It had turned very cold in the night. Mishaar, however, awoke to find himself very snugly almost-buried beneath a selection of small Children who had gravitated towards him during the dark hours, dragging an assortment of hides with them. Everyone else was still asleep – there was some while to go until dawn, but his own internal clock had still not adjusted from Nahrsalk-time to Tashik-time.

He eased himself gently out from between the little ones, looking down with a smile as the heap re-aligned itself without waking, and pulled double-soled sheepskin boots on, lacing them round the calves over his blue trousers.

After one cautious look outside, he decided to add a long, thick, hooded sheepskin jacket to the deerskin waistcoat he had pulled on over his loose white linen shirt before venturing out onto grass that crunched loudly underfoot.

The embers of the supper-fire were still glowing; ten minutes work and a pile of deadwood brought it to blazing life, and he crouched for several minutes beside it, warming his hands, and looking around in the bright moonlight.

Everything as far as the eye could see was thickly frosted, the outlines of trunks and branches standing starkly black against the white; the delicate tracery of small glitter-encrusted twigs a delight to the eye as they captured the gold and amber of the firelight, creating a sparkling gem-like display in the absolutely still air.

Bracken scrunched his way across the brittle grass and nudged Mishaar gently on the shoulder; Mishaar reached a hand up, absent-mindedly, and stroked the beast's muzzle. There was frost on his whiskers, and the vapour of his breath settled onto Mishaar's sheepskin, freezing within seconds.

Last night's danchic had frozen solid in the pot; Mishaar pulled the tripod over and centred the pot above the fire before walking over to the wagon and retrieving the semi-rigid harness from it to soften slowly by the fire. He carved a rock-like bar from the pot of nut-oil, and began to rub it over the harness, working the leather soft between his hands and whistling quietly to himself as he worked.

By the time Farinka ducked gingerly out from under the tent flap he had finished oiling the harness and was frying bacon.

– It got a mite chilly last night, he commented, smiling up at her and offering her a mug of now-steaming danchic.

– It did, didn't it? The beasts' manes are white with it. Her hazel-green eyes laughed as they met his own. Was the harness frozen too?

– Not quite solid. How do you fancy a bacon and nut-paste sandwich?

– Sounds good. Unless the nut-paste is equally frozen.

– No; I brought it over earlier. He split a warm bread roll deftly with his fingers, spread nut-paste liberally over it with his belt knife, and folded a generous slice of bacon into the centre.

– This is good, said Farinka indistinctly. I hadn't thought of combining nut-paste and bacon.

– It's a very beneficial mixture. Full of things that are good for you. Which way westward are we intending on?

– Probably the southern trade route. Why? she looked across at him, and for a moment he was lost in the clear green-gold of her gaze.

– Why? she repeated. He broke the eye contact for a moment to clear his thoughts.

– The crew of the ship that docked at the same time as we did said that they were ringing the plague bells at Carwain harbour. Nothing was being allowed in or out – so they diverted to Tashik. And, to add to that, they'd already diverted eastwards to Carwain from Oldbury for the same reason.

– Hmm. Is there another route? asked Farinka.

– There is, but not the best for winter travelling; and I'd say from the feel of this that here is where winter starts. To avoid the plague areas, we'd have to strike northwards onto the inland trail and go on up through Mulyan and over Mons Dei; skirting across the southern tip of the barrier mountains. Carwain and the contact villages close to it spread right across the whole plateau between the southern scarp and the coast; you either have to go through the plague area or over the top. And, of the two, I'd rather risk the passes than the plague.

– How soon would we have to strike north?

– Today. The inland trail leaves the main trade route about eight miles from here. Mishaar looked slightly troubled.

– How much extra time does that add to the whole Journey? Farinka glanced up, making eye contact and trying to probe his mind. And finding it – apart from Voice – pretty much closed against her.

– In terms of distance, it's actually a shorter route. In terms of difficulty, though, it's another game entirely. There's no way you could take a wagon much farther than Mulyan; the tracks get too steep and too narrow. We're also very likely to be hampered by snow; but these things cancel each other out. Time taken in total probably won't differ much over either course. How fit are you for rough travelling?

– About twice as fit as I was when I first got here, she answered. And I was reasonably fit, then.

