes almost brushing her face, she saw that his hands were shaking.

An uneasy silence descended over the little camp. Thraxis stormed off until he was far out of earshot, then stood with his back to them, facing the mountains. Viabold sighed and came to stand by Arrow. “I think I may have pushed too far,” he said ruefully. “It's something I do well." She looked at Thraxis’ far-off figure with concern. “I don't think he likes being teased,” she said after a while. “If you've always been teased in a mean-spirited way, it's hard to understand when it's offered in a good-spirited way."

"You're very perceptive."

Her mouth twitched. “No. I just know what he's going through."

"A woman Champion would, I suppose.” Viabold sighed. “I should go apologize, or else he's likely to sulk all day."

She put a hand to his arm, restraining him. “What's a Kahvenite?" Viabold shook his head. “It's a silly philosophy put forth a couple centuries ago by an Athraskani named Kahven. The only people who follow it are love-struck, fourteen-year-old girls. I can't imagine why Thraxis took such offense over it."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Kahven believed that, as we discover the divine within ourselves through meditation, we can discover the divine within others through the act of love. He felt that sex was a sacred thing and should be undertaken only with someone with whom you have an emotional connection. Moreover, he wrote that everyone has an amria— amrian would be the masculine term. An amria is a sort of—of soul mate, I suppose you might say, a one true love above all others. If you met your amria and she approved of you, then everything was fine and you continued towards enlightenment. But if you were so awful that your amria couldn't love you, well, it definitely set you back in terms of your next life.” Viabold shrugged. “Silly, like I said. Sophisticated people recognize it as a bunch of melodramatic tripe." Seeing that he had satisfied her curiosity, he headed off towards Thraxis. Arrow stood still, watching the two men wave their arms at one another; Thraxis, apparently, was not in a mood to either talk or listen. Heaviness weighed down her heart suddenly, and she bowed her head, letting a tangle of red hair fall into her eyes.

And if I had an amrian , could he love me after what I have done? she wondered bleakly. For a moment she let herself think about that last night before she had set out on her journey, about the taste of Bird Bones’ mouth and the feel of his skin. The only thing she had felt that night had been despair, not love. As for what he had thought or felt, she could no longer say.

Stalker raised his head, his mouth full of grass. With a wistful smile, she ran her hand along his neck. His mane had grown out and would have to be cropped soon, so that it would not block her sight or tangle her bow if she had to shoot from horseback. “You love me, though, don't you, cousin?” she asked. He investigated her palm for a moment, leaving it slick with drool and chewed grass. “Not as messy as a human male, at least."

The two Athraskani came back. Thraxis looked calm enough, but she recognized the glint of pain in the volatile depths of his eyes. A fragment of vision flashed before her again: Thraxis standing over a book, body quivering, quietly terrified that he had put his faith in a lie. Because worldly, sophisticated citizens of the Empire did not believe in such things. Only a desperate young man, whose chiefs told him to put his seed in a woman he hated so that they could have another powerful tool, bred the way the Skald bred cattle.

I'm sorry, she wanted to say, illogically. But then she would have to explain her vision, and all the careful lies that she had built between them would unravel. And Thraxis most certainly would hate her for that.

* * * *

That night, once the men had finished their evening meditation, Arrow came and sat down by Thraxis. Viabold was off washing the cauldron and bowls in a nearby stream, so they were alone for the nonce.

"Can I ask—what is it that you meditate upon?” she asked hesitantly. “Viabold said that it was a way of finding the divine within yourself. You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to,” she added hastily. The question surprised him—he hadn't expected her to be interested in such a thing. It pleased him unexpectedly, and he gave her an encouraging smile. “It isn't any great secret. For the most part, we use meditation to center ourselves, to discover spiritual balance. I find that I often take the opportunity to reflect on the day and examine any lessons that it has brought me.” His smile faded a little. “We are taught as novices that, as we seek spiritual balance, we should also seek to separate ourselves from the cares of the world. We Athraskani are apart—we have no connection to the outside world. So we are supposed to seek emotional distance between ourselves and all things of the world."

"You don't sound like you've found it easy to do that."

"I'm on this journey, aren't I? Taking an interest in something that is occurring beyond the Sanctum's walls?"

"Ah.” She idly traced circles in the dirt with the end of a stick while considering his words. “I am not some great philosopher,” she said finally. “But I did a lot of thinking on my way south, and I realized that no one can ever be that detached. Because if you see an evil act, and you do nothing to stop it, then you've acted for evil as well."

Thraxis was quiet for a time. The sentiment was simple, but he felt that there was profundity behind it.

“Your words make sense,” he said finally. “I will have to meditate on them." She blushed and ducked her head, which made him grin. She was pretty, he thought in surprise. It had been a long time since he had given much thought to a woman's appearance, but Arrow appealed to him. Her face didn't contain a classical beauty, true, but he liked it. And, though she might be tall and have the lean musculature of a fighter, the curves of her breasts and hips would certainly catch the attention of any man.

Perhaps it's just as well that I can't respond to her in that way, he thought wryly. That complication is the last thing any of us need right now.

"It was just a thought,” Arrow said, as if she hadn't expected him to take her seriously.

"A good thought. I've been doing some thinking myself, lately, to be honest. As we travel, I've been looking at the forests and the grass and the animals, and I wonder if we Athraskani haven't got it backwards. If we aren't, in fact, deeply connected to everything else." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, wondering if she would mock him for his sentiments. But she only nodded, and he wondered if her people, tied to the land and its animals so deeply, already had such a concept. The firelight brushed over her skin-tight leathers and discovered hidden sparks in her coppery mane of hair. Her small movements with the stick recalled the competent grace with which she walked, rode, and fought. She really was very nice to look at. At that moment, Viabold emerged from the forest, leaves in his hair and the clean pots in his hands. He said something witty that Thraxis didn't quite catch, but which made Arrow laugh. Obscurely annoyed with the other man, he wrapped himself in his bedroll and left them to one another's company.

* * * *

Thraxis rubbed at his wrists, seeking to soothe the shooting pains that had flared up in his joints as the day wore on. He had drunk the last of his tea two days before, and ever since then an unremitting ache had been building in his body. Exacerbated, no doubt, by Viabold's ridiculous kai'ten. A scowl crossed his face at the thought of the older Athraskani. It was not so much the man's incessant teasing that bothered him, although he would have certainly preferred to do without that. Viabold's easy good nature and quick humor made him feel awkward and dull in comparison. But the truth was that he chiefly resented Viabold's presence in their camp.

After weeks spent traveling alone with Arrow, Viabold felt like an intruder. Thraxis hadn't realized how much he enjoyed the quiet evenings with her, seated about their campfire, talking about the landscape, or the phases of the moon, or how to tell if a horse had hooves too fragile for riding. Her presence had become a constant in his otherwise overturned life.

But now it was Viabold talking to her, he thought irritably. Viabold making her smile with his cleverness, Viabold helping her carry the dishes to the nearest stream, Viabold making a damned nuisance of himself. Indeed, when Thraxis had volunteered to look for edible mushrooms to supplement dinner just now, they had both simply nodded and gone back to talking about the barbarian tribe Viabold had lived among for so many years. Obviously, Thraxis’ presence wasn't going to be missed, unless his absence caused a delay in dinner.

Not that he would know an edible mushroom from a deadly one if it jumped at him, Thraxis thought grumpily as he picked his way through the underbrush of the light forest in which they had camped. Viabold claimed that the forest was a young one because of the types of trees that grew in it, but it seemed old and thick enough to him. Certainly there were enough holes under the leaves that had once contained stumps, enough trailing vines, and enough fallen trunks.

Thraxis sighed and tried to take his thoughts off Viabold. He had struck out from camp looking not for mushrooms but for the herbs to make his tea. He was no herbalist, but he had seen Xertrevar grind the original plants and felt certain that he could recognize the wild versions easily enough. Still, it might have been useful to pay a bit more attention to herb lore when I had the chance, he thought ruefully. But why bother to know which plant brings down a fever and which is good for setting bones when your magic can do the same thing with little effort?

As his eyes scanned the vegetation, they lighted on a slender, delicate plant. Yes, he recognized the frilly leaves, and he was certain that he had seen those tiny white flowers before. Smiling with relief, he reached down and carefully uprooted the plant. Perhaps he should have told Arrow and Viabold about his search after all, just to show them that he wasn't the helpless fool they seemed to think him.

* * * *

"I didn't see any mushrooms that I recognized as edible,” Thraxis said—not quite untruthfully—in response to his companion's questioning looks when he returned to camp. He had prepared a small packet of herbs while still in the forest, and now he sat and poured boiling water over them. Arrow smiled at him. “Thanks for looking anyway,” she said kindly. She had set aside the elaborate, appliquéd jacket that she wore on cold nights, leaving her arms bare. The tattooed stag on her shoulder writhed in the firelight when she moved.

"Of course,” he said, regretting the lie he had told earlier. Openness with other people had never been an option before, not in the Sanctum where any confidence or admission of weakness could be turned into a weapon against him. Perhaps he should make more of an effort to change, in these last few months of his life.

He took a cautious sip of tea and almost spat it back out. The stuff was more foul than usual, probably because of the freshness of the herbs. Holding his breath, he drank down the rest of the cup and hoped that it would be more efficacious as well.

"Now, the Imperial soldiers had raped two of Queen Bryanna's daughters,” Viabold said, obviously in continuation of an earlier conversation. Thraxis turned his thoughts away from the story, already familiar with its tragic end, although Arrow listened with grave attention. He wondered if it bothered her to hear of such atrocities, given that Balthazar and the renegade chieftain he was allied with had undoubtedly committed similar acts against her own people.

At least Arrow is a warrior and capable of defending herself, he thought. Then an odd shiver of fear ran along his nerves. Nothing so awful could happen to someone like Arrow—could it? He looked at her worriedly, as if expecting to see some sign written on her face, but her features were impassive, the blue band obscuring any emotion in her dark eyes.

Suddenly anxious, he took a long drink from his water flask. Gods, but he was thirsty—Viabold must have over-salted the stew. The fire was too warm as well, the flames too bright. Heat crept along his skin and his heart pounded, as if he had just finished a long run. Lifting the flask to his lips again, he found that it was empty.

Viabold's voice drifted disembodied from the other side of the blinding sheet of flame. “So you see, Queen Bryanna was able to triumph over a greater army, at least for a time. But in the end, her own people betrayed her, and she was captured and tortured to death. What—." The words became meaningless, lost. Thraxis closed his eyes, wishing that the fire wasn't so bright, that his mouth wasn't so dry. Arrow's husky voice floated up from all around, smoke and strong drink turned into sound. “—sacrifice men to the Lady of Beasts. Male children are killed and girls turned into slaves. Their camps smell like blood and ring with the screams of raped women—." There were horsemen coming across the plain, he could see them clearly, the hooves of their steeds churning up dust amidst the dying grass. Fire raged out of control, sweeping over the parched land and darkening the sky with smoke. Rags of human hair hung from the bridles of the horses, and blood covered the bronze swords that slashed through the drift of dust. Arrow was in danger, he realized with a sudden, pure terror that made his heart trip even faster. They were going to kill her slowly, listening to her screams.

He lurched to his feet, lifting his hands to shape a protective ward for her. But the spell eluded him, lost in the chaos of fire and blood.

Then he was lying on his back, the flames in his eyes. Dark shapes bent over him. It was the riders, come to kill him. He had failed.

One of the riders turned into Viabold, who said: “Pupils are dilated." Arrow leaned over him, fear in her dark eyes. She was dead, her skin tinged blue. Flies crawled over her face. Thraxis tried to brush them away, but she caught his hand in her own, holding it still. “What's wrong?” she asked, and he wondered how she could still worry about him when his inability to cast a spell had led to her death.

"Thirsty,” he managed, tongue like dust. Viabold swore softly, then turned into a wisp of smoke and blew away. Thraxis closed his eyes for what seemed like only an instant. When he opened them again, the other Athraskani had returned to human form.

