Indigo… It was Grimya’s voice in her head, and the wolf’s mind crawled with uncontrollable fear. Indigo… I…

Very slowly, Indigo began to raise her head. Her heart was pounding wildly with a combination of shock, incomprehension, and the terror she was picking up from Grimya. She heard something; paused motionless. A soft, exhaled breath, with something in it that sounded like a massive, husky purr. And her nostrils flared as a hot, animal scent assailed them.

Her eyes strained upwards; focussed.

And her voice cracked with awe and fear as she whispered, “Oh, sweet Goddess…”

CONTENTS

- Prologue

- chapter 1

- chapter 2

- chapter 3

- chapter 4

- chapter 5

- chapter 6

- chapter 7

- chapter 8

- chapter 9

- chapter 10

- chapter 11

- chapter 12

- chapter 13

- chapter 14

- chapter 15

- chapter 16

- chapter 17

- chapter 18

- chapter 19

- chapter_20

- Epilogue

- Back Cover

Tor books by Louise Cooper

Mirage

INDIGO

Nemesis: Book One of Indigo Inferno: Book Two of Indigo Infanta: Book Three of Indigo Nocturne: Book Four of Indigo Troika: Book Five of Indigo

THE TIME MASTER TRILOGY

The Initiate

The Outcast

The Master

TROIKA

BOOK FIVE OF INDIGO

LOUISE COOPER

TOR

fantasy

A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK NEW YORK

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

TROIKA

Copyright © 1991 by Louise Cooper

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

A Tor Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

49 West 24th Street

New York, N.Y. 10010

Cover art by Gary Raddell

ISBN: 0-812-50799-1

First edition: July 1991

Printed in the United States of America

Tread lightly, she is near

Under the snow.

—Oscar Wilde, “Requiescat”

For Linda Young and Juliette Ward

—two redoubtable friends.

PROLOGUE

In the privacy of a quiet room in a land that is not her own, a young woman turns to a looking-glass, her reflection a little distorted by a flaw in the mirror’s surface. Anyone seeing her would take her for twenty-five years old at most, despite the faintly haggard set to her face and the creases scored by sun and wind in the skin around her startling blue-violet eyes. Even the strands of grey that streak her long, auburn hair don’t detract from her apparent youth… but she, alone among all of humanity, knows that the image is a lie. For she has been as she is now, unageing, unchanging, for more than forty years.

She is Indigo. And Indigo is immortal.

Once, long ago in a time that seems to her now like a chapter from someone else’s life, she was a king’s daughter, and she laughed and danced and loved within the secure walls of her father’s fortress at Carn Caille. But that was before her own recklessness undid the peace of centuries which otherwise would have been her birthright. Before she challenged and breached the taboos of the Tower of Regrets, to bring a new kind of chaos to the world.

Before the demons came.

In her nightmares, Indigo still remembers the carnage that her one wild act wrought upon the home and the family she loved. And since that terrible day she has traveled through the world in a desperate and unceasing quest to find the seven evils that came howling from the tower at her behest, to confront them, and to destroy them. For until that task is completed, she cannot die. And until that task is completed, she cannot free the one man she loves, whose life and soul are frozen in a limbo beyond time.

In the quiet room she thinks now of Fenran, her lost love, with a pain made all the more poignant by the knowledge that this land to which she has come is the land of his birth. Three demons have died at her hand. Now, in seeking out the fourth, she must also face a demon of a subtler kind within herself: the demon of her memories.

Again, Indigo gazes into the mirror. But this time the mirror shows her a different image, and instinctively she recoils, feeling a cold hand touch her spine as she sees the smiling face and the silver eyes of yet another force which might in truth be dubbed demon. A force and a form that walks in her shadow, a being created from her own dark self: her Nemesis. Wherever she goes, it will follow; whatever she does, it will strive to thwart her. And it has taught her the meaning of hatred.

