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and she saw a brief hint of something else there that vanished when he spoke again. “But what of you, Frost? With the limited knowledge that I have I can sense a subtle force locked inside you."
    â€œOnce, I was a witch.” She bit her tongue as she said it. Why should she open up to this old vagabond? Yet, what harm was done? He knew she was Esgarian, so he probably knew that, like all Esgarian females, she had received some tutoring in the mysteries of Tak, the witch-god. Still, she swore to guard herself more closely. He was too easy to talk to. She had already given him her name. “But I have no powers now."
    The wind that swept the plateau grew colder. The chill caused her shoulder to ache bitterly, and she moved as close to the fire as she dared.
    â€œI name this place Cundalacontir — Cursed by Wind.” The old man muttered as he gathered his robe close around his ankles.
    â€œToo many people use that word without understanding its full horror."
    He regarded her closely. “Is that your secret, Frost? Are you cursed?"
    â€œBy my mother's dying breath.” She sucked her lip and said no more.
    Another shadow dimmed the moon, and Frost looked up to see the bird-thing abruptly swoop. Straight for them it came, pinions beating the air. For long minutes it circled above their camp. Then, with an unearthly cry it flew northward and disappeared in the night.
    Furiously, the old man scooped dirt on the fire, extinguishing its light. Frost raced to the plateau's edge and searched the dark plain for any sign of pursuit. Nothing. She hurried back to her newfound comrade.
    The wind died and the world became still.
    â€œI'm leaving this place,” she declared suddenly. “We're too exposed in all this openness."
    â€œI agree,” answered the old man. He gazed sullenly at the northern sky. “Something's afoot this night, and it seeks for one of us.” He turned meaningfully to face her. “I don't know which."
    A little way off, Ashur and the old man's brown mare huddled together munching the scant grass. Frost gave a low whistle. The unicorn ran to her; the mare followed.
    â€œYou have a beautiful animal,” her companion praised. “In all my days I've never seen such a horse."
    Frost smiled secretly. It seemed that to everyone else Ashur was just a horse. But Vericus and the dead raiders had seen Ashur, called him a monster and worse. Only the raider's son had called him a horse.
    Once, her weapons-master had claimed a man's senses were sharpest when he was about to die. Were those words truer than her teacher had realized? Maybe, in the face of certain, terrible death even a mortal man could see enchanted forms as they really were.
    Why, then, did she see a unicorn? Was it because the Stranger in the forest had given him to her? Or was it because her own end was drawing swiftly near? She had no answer.
    When they were mounted they searched for the trail that led down to the plain. As they were about to descend, Frost jerked Ashur to a halt.
    â€œMy shield!” she cried. “I left it in Shazad."
    â€œIt can't be helped now,” the old man answered sternly. “Shazad is too far back and too dangerous for you."
    She looked back in the direction they had come. “One by one, I've lost the things that belonged to my father: his horse, his saddle and now the shield that bore his sign. My past is being stripped away."
    The old man urged his mare down the steep path. “If you want a future, then we'd better ride. There's only danger behind us."
    Only danger lies ahead , she thought. What has man done to be so hated by the gods?
    At the foot of the rocky trail they turned northward and sped across a dead landscape with only the pale moon's waning light to show the way. The constant jostling made her wound ache frightfully and the wind chaffed her face raw, but the pace remained swift and steady.
    When at last she signaled to stop, the moon had fallen