"What did you put in the tea?” he was asking insistently, as if he had been asking for some time.

"The same things Xertrevar used,” Thraxis replied, feeling vaguely annoyed. His irritation grew when Viabold disappeared again, and then came back. “Stop that."

Viabold had changed his position, although Arrow remained in place, still holding his hand tightly. “Did one of the plants have white flowers with a purple center?” Viabold demanded.

"Yes."

"You've poisoned yourself, you fool!” Viabold shouted, and then went on in the same vein for some time. Thraxis closed his eyes and went away himself for a while, since his companion was going to be so rude about everything. When he came back, it was to discover Arrow propping him up and Viabold trying to pour some unknown concoction down his throat. He sputtered and tried to pull away, but Arrow's grip seemed preternaturally strong, and it was either swallow or drown. The stuff was incredibly vile, tasting like vinegar with something equally unpleasant mixed in. His stomach turned, and he vomited helplessly. After that, everything flew apart into fragments of consciousness flung onto a dark void. Most of the lucid parts consisted of retching until his stomach muscles hurt, Arrow's arms about him for support. So he was just as glad when oblivion at last wiped out all recollection.

* * * *

War came in earnest as soon as the snows melted enough for travel. Fear of the Red Feather clan had spread across the steppe, and those clans that had lost lives to them turned to their neighbors for help, warning that they might be next. So it was that, by spring, a number of clans had forged an alliance with the intention of breaking the power of the Red Feathers. But just as some clans saw the Red Feathers as a threat, others beheld them as a promise. Throughout the winter, messengers had come to Blood on the Wind, sent by chiefs eager to make an alliance of their own. Arrow and a few other warriors always attended these meetings, and she saw the pleasure in Blood's eyes when the messengers offered gifts of gold and cattle, paying tribute to him as if he were a king. She wondered what would happen when the true king began to see the Red Feathers as a threat to his reign.

One morning in early spring, the warriors of the Red Feathers and their allies rode out. Behind them, women and children moved the herds, temporarily scattering across the pastures so that the army coming for them would find itself without a target. Some of the other chiefs seethed at the idea of running from an enemy, but Blood only smiled and told them that the reward would be great enough to assuage any slighted honor.

They rode fast, keeping out of sight of the other army. When the two forces passed one another without their enemies the wiser, Arrow realized what Blood had in mind, and her heart turned to ice. Their women and children had fled to safety—but those of their enemies had not. They thundered down on a large encampment of the Falcon clan within six days of setting out. Old men rushed towards them with corroded swords, and women shot arrows from behind yurts, but the slender defense was not enough.

Arrow tried not to look as she rode through the camp, tried not to see the victims whose blood reddened her sword. They are enemies, she told herself desperately. I'm doing this for my clan. But her stomach turned until she was sick.

Again and again they attacked helpless encampments, trying to account for as many different clans as they could. Women, children, and old people were either slaughtered or, if it seemed feasible, made into slaves. At night the camps were filled with sobs and screams, and Arrow had to stop her ears in order to sleep. Not that it helped: the screams followed her into her dreams, accompanied by the scalped bodies of the dead, the tear-streaked faces of ravished children.

Somehow, she had never thought it would come to this. Never realized, in all those years of training, that her success as a Champion might carry such a cost.

Is this really what the Lady of Beasts wanted when she made me Champion? she asked herself as she rode behind Blood through league after league of enemy pastures. At times she wondered whether or not she should try to dissuade her chief from his campaign. But if she did, she knew that the other warriors would forget all their praise of her, would deride her and call her a coward. She had spent her entire life hungry for her clan's acceptance and could not throw it away so easily. They finally met with the enemy army after almost twenty days of rampaging through their territories. Blood had accomplished his goal of both weakening and demoralizing his foes. But now their hearts were hot with the need for revenge, and Arrow was unsure whether the Red Feathers and their allies could successfully fight against a larger and angrier force.

She need not have worried.

Chapter Seven—Desire

"Will he be all right?” Arrow asked quietly.

A long, sleepless night had deepened the lines around Viabold's silver-flecked eyes. Concern had worn him as surely as a day of hard riding, and he looked on the verge of collapse. Still, he somehow summoned up a smile as he patted her hand. “He's past the worst of it now, I think. The purgative rid most of the poison from his system, and I wove a bit of magic that should help neutralize the rest. Still, he isn't in the best of health, and that will delay his recovery."

"Oh.” Arrow looked down at Thraxis. He lay in a restless sleep near the fire, his pale face haggard and drawn. His sudden illness had frightened her, and she was profoundly glad that Viabold had been with them. Her own experience with poison came from the traditional potion the Skald dipped their arrows in, and for which there was no antidote. If the adder venom didn't kill a warrior quickly, the rotted human blood and dung that finished the recipe would take them within the next week or two. Only the very lucky escaped with their lives.

"Young fool,” Viabold muttered with a scathing glance at the sleeping Thraxis. “Too proud and stubborn and scared to ask for help."

"So he just confused two plants?” she asked uncertainly.

"So it seems. Not something a trained herbalist would have done—not something I would have done—but easy enough if you have only a vague notion of what to look for." Arrow regarded Thraxis’ face gravely. His eyebrows and long lashes stood out starkly against the pallor of his skin. She suspected that later on she would feel the urge to knock his head in for such foolishness. Right now, she was too relieved. “A good thing he didn't bring any mushrooms back, then."

"Quite,” Viabold agreed dryly. “We need to keep him warm. The traveling robe keeps its wearer cool or warm depending on the surrounding air, but extra body heat wouldn't hurt him at this point. And I think we all need the sleep."

They curled against Thraxis, Arrow behind him and Viabold in front, and spread the robe over them all as best they could. Lying in silence, listening to Thraxis’ breathing and Viabold's snores, Arrow found herself unable to rest. Thraxis could be so damned frustrating sometimes, she thought. It was just like him to almost kill himself because he was frightened of appearing ignorant in front of his companions. How could anyone be so smart and so stupid at the same time?

She settled one arm around him for comfort and felt how thin he was, how close his bones were to the skin. It occurred to her that it took a great deal of bravery to come on a journey such as theirs when you were sick, and your body hurt all the time, and you knew that you were still going to die at the end no matter how things turned out. Balthazar would not have done it. She wasn't certain that she would have, either.

Balthazar had been her oath brother, and she thought that he had understood her better than anyone, even Leaf Dancing. But she had the feeling that Thraxis—problematical and prickly as he was—would probably be a truer friend in the long run, because he lacked Balthazar's deep selfishness. I don't always understand you, she thought, snuggling closer to his back, but I'm glad you're alive.

* * * *

Thraxis drifted up from the void into pleasant warmth. From a great distance, he was aware of a pain in his stomach, but it seemed small and unimportant. Sluggish thoughts stirred dimly, memories of confusion and fear interspersed with Viabold's curses. None of it seemed cause for concern at the moment. The faint sounds of someone moving nearby drew him farther up towards wakefulness. He was lying on his side, the warmth of a fire coming from somewhere near his feet. The weight of thick cloth lay over him, accompanied by the unfamiliar heaviness of a limp arm flung loosely about his waist. Awareness of another body against his nudged at his senses: the feel of breasts against his back, the roundness of thighs against his own. It was nice, he decided drowsily. Comfortable. Arrow's scent, of leather, smoke, horses, and a woman's musk, surrounded him. His body responded to hers, the feeling so natural that for a moment he didn't even realize what was happening.

He sat up with a sharp cry, flinging blankets everywhere. Viabold leaped to his feet, nearly dumping the flat bread he was making into the fire. Ignoring him, Thraxis twisted about to see Arrow sitting up, sleepily pushing the mass of her hair out of her face.

Oh my gods—

"Are you all right, lad?” Viabold asked anxiously.

"What?” Thraxis’ heart pounded in his chest. Arrow gave him a quizzical look, and he realized that he had been staring at her. “Yes—nothing—just a dream."

"Do you remember what happened?"

"Some."

Arrow stood up and stretched. “You poisoned yourself trying to concoct your tea,” she said accusingly.

“Viabold saved your life."

"Yes—I remember—why were you lying there like that?—with me?"

"Oh, for the gods’ sakes,” Viabold muttered. “We've been trying to keep you warm. Stop yammering like an idiot and tell me how you feel."

"Ill,” he said faintly, uncertain whether it was the lingering effects of the poison or this new shock. Viabold snorted. “That's better than you have a right to feel. I may only wear the blue, but I must say that healing spells were always my forté. Otherwise, you would be bedridden for days.” A frown furrowed his brow. “Not jumping about as though a hornet had just stung your backside. You aren't hallucinating again, are you?"

He shook his head, wishing that it were so simple. “No. Er, Viabold, I feel a little shaky. Do you think you could help me—?"

"Oh, yes, of course. Arrow, child, would you mind keeping an eye on these cakes?"

"Of course not.” As Thraxis hesitantly climbed to his feet, she reached out and put a hand lightly on his forearm. Startled, he looked down into grave brown eyes. “I'm glad that you're all right,” she said softly. He put his other hand over hers briefly, felt the strength in her fingers. “I, er, thank you."

"But,” she added, giving him a little shake, “if you ever do anything like that again—"

"Don't worry,” Viabold said, taking Thraxis’ arm for support. “I have no intention of letting him live this down."

Wonderful, Thraxis thought sourly as Viabold led him off into the woods. Then again, perhaps I deserve it.

Once they were out of view, Thraxis shook off Viabold's hand. “I have to talk to you. Do you think we're out of earshot?"

Viabold arched his brow in surprise. “Yes. Is something wrong?"

Thraxis sighed, moved as if to run his hand through his hair, then recalled that he had none. I can't believe I'm asking advice—and from Viabold of all people. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

"I have a problem,” he said, before he could change his mind. “A very big problem, actually." Now Viabold was starting to look worried. “Well, what is it?"

Thraxis took a deep breath, let it back out. “I—when I woke up just now, with Arrow there, I—desired her."

Viabold rolled his eyes. “Is that it? I would think the reaction natural enough."

"You don't understand. It shouldn't have been possible."

Uncertainty flickered in the other man's eyes. “Our barbarian may not be the prettiest thing I've ever laid eyes on, but I wouldn't call her repellent, either."

Thraxis made an angry gesture of impatience. “Don't be ridiculous. Arrow is lovely. It shouldn't be possible because I put a spell on myself to keep me from feeling physical desire. The spell would last until I—until I met my amria."

Viabold stared at him a moment—then burst out laughing.

Thraxis felt his face go scarlet. “It isn't funny, you drunken fool!"

"You are a Kahvenite! I knew it!"

"Shut up!"

"And you—I mean, what kind of man makes a eunuch out of himself? At least until he meets his ‘ amria

.'” Viabold clasped his hands together in an exaggerated motion and batted his eyelashes coquettishly. Rage tore through Thraxis, and he turned away, barely able to restrain himself from striking Viabold.

“Gods, why did I even think you might understand!” For a moment, memory touched him, pain and confusion and a terrible sort of fear. “Don't you see? It was the only way to make sure that the Council didn't get what they wanted from me."

Viabold sobered a little at that. “I suppose that explains why you didn't give in to Melilandra." Thraxis leaned against a tree, feeling tired and sick. The rough bark grated painfully against his skin, but he didn't care. “I loathe Melilandra. I like to think that would have been enough. But I was afraid it wouldn't be.” He closed his eyes. “The point is, the spell is broken. I don't know when it happened, exactly. The spell was designed to loosen itself slowly, and after nine years—"

"You set it when you were sixteen?” Viabold asked incredulously. “A sixteen-year-old boy, casting a spell to castrate himself? Thraxis, you are a very peculiar person." Thraxis raised his head and glared acid. “You're missing the point! It was only supposed to break when I met my amria!"

"Arrow?"

"It can't be! She's a—a barbarian!” He gestured vaguely in the direction of their camp. “Not only that, she's a trained killer! It's not possible. It would be a disaster!" Amusement flickered through Viabold's eyes. “So what do you want from me? Love advice?"