Then the image of Nemesis dissolves, and instead Indigo finds herself gazing into milky golden eyes and a face of utter serenity and implacable will. Her own eyes close, but the image remains, and her mind spins back to the ruins of Carn Caille, and to the bright being, the emissary of Mother Earth, who came to her in her darkest moment and laid the burden of her quest upon her young shoulders.

Two unhuman powers: light and darkness, arbiters and judges. And yet, Indigo asks herself… and yet… are they truly what they seem? For she has begun to learn that the twilight border between the outer world and the inner is often blurred, and that destiny is a word that might have many different meanings. And above all, she has begun to understand the nature of deception.

At her side, a grey form stirs and a brindled head lifts, lambent eyes regarding her with affection and concern. Indigo’s own eyes open; she turns, and reaches out to fondle the ears of the she-wolf who lies at her side. Her one eternal friend; the mutant Grimya who chose to share her quest and with it her burden, and who has been her companion through all the years of wandering. Amid the world’s strangeness and trickery, Grimya is a constant that never alters, an anchor in the shifting tides of Indigo’s life. And for that alone, Indigo owes her more than she can ever express.

She looks at the mirror once more, and her own face gazes back at her from the distorted glass. She looks away; it is a reflection, no more. Reality lies ahead in the cold northern land, where something dark and malignant waits to be stirred into life. She will find it. She must.

At last, Indigo sleeps. And Grimya, a creature of the night keeping restless vigil, gazes at the alien constellations shining remotely down from the clear and frosty northern sky, and listens to the small sounds that Indigo utters in her dreams. Her own dreams are simpler; a wolf’s ancestral memories of forests and plains and hunting through the ever-changing seasons. But in a part of her mind that is not quite wolf but something that spans the gulf between animal and human, she wonders what this new future will hold for her and for her friend.

And she is thankful that the answer, as yet, eludes her….

Chapter I

It wasn’t at all the kind of establishment in which she’d expected to take lodging. From the outside the hostelry looked unassuming enough; foursquare and solid, but with little to distinguish it. Only the sign above the door gave a hint that this wasn’t a regular sailors’ or cattlemen’s haunt, for instead of the usual stylized painting to represent the hostelry’s name, the words the Sun at Morning were emblazoned in neat, bold script. This establishment, it seemed, expected its patrons to have at least a modicum of learning. And it was a none too subtle hint that the less savory elements of Mull Barya’s constantly shifting population weren’t welcome beyond the polished wood doors.

When Northarrow, the cargo ship which had brought her from the western continent, had docked two hours ago, the young woman had intended to take a room at one of the harborside inns. The loud, rough clamor of dock life held no terrors for her: as both crew and passenger she’d put in at enough of the world’s busiest ports to be comfortably familiar with their ways and their pitfalls; and she was more than capable—as the crossbow on her back and the sheathed knife at her belt testified—of protecting herself should the need arise. But Northarrow’s captain had warned her that this time she’d do well to look for other accommodation. Winter was threatening to close in early this year, and as a result Mull Barya was host to an abnormally large influx of cattlemen from the inland steadings, come to sell their summer-fattened stock for shipment before snow shut down the drove roads and ice closed the sea-lanes. The markets were overcrowded, drinking heavy and tempers short. A lone female, however good a fighter, would be vulnerable among so many drovers jaded with the roads and looking for fun; and even the companion who sat now beside her, tongue lolling and lupine amber eyes intent, wouldn’t guarantee her safety. When the docking formalities were over and farewells said, the young woman had looked at the town for herself, and decided to take the captain’s advice. She had coin enough—the currency of the south-west was as acceptable here as any other—and besides, she felt a yen for more peaceful surroundings after the noise and cramp of the voyage. The Sun at Morning would be her best choice.