He looked over at her speculatively. She certainly carried no spare fat to slow her down; she was a lean, sleek package of muscle powered predominantly by nervous energy. Her eyes watched him looking at her, with a half smile glimmering somewhere in their depths.

– Your worst problem, Domina, is likely to be the cold. Your reserves can get used up very quickly just keeping warm – and you don't have very much in the way of reserves to fall back on. How would you manage a lean packbeast heading into a long journey under harsh conditions?

– If it were fit enough in itself, all it would need would be good feeding and careful watching, she answered.

– So just think of yourself as a two-legged packbeast, and look after yourself accordingly.

The smile in her eyes deepened. – And do you think of me as a two-legged beast?

– Hardly. I can't be quite that objective. On a purely instinctive level, I can't help but be aware that you're an adult, enabled Elf – although rather green. And therefore, like an untrained packbeast, potentially dangerous.

– Are you scared of me? she asked with a laugh.

– Frankly, yes. You have the advantage of me in everything except actual physical size; and, somehow, I don't think a size, weight or reach advantage would make much difference. Your own capacity for using Power in defence is at least three times stronger than any purely physical supremacy I might lay claim to. Possibly – in fact, probably – more. So, yes: I'd be very wary of challenging you on any front at all. Like that untrained beast, you might lash out with a great deal more force than necessary. You won't ever need to kick me – a lifted hoof is more than sufficient warning.

– Why would I want to kick you?

– I return your own question: are you frightened of me?

She took a thoughtful sip of danchic. – No. And yes. Should I be?

– No. What makes a packbeast more edgy than anything else?

– Walking into a situation where it can't accurately assess potential danger. If it's dangerous, it's simple – they just run like hell. It's when they can't decide whether to run or not that they're jumpy.

Mishaar handed her a second bacon and nut-paste roll.

– So with your 'Yes and no' answer, you're in the position of that packbeast, he commented.

– Packbeasts are always harder to reassure when they've been badly frightened or harshly treated – it adds weight to the scales on the side of 'potential danger'.

– So are all animals. Including ourselves. How would you handle a potentially lethal, edgy beast in that situation?

– By letting it walk into it – if it chose to – entirely at its own pace.

– Me, too. He took up the eye contact again, Aware of an almost subliminal shading of latent Coercion and Command in the way in which she held that contact, and grinned.

– That was definitely a 'lifted hoof', Domina. Point taken.

***

For the fourth day running, the sun shone brightly but with almost no warmth from a hazy pale blue sky, after a several-hour fight to dispel freezing fog which would return with a vengeance an hour before sunset.

Before the mist thinned, they crunched their way along the trail through a world from which all colour had been leached; everything was white; early-morning pink-white followed by blue-white, grey-white, rarely (and refreshingly) green-white if they passed a hardy evergreen, and the misted black of tree-trunks which gradually sharpened into hard contrast as the sun broke through and added thin blue and yellow-white to the range of colours; when the sun did eventually break through, the world sparkled with an exhilarating beauty.

They forded several small streams, on some of which the ice-layer stretched from bank to bank; once the wagon had crunched its way over they had access to clear running water from which to refill water-skins which then had to be slung over the backs of the beasts, to retain enough warmth to stop the water freezing solid.

The regular brittle crunching of their footfalls and the soft creaking of the wagon dispelled what would otherwise have been an almost overwhelming silence; in the four days since leaving the trade route they had seen no-one else.

Mishaar smiled down at Farinka as she dropped back to walk level with him.

– You could almost believe the whole world was deserted, couldn't you? she asked.

– Not quite as deserted as the Southern mountains, he answered, resting an arm casually across her shoulders. It's nice to have some company.

She looked up at him. – I got the impression that you liked solitude.

– Sometimes. Often. But, he added, coming to a halt and facing her, and resting his hands lightly on her shoulders, not always. I'm the kind who will need – and want – nothing more than my own company, regularly; and sometimes for weeks on end. There have been many times in the past – and no doubt will be in the future – when what I most need is to be on my own. But now is not one of those times. He paused, taking a slow breath, and lifted her chin gently with one finger. I enjoy the company I'm in. Specifically, I enjoy your company – and always will.