"Gods, no! No, I need your help to find exactly when the spell was broken. Its mark should still be on me."

"Ah.” Viabold's golden eyes narrowed with thought, and for a moment all humor was discarded in favor of the serious business of magic. “Could the curse have disrupted your spell?" Thraxis’ shoulders slumped. “I don't see how. Once the spell was set, it no longer required any of my magic to sustain it. Indeed, I couldn't have done anything to alter it even if I'd wanted to. The curse shouldn't have affected it any more than it would affect, say, the spells on the traveling robe just because I'm wearing it."

"Hmm. All right, then, let's see what we can see."

Viabold stepped closer and touched his fingertips lightly to Thraxis’ temples. Thraxis held himself still, his Athraskani perceptions feeling the flow and pulse of magic. Instinct prompted him to join his own power to it, but he held firm, unwilling to waste any of the time remaining to him when Viabold was perfectly capable of tracing the unraveling ends of the spell to wherever they led. At last, after what seemed like hours, Viabold dropped his hands and sighed. “You aren't going to like this. The spell started to unravel the exact moment you met Arrow. It's been coming apart ever since, a little at a time, until now it's faded altogether."

Thraxis moaned and sat down on the damp leaves. “No. That can't be." Viabold shrugged. “Personally, I don't believe in this Kahvenite nonsense. If you don't like her, don't worry about it."

"It isn't that I don't like her,” Thraxis protested. “Arrow is my friend, probably one of the first true friends I've ever had in my life. But—she's—."

"Not what you expected?” prompted Viabold. “I'm guessing you imagined it would be some cute little Athraskani witch, probably in a red or black robe. A female version of yourself. Instead, you have an illiterate barbarian. A human."

What had he said to Balthazar about his dead wife? "She was only human." Probably the gods were laughing at him even now.

Thraxis sighed and closed his eyes. “I just—it doesn't feel the way I thought it would. I don't love her."

"Not all love is a thunderbolt from the sky, my lad,” Viabold pointed out dryly. “In fact, most of it is quite the opposite. You might grow to love her with time."

"Time is one of the things I don't have in large amounts,” Thraxis said quietly. With a shake of his head, he rose to his feet and dusted off his robes. “I don't know. I have to think about it."

"Don't think about it too hard,” Viabold advised, slapping him on the shoulder. “Maybe you're going about it the wrong way. A tumble in the blankets might clear your confusion up considerably." Thraxis glared at him, which caused Viabold to burst out laughing again. Swearing angrily, he turned on his heel and marched away.

* * * *

The two armies faced one another in an eerie silence. Tall spears topped with golden animals proclaimed the identity of the gathered clans. Naming them to herself, Arrow realized that there had never before been such a gathering of the Skald. There had never been a battle such as she was about to take part in.

What have we done? she wondered. Lady of Beasts, what have we done?

It had never been the way of the Skald to meet in pitched battle, but rather to strike from ambush or to harry the flanks of an opponent. But Blood had played with his enemies, drawing them back into their own territories in a single mass bent on revenge. What his reasons for this were, Arrow did not know, and she feared to find out. Beneath her, Nightwing shifted restively, feeling her tension. She patted him quietly and wished that her chief would simply get things over with. Instead, Blood rode out into the clear space between the armies with Balthazar and Hunts Mice by his side. Drawing up, Blood eyed his enemies and smiled. “I give you one final chance,” he declared. “Acknowledge my dominance and pay tribute to me and my allies, and I will let you leave here alive. Refuse, and your scalped bodies will feed the eagles while your sons become our slaves and your women warm our beds."

Someone in the opposing army let out a scream of rage. An arrow arced into the sky, then fell, streaking towards Blood's head.

Balthazar lifted his hands, and the jewel about his neck flashed. The arrow burst into flames, then disintegrated entirely, so that not even a dusting of ash remained.

As if that was a signal, the two armies began shooting at one another. The arrows from Blood's army flew unimpeded into their enemies’ ranks, but all return volleys flamed and vanished before they had crossed half the distance. Individual warriors began to charge at one another, and the chaos of hand-to-hand fighting took over.

Then the magic began.

Even as Arrow rode among the warriors, fighting with sword and nagaica, she saw the racing shapes of beasts flickering through the ranks. The creatures looked insubstantial, more mist than animal, but they fell upon Blood's enemies and savaged them. Farther off, the ground opened beneath a clot of warriors from the Falcon tribe, swallowing them like a mouth and then sealing shut. Swarms of vicious insects burrowed under clothing, stinging and harassing. The battle became a rout, their enemies fleeing in terror. This is Balthazar's doing, she realized in awe. Turning in her saddle, she caught a glimpse of her oath brother standing quietly by Blood. There was a wild gleam in his eye, as if he defied the very gods to stand against him.

No. Not the gods. His people.

The battle soon ended. Warriors bent over the bodies of the fallen, taking scalps. Others, following a new fashion, also removed the skin from the hands of their enemies to make decorative covers for their goryti. Loot was brought to Blood so that he could divide it among his warriors, rewarding the valiant. As always, Arrow had first choice.

Once that was done, Blood gathered all the warriors together. He and Balthazar stood beside a crude pile of rocks. Nearby, all those taken prisoner were herded into a line, their eyes wide with fear.

"The Lady of Beasts has given us her blessing,” Blood said. “She has rewarded our courage and our honor. For that, we should not be ungrateful. Today, I will give her our thanks by offering sacrifice." He made a grand gesture with his hand, and the first prisoner was led forward. Hunts Mice and Tracks in the Snow shoved the prisoner to his knees, bending him over the pile of rocks. Blood solemnly poured a small trickle of wine onto the man's head. As he did so, Balthazar pressed the red jewel he wore to the man's forehead and whispered something in a tongue Arrow did not know. Then, the jewel still in place, Blood slit the prisoner's throat.

The same scene was enacted again and again, until all of the prisoners were dead. Then, with their booty and their slaves, Blood's army mounted up and set off for home. Arrow studied Balthazar, as she rode by him near the head of the column, and saw that the jewel at his throat had a soft glow to it. But when she asked him what it meant, he only smiled fondly and refused to answer.

Chapter Eight—Her Mother's Tea* * * *

Thraxis spent the next few days behaving strangely—which, given that Arrow found many of his attitudes and ways incomprehensible to begin with, was something of a stretch. The night of his recovery, he sat moodily by the fire, speaking to no one, with his hood drawn up too far for her to see anything but the tip of his long nose. At first, she thought that he was simply not feeling well after the poisoning. But the uncharacteristic silence remained after they set out again.

She also caught him staring at her frequently, although he quickly tried to hide it. He looked rather aghast in the beginning, although later his stares became more thoughtful. After a few days of such scrutiny, she began to wonder if a third eye were growing from her forehead and Thraxis was simply being polite about not mentioning it to her.

Whatever was bothering him seemed to cease preying so heavily on his mind after a time, however. He began to talk to her again and spent his days riding beside her while Viabold followed at a distance in the cart. She also found herself doing more things with him that had been split with Viabold before, such as cooking the evening meal or grooming the horses. Viabold didn't object to this sudden change in routine, so Arrow said nothing either. If it made her two peculiar companions happy, then who was she to object?

Two weeks after Thraxis’ accidental poisoning, they crossed over the border into Chok territory, and Arrow felt her spirits lighten. Although their lifestyle was very different, the Chok spoke the same language as her own people, and many of their customs were the same. No longer did she feel completely alien, adrift in a land incomprehensibly different from her own. Here, she had kin.

"My sister married a Chok man,” she told Thraxis, eagerly scanning her surroundings for familiar landmarks. “I stayed with them briefly, when I was on my way south to find you. She'll be delighted to put us all up for an evening."

Thraxis rode beside her on Stalker. Although he would never be a good horseman by Skald standards, he at least looked comfortable in the saddle now. The sun cut through the interlacing branches above them, striping his austere face and naked head with a mix of sun and shadow. “Is she much like you?” he asked politely.

"Kestrel? No, thank the Lady.” Arrow's mouth curved in a rueful smile. “She's sweet, charming, and beautiful. Everyone in the clan adored her when we were growing up, but she's too nice to feel jealousy towards. We weren't precisely close, living in different households, but we were always fond of one another."

It was near sundown by the time they reached the small homestead. Upon seeing it for the first time, Arrow had wondered how Kestrel must have felt when her husband brought her to a place so foreign to the yurts and carts of the Skald. The house was a sturdy, two-story structure with walls of timber filled in with wattle-and-daub. Corrals for goats and cattle sprawled out from it in all directions, interspersed by fields just sprouting with new shoots. A large barn provided shelter for the animals in cold weather, as well as a storage space for their feed.

Arrow spotted her sister's husband as he came out of the barn. He was a pleasant-faced man with auburn hair worn in the double braids of the Chok. “Ranulf!” she shouted, waving at him. With a cry of delight, he raced across the barnyard towards them, scattering chickens from his path.

"Arrow!” he exclaimed. She slid from Nightwing's back, and he caught her up in a tight embrace. “You're all right! You've come back!"

The door to the house opened, spilling out three young children who dashed fearlessly around the horses and mule. Kestrel followed them at a more sedate pace, one hand on the small of her back.

"I knew you'd return,” she said, giving Arrow an embrace made difficult by the huge mound of her belly. Arrow touched her sister's taut stomach, feeling suddenly wistful. “When will the baby come?"

"Any moment now, and the sooner the better,” Kestrel said wryly. Her blue eyes went past Arrow to the two Athraskani waiting awkwardly in the background. “You found what you sought, then?" Not exactly. But close enough. “This is Thraxis and Viabold." Thraxis dismounted gracelessly, took Kestrel's hand, and bowed over it. “A pleasure,” he said with a smile.

Kestrel smiled back and arched a brow. “What an interesting gesture."

"It is how we greet women in the Empire."

"You didn't greet me that way,” Arrow pointed out.

Thraxis looked vaguely chagrined. “Yes, well, circumstances were different then." Viabold clambered down from his cart to add his greeting to Thraxis'. As the men and children set about corralling the horses and mule, Kestrel caught Arrow's elbow and lightly steered her back to the house.

“You're just in time to help me make dinner."

"You can't have forgotten what my cooking tastes like."

Kestrel sniffed. “I would blame it on the lack of a strong feminine presence in your life, except that Vole and Leaf could both boil a leather strap and have it come out tasting like the finest venison." The memory of the men who had raised her was still painful, but enough time had passed that Arrow was able to smile a little. “Then blame it on lack of motivation. Why should I learn when either of them could do better in my place?"

"Well, you can at least chop."

"I need the sword practice."

"With a knife, silly. I don't want you to kill supper, just help prepare it." They went into the warm house together. Most of the ground floor was a single room that reached up to the rafters. A long table dominated the room, flanked on either side by benches. Straw littered the hard-packed earth of the floor. Two dogs rested near the large fire pit, idly watching threads of smoke wend their way out the hole in the thatch roof.

The back of the house was divided into two small rooms, a kitchen on the ground floor and a sleeping loft above. The Chok considered the sight of food preparation obscene, so only a narrow door hung with a curtain connected the kitchen to the main room. From within the kitchen, Arrow heard Ranulf, the children, and the Athraskani enter the building and take their seats at the table. Having warned Kestrel about her companion's dietary restrictions, Arrow found herself set to work chopping carrots, parsnips, and other winter vegetables. Kestrel took them from her and put them into a stew, simmering it slowly over the fire.

"So,” Kestrel said casually as they worked, “you look better than you did the last time I saw you. I take it the south agreed with you?"

Arrow kept her gaze fixed on the onion she was slicing. Despair had still eaten at her heart when she had come to Kestrel last, and she had spent the night of her brief visit in her sister's arms, struggling not to cry. Everything had been confessed that night—her success as a Champion, the things she had done under Blood's orders, the alterations she had allowed Balthazar to make to her body, the night in Bird Bones’ arms—everything. Kestrel had simply listened, held her, and accepted it all.

