Early that evening Calima and her pupil took their knitting and mending over to the window in the sitting room next to the kitchen, to catch the last natural light the day had to offer.

“Calima,” Fia asked as they sat down with their handwork, “why were all the horses in?”

The lady of the house didn’t look up from her knitting, but looped another strand around her needle. “They’re going to go over the mountain,” she replied, unruffled.

“Why?” Fia dropped her mending into her lap and put her chin in her hand. Calima looked up from under her eyebrows.

“To bring back a flock of poor people who are fleeing Othira,” she replied evenly. “They cannot cross on their own in this late season; any sudden storm would be their death. And they hardly ever have enough horses of their own. Almost everybody is leaving their livelihoods behind; they are all very poorly off, and have little to claim.” Her needles clicked in a tilting rhythm. “It’s very important that the journey be made swiftly and well guided; almost none of them have any knowledge of the mountains. So Andro goes over with the horses and brings them all back safely. He knows these mountains as well as anybody, and better than most.”

“All by himself?” Fia queried. “He takes all those horses, alone?”

“No. Oftentimes someone or another will go, sometimes several. It depends on who is here at the time. The last few times they’ve all been moved on from here, so Ilido’s gone with him.”

“And he’s going along this time, too?”

“Yes.” She smiled that small secret smile that meant she was pleased with someone. “Andro says the boy’s beginning to be as good in the mountains as he is… has a head for direction and a steady good sense about him. It does him good, I think…” She let her words trail off, and there was that faraway look in her eye that told her listener that she was thinking of something Fia didn’t know about.

“What happens to the people who come over?” Fia asked after a moment’s pause.

“Oh, they stay here until places are found for them elsewhere, in other parts of the country. We all work together, everyone who can be trusted just passing them along until they can find a place to stay for a while. It won’t be that very long, you know, until it’s all settled in Othira, and then they can go back to their homes. The king will win, of course. But in the meantime, it’s safer on this side of the mountains.” She turned her knitting. “So we all do our best to give them a hand.”

Fia looked out the window. The sky that had been clear and bright was now covered with clouds. They hadn’t so much blown in as slid in.

Andro came in from the barn, stripping off his mittens.

“It’s gotten mighty cold,” he said. “Wouldn’t be surprised if we got a little snow.” He glanced at Calima, who had not changed her smile. “Now, don’t worry, Mother, it won’t be anything we can’t handle.”

“Of course,” she said.

But her needles clicked a little faster.

That night there was a calm quiet around the supper table, a sort of chill in the air that Fia thought maybe she was imagining it. The clink of silverware and the soft requests to pass the butter seemed to be unusually clear, as if they were covering for a deeper silence that still came through. The lamplight fell on the heads of all gathered around the table; it seemed to her to strike a halo on the hair of Andro and Ilido. It seemed to soften as it touched upon the countenance of Arethmay, her eyes looking more tired than usual, her cheeks strained and worn.

Larna and Calima had a steady air about them, old campaigners, hopeful for a good outcome but knowing the risks that came with the mountains in winter. It was not a great factor, Andro was a skillful trail master and an old mountaineer, but the danger was whispered on every mountain breeze and had settled into the very bones of all who supped this night.

Later, as she slipped into bed, Fia thought of what tomorrow would be like for Andro and Ilido, and hoped that somewhere Evin and Arolin were safe and sound.

No dreams disturbed her deep slumber for many hours, but then a figure seemed to appear from out of some dreaming place. She could not recognize him, and at first she cared nothing for him in the least, but he seemed to draw nearer, or perhaps it was she who drew near to him. Then she knew she had seen him before. And where.

It was the man from beneath the oak tree, hooded and cloaked. He stood silent as stone and shadows swirled about him, nearly obscuring him and then parting away, returning and receding.

She felt as if her heart was in her throat as she stood a few lengths away, and although she nearly shook with fear, she was moved inexorably closer as if her feet were obeying some necessity the rest of her only lightly felt. Nearer and nearer she advanced, and he never stirred, just stood looking at her as she had seen him at first.