– I enjoy yours, as well.

He found himself holding his breath as she stepped closer to him, and closed his eyes, letting the breath out slowly and sliding his hands gently round her shoulders to hold her closer. She rested intoxicatingly against him for a moment; he felt the first ripple of tension in her back and loosened his arms, lowering his head.

"Don't ever be afraid of me, Domina," he whispered, the smooth skin of her cheek against his lips, before letting her go, reluctantly. The tremble that originated in his stomach muscles travelled inexorably to his hands; he stuffed them deep into the pockets of his jacket as Farinka turned to follow the wagon again, and laughed ruefully to himself at the hunger he could feel in his own eyes as he watched her walk away.

She turned back to face him, walking backwards a few steps.

"What are you waiting for?"

"Nothing, Domina," he laughed, breaking into a jog-trot to catch up.

– So how long have you been celibate? asked Nemeth's Voice, on a very tight wavelength and with a tangible mental grin.

– Son of my mother's people, every grain of my being is telling me with some force that it's been too long, Mishaar laughed.

– You're about as transparent as a packbeast, Mishaar, commented Nemeth, with considerable amusement. I feel for you.

– You haven't the faintest idea how I feel, retorted Mishaar, dropping to a walk alongside him and punching him affectionately on the shoulder. I don't need you to feel for me; I'm feeling quite enough for myself.

– She's bewitched you, said Nemeth.

– Something very like it, agreed Mishaar. I only wish it was mutual.

– What makes you think it isn't? asked Nemeth curiously.

– Because I'm sure. And she isn't, I don't think.

– Use your Awareness, suggested Nemeth.

Mishaar laughed. – That might not be wise. Granted, I'd be Aware of what she's feeling, but you know yourself that the reverse would also be true, and every instinct I have tells me that she's far from used to that kind of intensity. The Sea-Elf made that point very clear, as well.

– I'd wondered what he said. But while you kept your Awareness shut down, I didn't, added Nemeth pointedly.

Mishaar looked across at him. – And?

Nemeth laughed. – I'm not telling. Find out for yourself. The only thing I'll say is that, whatever happens, she won't zap you too hard. But it would be a zap, not a physical hit.

– Against which I have little or no defence, said Mishaar caustically. Thanks, Nemeth.

***

There had been another three days – and nights – of bitterly cold weather. The little ones often rode two-up on the unladen packbeasts, borrowing their body warmth, and, when not riding, they snuggled up together inside the wagon – often curled up with Kin, who had adopted them as a litter of siblings – or ran alongside to keep warm. Kin stayed always close to Kaaia, and when she was riding close to the wagon he ran underneath it, between the back wheels. On several occasions he and Kaaia took off after rabbits for the pot, and the combination of Kaaia's intelligence and Kin's hunting skills ensured that a kill was inevitable each time.

A combination of the cold and few hours of daylight meant that camp had to be set up early for the night. A further three packbeasts had been added to the team from a herd found in a forest clearing two days previously; two bay-browns which Shiffih had named Socks (for his white forefeet) and Smudge (for the smudgy white frosting at the sides of his tail), and a blue dun whose colouring had given him the name Smoke.

On the third evening, shortly before they settled for the night, Kin and Kaaia stood by the wagon, heads cocked, noses snuffing the air, and ears pricked. Watching them, Mishaar leaned back against a tree trunk. On the side of the clearing away from the wagon, Jekavi stood very still, his head tilted slightly upwards in a mirror-image of Kin's and Kaaia's posture. Mishaar extended Awareness gradually towards him, feeling Jekavi's slight hesitation before he allowed Mishaar to join Awareness.

– ? asked Mishaar.

– Breeze. Very, very slight, said Jekavi quietly, and from the North.

Mishaar concentrated, gradually shifting the Awareness to access Jekavi's senses.

– I feel what you mean. The faintest tremble on those topmost twigs. More a shifting of air than a breeze. There's snow on the way, too, he added after a moment.

– Tons of it, agreed Jekavi, expanding the Awareness and then suddenly smiling. We're also no longer alone.

Mishaar allowed Jekavi to lead his own mind-sense off into the forest.

– Here ... and here; and there, three of them, said Jekavi. There are more, holding back a little way.

