'I want to hunt griffins!" she cried, shifting ground. She would never admit she was wrong.

'When you are old enough."

'I'm old enough now!"

'Your Highness," said Heribert gently, "you are not even a woman yet. Nor have you trained with arms for more than a few months, and in such limited circumstances because of this God-forsaken winter."

'You never looked at my letters! You hate me!" Blessing flung herself facedown on the feather bed and sobbed noisily. Her attendants fussed over her, trying to soothe her.

It was a relief to step outside into the cruel slap of winter.

'Is not the young princess old enough to be married, my lord prince?" asked the slave, falling into step beside Sanglant. She had a deadly way of looking sideways at a man, but he wasn't sure if she meant to be provocative.

'She is not yet a woman."

'She might still be betrothed and sent into the care of her husband's family so that she would understand their ways."

'In what land were you born?"

'In Avitania, my lord prince."

'Salian, then."

'That explains it," muttered Hathui.

Sanglant chuckled, sensing an undercurrent of hostility between the two women, who only ever met in such formal situations. "We have different customs. How came you to serve a Quman master?"

'I was sold to an Arethousan merchant, my lord prince, and taken into the east to the estate of a noble family. There I was captured by a Quman raiding party." She spoke the words with no sign of anger or grief.

'You learned Wendish from a good teacher."

She glanced at Hathui. "Brother Zacharias was what he was."

'A slave like you!" retorted Hathui angrily.

The slave nodded, choosing not to argue. Probably she had long since given up any notions of argument. She was a stolid woman in all ways, except for that amorous gaze, an open window in an otherwise shuttered-up house. She endured the cold without complaint, although she wore less clothing than he himself did: heavy felt trousers and tunic and a skin coat with the fur side turned in and wrapped tightly around her torso, all of which concealed the lush figure he recalled noticing in warmer days. Because she had the patience of a woman who has served a harsh master for many years and expects no release, she said nothing as he took his time making a spiral walk out of his own encampment, which was curled tightly around the two central tents.

At the entrance to the tent placed beside his own, he stopped to speak to the guards.

'How's the prisoner, Anshelm?"

'Quiet, my lord prince."

'It's a change."

'Truly, it is, my lord prince. Barely a peep out of him since those Quman came. I never thought to see him wetting his leggings like a frightened boy, but I admit it gives me pleasure still to think on it."

Sergeant Cobbo pushed through the entrance flap. "I heard voices." He bowed his head. "My lord prince."

Sanglant glimpsed the figure within, so heavily weighted with chains that it was a miracle the prisoner could sit upright, but sit upright he did. Before the flap cut off his view, Sanglant felt the for of Bulkezu's gaze like the nip of a cold wind biting his face.

Quiet, but not broken.

'We was just talking of the prisoner, Sergeant," said Anshelm "Think he lost his voice when he caught sight of his mum?"

Cobbo laughed. "Never did I think to see the day that beast would get his own back! How it made me laugh to see him humbled!"

Unlike his soldiers, Sanglant gained no pleasure from Bulkezu's humiliation and fear; he recalled his own too well. "Stay alert." He nodded and went on.

The camp was laid out in concentric rings, the tents set in uneven ranks so as to break up the blowing wind as much as possible. He paused at each tent to inquire after the soldiers within. Certain companies always had the privilege of being set up within the inner ring. When the healer came out to greet him, the man wheezed as the cold air hit his lungs.

'Whew! Each night I think it can't get any colder. Then it does!"

'How many are sick this evening?"

'Not more than twenty. Chustaffus was the worst of them yesterday, but he seems better today. These Quman witches have a brew that brings the fever down and clears out the lungs. After the first two, poor lads, we've not lost a single man to the lung fever, which I count a miracle. Chuf's a strong fellow. I don't fear for him now."

Sanglant nodded and went on.

Resuelto and the remaining Wendish horses-about a third of the stock had died-had to be stabled at great inconvenience in shelters.

'Nay, it's true," said the stable master while Sanglant groomed the gelding and, when he was done, fetched from his pocket the last of the apples they'd brought from Sordaia. It was withered, skin all loose, but Resuelto gobbled it up and slobbered on his shoulder, hoping for more.