Two well-dressed girls in their teens, accompanied by an an older, eagle-eyed chaperone, approached along the boarded walk, skirts held fastidiously out of the dirt and exposing ankles and calves in neat, laced leather boots. A group of men walking down the middle of the street stopped and shouted a vulgar invitation; the chaperone glared and shepherded her charges hastily towards the door of the Sun at Morning. The young woman stepped back to make way, receiving a curt nod of thanks, and a wave of warm, woodsmoke-scented air wafted through the doors as the small group entered the hostelry. The men jeered, disappointed, and one suggested that she might like to come and show him what she had in the girls’ stead; she ignored him and looked down at her companion.

“Well, Grimya, it’s a far cry from our cabin on the Northarrow. Let’s see what they make of us, shall we?”

The big grey, doglike animal raised her brindled muzzle and sniffed appreciatively at the smell from beyond the doors. Fleetingly the young woman wondered how the patrons of the Sun at Morning would react to the appearance of a close cousin of the Redoubt’s own wild wolves in their midst, and smiled thinly at the thought. If nothing else, it would provide a new diversion for the local gossips.

She pushed open the doors, and they went in.

It was a little like stepping into a warm, comfortable, but faintly unreal cocoon. As the doors swung to at their backs, the sounds of the busy street dropped abruptly to a barely audible murmur; here was dim, restful lamplight, the glow of polished wood and brass, the warmth of an enormous fire burning in the ingle and casting soft shadows on the ceiling of the reception room. Rugs covered the floor; even the staircase that led up to the guest bedchambers was carpeted to minimize the noise of tramping feet.

She was in time to see the two girls and their chaperone disappearing through a curtained arch that appeared to lead to a dining room. Beyond a polished wood counter, the inn’s middle-aged chatelaine was watching her with curiosity. She turned, and approached the desk.

“I’d like to take a room.”

The chatelaine was clearly nonplussed. Primly and cautiously, she said, “I think, madam, that you may have been misdirected.”

The implication was obvious, the courtesy title delivered with great delicacy. The young woman sighed, and her voice took on a slight edge. “No; I’ve not been misdirected. I want a quiet room, a hot bath, and a substantial meal.” She took three high-denomination coins from a purse at her waist and dropped them on the counter. “I presume you can meet my requirements?”

The chatelaine was flustered. With that worn hide coat and mannish trousers, and her hair tied so carelessly in a single long braid, the young woman looked no better than any dockside ragamuffin; yet her voice was well-modulated and her manner confident, almost aristocratic. Trying to hide her confusion, the woman made a placatory gesture.

“Certainly we can, madam. But—” She gestured towards Grimya. “I’m afraid we have no facilities for animals. No kennels, you understand…”

The young woman smiled. “That’s quite all right. She’ll stay with me. That is, if you can provide suitable food for her?”

The chatelaine inclined her head. She was still uncertain of this stranger, but knew from long experience that appearance wasn’t necessarily commensurate with social standing, and that it never paid to turn good custom away. “I’m sure that will present no problems, madam,” she said a little stiffly and, turning, drew a leather-bound book from a shelf and pushed it forward, together with pen and ink. “Perhaps you’ll be so good as to sign the register?”

The young woman bent over the ledger, and for a moment felt an urge to sign her real name; the old name that she had forfeited so long ago. It would be amusing to witness the chatelaine’s reaction when she realized that this unlikely guest was the daughter of a king.

But the impulse died immediately; it couldn’t and mustn’t be done. She dipped the quill in the ornate inkpot, and wrote one simple word: Indigo. No title, not even a family name. Just Indigo. It had been enough for more years than she cared to remember.

The chatelaine stared at the entry, then put the ledger away without comment. “Thank you,” she said pallidly, and turned to select a key from a row hanging on the wall at her back. “Your room is on the top floor, at the far end of the landing.”

“And it’s both quiet and private?”

The chatelaine inclined her head. “Even our most discerning guests have had no complaint, madam.”

“I’m obliged to you.” Indigo’s answering smile was cool and faintly wry. “You’ve been most helpful.”

The chatelaine’s puzzled gaze followed her as, with Grimya at her heels, she walked towards the stairs.