– Wolves? queried Mishaar.

– Yes. They're just trying to fathom who we are, I think. He turned almost silently and joined the others by the fire.

– Well? asked Sherath, the firelight bringing out gold highlights in his hair.

– We've got company, said Jekavi.

– Something tells me you want to go and investigate, said Sherath, his charismatic smile creasing the corners of his eyes.

– That feeling is shared with Kin and Kaaia, Jekavi answered.

They will be in no danger. Moondust's Voice drifted across the clearing. I will go with them, if you like, he added.

– Could I go, too? Or will I frighten them off? asked Farinka.

– Open your Awareness wide, so they know you're just curious, said Jekavi. He turned to face Mishaar. And you?

– Yes, why not, he said, getting slowly to his feet and stretching his back muscles.

With Kin and Kaaia leading, they trod in near-silence beneath the trees, halting some hundred yards from the clearing. After a short while, Kaaia raised one hand slightly and froze. – Wait, she said. Kin wagged his tail and looked up at her. Some communication clearly passed between them; then Kaaia squatted down beside the pup, and they both howled a soft series of tones, harmonising together. Moondust looked around in the darkness, his nostrils flaring. Kin and Kaaia trotted off some distance into the undergrowth, and a chorus of soft yippings and whinings echoed back to the rest of them.

– Are they safe? asked Farinka.

– They are more than safe, answered Moondust. This is greeting. They are Pack.

Jekavi grinned, then seated himself on a fallen tree trunk some yards away. Some trick of the darkness made it seem for a moment that his outline flickered uncertainly; he became an indistinct shape, grey against grey; it was hard to tell where Jekavi ended and the tree trunk began. Mishaar could feel the swift change as the whole substance of the young Elf's Awareness shifted, and as he followed the shift he could dimly see shapes moving in the gloom towards Jekavi's tree trunk.

He made as if to step forwards, but Moondust caught hold of the sheepskin jacket between his teeth and halted him.

– How good is your night vision? asked Farinka.

– Frustratingly incomplete, he answered in a whisper.

– It's either got darker, or Jekavi's moved, said Farinka.

– I'm still here, came Jekavi's Voice, subtly changed.

They reached the Wolf Awareness through him, suddenly surrounded by scents and sounds that had been imperceptible moments before; the specific scent-signatures of a dozen or more wolves, including half-grown cubs of Kin's age with a bright and penetrating curiosity. Mishaar could detect the approach of a youngster by his scent before he could see him, then the wolf suddenly materialised close to him, reaching his nose onto Mishaar's boot and snuffing loudly.

Farinka crouched down and held a hand out to the cub. Mishaar could feel her flooding reassurance and affection into her Awareness; he let it wash through him, picked it up and added his own, extending it as much through Farinka as towards the young wolf. He sat down slowly, his back against the spiralling bark of a chestnut tree and his knees bent up, and held out his hands between his knees, in a gesture of approachability, as two more wolves came towards them. One of the two snuffled his muzzle into Farinka's hood, pushing it back and shifting her off balance. Mishaar steadied her with a hand.

– Sit, he suggested, patting the ground in front of him. She shifted over and settled herself so that she could lean sideways against his chest, using one of his legs as a backrest. He shifted his other leg so that she could stretch hers out.

– This ground's cold, she observed.

– Domina, one of these wolves is very lame. I think she's run a thorn deep into her paw, said Jekavi slowly and somewhat indistinctly. The effort required for him to use Voice instead of Awareness was palpable. Kaaia and I told her that Sherath could help; she seems to have agreed to go back with me.

– You 'told' her? queried Farinka.

– Um. Difficult to explain quite how; but yes. This pack came over this way from Mons Dei last summer. They began not to like it any more.

There was a distinct dislodgement and shiver through the fabric of Jekavi's Awareness for a brief moment before he slid off the tree trunk. The three wolves who had been intensively investigating Mishaar and Farinka, both with their noses and their knife-sharp Awareness, melted away into the darkness and padded after Jekavi. Moondust glanced over, his Awareness briefly touching Mishaar's, before dipping his head and following them.

– Do you want to go back, Domina? asked Mishaar.

– If you do.