"I am better,” she said at last. “Time makes even the worst pain feel distant, I suppose."

"Not always."

"No. But the change in my surroundings helped—the Empire is so strange, so unlike the steppe. I've had the journey to focus on, to take my mind off things."

"What about the two Athraskani? They seemed nice. The skinny one has a pretty face."

"Thraxis?” Arrow asked, surprised.

"Have you noticed his eyelashes? It's a crime for them to be wasted on a man. Give him some hair and a little more meat on his bones and he'd be quite charming."

Arrow smothered a laugh. “'Charming’ isn't really an adjective I would use to describe Thraxis."

"What would you use?"

"Arrogant, stubborn, irritating—."

Kestrel grinned at her. “It sounds as though you like him."

Arrow shrugged. “I do. He's been a good friend to me."

"Hmm."

Arrow wrapped a cloth around her hand to pull the stew off the fire. “And what does that mean?"

"Nothing.” Kestrel smiled sweetly. “Nothing at all."

* * * *

Ranulf poured the two Athraskani large tankards of a drink he called “mead.” Although Viabold set into his with relish, Thraxis eyed the drink askance. He wasn't entirely certain that such a large portion could really be considered the “single glass” required by the Rule. Taking a cautious sip, he almost choked on the smooth liquor. Certainly this mead was far stronger than any wine he'd ever tasted. Kestrel and Arrow emerged from the kitchen in the back, Arrow carrying a large stewpot for her sister. They did not look much alike, Thraxis mused, taking another sip of his drink and finding it more palatable. They had the same upturned nose, and there was some resemblance in the mouth and forehead, but beyond that they could have been unrelated. Kestrel's hair was flaxen in contrast to Arrow's fiery red, her eyes blue rather than dark. She was much shorter than her tall, lanky sister, and her body might have been more voluptuous, although the advanced pregnancy made it difficult to tell. Her face was certainly more feminine, more delicate. And yet, despite the physical differences, he sensed the same strength in them both.

"I hope the stew is to your liking,” Kestrel said as the children laid out bowls and wooden spoons for everyone. “Arrow mentioned your beliefs to me, so you should have no problem eating it."

"You're very kind,” Viabold said graciously.

"Hospitality is important among us.” Kestrel sighed and patted her swollen belly ruefully. “I'm afraid that I can't show you proper hospitality with the baby so far along. But you should stop in and visit us again on your way back south once all of this is over."

Her last statement sent a cold shock of realization through Thraxis. I won't be coming back, he thought with a mixture of grief and horror. Viabold will be, perhaps, but not me. No matter how events turn out, I'll be dead. I will never see Kestrel's baby or sit at her table on my way home.

"You've finished your drink, Thraxis. Would you like some more?” Ranulf asked helpfully. About to refuse, Thraxis felt a sudden surge of recklessness. What did it matter? What did any of it matter? “Please,” he said and ignored startled looks from Arrow and Viabold. The mead was sweet, and its warmth settled in his belly and limbs, driving back the darkness of his future. The murmur of pleasant conversation lapped around him. At some point, the children were banished to the sleeping loft above. The stew disappeared, and the mead flowed freely. When next Thraxis began to truly pay attention to the conversation, Ranulf seemed to be answering a question from Viabold.

"I was a trader in those days, wandering all over the steppe and the forests,” he said, casting a fond glance at Kestrel. “But as soon as I saw Kestrel, I knew that my wandering days were over. She wouldn't have anything to do with me at first, though."

Kestrel's laughter tinkled like chimes. “And who could blame me?"

"But I finally won her over. I sat outside her family's yurt every night and sang courting songs for an entire moon."

Arrow grinned. “She finally gave up and agreed to marry him so that she could get some sleep." Everyone else laughed, but Ranulf's romantic gesture had caught Thraxis’ attention. Ranulf's songs had impressed Arrow's sister—perhaps such singing would impress Arrow as well. It was a wonderful idea, and he was amazed that he had thought of it.

"I can sing,” he announced.

Kestrel turned to him with a little smile playing on her lips. “Can you?"

"Yes. Very well."

"Then by all means, let us hear you."

Suitably encouraged—Kestrel was obviously on his side, although he hadn't quite realized until just now that he even had a side—Thraxis rose to his feet. The room swayed a little, then settled down. Taking a deep breath, he began to sing.

It was a beautiful song. Not the sort of thing he would ever have admitted interest in before, no more than he would have admitted to being a Kahvenite. It was, of course, a love song, an ardent declaration by a lover recalling the hours of pleasure spent with his lady. His performance also pleased him, considering that he seldom sang in front of an audience.

When the last refrain died away, he looked expectantly at Arrow. Rather than impressed, however, she seemed merely puzzled. “You didn't like it?” he asked, crestfallen.

"Um, you have a lovely voice,” she said diplomatically. “But I haven't been wearing the translator stones since you learned Skaldai, and because Viabold already knew it—and I don't speak your language well enough to follow a song."

"Just as well,” Viabold muttered. “Thank goodness the children were already in bed." Kestrel arched a brow. “A bit ribald, was it?"

" No,” Thraxis said, glaring at Viabold.

"Erotic,” Viabold clarified. He grabbed a fistful of Thraxis’ robe and pulled him back down into his seat.

“Just don't favor us with a translated version. It wouldn't rhyme nearly so well."

"It was a good song,” Thraxis muttered sulkily.

"It was very nice, even if only Viabold understood the content,” Arrow said soothingly. She smiled at him, and he felt suddenly dazzled. The firelight played off her red hair and found hidden depths in her dark eyes. She lifted her tankard to her lips, and the shift of muscle made the twisted stag on her arm dance.

"What do they mean?” he asked. “I mean, the tattoos,” he added, realizing that she hadn't been privy to his thoughts.

"You should see them all,” Kestrel said.

"There are more?” He looked at Arrow with renewed interest. “Where?" Kestrel winked. “That's why you should see them."

Arrow rolled her eyes at her sister and stood up. “I'm going to bed. I'll be happy to discuss any tattoos you like tomorrow, but for now I'm falling asleep where I sit."

"You can share the loft,” Ranulf offered.

But Arrow shook her head. “Not with all the singing and carousing going on in here. The hayloft in the barn will suit me fine."

Ranulf also chose to say his goodnights, pausing long enough to give his wife a kiss before heading up to the sleeping loft above. Thraxis propped his chin on his fist and looked at Kestrel, comparing her again to Arrow. Aware of his scrutiny, Kestrel mimicked his position so that their faces were only inches apart.

"You're pretty,” he decided.

Kestrel smiled mischievously. “Thank you."

Viabold sighed, grabbed Thraxis’ shoulder, and hauled him back. “Wrong sister,” he pointed out. “This one's married. Besides, you wouldn't have a chance."

"Oh?” Thraxis asked, miffed. “And why ever not?"

Viabold paused delicately. “Women—like a man with—well, more."

"More?” Thraxis demanded, offended. He surged to his feet and fumbled at the catches on the front of his robe. “I'll show you more—"

"Not that, you drunken fool!” Viabold grabbed the back of his robe again and jerked him down. “I meant more as in more hair, more muscles. More experience."

"Oh.” Thraxis’ shoulders slumped dejectedly.

Kestrel laughed and shook her head. “Viabold, you sound just like Leaf Dancing. I remember him giving Arrow advice when she was a girl. ‘Never marry a man who can't carry his own horse.’”

"Hmm, well, I wouldn't go that far,” Viabold allowed, taking a healthy swallow of mead. “Leaf Dancing is the man that raised Arrow, wasn't he?"

"Yes. He's our granduncle. She went to live with him on her naming day, when he asked for the right to name her and give her a home."

Thraxis frowned blearily. “Naming day?"

Kestrel nodded. “Among the Skald, a child is given a temporary name the day it is born. By custom, it is named for the first thing its father sees after beholding it for the first time. At age five, when the child's personality is better known, it is given a permanent name. Of course, most of the time the permanent name is the same as the temporary name, because everyone has gotten used to calling it that."

"But not in Arrow's case?"

Kestrel sobered. “No. Not in Arrow's case."

"What was her first name?” Viabold asked softly.

"Her Mother's Tears."

Viabold swore a mild oath. Thraxis frowned. “That's horrible,” he declared.

"Yes, well, Father was feeling rather bitter at the time himself. The priestesses had declared that his newest daughter would be the next Champion. Half of the clan was mocking him, and the other half was furious."

"He shouldn't have taken it out on Arrow!"

"No. He shouldn't have."

Thraxis stretched his arm out against the table and laid his head on it. Poor Arrow. She must have been so sad. If he had been there, he would have done—something. What, he wasn't sure, but something.

"That's so sad,” he said out loud. “Do you think she's sad?" Viabold rolled his eyes. “Why, are you going to console her?"

"That,” Thraxis said gravely, “is an excellent idea."

He stood up and made his way very carefully out of the building, despite the rather annoying attempts the floor made to slip out from under his feet. The goat corral tried to trip him up, but he outsmarted it and negotiated his way to the lower story of the barn, where he promptly passed out.

* * * *

The crowing of the rooster awoke Arrow shortly before dawn. She arose from her warm nest in the hay and made her way down the ladder to the ground floor. Thraxis was sprawled inexplicably just inside the door, snoring. Stepping around him, Arrow made her way to the house, where she found Viabold sitting by the fire pit. By the way he winced every time one of the children yelled, she guessed that he was nursing quite a hangover.

He gave her an inquiring look. “What?” she asked, unsure what he expected. He shrugged. “Apparently nothing. Where's Thraxis?"

"Asleep by the barn door."

"Passed out, you mean. Ah, well.” He shook his head philosophically. Mystified, Arrow went into the kitchen where she found Kestrel. “We'd better be leaving,” she said sadly. “I doubt either Viabold or Thraxis are going to be very interested in breakfast. Which I blame you for."

Kestrel grinned. “They were fun to talk to. And the young one likes you."

"I told you yesterday that we're friends. I would hope that means he likes me."

"I think you could get to be more than that if you're interested." Arrow almost laughed aloud. “Don't be silly."

"I'm not."

"No.” Arrow thought back to the beginning of their journey together, when Thraxis had refused the innkeeper's offer of a bedmate on the basis of an oath of chastity. “He's not interested in me like that. We're just friends."

Kestrel shrugged. “If you say so."

Kestrel and Ranulf packed them several panniers worth of food, accompanied by two jugs of mead and an extra blanket. Arrow thanked them both, hugged the children, and headed regretfully back out into the crisp air of the morning. Viabold had already brought out the horses and had even managed to get Thraxis bundled onto Stalker's back. The tall Athraskani slumped in the saddle, his face buried in Stalker's short-cropped mane as if he sought to block out the sunlight.

"I'm dying,” he moaned as she approached. “It must be some new phase of the curse. You'll be burying me by the side of the road before sunset."

"You're hung over,” Viabold said with annoying cheerfulness. “You put away four tankards of mead, my friend—not bad for a skinny mite like yourself who'd never been drunk before."

"And you left me on the barn floor?"

" I did not leave you there—you did."

"I don't remember. Oh, gods, I'll never break another Rule again. Ever." Viabold cast a grin in Arrow's direction. “You went to bed too early, Arrow. You should have at least stayed until Thraxis decided to expose himself to everyone."

She arched a brow. “I am sorry I missed that."

"Don't worry, I stopped him."

"You're just jealous,” Thraxis said from Stalker's mane.

"I am not!"

"Are too."

Kestrel and her family came out to say their final farewells. Arrow embraced her sister again, wondering suddenly if she would ever see her newest niece or nephew. Perhaps thinking the same grim thoughts, Kestrel kissed her cheek and whispered, “Be safe, Arrow."

Tears threatened to choke her. But a Champion never wept, so she swallowed them back harshly and walked quickly to her horse. Mounting, she sat straight in the saddle and rode away without looking back.