A voice in Indigo’s mind said cajolingly: You are feeling better now, aren’t you? You were singing as you washed yourself; that’s always a good sign.

Indigo emerged from behind the painted screen which, a little prudishly, hid the fireclay bathtub from the rest of the room. Her skin glowed from scrubbing and the heat of the water, and she had wrapped a light, embroidered robe—an old souvenir of her years in the eastern continent—around her while she toweled her hair dry. She looked at Grimya, who lay on the neatly-made bed, and smiled.

“I’m feeling vastly better, Grimya. And thankful to be thoroughly clean for the first time in months!” She sat down beside the wolf, rubbing the dense fur at Grimya’s neck. It was a relief to be able at last to communicate freely with her friend; the telepathy they shared, and the mutation that enabled Grimya to both understand and speak human languages, was a secret that had been hard to keep throughout the long, cramped voyage, and they were both thankful to be released from that constraint at last.

Grimya’s jaws gaped in a show of pleasure. “I l…ike the sea,” she said in her guttural, halting voice. “But it is good to be on drrry land again. And it is cold here; not like the days and nights we spent in the S-Snakemaw Straits. The air smells clean. I th… ink I will enjoy being in this country.”

Indigo’s face muscles tightened, but only for a moment before the reflex she’d determinedly instilled in her mind came to the rescue and forced her to relax again. She mustn’t think about the terrible associations that the island continent of the Redoubt held for her. When she had reached the coast of the great Western Continent, she had found it impossible to steel herself to the knowledge that she must continue northward. She hadn’t wanted to come here. She had feared this land, feared the painful emotions and memories that it would resurrect, and she’d taken any work she could find in the harbors and on the local fishing-boats, to allow her to feed herself and Grimya and not need to move on. She had procrastinated in this way for two years before facing the fact that, willing or no, she must overcome her cowardice and set sail, and once the decision was finally made she had resolved to ignore her fears and look to the future with at least a degree of stoicism. Until now she’d succeeded in that aim, and this wasn’t the time to lapse. Let the thoughts lie quiet, she told herself. For her this was a new land, and the links she’d once indirectly had with it were buried forty-four years in the past.

Grimya spoke again, plaintively. “I am hh-ungry.” She dipped her head. “When did we last eat?”

Indigo shook off her preoccupation, and her mind refocused on the present. Their last meal had been early this morning, and a hasty affair at that; an unexpected following wind had brought Northarrow in to Mull Barya’s teeming harbor several hours ahead of calculations, and in the rush to ready the ship for docking there had been no time to think of anything else. She smiled. “I’m sorry, love. We’ll go down and see what the kitchens can offer you.” She reached across to a small vanity table and picked up a slate that a chambermaid had brought to her a little earlier. On it was written a list of the dishes which the hostelry would be serving to its guests this evening; she was impressed by the fare. “There should be a fine choice of meats,” she added.

“I would rather hh… unt for myself,” Grimya observed. “But I don’t think that would be wise here.”

“No. But don’t fret—it’ll be different when we leave Mull Barya and head north into the open lands.”

“Wh-en will that be, do you think?”

“I don’t know. Two days; perhaps three. I don’t want to delay, but we must ensure that we’re well prepared and provisioned.” She looked towards the window. “Winter’s coming early this year, they say. The north winds have already begun blowing.”

“Yess. My nose tells me that there will be snow soon. It would be wise to reach our destination before the heaviest falls begin.” She blinked. “Wherever our destination might be.”

Indigo turned to where she’d left her clothes. Among them was a small old leather bag, attached to a looped thong. She opened the bag, and upended it over her palm. A small pebble fell out, smooth and unusually symmetrical, but otherwise unremarkable at first glance. Indigo held it up, concentrated for a moment—and a tiny golden pinpoint appeared within the stone. For a moment it quivered at the very centre, then in a single, decisive motion it shifted to one side and hovered at the pebble’s edge.