Now she was right beside him. In desperation she reached up and threw back his hood, and it was Ilido! Suddenly her fears fled, and she wanted to laugh, but he looked so deeply troubled.

“Ilido…” she began, but he suddenly stepped back from her.

“Why do you call me that?” he demanded, and his voice was that of her captor in the vineyard. “That is not my name.”

A thousand fears swept through her like the stormy wind that suddenly lashed past, and she went cold.

“Who are you?” she cried out, and sat up wide awake and shaking. The room around her was dark as pitch, and she could just hear an ember pop quietly in the kitchen stove below.

She darted a look about; all was dark, and seemingly still. Had she spoken in her sleep, or awakened because of her dream? The stones of the chimney bathed the room in soft, invisible warmth. All was safe and well.

She shivered and pulled the coverlet closer around her chin, the tension of her imagination slowly fading away now. It had only been a trick of slumber, wearied thoughts turning to outlandishness when freed by sleep. She sighed tiredly and breathed deeply. Turning onto her side and snuggling down for comfort, she closed her eyes and prepared to go back to sleep. But one thought rested against her mind like a stone as slumber stole over her once more.

Who was that man she had seen in the king’s vineyard?

Then all was muffled in sleep.

Fia had only barely awakened, in that odd, dark light that comes first on a winter morning, when she heard the muffled sound of voices outside. She slipped out of her coverlets and ran to the window, which was all frosted in the corners and edges with feathery foliage and flowers.

There below she saw the horses, some carrying packs and others simply bridled, standing in the cold predawn air with the snow crunching beneath their feet. Andro had been right about the storm. But it had been a quiet one, she had not heard even a rising wind between her dreams; and it had passed before the day, leaving only the snow as a token.

Andro and Ilido were just now bidding farewell to the three women that stood bundled up to see them off. They had not wakened her. And she knew why. She was not connected in any way to this, and they thought that she might as well have her sleep.

But Fia didn’t feel unconnected, and she knew that she would not have missed her sleep. She thought of running down to catch them before they left, to say good-bye and good luck; but she was only in her nightgown, and by the time she got her robe, her cloak, and her shoes, and ran the length of the house, they would be on their way. They were on the brink of leaving now.

Ilido kissed Arethmay’s cheek and her motherly hand tucked a strand of his hair back into his hood again. Then the two men stepped back and swung aboard their mounts. With a soft whistling trill Andro started off along the mountain trail and the horses fell in behind him, Ilido and his mount bringing up the rear. Slowly they lined out and moved off, and Fia watched to see if they might look up and spot her so that she could wave. But they did not, and she just watched the horses’ hooves making shadowy tracks in the snow, laying down a trail of gray dots over the white snow.

They rode out past the confines of the buildings, away up the ridge, and then dipped over into the other side. Ilido was the last to reach the ridge; he turned once and held up a mittened hand in farewell for a moment, and then he disappeared beyond the rise.

She half lifted a hand, and then wondered if he would have seen her even if she had waved.

Probably not.

She pulled back from the cold window and stood looking out into the dark of morning.

It was not light enough, and she was behind the glass.

She turned, and considered what she ought to do next. She could get dressed and go down to the kitchen, but then they would be talking there, and she might be intruding. She shivered suddenly; she had not noticed she was cold.

So she crawled back under her covers and lay there in the early dawn, with the winter’s dark heaped all about her in the room, thinking about the line of cobs trailing their way through the forest and what winter was always like in Scelane: soft blankets of fluffy snow laid down in gentle storms. And wondering if Estha had ever gotten to see more of Princess Illyria, if Eilma and Jith missed her as much as she missed them, and if Mother was thinking about her at that very moment… she didn’t notice when she fell asleep.

Arethmay woke her as the sunlight was rimming the mountain to the east, and the days that followed were quiet and uneventful, filled with studying and practice as well as practical work around the house. Calima taught her a new design trick, and the thought of the horses going slowly up and down the ridges somewhere to the west never left any of their minds.

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