– Not particularly.

He rested his chin on the top of her head, then let it slide down until the scent of her filled his nostrils, his Awareness drifting through hers just lightly enough that she could break away whenever she chose to.

Her skin was cool-warm beneath his lips as he inhaled the taste of her, trailing gently across her brow and neck; the trembling started spreading through him as he dropped feather-light kisses onto her closed eyelids, savoured the silky tautness of the skin over her cheekbones, the soft tangle of her hair around the fingers of his right hand, the satin warmth of her neck under the ears and across the throat as his lips lingered there before moving up again towards her face.

The cool of her fingers against the skin on his ribs sent a shock like an earthquake through him, setting the skin wherever she touched on fire with dizzying effect which flooded through his Awareness, washing away the last fragments of rational thought and sweeping him into an intoxicating whirlpool of sensation.

"Oh, ye gods, Farinka," he whispered, half way between laugh and groan, finding the warmth of the skin along the curve of her spine with the palm of his hand, and the overwhelmingly sweet soft heat of her lips with his own.

They were rudely interrupted as Kin shoved his cold wet nose onto Mishaar's neck and yipped.

"Curse it, wolfling!" laughed Mishaar. Kin dipped his ears ingratiatingly, lolled his tongue out and wagged his tail. He nudged again, and both Farinka and Mishaar noticed that he was accompanied by another wolf: a female, dark grey, and lame. She stood looking at them, head tilted on one side, tail raised but slowly wagging, and an unmistakeable amusement about her.

Kaaia and Jekavi came back into the clearing; Kaaia ran to the wolf, crouched and hugged her.

"This is Mamawolf," she told them. Mamawolf gently grabbed Kaaia's neck between her teeth, shoved her to the ground and ruthlessly washed her face for her, tail wagging all the time. Kaaia dissolved into giggles, and Kin bounced around, then chased his tail in circles. Eventually the washing and giggling ceased, and Kaaia sat up. "Mamawolf will come to Sherath," she said.

They roused themselves and walked back to the camp; Mamawolf barely touching the ground with her lame and swollen forepaw. Sherath stood up quietly, and tilted his head on one side as he looked at Mamawolf. Mamawolf dipped her ears slightly, wagged her raised tail, then walked to Sherath and nosed his hand.

"She says you are Alpha," said Kaaia. Sherath grinned, and crouched by the wolf.

– May I see your foot? he asked.

Mamawolf sat, and lifted her paw into his hand, cautiously. Her jaws parted somewhat, her chin lifted, and her ears flicked.

"She says to be careful, it hurts," commented Kaaia. Sherath glanced up at her.

– Kaaia, can you explain to her that I can fix this better if she is not awake? And that I can touch her with something that will make her sleep for a while?

There was some kind of communication between Kaaia and the other wolf, too subtle for the Elves to follow totally. Kin approached Mamawolf, dipped his ears, crouched slightly, and licked the side of her face. She withdrew her paw from Sherath's hand and gave him a long, steady look. He stayed crouching and returned the look, flooding his Awareness with reassurance.

– She's not happy about being asleep with so many people about who are not her pack, said Kaaia. Kin is trying to let her know it's all right, but she is Mamawolf and he is a pup. Can you show her? Show her on Jekavi.

– Jekavi? Asked Sherath.

Jekavi sighed, then came over and held out his wrist. Sherath smiled up at him. – I suggest you lie down first so that you don't alarm her by falling, he said. Jekavi held out his hand for Mamawolf to sniff, then lay down. Sherath scratched across Jekavi's wrist with a thorn dart.

Mamawolf sniffed at Jekavi; she stood up, walked slowly all around the sleeping Elf, sniffing as she went. Then she looked back at Kaaia, then at Sherath, and snorted.

– She will let you do it now, said Kaaia.

– Thank her for me, Sherath replied as Mamawolf once again put her paw into Sherath's hand. Kaaia glanced at Mamawolf; something about her eyes changed, and if she had had the right sort of ears, they would have dipped. A tail would have wagged, but even without the ears and tail the other Elves could almost see them.

Sherath showed a thorn dart to the wolf, then very gently stuck it into the front of her leg. Mamawolf collapsed into lying down, and Sherath took a longer thorn and ran it into the muscle of her shoulder just as Jekavi woke up.