* * * *

It was shortly after the great battle that the king finally decided to act. A warrior from the Griffin clan rode arrogantly into the Red Feathers encampment towards the end of spring, his head held high and his mouth a sneer. Men, women, and children all gathered together, staring in awe at the first member of the royal clan that most of them had ever seen. His coat was covered in gold plaques, every finger bore enormous rings, and multiple torques decorated his throat. Even the harness of his gelding had been gilded. Reining up in front of Blood's yurt, he stared disdainfully down at the chieftain. “Jumping Reindeer, King of all the Skald, sends you a message,” he said without bothering to dismount. “Your actions have not been without note, but he wishes you to remember your place."

Blood smiled lazily. “I know my place."

The messenger frowned a little. “You will keep your warriors within the territory you have already won. You will not venture out of it, nor act in aggression towards any other clan from this day on."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then the matter will be settled with a Challenge."

Blood nodded. “Then I accept. My Champion will meet with the Griffin Champion one moon from this day. We will even come to Griffin territory for the Challenge so that the royal clan will not have to travel." A murmur rose up at his words, and for the first time in a long while it held fear. Arrow felt her own belly churn but hid her trepidation behind a mask of serene confidence.

Still, the reaction did not go unnoticed by Balthazar. That night, he came to the yurt she shared with Leaf Dancing and Vole. After they had shared a cup of koumiss, Balthazar looked at her squarely. “People are worried about this Challenge. You're worried about this Challenge. Why?" Arrow swallowed and stared at the dung fire. She started to say something flippant, but he caught her by the wrist and forced her eyes to meet his gaze. “You're my oath sister,” he reminded her gently. “I think I deserve to know."

Her body slumped. “This Champion—he's good, Balthazar. The Griffin Champions aren't necessarily born into the clan. Instead, all the greatest Champions and warriors compete for the honor, if they wish it. The one who is the best is chosen to defend the royal clan. This one has never been defeated, my brother. And I don't know if I can be the one to change that."

He looked at her quietly for a long time. “You're serious,” he said at last.

"Yes. I was scared before my first Challenge, but I think that in my heart I knew I could win. After that, I've never really been frightened. I've never faced anyone whose skill was anything like my own. I don't say that to boast—it's true. But this is different. I think that this man might be able to win. I think he might kill me."

Balthazar fingered the jewel at his throat absently. “I swore to help and protect you, just as you did the same for me. If I told you there was a way to ensure that you would defeat this man, would you take it?" She frowned, puzzled. “You could make me a better warrior?"

He smiled fondly. “I don't think anyone could do that, my sister. But I can make you faster and stronger than any other human alive. It would give you the edge you need." It was not what she had expected. Balthazar was offering her a chance to beat the Griffin Champion, but at what cost? By accepting his offer, she would, in essence, be cheating. The Challenge would not be decided by skill or strength but by foreign magic. It was dishonorable. It was wrong.

"I don't want to die,” she said in a small voice.

"And I don't want you to die either. You've been the best friend I've had in all my life. You're a truer sister to me than those who share my blood. Let me help you. Please." The next day, he took her away from the camp, after first telling Blood what he intended. They set up a yurt together far from the rest of the clan, even though it was not really appropriate for him to be alone with an unmarried woman. But such concerns were beyond her now, Arrow reflected as she stripped off her clothing to lie naked on the bed.

Balthazar began to chant softly. The yurt filled with the scent of burning herbs. And then he laid his fingers gently on her head.

It hurt. Gods, it hurt, and she finally understood why he had insisted on bringing her so far from anyone else. It was to keep them from hearing her screams.

The process took the entire day, as Balthazar worked his way slowly from the top of her head to the bottoms of her feet, changing her as he went. By the end, she felt worn and ragged, like a woman after a difficult labor. Once he was finished, he covered her gently with a blanket and told her to rest. Tomorrow, she would learn to walk again.

The words made sense when she next awoke. All of her perceptions were off, as if she had eaten the hallucinogenic mushrooms used by soothsayers. Her movements were uncoordinated, too fast, and too strong. She flung the blanket across the yurt when she only meant to flip it back, she shattered a horn cup when she tried to grip it, and she fell in a tangle of limbs when she tried to walk. As the days passed, she grew more used to her altered body, discovering how to fit it with her former skills. From walking she progressed to riding, and thence to swordplay. While she worked, Balthazar told her a little of what he had done to her. She was stronger and faster, as he had said, and she would also heal more quickly and easily than an unchanged human.

"I will call you a berserker,” he decided as he watched her practice at being normal. “It's a word from a tribe that lives far to the north and west of here. They use it to describe their greatest warriors. It means

‘bear shirt.’”

"That's odd,” she said.

"Perhaps—but you are not. You are something the world has never seen before. The spell that made you a berserker was the greatest spell any Athraskani has cast in centuries—perhaps ever. I had to change your bones, so that they would not break under the stress of your movements. I had to change your heart and lungs, so that they would not fail. Every change led to another, down to the tiny little things inside of you that no one has ever really seen. You are a masterpiece."

At last, a week before the date of the Challenge, they rode back to camp. Blood was waiting outside his yurt when Arrow reined in before him.

"I'm ready,” she said.

Chapter Nine—Kinslayer

A few days later, they made camp in a pine forest in the heart of Chok territory. The evening fire threw a soft yellow glow on the circle of straight trees surrounding their camp, and the air smelled strongly of resin and wood smoke. After dinner, Thraxis went a little aside, perching on top of a group of tumbled boulders. Wondering what he had found of interest, Arrow hesitantly left the fireside and went to him. He glanced down as she approached, a smile curving his lips. Taking the hand he offered, she scrambled onto the rocky perch beside him. “I'm not intruding, am I?"

"Not at all.” He tilted his head back and peered up through a break in the pines. “I was just looking at the stars. We have an observatory at the Sanctum, and I spent many happy hours there, memorizing the constellations."

It was a beautiful night for stargazing. No clouds marred the dome of the sky, and there was no breeze to bend the trees. They had been walking on the edge of spring all the way north, and the air was chill away from the fire. Wrapping her arms around herself, Arrow wished that she had brought her jacket with her.

"You're cold,” Thraxis said, noting the movement immediately. He put his arm around her shoulders, so that the heavy folds of his robe hung down over her bare skin. Grateful for the warmth, she moved against his side. When she leaned back to look up at the stars, her head lay against his shoulder. It felt good to be close to someone, she realized with a sharp pang. To feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the heat of his body. He smelled of smoke and herbs, underlain faintly with the scent of maleness. The natural hunger to be touched rose in her, and she had to remind herself that Thraxis had taken an oath of chastity.

"There is the Dragon,” Thraxis said. His breath stirred her hair. “Encircling the sky even as his brother encircles the earth."

"We call that one the river.” She pointed to another grouping. “And that is the Stag, who carries the souls of the dead on his back."

"Ah.” His fingers shifted, lightly stroking her shoulder over the tattoo. It felt good. “Does it take them to your Lady of Beasts?"

"Yes. Then she decides what form we return in."

"What form?"

"Bird or reindeer or horse or human.” Arrow gestured vaguely. “Or something else altogether."

"Depending on what you did with your life?"

"No. Just—depending on what is needed, I suppose."

"Then there isn't any reward? Any punishment?"

"Well, I suppose that if we are truly wicked, she might send us back as Athraskani." Arrow turned her head toward him, to see how her teasing had worked. To her pleasure, he was grinning. The firelight filtering through the trees caught in his yellow eyes, making them glow as if they were flames themselves. Arrow became aware that she could feel the beat of his heart against her body. Slowly, the grin faded to be replaced by seriousness. Thraxis glanced away briefly, and then back to her.

“Arrow,” he said hesitantly, “I—I want to ask you if—"

Stalker flung back his head and snorted loudly. Nightwing looked up as well, ears going back in alarm as he stared into the darkness. Arrow and Thraxis both stood quickly, making their way towards the camp. Nearer the fire, Viabold looked uneasily into the pine forest. “Show yourself!” he called. Two figures slid out of the shadows opposite. Firelight caught on their blonde hair, revealing long braids to the right and shorter hair to the left. Gold gleamed in their left ears, and bronze glittered in their hands as they raised their swords.

"As you wish, old man,” said one, and Arrow felt her heart start to race.

"Tracks on the Snow,” she said aloud, naming him. “Horse With a Broken Back." They looked at her—cousins she had known all her life, whom she had grown up with. And hope died inside her.

Viabold frowned. “Are you here to join us?"

Tracks barely spared him a glance; all his attention focused on Arrow. “No. We're here to kill you." And they moved.

They moved.

Fast, so fast, their bodies for an instant becoming blurs of motion, until Arrow's own body caught up with them. No need to ask who had sent them, not with that inhuman speed, and Arrow wondered vaguely why she had never realized that Balthazar would inevitably make other berserkers. And that he would send them to kill her for her betrayal.

Tracks went for Viabold, his sword a blur of bronze. With a wild cry, Arrow flung herself to intercept him, holding nothing back. Viabold raised his hands slowly, as if moving through honey, and she saw his mouth shape words that escaped her. Light bloomed in Tracks’ face, a blinding flash that made Arrow turn away as well. When her vision cleared, Viabold was gone.

Thraxis stood on the edge of the campsite where she had left him, his mouth open in surprise. Horse flung a net at him. Its weighted edges tangled Thraxis’ limbs, dragging him to the ground, and Horse ran in for the kill. Darkness humped beneath the net, a convulsive movement that didn't quite look like a man trying to fight his way free. A moment later, an enormous raven struggled out through holes too large to contain it, let out an indignant squawk, and took flight into the night. Too startled to ready his bow, Horse jumped back, letting the bird's slow-motion movements carry it out of reach. Relief flooded through Arrow. Both of the Athraskani were safe, at least for the nonce. She had only her own life to worry about. Dropping back so that she could keep both of her opponents in sight, Arrow met the eyes of each cousin briefly. Her heart ached, and she remembered that Horse had a young son. For a moment, she considered trying to talk with them, but knew that it was futile. As far as they were concerned, she had betrayed them, had broken her sacred oaths. And so, she supposed, she had. Horse drew his sword and came from the right, so fast that his speed seemed normal to Arrow's preternatural senses. She drew as well, her sword screaming through the air and meeting his. The shock jarred down her arm, but her inhuman strength held steady. The blades sprang apart, and then met again, seeking an opening.

Tracks was behind her somewhere. Leaf's ancient advice to fight every battle on her own terms came back to her, and she heeded it once again. Catching Horse's blade on her own, she thrust him back, then dropped and snatched a branch from the campfire. The stick snapped with speed as she brought it up, but there was enough left to fling ash and burning coals in his face. He shouted and stumbled back, giving her the chance to turn her attention to Tracks.

Almost too late. Tracks had unhooked two whips from his belt. They were far longer than the short nagaica, and each had only a single flail attached to the handle. But the ends of the flails were each tipped with a short, curved blade that glinted sharply in the firelight. He swung the whips, the air cracking like thunder. Arrow tensed, judging as one arced high and one low, the wicked blades racing to sever either legs or head. As the lower drew near, she jumped inhumanly high.

Everything slowed. She could see the lazy curl of the upper whip, its blade passing leisurely through the air just moments before her body traversed the same space. Then she was coming down, speed dictated only by gravity. A movement caught her eye, and she saw Horse raise his bow, the tip of the arrow following her trajectory. Helpless fury rushed through her, for there was nothing she could to alter her fall and get out of the way.

Black wings rowed the air, and the raven came out of the wood, slow as a leaf-fall but straight for Horse's face. Startled, Horse flinched as he let go of the bowstring. The arrow traced its lazy path through the air to meet its plunging target. Arrow felt its feathers gently brush her cheek as it passed harmlessly by her head.

Her feet met the ground, and she sprinted away from Tracks, heading for the edge of the clearing. Thinking that she fled, he raced after her, dropping the whips that would be useless in the wood and drawing his sword. Praying to the Lady of Beasts that her timing was good, Arrow hurled herself at one of the pines, twisting in the air so that her feet impacted against the bark. Her legs flexed, tendon, muscle, and bone crying out against shock and speed as she used the tree for a springboard, reversing her direction in a flip that carried her back over Tracks’ head. Her sword came down with all the speed of her fall, catching Tracks in the juncture between neck and shoulder. Flesh parted with ease, then bone jarred.