“Still northward.” Indigo showed the lodestone to Grimya. “So we’re not to find our goal in Mull Barya.” She returned the pebble to the pouch and slipped the thong over her neck, feeling the stone settle in its familiar place between her breasts. In her years of wandering it had been an unerring guide, but for a moment she felt an uneasy twinge as she wondered just how much farther they would have to travel before the lodestone told them that they had found what they sought. Like her own homeland in the far south, the winters here were harsh and unpredictable, and no one with a grain of wisdom would go blithely on towards the polar regions with the worst of the weather still ahead of them. She’d studied a map of the Redoubt, and knew that inland, away from the more populous coastal regions, townships and sometimes even settlements of any kind were few and far between. This was a vast land, and distances were deceptive on a map’s tiny scale. They might have three weeks or a month at most before the weather made further progress too hazardous; she must be sure to choose a route that would allow them to wait the winter out in some town or homestead if the need arose. And that would take careful planning.

Grimya whined softly in the back of her throat. “Are we g-going to eat soon?” she asked plaintively.

“What? Oh—forgive me, love; I was behind the moon. You must be ravenous.” She gave her hair one last, vigorous rub, and stood up. “Let me find some fresh clothes, and we’ll eat. Our plans can wait until tomorrow.”

“So, you’re going north… to Winternight, is it?” The burly man smiled, his eyes nearly vanishing in the creases of his windburned face.

Indigo returned the smile and, unable to recall any of the township names on her map, dissembled. “Somewhere near Winternight, yes.”

“Well.” He stretched out his feet towards the fire crackling in the huge hearth. “As I said, you’ll do no better than to go to Pitter for all your needs. I’ve been buying horses and tackle from him for the past twenty years, and he’s never given me anything less than a fair dealing. And you can tell him I said so.”

“Thank you. I will.” Indigo had taken a liking to this stranger, whose name, when he introduced himself, had sounded like “Rin” or “Reene”—though the Redoubt tongue was similar to that of the Southern Isles, she was still having difficulty with local dialects. With no diffidence or preamble, he had approached her table as she sat in the hostel’s dining room and asked if he might join her. Unsure of his motives, she’d been ready to refuse politely; but something in his open manner had made her pause. No nonsense, he’d said, smiling without a trace of artifice; he simply thought it might be more pleasant for them both to enjoy a meal in company rather than alone. And so they’d begun to talk, and Rin or Reene had ordered a flagon of honey-wine which he assured her was the best to be found in Mull Barya even if it was half the price of some other vintages. He was, she gathered, what the Mull Baryans called a barrin, buying live fatstock from the drovers to be slaughtered and salted and re-sold for shipment; at this time of year, he said, he spent much of his working day at the harbor, and the Sun at Morning provided a meal and a welcome rest before he returned to his home on the city’s outskirts. Though his appearance and manner were modest, she had the impression that he was a very wealthy man.

Replete with good food and with half the flask of wine remaining, they had retired to the wide ingle in the main hall, with its settles and its cushions and its roaring fire, to relax while the night closed in and the wind began to moan along the street outside like a huge, agonized ghost.

“People hereabouts call that the Groaner,” Rin—still unsure, she’d decided arbitrarily to think of him as Rin—told Indigo. “It’s the north wind; a sure sign that the first big snows of winter are on their way. If you’ll take my advice, Indigo, when you see Pitter tomorrow you’ll tell him where you’re going. He’ll know exactly what you need for such a journey, and see you right for everything.”

“I’ll do that.” Indigo didn’t demur as he offered to pour her more wine. He filled both their vessels—they were of dark green glass, a rarity and, she imagined, very expensive—then hesitated. “Indigo—you’ll pardon me if I’m being impertinent, but… are you sure you’re equipped for this venture of yours?” He saw her frown, and went on hastily, “Don’t mistake me; I’m not trying to pry. It’s none of my concern where you’re going or why. But the Redoubt can be a tricky country for people who aren’t accustomed to it. Here in Mull Barya you haven’t got too much to worry about; it gets rough at times when the drovers come in in large numbers, but it’s basically quite civilized. The heartlands, though—well, they’re different.”