'We'll lose another tonight," continued the stable master. "Colic. They can't take the weather, poor beasts. I'm nursing along six that are foundering, but two of those won't last. The weak ones aren't much to eat, either, with so little flesh left on their bones."

'I never thought to eat so much horseflesh," said Sanglant wearily. Even sturdy Resuelto had suffered, losing the flesh that would give him some protection against the cold. Sanglant prayed that they had survived the worst of the winter, yet although Breschius and Heribert had counted off the days and assured him that the new year come and that it was by rights spring, he had no idea how long this crushing cold might last.

The stable master's hands were seamed with work and hatched with white scars. He sniffed, wiped his nose. "Never stops running," he said, then waved toward the crowd of horses. "I hope the meat doesn't turn us into geldings like the ones we're eating!"

'They're keeping up their spirits," said Breschius when they left, continuing along the second ring of tents.

'So they are. Here, now, Ditmar. Berro. How fares it with you this night?"

'Well enough, my lord prince."

'We're dicing, my lord."

'Nay, we're dreaming of decent women, my lord. Those Quman woman are the ugliest creatures I've ever laid eyes on! They don't have noses!"

'I saw one who was as handsome a maid as any Wendish girl! That was back before it got so cold."

'And where is she now? Bundled up in furs, most like, and oiled up with stinking grease like her mother!"

The slave woman stood back and said nothing.

So it went, tent by tent. His soldiers greeted him cheerfully despite the searing cold and the interminable journey eastward across the bleakest land he had ever laid eyes on. The men had stitched together smaller tents into larger ones, crudely strung up but strong enough to withstand the howling winds and able to house more all together and thus keep everyone warmer through the terrible nights.

He had placed his most experienced, strongest men along the outer rim of the encampment together with the steppe horses who suffered the cold and could dig through the drifting snow to find grass, twigs, or tree bark. Like Quman women, Quman horses were as ugly as any he had seen, but they were tough.

He lifted a hand to greet four sentries huddled in what shelter curtains of felt provided against the cutting wind, which thrummed merrily against the cloth. The covered lamp Breschius held rocked as the wind caught it square on.

'My lord prince! It's cold to be out tonight." "How do you fare?" he asked them.

'We're having a pissing contest, to see whose piss can reach the ground without freezing."

'Sibold left his sword out too long, so it froze off. Now he'll never get a wife!"

'A few sticks bound together will serve him well enough they, Surly?"

'I hope so, since that's more than you have, Lewenhardt!"

'Hush now, you men." Captain Fulk emerged from the tent, having heard voices. "You lot go in, you've been out long enough.

With groans of relief, the four men hurried inside. Ice splintered off the tent flap as they jostled it, raining down on the snow-covered ground in a crystalline spray.

'How do the men fare, Captain?"

'Well enough."

'Provisions?"

Fulk frowned at four soldiers moaning and chafing their gloved hands as they edged outside to replace the ones just come off watch. The men greeted the prince warmly and, stamping feet and rubbing arms, squinted into the darkness toward the fires that marked the Quman encampment, an arrow's flight from theirs. Over in the nomad camp a man was singing, voice rising and falling in a nasal whine; despite the skirl of the wind, Sanglant was able to pick out a few words-man, woman, river, ice, drowning, death. If the Pecha-nek Quman knew any happy songs, he had yet to hear them.

'We're down to the last two barrels of salted fish eggs, my lord prince."

'Thank God."

'I can't stand the taste of it either. Poor man's food, as Brother Breschius told us, but it will go hard on us unless we reach a place we can obtain food in greater quantities than what we have available to us now. We'll have to start eating horse every day, slaughter the weak ones."

'Or drink their blood, as the Quman do."

'I pray we never do such a barbaric thing, my lord. Their mill wine is bad enough."

'Do you think so? It isn't so bad."