The sword, never forged to withstand such stresses, shattered in Arrow's hands. Tracks fell face-forward away from her, his head nearly severed from his body. Cursing silently, Arrow spun to see Horse on the other side of the fire, his bow drawn once again. Raven wings looped about the campsite, but Thraxis was too slow and the same trick would not work twice. Seeing the tip of the arrow shift from her form to that of the bird, Arrow snatched her knife from its sheath on her left thigh and threw it. The throw was bad, but it made Horse drop the bow and jump out of the way. Arrow flung herself across the camp without giving him the chance to recover, retrieving the knife in her left hand and unhooking the nagaica with her right. His sword raced for her, splitting the air with an eerie scream. She caught it on her knife, at the same time swinging the nagaica as hard as she could. The short flail connected with his face, and she heard the crack of bone as his skull split beneath it. His body sagged, then slowly collapsed to the earth in a spill of blood and brains. Arrow stood still, letting her racing heart calm, letting her perceptions slow back to normal. The small clearing stank of blood and released bowels. The relief at being alive fought with the hard punch of grief. She had killed many men, but they had not been of her own clan. She hadn't grown up with them, hadn't endured their mockery, hadn't listened to their praise, and hadn't seen the faces of their newborn children. But with these men, she had done all of those things and more.

Her throat worked convulsively as she swallowed, and for a moment she thought that she might be sick. Carefully not looking at Horse's ruined face, she bent over, wiped the nagaica against his clothes, and then took his sword. His scalp she left intact—he was a kinsman, and she would not disgrace him in death.

Viabold peeked uncertainly from behind a tree. His eyes were huge and filled with horror. The raven circled in from somewhere, landed, and became Thraxis once again. His face was white in the firelight, and his hands trembled violently.

"I think that you owe us an explanation,” he said quietly, and in his words Arrow heard their friendship die.

* * * *

Viabold and Arrow pulled the bodies into the woods, cleaned up the campsite, and found the horses that the two Skald warriors had concealed so that they would not sound a greeting and give away the assassins’ approach. Thraxis remained by the fire, his body trembling and a painful cough building in his lungs. Shape-changing was not small magic by any measure, and a spike of fear went through him when he realized that he had probably shortened his existence by a good month. But it saved Arrow's life, he thought, remembering.

Arrow.

When the camp was again in order, she sat quietly by the fire, across from the two men. Her shoulders were hunched defensively, and she wrapped her arms about her knees, as though winter had touched her. Misery gleamed in her eyes as she stared fixedly at the fire, not daring to meet their gazes.

"What are you?” Viabold asked quietly. Thraxis was still too stunned to speak. She closed her eyes, and then opened them again. “A woman,” she said quietly. “A Champion. But I—was altered."

Viabold's brows drew together. “How?"

"By Balthazar. He called me a berserker.” She bit her lip. “I had to hide it all this time. To keep you from discovering the truth."

"And why would he do such a thing to you?"

"To save my life.” She bowed her head, her hair hiding her face. “I've lied to you. Balthazar was my ally. My oath brother. My people weren't the victims of the war between the clans. They were the aggressors."

A horrible realization was dawning in Thraxis, as though he had discovered that all the world he had ever known was nothing more than illusion, and reality a cold nightmare from which there would be no awakening. “This has all been a trap."

Her head snapped up. “No! No, I swear that's not true. Just let me explain, please." Thraxis felt Viabold look at him, but he couldn't meet the other man's gaze. He could only stare at Arrow as if seeing her for the first time. And perhaps, in a terrible way, he was.

"We're listening,” Viabold said.

She told them everything, all of the hideous details. How her prowess as a Champion had given her chief an outlet for his ambition. How a series of Challenges eventually turned into an ugly war between the clans. How she had participated in that war, participated in the slaughter not only of warriors, but of women and children as well.

"It was hard,” she whispered, voice ragged with unshed tears. “I hated doing it. I hated what we had become. But it was my duty, both as a Champion and as a member of the clan. I just—I just didn't know what to do."

"How about refusing to murder innocents?” Thraxis asked.

She flinched, as though he had struck her. “It wouldn't have changed anything. Blood was bent on conquest. If I had refused, he would have humiliated me in front of everyone, would have called me a cowardly woman. Everything that I had accomplished, all the respect I had gained, would have been lost."

"And so you killed to preserve it."

Misery pooled in her eyes and made her lips tremble, but she did not deny his words. “Eventually, the king decided to put a stop to things. He sent a Challenge out that I could not refuse. The Champion of the royal clan—the Griffins—was a terrible man. He had never been beaten. I—I wasn't certain that I could win. But I was afraid of dying. So when Balthazar offered to—change me—I agreed.

"Once I had killed the Griffin Champion, we went to war against the king. In the end, with Balthazar's help, we destroyed the Griffins.” She bit her lip, as though trying to contain the next words. “When we rode back to our main camp with word of our victory, my granduncle, the man who had raised me, repudiated me for my actions. He turned his back on me, cast me out of his yurt, and left the camp." She stopped, then drew a deep breath. “There were others who felt as he did. And there were some who thought Blood had gone too far by making himself king. And there were a few like myself, who were sickened by the whole thing. One of the latter was Blood's own son, Bird Bones Broken." Arrow paused again, and Thraxis could tell that there were things she would not speak about even now.

“Bird Bones and I fled together. He wanted to gather everyone who was disaffected with Blood's ways and rebel against his father. If it had been only Blood we had to contend with, it might have worked. But Balthazar's power put the balance too much in their favor. So I volunteered to go south, to try to get help from the rest of the Athraskani.

"I couldn't tell you the truth—I couldn't risk that you would refuse to come with me! The future of my clan, of all the Skald, depends on defeating Balthazar. I only did what I felt I had to do." She looked at him, pleading for understanding. But there was none for him to give. A mixture of emotions boiled in him: rage, disgust, grief, and shame. He had thought Arrow to be his friend. But that woman, the woman he had liked—whom he might, perhaps, have fallen in love with—had never really existed. How she must have laughed, this heartless monster, to see him so easily duped. Humiliated, he stood up slowly, not certain where he was going but knowing only that he had to get away from her. She rose as well, reaching one hand towards him in supplication. “Thraxis, please don't turn away from me."

"No.” The sight of her evoked a tangle of emotions so strong that he felt physically ill. “Don't speak to me—you are an abomination, and there are no words for my revulsion." Her eyes closed, and she stood very, very still, as if a careless movement would shatter her. Turning away, Thraxis walked into the woods and let the night take him.

* * * *

Arrow sat quietly on a stump some distance from the campsite, her face pressed against her knees. Tears choked her throat, but a Champion never wept, so she concentrated on holding them back to the exclusion of all other thought. Even when the sound of footsteps came from behind her, muffled by fallen needles, she refused to move or to care.

"Arrow?” Viabold said hesitantly behind her. “Is there anything I can get you? Some stew? Wine?"

"You could drive a sword through my heart,” she answered bitterly. Needles rustled softly as he lowered himself to the ground beside her. “Don't worry. Thraxis will come around, once he's had time to think about things."

She sat up slowly, hands clenched so that her nails bit into her palms. It kept the tears at bay. “No, he won't. You don't know—."

"Then tell me."

"You don't understand. I spent my entire life training to be the Champion. My only goal was to show my clan that they could depend on me, that I wasn't just a morbid joke. And what did it get me? Half of my clan hates me because I was Blood's right hand, and the other half hates me because I finally betrayed him. The man who raised me turned his back on me. I've lost everything. My friends, my family, my womanhood, everything."

"I don't understand."

"What Balthazar did to me—it stopped my courses. I'm barren. Even if I survive, no man would take me to wife. My future is as bleak as my past ever was."

"I'm sorry."

"But I told myself that I could live with all of it, if only I could do something to make things right again. To undo some of the damage I helped cause. But Thraxis—he's ready to turn back and head for the Sanctum. And I can't blame him for it. He was my only friend, and I lied to him, betrayed him, and took advantage of him. Of a dying man!"

"He won't turn back,” Viabold said gently.

"Maybe not. But he hates me."

Viabold sighed. “He's feeling very betrayed right now. And, as you said yourself, he has good reason to feel that way. I'll try to speak with him, get him to see things in a different light. But I think that, right now, we just have to give him time."

The certainty of despair filled her. “It won't matter, Viabold. A thousand years will not change anything."

* * * *

Thraxis sat very still, staring off into the night. Tree frogs cheeped restlessly, undisturbed by human concerns. Perhaps he should become one of them, bleed off what remaining strength he had, and spend his last days free from all care.

Viabold's footsteps crunched loudly in the darkness, and the muffled sound of a curse marked where he tripped over a fallen tree. Thraxis scowled and briefly considered turning Viabold into a frog instead. “Go away."

"Ah, there you are,” Viabold said, pulling the edge of his robe free from a trailing briar.

"I don't want to talk to you."

Viabold sighed and leaned wearily against the rough bark of one of the pines. “I know that you feel betrayed."

"Are you ears full of wax? I told you I don't want to talk to you."

"Just let me speak, then I'll leave. Will that be acceptable?"

"I don't suppose it would help if I said no,” Thraxis muttered. He hunched his shoulders so that his hood slid farther forward. His hands he hid in his sleeves. “Say what you have to say and be done with it."

"I just want you to try to see this from Arrow's point of view. It isn't as if she suddenly decided one day that she was going to join a band of raiders and go around killing people. These were her friends, her family, people she had known her entire life, telling her that she was doing the right thing, that they were proud of her. I think that it is a testimony to her basic integrity that she was able to recognize the wrong they were doing and try to rectify it."

Thraxis pressed his lips together. “She killed innocent people. Standing against other trained Champions, defending her clan from attack—I could understand those things. I cannot understand this."

"So you refuse to even make the attempt?” Viabold sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “She gave up everything to come south and find us. Her home, her friends, her kin. Honor. Respect. More." Thraxis rose angrily to his feet. “And have I done any less?"

"I didn't say that you had. I just—"

"Just want me to sympathize with a liar and killer!” Thraxis’ hand clenched into a fist. “She lied to us, betrayed us, and tried to make us think that she was something other than what she is. She was a friend to Balthazar, for the gods’ sakes! The man who will be the death of me!"

"I know you're hurt—"

"You know nothing.” He closed his eyes. “The worst thing is that I fooled myself into thinking that I might care for her. But the woman I was friends with, that I maybe could have cared for, never really existed at all."

"That's not true."

"This was my last chance, Viabold. I'll be dead in a few months at most. I was a fool to think that I might find some happiness in my final days."

Silence descended between them. After a while, Viabold stirred. “Will we be going on?” he asked quietly.

Thraxis took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don't know."

"Balthazar is still a threat. The fact that Arrow was once his ally doesn't change any of the reasons that made you come on this journey in the first place."

"No. I suppose it doesn't.” He resumed his seat on the forest floor. “And I can't go back, can I?"

"Arrow will be glad to hear that you're willing to continue."

"Don't.” Thraxis held up a hand to forestall any further words. “Don't speak that woman's name to me." Viabold lingered for a few moments, as if he would object. Then, for once knowing when to be silent, he turned and went back to the campsite. Alone, Thraxis sat and wished that he could turn time back and erase everything that had happened that day. For once, the price of knowledge was too high, and he would have given anything to recapture his ignorance.

* * * *

They arrived at the appointed place for the Challenge on the same day that it was to occur. The changes wrought by Balthazar had forced Arrow to spend precious time readjusting to her own body, and they had almost come too late.

Representatives of the Griffin clan waited on their side of the circle. Heavy gold jewelry flashed in the sun, so copious that it made them look as if they had been gilded. The king was not among them, having decided that these proceedings were beneath his notice. Or perhaps simply believing that he already knew the outcome.