She smiled gently. “I can look after myself. And I have Grimya beside me.”

Grimya looked up at Rin and he reached down to pat her head, though he was a little disconcerted by the uncanny comprehension in her eyes, as though she’d understood his words. “I know that,” he said, “and there’s no better bodyguard than a wolfdog. But even Grimya might not be proof against some of the things you might encounter.”

“What kind of things?”

He shrugged. “The weather won’t be on your side, that’s the first. Blizzards, snow-blindness, even the sheer cold. It’ll be worse than you expect.”

“I doubt that. I was born and bred in the far south; I’ve experienced enough polar winters to take no risks.”

“Well, that’s a point in your favor.” Rin acknowledged it with a placatory gesture. “But we have wild animals here that you won’t have seen before. Not just the wolves; they’re harmless enough unless they’re starving, and there’s sufficient game to ensure that doesn’t usually happen. It’s the others that worry me; the bears, and the giant cats—snow tigers, we call them. They’re not above attacking even small parties, let alone solo travelers. And then of course there are the human vermin to watch out for.”

“There are human vermin everywhere.”

“I know that. But when villages or even homesteads are anything up to fifty miles apart, civilization can wear very thin. A lot of people make a good living from preying on others, and there are a few weyers who won’t even tolerate a stranger in what they consider their territory, but kill them on sight.”

“Weyers?” Indigo asked, puzzled.

“Weird ones, mavericks—it’s hard to explain it. People so isolated that they’ve developed all manner of peculiar beliefs and customs. They keep to their own, they breed with their own, and they don’t want any outsider coming along to taint their madness with a whiff of sanity.”

She nodded. “I understand what you’re saying.” Then she smiled at him. “But it won’t make me change my mind.”

“No.” Rin returned the smile with rueful humor. “I didn’t think it would. But at least I’ve warned you, so I can climb into my bed tonight with a clear conscience!”

“And I’m very grateful to you.” Indigo looked down at Grimya. “We both are.” She finished her wine, and shook her head when he touched the flagon again. “No, no; I really think I should retire now if I’m to be fit in the morning.” She rose. “Thank you for your company, and for your advice. I’ve greatly enjoyed our talk.”

“So have I.” Rin, too, stood up, extending his hand to grip her fingers. “I only regret that you won’t be staying in Mull Barya for a while longer. Or even for the whole winter. But perhaps we’ll meet again.”

“I hope so. Goodnight—and goodbye.”

As they turned the curve in the staircase that hid them from the sight of anyone below, Grimya said in Indigo’s mind, I like that man. He is honest. And what he says makes a great deal of sense.

I like him too, Indigo projected.

We’ll take his advice?

Certainly. And after what he told us, I think I’ll buy myself a better blade along with the other things we’ll need for our journey.

They reached the door of their room, and went in. During their absence someone had emptied the bathtub and left three candles in a sconce burning on the window ledge, and as she sat down on the bed Indigo found time to be doubly glad that she hadn’t taken lodgings in one of the harbor taverns, where such courtesies were unheard of. There was still a muted murmur of noise from below, but beyond the window the street was all but deserted, with only a few lamps burning at intervals along the boarded walk. Above the silhouettes of low rooftops the night sky had a flat, brittle look to it; cloud had covered the moon and stars, and the wind had dropped to a low whistle punctuated by occasional hooting gusts. It would be strange to lie in a bed rather than a bunk, without the sound of the sea and the rocking of a ship to lull her, Indigo thought, but she was weary enough to sleep soundly despite the unfamiliarity of her surroundings.

Grimya went to the window, sniffing at the draughts of air that sneaked through gaps in the wooden frame. “Cold!” she said with satisfaction.