Breschius moved up beside him to stare out at the gap of land between the two encampments. Snow dusted down, swirling on the ever-present wind, but Breschius squinted into the darkness as though seeking something that lay beyond Sanglant's sight. Briefly the prince heard the tinkle of delicate chimes, fading and vanishing below the whine of the wind.

'Do you know where we are, Brother, or when we can expect to find better shelter and a good supply of food?"

Breschius shook his head, looking distressed.

'Do you know?" Sanglant asked the slave.

She shrugged, looking away from him. "These are not questions I can answer, my lord prince."

'Have you remembered your name yet?" he demanded, irritated by her placidity. At least Zacharias had hated and reviled his captors.

'You may call me what you wish, my lord prince. Whatever you require, I am bound to agree to, so the mothers have said."

Her lips were so red, full and shapely. Was she hinting that he might ask her into his bed? Or pleading with him in the only way she had, short of outright defiance of her masters, to beware what he asked of her? Was she begging for freedom?

'The wind would be worse," said Breschius suddenly, "but you can see how the slope protects us from the brunt of it."

'It's difficult to imagine it being worse," said Hathui.

Fulk drew the Circle at his breast. "May God have pity on us. I'll be glad to see spring, my lord prince."

'It is spring in Wendar," said Breschius, "but when the winter cold blows off and warmer weather comes, then the travel will get worse since it rains all day."

'And in summer you boil," said Hathui.

Sanglant laughed. "A fine place to make your home. Come," he said to the slave, "grab the rope."

Each afternoon when they stopped to set up camp, a Quman boy strung up a rope between the two camps in case of blizzard. Because the ground was frozen, they could not drive in a post on which to fasten their end of the rope, so Gyasi and his nephews had volunteered to act as post wardens and gatekeepers. They strung the rope from the small felt tent in which they sheltered each night. Sanglant ducked under the awning that protected the entrance of their tent, slung at an angle to cut off the prevailing wind. The old shaman crouched at the threshold, eyes closed. Behind him, glimpsed through a slitlike opening, Sanglant saw the twisting flame of a lamp and dark shapes clustered around it. An owl hooted nearby, calling out of the night, and Gyasi raised hands to his mouth and answered it.

'Great lord," he said without opening his eyes. "Be warned. Storm comes."

'Worse than this? Is there any threat to my people?"

'I am still listening."

Captain Fulk followed him under the awning.

'Captain, send word along the line for the men to make sure ev erything is secure."

'Yes, my lord prince. Do you desire an escort?"

Sanglant glanced back toward the slave, who was, he gauged, out of earshot. He spoke quietly. "We still have Bulkezu. If I show weal ness or anything they interpret as fear, the Pechanek may feel free to attack."

'They might take you prisoner, my lord prince, and then we would have to bargain for your release."

'We have sworn oaths, an agreement."

'People are tricky," Gyasi said, still without opening his eyes. "One man may promise life to his brother and after this stab him in the back."

'What protection should I take?"

One of the nephews eased out from between the slitlike entrance. He dropped to one knee before Sanglant in the gesture of obedience common to the Quman, then slipped out into the night with his bow case bobbing on his back.

Because of the way the light cast shadows, Sanglant could not see Gyasi's face distinctly, but he knew when the shaman opened his eyes. That stare could be sensed even when it could not be seen, as a man can feel the glare of the sun on his back or the appraisal of an interested woman.

'We protect you, great lord. Bulkezu had one time a brother who is like me a shaman. Now he is dead."

'He is the one whose magic killed Prince Bayan."

Gyasi shrugged. Bayan's fate held little interest for him. "Many seasons ago I am driven out of the tribe like a sick woman with no sons to protect her. My cousins know I hold no love for them in my heart after they have beaten me with sticks and burned my tent. No shaman walks with the Pechanek tribe who is so powerful that he can walk the shaman's path beside me. Do not fear them. They fear me. If they kill you, I will eat their flesh and grind up their bones to feed the dogs."

Sanglant laughed. "Then I shall walk into their camp without fear. I'll go alone, Fulk, with Breschius and Hathui. They can't kill me in any case, even if they try, and it's better if they continue to fear me because I do not fear them."