Three men stood a little apart from everyone else, muttering among themselves. They were dressed as women, with rich fur robes and tall headdresses. When they spoke, it was in high lilting tones that mimicked feminine speech. “Who are they?” Balthazar asked in surprise. Arrow swallowed nervously. “Soothsayers. They tell the future by twisting the bark of the linden tree in their fingers."

"Ah."

The Red Feathers took up position opposite the Griffin clan. Breathing slowly, trying to keep her pulse down, Arrow went to the center of the circle. When the Griffin Champion came out, she watched his every movement, trying to get a sense of what he was like as a warrior. He was a tall man, but his muscles were long and lean, and the gracefulness of his stride promised quickness in battle. His blue eyes watched her as well, and she realized that he was not going to underestimate her as so many of her past opponents had done.

"I am Moon High, brother to the king,” said one of the Griffins. “I should warn you that the soothsayers have predicted our victory already."

A thrill of dread went through Arrow, as they had no doubt intended. But behind her, Balthazar laughed.

"I am the only man here with magic,” he proclaimed. “Your soothsayers have no power. They merely mouth the words that they think will win your favor."

Although the heresy shocked her a little, Balthazar's words also calmed Arrow. She knew that her oath brother's magic was stronger than that of any soothsayer.

The soothsayers, however, did not. One of them glared at Balthazar and made a rude gesture. “Beware, foreigner,” he said in his womanlike voice. “The punishment for false wizards is death." Balthazar smiled coldly. “I shall remember that."

"Enough talk,” Moon High said. “Let the Challenge begin."

This Challenge was simple and straightforward. Because he represented the king, the Griffin Champion had been allowed to choose the form even though his clan had issued the Challenge. They were to fight to the death, using only swords.

Arrow controlled her movements as she closed with her opponent, making certain that she did nothing to give away her preternatural abilities to the Griffins. Even so, her perceptions sped so that it seemed the other Champion moved through thick mud, giving her plenty of time to assess his strategy and formulate a response.

She kept the battle brief, knowing that the longer she was exposed to the Griffin representatives the more chance she had of being caught using magic. The Griffin Champion's head parted company with his body only a few minutes after their swords had first touched. Before the astonished gazes of the Griffins and the soothsayers, she picked up the head and carried it by its braids to Blood. Kneeling before her chief, she presented the trophy to him.

Blood smiled warmly when he took it, touching its slack-jawed face lightly with his fingers. “Tell the king that I will have the skull of his Champion made into a drinking cup,” he said to the Griffins. They were in shock, both from the defeat and from Blood's challenging words. Blood, Arrow, and Balthazar stood quietly watching while they retreated to the nearby camp. The soothsayers followed, muttering among themselves.

"We don't have much time,” Blood said. “Once they have taken news of this defeat back to the king, he will have no choice but to respond with war."

"Which is why our own army is only a day behind us,” Balthazar pointed out. This was news to Arrow. Her heart sped up with fear, and she had to fight to keep her perceptions normal. “We're going to war against the king?"

"He's left us no choice,” Blood said. But she knew from his tone that he was pleased.

"I have another concern,” Balthazar said softly. Arrow turned to him and was startled by the quiet hatred burning in his golden eyes. “These soothsayers—they cast doubt on my power. Threatened me. Said that the punishment for false wizards is death."

Blood nodded. “So they did. Shall I have them brought to you?"

"Yes."

Chapter Ten—The Oracle

The next three days were the most miserable that Arrow had ever known. Although he had agreed to continue their journey, Thraxis refused to speak or even to look at her. Not that he graced Viabold with any conversation beyond the barest necessity, either, which left all three of them wrapped in a cloud of silence.

They had taken the four horses belonging to Tracks and Horse, abandoning the cart and giving one mount to Viabold. He took to the riding quickly enough, although he would never be any good by Skald standards, but Arrow occasionally saw him cast longing looks at the mule that now trailed behind him on a lead.

She rode in the back of their little procession, locked away in her thoughts. Occasionally, she would catch a glimpse of Thraxis’ long nose when he turned his head to look at something, or would inadvertently meet his eye when they made camp. Then the pain of a friendship destroyed would renew itself, like a fire given new kindling. She felt as though she was living again those dark days after she had first decided to betray Blood and Balthazar, when she had sat alone with her knife in her hand, wondering whether it wouldn't be easier to end it all with two quick slashes to her wrists. Bird Bones had saved her then, giving her a purpose, a chance to redress the wrongs her clan had done. And afterwards, she had imagined foolishly that she could be a normal person again, that she could have friends and moments of joy. That her crimes would not catch up with her in the end. They were deep into Chok territory now and familiar landmarks reminded her of unfinished promises. When they stopped for the night on the third day, Arrow approached Viabold hesitantly. Thraxis sat on the other side of the fire, studiously ignoring them both.

"I have a request to make,” she said. “The Chok have an oracle—you may have heard of her?" Viabold frowned and shook his head. “No."

"She is a woman of power who can see the future. We Skald have male soothsayers among us, but their predictions are unreliable at best. The paths foretold by the oracle never fail. Her temple is nearby, and I promised Bird Bones that I would ask her for a vision before I returned." Thraxis’ snort might have been some sort of comment, although on what she didn't know. Viabold sighed and scratched thoughtfully at his chin. “Whether or not humans have any magic has always been a subject of some controversy among us,” he said delicately. “You say that this woman is purported to foretell the future?"

Arrow nodded emphatically. “She does."

Viabold glanced uncomfortably in Thraxis’ direction. “Some of us have investigated claims of humans able to see the future, or exorcise ghosts, or move objects with their minds. I have to say that the vast majority of those claims turned out to be false."

"And the rest?"

"Were inconclusive."

Arrow looked down at her hands. They were covered with nicks and scars from old battles, and her nails were bitten to the quick. “Balthazar did not believe, either,” she said quietly. “And perhaps it is all just a trick. But I made a promise, and I have to keep it."

Thraxis snorted again. Viabold gave him an annoyed glare that let on just how much the feud was starting to wear on him. “We'll go then,” he said, taking advantage of Thraxis’ enforced silence.

"Thank you."

Later, when she lay wrapped in her blankets, she heard them fighting in whispers and knew that Thraxis was furious with Viabold's decision. For his part, Viabold sounded equally angry. She pulled the blanket over her head and closed her eyes, but the whispers followed her down into sleep, to join all the other condemning voices that inhabited her dreams.

* * * *

Steady rain poured down, turning the rutted track into a muddy swamp. A mix of mud and manure splashed up onto the edge of Thraxis’ robe with Stalker's every step. The Athraskani withdrew deeper into his hood, fighting to stifle the nagging cough that had developed shortly after the battle with the berserkers. When he breathed deeply, he could sometimes hear a whistling in his chest that boded no good.

He felt tired, worn down spiritually as well as physically. There were times when he just wanted nothing more than to put aside his anger with Arrow and mend the rift between them. But then he would remember how she had lied to him, betrayed him, and generally made a fool of him. He would not fall into that trap a second time.

A large complex of buildings greeted them at the end of the muddy track. They looked primitive to his eyes, their walls half of rough stone and half of wattle-and-daub. Animal pens surrounded the place on all sides, although their occupants at least were wise enough to get out of the rain. Unlike us. He glared at Viabold again, annoyed that the other man had agreed to visit some barbarian charlatan. By all that was true, what could he have been thinking?

A red curtain decorated with green and yellow appliqué hung over the entrance into what appeared to be the main building. As they drew up, a young woman pushed the curtain aside and came out into the rain. She wore a long robe belted snugly at her waist. Boots, similar to those that Arrow wore, peeked out from beneath the muddy hem. Her green eyes watched them dispassionately, as though she saw stranger sights every day.

Arrow dismounted and went to stand before the young woman. “We have come to see the oracle,” she said, dropping to her knees on the rain-soaked earth and placing her hands over her eyes. Thraxis ground his teeth together, certain that this charlatan wasn't worthy of Arrow's abasement. Then he remembered that he was angry with Arrow and decided not to care.

The woman seemed unmoved by Arrow's request. “And have you brought a gift for the oracle?"

"Two fine Skald horses,” Arrow replied, gesturing to some of the mounts they had taken from the slain warriors.

"And the mule,” Viabold put in unexpectedly. “He can't travel as fast as the horses, and it might be kinder to leave him here."

We could have sold the mule at least, Thraxis thought. Instead of giving it to some hoodoo who has made a nice business for herself by awing simpletons with vague predictions. The woman nodded. “Corral the horses, then come inside. I am the Handmaiden of the oracle. I will tell her that you are here."

They found themselves in a long chamber with a door in each wall. To Thraxis’ surprise, the floor of the room was paved with flagstones instead of mud. Shelves held a collection of other gifts to the oracle: burnished clay pots, jeweled swords, musical instruments, and five dust-covered books. The air smelled thickly of incense and wood smoke. The slap of Athraskani sandals on stone sent up echoes to the shadowy roof.

The Handmaiden emerged from behind a second curtain filling the doorway directly opposite them. “The oracle has accepted your gift,” she intoned. “She will scry your future tonight. For now, one of our acolytes will take you to the guest quarters, where you can make yourselves comfortable."

"We have to wait all night for this?” Thraxis exclaimed indignantly. The woman sniffed and lifted her chin haughtily. “You may leave anytime you wish."

"We'll stay,” Viabold assured her hastily.

One of the acolytes, a girl of about ten, led them out another door and back into the rain. They were taken to one of the low, wattle-and-daub outbuildings, where they were instructed to take off their muddy shoes before going inside. A fire pit glowed warmly in the center of the single room, its smoke winding gradually out a hole in the thatch ceiling. The floor consisted of hard-packed earth liberally covered with brilliant carpets of felt and wool. Hangings similar to the carpets covered the walls, and Arrow touched one lightly, her expression suddenly wistful. “These are of Skald make." There were no chairs, but a generous number of pillows were scattered about. The lumpy-looking objects lying against the walls were probably meant to be beds. Glad to be out of the rain, Thraxis flung his gear down by one and sat on it. Only then did it occur to him that he would have to endure being stuck inside for the rest of the afternoon with Viabold and Arrow.

Viabold, however, had no intention of staying. Shedding his own gear, he pointed to the door. “I'm going to see if they have any food suitable for us,” he announced. “And any beer."

"One glass only,” Thraxis reminded him sharply. Viabold rolled his eyes and left, undoubtedly without the slightest intention of doing as he was told.

Arrow looked as though she considered following Viabold, then sighed and sat down on a pile of carpets near the fire. Almost against his will, he watched as she drew out her arrows, inspecting each for damage from the rain and sighting along the shafts. They were painted in swirls and lines, and he wondered if she had decorated them herself and what the patterns might mean. The firelight glowed gently on her red hair and silhouetted her figure. The sleeveless vest and trousers clung tightly to her, outlining her curves, and he found that he had to force himself to look away. Closing his eyes for good measure, he tried to forget his troubles and relax. After a while, the warmth of the fire and the gentle pattering of the rain outside lulled him into a doze.

The tingle of magic awakened him.

Startled, he opened his eyes and realized that he heard voices talking. Arrow stood near the door, the curtain pushed back. The young girl who had led them to their quarters was before her, holding out a small, elaborately carved box.

"This is a gift,” she was saying. With a slight frown on her face, Arrow took the box from her and started to open it.

Alarm shocked through Thraxis as he realized that the magic he had sensed came from the box. “No, don't!” he shouted, lunging to his feet and throwing himself at her. His hands struck the box just as she opened it, sending it sliding towards the floor.

Light and heat exploded out, hurling Arrow across the room. There was a sickening crack as her head struck the edge of the fire pit. The smell of burned leather and flesh filled the small house. Thraxis started to run towards her, then stopped, horrified.

Blood streaked Arrow's face, and she lay unmoving on the carpets. She was dead, he realized in a moment of profound shock. Arrow was dead, and it was the worst thing that had ever happened since the beginning of the world. With an inarticulate cry, he sprang over the edge of the fire pit and dropped to his knees by her. Cupping her bloody face gently in his hands, he moaned softly in denial. Her brows twitched together slightly, and she groaned.

