'Not since Elsa died!' Kari shrilled out. She flitted over to Carp, her loose garments flapping as she moved. She crouched beside him, her dark eyes enormous. 'What did you see in the flames?'' she asked in a husky whisper.

'Kari!' her father rebuked her, but she did not heed him. She peered into Carp's clouded eyes, her head cocked and her lips pursed. For a long moment their gaze held.

Then she gave a giggle that had no humor in it and leaped to her feet. She turned to fix her eyes on Pirtsi. Her face was strange, unreadable. Even Pirtsi, immune to subtlety, shifted his feet and scratched the nape of his neck uneasily.

'Heckram and I will leave now!' Carp announced, rising abruptly. He took a staggering step, then gripped the young man's shoulder and pulled himself up straight.

'But I wished to speak to Capiam, about Kerlew,' Heckram reminded him softly.

Carp's eyes were icy and cold as gray slush. 'Kerlew is my apprentice. His well-being is in my care. He is not for you to worry about. Do you doubt it?'

Heckram met his gaze, then shook his head slowly.

'Good night, Capiam.' Carp's farewell was bland. 'Sleep well and contentedly, as should a leader of a contented folk. Take me to our hut, Heckram. This foolish old man is weary.'

A north wind was slicing through the talvsit. Icy flakes of crystalline snow rode it, cutting into Heckram's face. It was more like the teeth of winter than the balmy breath of spring. Heckram bowed his head and guided the staggering najd toward his hut. The talvsit dogs were curled in round huddles before their owners' doors. Snow coated their fur and rimed their muzzles. Heckram shivered in the late storm and narrowed his eyes against the wind's blast. In a lull of the wind came the lowing cry of a vaja calling her calf. A shiver ran up Heckram's spine, not at the vaja's cry, but at the low chuckle from the najd that followed it.