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as though they were pets, and they had lost most fear of them, for the things merely mocked and followed. But on this day the company was riding along some steep terrain, picking a winding way amid shelves of rock, and the horse-bird swept low overhead, catching a man on the side of his head with its heavy, dangling hooves, knocking him off his mount and over the rocky edge. The fellow went crashing and tumbling down the mountainside, coming to rest finally far below, smashed and dead. The others never knew which killed him, the blow or the fall, but his head was half crushed, and either way, the blame fell to the account of the cursing horse-headed bird.
    After they had made their way to the body and stood for a while around it, stunned, Kyrem’s three remaining followers turned on him in open rebellion.
    â€œIt has been nothing but ill fortune ever since this shuntali joined with us!” a man cried, shaking.
    â€œI do not believe such stuff,” the captain said, “but you know, Kyrem, the lad was there at that inn, and no mishap had plagued us before then. Perhaps Vashtin magic does hold some sway—in Vashti.”
    â€œWe’ll all be dead,” the other soldier groaned.
    â€œI know the lad means us no harm, Kyrem,” the captain continued, “but perhaps—”
    â€œYou’re talking craven nonsense, all of you!” said Kyrem hotly. If he felt an inward chill at what had happened, that was his secret, for an unreasoning bond now held him to the unfortunate he had befriended. “Seda has done us all good and no harm. He is to stay by my side for as long as he wishes.”
    â€œI will go,” said Seda. She turned and without another word started walking back the way they had come, uphill and away from them.
    With mingled guilt and relief, the men watched her depart. Kyrem felt some more genuine distress. “Seda, wait!” he called after her. “Where will you go? What will you do?”
    She turned for a moment, shrugged and waved and kept going. Her situation was not new to her—why, then, the tug at her heart?
    â€œWell,” said Kyrem tightly to his companions, “let us tend to this dead one and be on our way.”
    They hastily covered the body with scree. The dead man’s horse had panicked and bolted, long since out of sight, gone off to join the wild horses on Kimiel. And as ill luck would have it, packs had been on it that contained most of their meager gear and supplies. Kyrem decided against pursuing the mount, and the others did not object; they were eager only to be gone, to make their way out of these mountains that now seemed to loom so ominously.
    They rode silently until sunset. Then in the afterglow they turned and looked at each other. They had no food and little comfort in blankets or each other’s company.
    â€œThere are some of those ruddy mushrooms beneath the trees,” the captain said at last. “Let us see how they taste raw, since we have no pan to cook them in.”
    They were good. But Kyrem ate only a little, for appetite left him whenever he thought of Seda. The others ate heartily, lazing by the fire and ignoring the voices that called from the shadows all around them.
    â€œPeckernose! Peckernose!”
    â€œWhere is your father? Bastard! Bastard!”
    â€œDie! Die! Devan dogs!”
    The captain bent over where he sat with a groan. As Kyrem stared, the others did likewise. Then, as he rose to go to them, the pain struck him in his turn. His belly, poison working its way through his vitals—His men were screaming. He did not scream, but the gut agony bent him and felled him like a strong blow; he landed nearly in the fire, lying on his side in the dirt and writhing. His head swam, and sparks not of the fire flashed before his eyes. Was he losing his mind? He seemed to see Seda, one hand on the neck of the missing horse, standing just at the rim of the firelight and staring. Horror on the