"Phew," he said. "All right, Tarke, can you hand me that chamomoile and comfrey wash you've got going there? And fish my little sharp blade out of that boiling water. Thanks." He started work on the swollen paw. There was part of a long thorn deeply embedded at the back of the pad, with raw flesh around it where the wolf had been chewing at it. He opened the back of the pad with his sharp blade, and let the abscess drain freely, massaging around it to ensure that all the pockets were opened up. The remains of the thorn came out with the pus, which stank. Kaaia wrinkled her nose.

"Many little badnesses in there," she commented.

"Little badnesses?" asked Jekavi.

"Little badnesses," confirmed Kaaia. "They are alive; they feed and they breed," she added. "Sometimes you can lick most of them away, and chew open bits, but it's hard to lick them away without licking away a lot of yourself too."

Sherath looked up and grinned at her. "Indeed," he said. "I'm going to fix those, too." Farinka could suddenly feel the same odd use of Power that she had noticed herself using back in that first village, when she was treating Karinna's sickness.

– Oooooh! said Kaaia, rocking back on her heels. You are killing the badnesses! Let me see! She laid one hand on Mamawolf's head, and the other on Sherath's arm, her face a picture of fascinated delight. Kin crept forwards on his belly, ears quivering as he watched intently. He looked briefly up at Kaaia and something passed between them. She grinned down at him, and once again the Elves could almost see the dipped ears and wagging tail. Kin wagged frantically and licked Sherath's hand.

– Woundwort paste? suggested Louka, holding a small pot out to Sherath.

"Yes," he confirmed.

Once Sherath was happy with the state of the wound, he applied to green paste liberally over it, and dressed it carefully with soft bandages, padding between each toe and the next before wrapping the whole foot.

"That should do it," he said to Kaaia. "I'm going to cover this wrapping with a boot of soft leather, too," he added, fashioning one as he spoke. He removed the long thorn from Mamawolf's shoulder muscle, and they all waited for her to wake. Kaaia and Kin moved back respectfully, and The Elves took the hint and also gave Mamawolf plenty of space.

The wolf stirred, rolled onto her chest, looked at the boot, and snorted.

"She says that is a silly thing and she will chew it off," said Kaaia, as Mamawolf went to work on the boot with her teeth.

– Noooo! Said Sherath, laying a hand over the boot. Mamawolf growled softly at him and bared her teeth.

– Mamawolf, the silly thing must stay on until all the pain is gone from your foot, or more badnesses will come in, he said to the wolf. The look she returned him was unmistakably sceptical.

Kaaia giggled and Kin rolled over on his back, waving his paws in the air, wagging his tail furiously, and panting, with his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth.

"Is he laughing at me?" asked Sherath.

"About you, not at you," said Kaaia, still giggling. "Mamawolf says you may be Alpha, but you're not her Alpha, and you have no puppies anyway because these puppies are not yours."

The Elves creased up into laughter. "This is so true," commented Tarke.

– This is true, but they are in my care, Sherath explained to Mamawolf, hoping that she could understand him. Really, the silly thing must stay on for three days at least, and you must keep it dry, he added. Mamawolf sighed, stood, and licked Sherath's face.

– This is a Thing to be Told, she said to Kaaia.

***

Later that night they could hear the wolves howling in the distance. Kaaia and Kin pricked up their ears, listening.

"It is the Telling," said Kaaia to Sherath.

"Do you understand it?" he asked.

"Of course! Don't you?"

"Not really," he answered.

Jekavi looked up from where he lay by the fire. – I can kind of understand it, he said. It's not words, though.

Kaaia smiled at him. –You are listening with wolf ears, she said. She turned to face the others. "You are all listening with the wrong ears," she told them. "Try listening with my ears."

They closed their eyes, concentrating, and trying to feel what she meant. The joining of Awareness between them all, and with Kaaia and Kin, crept on slowly.

– Ooh! Kin's all bright and sparkly! said Taari; the other littlest ones chimed in with agreement. Suddenly the music of the Telling became clear to them all, they recognised echoes of each other's mindmusic in it and felt a strong sense of kinship.