"Arrow?” he gasped, relieved beyond any other speech. Her eyelids fluttered half-open, but he thought that she didn't really see him.

"What's happening here?” Viabold asked from the doorway. Thraxis turned and saw that several of the oracle's acolytes, including the Handmaiden, stood behind him. The girl who had brought the box huddled in a corner, her hands over her eyes. “I thought I felt magic!"

"The oracle has tried to kill Arrow!” Thraxis shouted, gathering her protectively to him and glaring a challenge at the acolytes.

"Don't be ridiculous,” snapped the Handmaiden.

"Then how do you explain that?” Thraxis demanded, gesturing towards the box with his chin. “The girl brought it, said it was a gift. She was trying to kill Arrow!"

"Nooo,” the girl moaned helplessly from her corner. The Handmaiden turned her sharp eyes on her. Crossing the room in two strides, she snatched the girl's wrists and hauled her to her feet.

"What is the meaning of this?” she asked coldly. Thraxis was suddenly glad that he wasn't the object of her displeasure.

The girl sniffled and wiped her nose. “The men who stayed with us last week—they left it with me. Told me that they thought one of their cousins might be coming to us—a woman Skald, armed like a man and with a Champion's tattoo on her face. They said she might have some men in robes with her. They said it was a present."

"And I say that you are a fool,” snapped the Handmaiden. Dragging the girl mercilessly behind her, she started out, and then paused in the doorway. “The oracle will not be pleased. Let us know if there is anything you require—she will want to compensate you."

The bevy of women left, marching off in a knot towards the main building that housed their oracle. Viabold immediately came over and knelt by Arrow. “How is she?"

Sudden fear touched Thraxis—what if Arrow was dying? There was a terrible amount of blood streaming down her face, and he remembered his own close brush with death. “I don't know,” he said helplessly.

Viabold sighed. “Help me put her on one of the beds closest to the fire, and we'll have a look." Arrow moaned and blinked as they lifted her. Her eyes focused sluggishly on Viabold's face. “Viabold?"

"Ah, you know me. That's good."

She frowned a little. “I hurt. What happened?"

"She doesn't remember!” Thraxis cried.

"Don't be a fool,” Viabold said with infuriating calm. “That's normal with blows to the head. You were attacked,” he added to Arrow. “A magical trap. But you're safe now. Just relax while we look at you." Viabold carefully examined the wound on her head. After an alarming amount of blood was washed away, a small cut on her temple was revealed. A knot had formed underneath, but it didn't look nearly as serious as Thraxis had feared.

Once he had satisfied himself about the head injury, Viabold turned to her more minor wounds. Both of Arrow's hands were burned, although not badly. Her stomach was also burned, the leather vest charred away in that area. Viabold removed the vest—Thraxis turned his back for her modesty—and gently draped a blanket over her breasts for covering.

Thraxis wordlessly assisted Viabold in putting salve on the wounds and bandaging them, feeling helpless. The remains of a tattoo of some kind stretched across her belly, marred now by the burns, and disappeared below the edge of her trousers. When she winced at his touch, Viabold quickly turned his attention to her ribs and proclaimed that several appeared to be broken.

"I think you'll be fine,” Viabold said to her at last. “In fact, you're in better shape than you have a right to be. The magic I felt should have killed you."

Thraxis bit his lip. “I sensed something wrong when the girl brought in the box. I tried to knock it out of Arrow's hands, but I was too slow."

Viabold gave him an odd look. “Don't feel bad, my boy. You kept the full blast of the magic from hitting her, which I feel certain saved her life."

Arrow averted her gaze to the fire. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Thraxis looked away, unable to think of any response. “Who would have left such a thing for us?” he asked instead.

"From what the girl says, it sounds as if those two berserkers who attacked us a few days ago left it,”

Viabold said. “Balthazar must have given it to them, in case they failed and additional measures were needed."

"But how could he have known we'd come here?"

"It wouldn't be a difficult guess,” Arrow said quietly. “Most Skald would come to the oracle, especially ones on a mission like mine."

"Ah.” Viabold briefly checked the bandages on her head. “This is the only injury that worries me. Head wounds can be tricky things. I'm afraid that we're going to have to keep you awake all night, to make certain that you stay lucid. If you're still aware of things tomorrow morning, then you should be all right." Arrow laughed weakly. “And how many of your patients are lucid after a night without sleep?" He smiled and gave her hand a pat. “I'll be back shortly, all right? Try to stay awake until then." The two Athraskani left the building. Outside, the rain had stopped, although the sunset was lost in the thick veil of clouds. “We'll find other quarters for you tonight,” Viabold offered. “That way, you won't be kept awake by Arrow and me."

"You get some sleep,” Thraxis said. “I'll sit with Arrow."

Viabold's brows shot up in surprise. “I thought you weren't speaking to her." Thraxis remembered the moment when he had thought that Arrow was dead. The things he had felt then had been too sudden and complicated to fully analyze. Panic had certainly been among them. Horror. And loss so profound that he didn't ever want to feel that way again.

He also remembered the misery of the last few days, the wash of anger and grief that had made him sick to his stomach. Perhaps, he thought ruefully, he had let pride determine his actions more than he should have. He felt she had shamed him, so his pride had not allowed him to even consider forgiveness. It had blinded him to the fact that he knew the woman, had seen the way she thought and acted. What she had done was terrible. But, as Viabold had pointed out, there were mitigating circumstances. And she was trying very hard to atone, even though that penance was extracting a heavy price from her. Perhaps he should have been more willing to take those things into account and attempt to work through the tangle of feelings her tale had left him with, rather than wall himself away with anger.

"I once said to you that the woman I thought was my friend never existed,” he said at last. “But I don't think that is the truth. I think that she does exists—as does the berserker who killed innocents and consorted with Balthazar.” He shook his head and looked away. “I don't know if I can reconcile myself to that contradiction. But denying the existence of either certainly won't help things."

"That's the first smart thing I've ever heard you say."

Thraxis glared. “Go!” he snapped. Viabold laughed and went.

Shaking his head in annoyance, Thraxis went to the gift room outside of the oracle's chamber. Locating the small stack of books, he perused their titles, glad to find that he recognized them all. Selecting three of them, he returned to the guesthouse.

Arrow was understandably surprised to see him come in, but she made no comment. “I thought that these might help,” he said, waving the books vaguely in the air as he settled to the floor by her. “Viabold might be able to entertain you all night long with witty commentary, but I fear I would be doing neither of us a favor if I attempted that feat. So I thought I would read to you." Her eyes widened. “You can do that? I mean, say the words aloud?"

"Yes.” He studied the titles briefly. “The selection is rather thin, I'm afraid. We have a book of verse by a noted woman poet. Then we have an epic about a famous battle filled with endless stanzas extolling the prowess of its main characters. And finally an account of the Wandering Monk's travels in the distant east. Personally, I would recommend the poetry, although some of it is a bit scandalous." Arrow smiled faintly. “At least it will keep me awake, then."

* * * *

The next day, before the Griffins could decamp, Blood's army attacked. It was more massacre than battle, as the Griffins were vastly outnumbered. Most of them were captured and sacrificed, their deaths replenishing the glow in Balthazar's jewel.

The soothsayers and their male relatives were taken alive at Blood's orders. Once the sacrifices had been completed, they were brought to stand before the chief and his wizard. Balthazar stared at them with eyes like molten gold, and Arrow thought that he did not really see them, but instead beheld some specter from his past.

"You threatened me yesterday,” he said in a deadly voice. “You claimed that your magic was greater than mine, and then warned me that false wizards are put to death. But it is you who are false, not me." A cart was brought up. The prisoners were bound and gagged, then loaded into the bed of the cart. Oxen were hitched to the wagon, and then dry brush was piled into the cart around the terrified men. Balthazar walked up to the cart and lifted his hand. Fire bloomed on his fingertips. Without a word, he touched the brush and watched it ignite.

The smell of roasting flesh filled the air. The eyes of the burning men started from their sockets, and Arrow could see the cords stand out in their necks as they strained to scream against the gags. Then the terrified oxen plunged forward, trying to flee the flames that they dragged inexorably behind them. The whole raced out onto the plain, a pillar of greasy smoke marking its passage. Several of the younger warriors followed on horseback, whooping and laughing. Eventually, the flames would burn through the hitch, freeing the oxen, which would be brought back. The charred hulk of the cart and its unfortunate occupants would remain behind, a warning to anyone else who might challenge Balthazar's power.

Arrow went to the small yurt that she had pitched in the midst of the Skald camp, her belly roiling with nausea. The agony in the men's eyes as they burned haunted her. She had seen men killed before, but only in battle. This deliberate torture felt incomprehensibly wrong.

She sat alone, unable to eat or to take part in the revelry around her. Several times men came looking for her, but she excused herself by claiming a headache. Eventually, Blood himself came to her yurt.

"Should I call your oath brother?” he asked. “I'm sure he knows a cure for everything." Arrow forced herself to smile wanly. “I'm sure he does. But it is nothing—a trifle from standing too long in the sun. I'll be well in the morning."

He nodded approval. “Good. Because tomorrow we ride as we have never ridden before. Today's battle kept news of the Champion's defeat from spreading too quickly. If we move fast enough, Jumping Reindeer will never know what happened until we are upon him."

Afterwards, Arrow lay in her blankets, unable to sleep. Blood meant to kill the king. Although the position was in many ways ceremonial because the individual clans mostly ruled themselves, the king was still the ultimate authority in any dispute. It was his name by which oaths were sworn. It was he whom every Skald acknowledged above even his own chieftain.

By killing him, the Red Feathers would be breaking every oath of loyalty. But the repercussions would go far beyond her clan. The Skald would fragment, splitting along lines of loyalty and greed. The world she had known would be no more.

Closing her eyes, she fought back tears.

Chapter Eleven—Paths of the Future

It was afternoon by the time they again assembled before the oracle's chamber. Despite the few hours of sleep he'd had after dawn, Thraxis felt tired and muzzy-headed. The cough had redoubled after a night of reading his throat dry and was now bad enough to prompt worried looks from his companions. After checking Arrow's wounds, Viabold had promised to concoct a tisane with the help of one of the acolytes versed in herb lore. Something in his expression when he spoke of the woman made Thraxis suspect that Viabold had not spent the previous night alone. It annoyed him—Arrow had almost died, and Viabold treated the event so lightly as to spend the rest of the night rutting with some stranger?

Arrow was well enough to get up and move about on her own. The mild burns on her belly were healing at a phenomenal rate, so that now the skin showed nothing more than an angry red stain no worse than a bad sunburn. This Thraxis could see clearly, because Arrow had simply cut off the damaged portion of her form-fitting shirt, so that it now ended just below her breasts. The style seemed to accentuate the curves of her body even more, and he was glad that no one expected him to sit on a horse this morning. Although the burns were healing fast, her broken ribs obviously still pained her. Thraxis wished that she had simply stayed in bed for the rest of the day, but when one of the acolytes had announced that the oracle was ready to see them, there had been nothing for it.

The oracle knows she's hurt—at least the charlatan could have waited until tomorrow, Thraxis thought angrily. But no, this was a power game, just like those the Athraskani played. They would jump when the oracle called, not the other way around.

The Handmaiden waited in the gift room before the oracle's chamber. Her severe eyes focused on Arrow's stiffness, and she bowed her head slightly in a gesture of regret. “The oracle apologizes again for your injury,” she said. “Be assured that the girl has been turned out." Viabold frowned. “It wasn't her fault—she didn't know."

The Handmaiden shrugged eloquently. “Those who serve the oracle must have clear enough sight to pierce such a simple deception. The girl was a fool, moreover, and acolytes can never be fools. She proved herself unworthy to serve."

"She was only a child—"

"It is not your concern,” the Handmaiden said in a tone that forbade any further discussion. “The oracle has looked into the future and is prepared to speak to you now. However, only one of you may go into her presence to receive her prophecy."