Kaaia smiled almost smugly. – Now you are all Pack, she told them.

***

They left the tent, the wagon, the unicorns, most of the beasts, and the little ones (under the supervision of Louka, Jevann, Jekavi and Sienne) in a forest clearing a few miles to the east, and made their way into the village.

There was smoke drifting southwards from every chimney in Mulyan – which was a substantially bigger settlement than it had been a hundred years earlier, Mishaar noted, looking around him. A fair area had been cleared from the forest which surrounded and sheltered it.

"It's turned from a hunters' village to a farmers' settlement," he said to Sherath. "And a rich one, by the look of all these barns."

"It's good land for farming," said Sherath. "This slope catches the sun almost all day – when the sun's out," he added, glancing up at the grey-white sky. A few powdery particles of snow were drifting in the air.

– Here it comes, said Nemeth.

– At least it will lift the temperature a bit, said Tarke.

They halted on the forecourt of the tavern, and Nemeth walked over and knocked on the oak door.

The sound of massive bolts being slid back came through the door, and the innkeeper looked out, clutching a woollen robe around him. A waft of warm air escaped through the doorway.

"We're not open for breakfasts for another hour or more yet, lad," he said, rubbing fingers through his tousled hair.

"I know, I was just wondering whether you could point me in the direction of your beast trader," said Nemeth, allowing the full warmth of his smile to creep over the innkeeper, who visibly unbent.

"Aye; you'll want Vennkye's Trading Yard. Carry on down to the square; the yard takes up the whole of the right hand side. You can't miss it."

"Many thanks," said Nemeth. The door was closed almost before he'd finished speaking.

"Vennkye's Yard, on the square," said Nemeth, returning to the wagon. "Let's go."

Vennkye's Yard was, as the innkeeper had assured them, impossible to miss. It had obviously grown sideways from what had originally been the livery yard and beast trader's establishment, and now extended along the right hand boundary of the market square; an orderly collection of stabling, barns, grain stores, stacks of timber, a forge, leather goods merchant, cloth trader's and ropemaker's shops, and even a jeweller's.

"Riches, indeed," said Mishaar. "They must do good trade out of Mulyan." – And it's grown, he added. When I came through last time, Vennkye's was just the beast-yard and leatherworks. There was a tannery on the corner.

– I expect they moved it out of the square because of the smell, said Louka with a grin.

– More than likely, agreed Mishaar. Vennkye himself was long gone by then, of course.

– Did you ever meet him? asked Farinka.

– Yes, the time before that. Another hundred or so years earlier. Before there was a proper tannery. A Southerner. Going quite grey when I met him.

Farinka halted Nut and Bracken in the cobbled market square, and stood by their heads, turning her back to the chill breeze.

The jeweller's stall was still shuttered, but the others walked over and Nemeth rapped gently on the door, which was quickly opened.

"Come on in, come in, let's keep the cold outside where it belongs," said the young Dwarf who peered out. "What can I do for you?" he asked, leading them inside.

Sherath pulled a small rabbit-hide pouch out of his pocket, loosened the drawstrings, and tipped the gemstones out onto a small dish on the counter. He glanced up at the Dwarf, smiled, and spoke to him in Dwarvish.

The Dwarf's face broke into a warm smile as he replied in kind, then turned to the others. "Seat yourselves; take a drink from the pot, if you're so inclined," he said, reverting to Common, "while I trade with your ... friend."

He picked up the stones, examining them closely and separating them into two unequal piles. "Where had you these, friend?" he asked softly in Dwarvish, his dark brown eyes looking up into Sherath's.

"From Rockton. Traded a team of beasts for them."

"They must have been a good team. Interesting."

"What is?" asked Sherath curiously.

The dwarf swept the first pile into the palm of his hand, turning them over under the light. "These, yes, these are from the Rockton mines – and good stones, too. Around a hundred and fifty marks-worth." He slid them back down into the dish and swept the much smaller second pile up.

"Now these," he said, looking curiously at Sherath. "These are not Rockton stones. These come from the old tunnels over westwards at Anster Sumares. Digging Weston." He looked up at Sherath again. "Now, my friend; the Anster Sumares stones were never traded with men. Did you know that?"

"Yes, I did – but I didn't know that those were Anster stones."

"No, it takes a Dwarf to know that." He looked at the stones more closely. "These were cut by Tyach, from the western face. And they're also fit for a king – or a king's son. Of – a – particular – kindred," he added deliberately and slowly, looking back up at Sherath again, and straightening up.

"Oh, shit," said Sherath ruefully, in Dwarvish, and with a grin.

The Dwarf gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder and laughed. "How many marks do you need?"

"We're hoping to trade the wagon for beast packs ..."

"You'll get a straight swap from Jann at the livery end. Now, if you're hoping to sell any beasts, that's a different matter – he's already overcrowded."

"We're more likely to need beasts than sell them," said Sherath. "We'll also be needing ropes."

The Dwarf smiled. "And Donn the ropemaker's wife Maya has been nagging him for a new mantle clasp. I can ease your deal with him. I take it you're going over Mons Dei."

"Unfortunately there's plague in Carwain and Oldbury; we don't really have a choice."

"Not much, no. There were rumours of odd things around and about Mons Dei last year." He looked back down at the stones in his hand, then faced Sherath, his hand held up palm forwards. Sherath locked fingers with him.

"What I offer to do is to set these for you – not take them from you. I'd not only like it – I'd be honoured if you'd let me. So I'll give you a hundred and fifty marks for the others, set these, and let you have them when you come back this way." He reached down and opened a locked drawer in his desk, picking out ten-mark pieces by feel.

"I am gladdened by your offer," said Sherath softly.

"And I by your acceptance of it," replied the Dwarf, sliding the marks into Sherath's free hand. "Go over and see Jann at the livery; I'll do your deal with Donn Roper. If you're going up over the top, your beasts would appreciate extra grain. I'll talk with Tey Thresher." He released Sherath's fingers.

***

"Here they come," said Louka. "With two extra beasts."

"That's going to make life easier," said Jevann. He called the little ones over, and started to share out hot bacon and grain stew and bread rolls amongst them.

The others came into the clearing at a gentle trot; Moondust whinnied at the two new beasts and pranced over, showing off. He sniffed at them with gentle rumbling snorts, then calmed down and walked away, shaking his mane.

– They're mares, explained Nemeth with a grin. But they're barren this year. He and Sherath unstrapped and lifted a heavily filled pack from Nut's back, then turned their attention to Bracken, similarly laden.

"Their names are Hazel and Holly," said Farinka. "Hazel is the goldie, Holly the brown. Seven years old, and totally trustworthy, we're told."

"What's in the packs?" asked Louka.

"Cracked grain; barley, maize and oats," said Tarke, lifting an empty pack from Hazel. "Enough for every beast to have a grain feed every day for the next six weeks, or thereabouts. Enough to get us to Kineton. Holly's pack's half full of rope. There's a keg of ale in it, too." She turned Hazel loose and gave the mare an affectionate pat on the shoulder. Hazel nudged her for a titbit, and got a small section of honeycake.

"They've also been thoroughly spoiled," said Mishaar with a laugh, lifting Holly's pack off.

"I made another pack while you were away," said Jekavi. "So we've got eight packs, and ten beasts."

"Well done," said Sherath, helping himself to a dish full of steaming stew and two rolls. "Four working pairs and one resting pair, each beast having one day off in five. If the unicorns will carry packs, it helps more – but I'd rather let them be ridden by the little ones. Again, if they'll permit it."

– I don't think Sunshine or either of those mares should carry a full grain pack until they've lightened up a bit, said Nemeth. There's nearly a hundred and fifty kilos in each one at the moment.

– We can split those down into seventy-five kilo packs. And it will go down at the rate of around seven or eight kilos a day, said Farinka. This stew's good. Who's responsible for it?

– Jevann and the little ones, said Louka. We're beginning to run low on bacon. It would be good to pick up a boar, if we can.

– Should get one around here, there's plenty of beech in these woods, replied Nemeth. Care to go hunting this afternoon, Mishaar? he asked.

– I've got iron-tipped arrows, if you've got dozewort.

– Sherath? asked Nemeth.

– Give me a chance to eat. But yes, there's some in my box. I'll stew it up when I've finished eating.   

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