Indigo pulled a nightrobe from her pack and shook it out. “Do you want to go out and explore?”

“N-o. I don’t think it would be wise here. Besides, there will be pl-enty of time for running and hunting once we set out on our journey.” The she-wolf turned about and padded to the rug at the bedside. “I shall sleep.”

Indigo pulled back the two heavy wool blankets that covered the bed, and began to plump up the pillows. A snatch of song came into her mind and, not thinking, she hummed it—then stopped.

Grimya looked up at her. “That is a Fairplayers song.”

“Yes…” Indigo said tautly.

There was an awkward pause. Then the wolf said, “It is strrr-ange, isn’t it, to think that for them the spring is just beginning. It m-must be almost Greening-Month in Bruhome now.”

Indigo nodded, unable to stem the images that crowded suddenly into her mind. The first buds breaking on the trees and bushes, the rivers in spate, the herds increasing. And the faces of Stead Brabazon and his thirteen children, the family of itinerant fairplayers with whom Indigo and Grimya had lived and traveled for ten years. The Brabazons had been true friends, and the parting, when it had finally and inevitably come, had caused Indigo terrible grief. But she had had no choice, for while she and Grimya had remained unageing and unchanging through all their time together, the years had been telling on the Brabazons and the contrast was becoming too clear to escape notice for much longer.

Indigo remembered especially her three dearest friends among Stead’s children. Forthright, who had fallen in love with her but had learned to accept that she was not for him. Modesty, flamboyant and reckless, with her mane of red hair and vivid eyes. Charity, serene and wise beyond her years, a surrogate mother to her younger siblings. One by one, as the years passed, they had changed and made lives of their own. There had been tears of loss as well as of joy at Chari’s wedding to the son of a Bruhome burgher, and laughter and dancing when Esty married a black-haired rogue with a talent for fiddle-playing which matched Stead’s own, bringing a new performer to swell the family’s ranks. More years had gone by; there were more weddings, there were births, and even the littlest ones had grown out of childhood into burgeoning adult beauty or plainness as was their lot. And when at last the day had come when Piety, Stead’s youngest daughter, announced her betrothal, Indigo had been shaken from her happy dream into a realization that her life with the family must come to an end. Piety had been six years old when Stead Brabazon took Indigo and Grimya under his wings: now she was acknowledged as a grown woman. Indigo had looked about her, at the boys who had grown tall and filled out and taken wives of their own, at the girls with their children clamoring round their skirts. And she had looked at Stead himself, whose once fiery-red hair was now iron grey turning to white at the temples, and had known that the time had come to go.

It had been an agonizing wrench. She hadn’t been able to tell the Brabazons the true reason why she was leaving them, and she knew that her going had hurt them, perhaps beyond the point of forgiveness. But that was eight years in the past now. Eight years since the final, tearful parting. For all she knew, they had long forgotten her.

Indigo’s face clouded momentarily as she pictured the family as they might be tonight, gathered round a fire in the shelter of their five painted caravans—once there had been only three, but their numbers had swelled so much that two more wagons had been acquired to accommodate the growing brood. They might be eating now, laughing and talking together, maybe practicing a few songs for the next evening’s show; and she glanced quickly at the drawstring bag which contained her harp as she recalled wistfully all the times she herself had performed on stage with them. But then she remembered that the company she had known was not the same company that toured the western lands now. The people who smiled and laughed in her memory had faded into the past, and the past couldn’t be recalled.

“We may m-eet them again one day,” Grimya said gently.

“I don’t think so. And even if we did…” Indigo shook her head, leaving the rest of the thought unspoken. One day. It might be that even now Stead was dead; certainly in ten more years, or twenty, or thirty, he’d be long gone from the world, and his children grown old and arthrithic and looking towards their own lives’ end. A new generation would be entertaining the crowds at the fairs and revels, a generation she and Grimya had never known. And even those strangers would grow old in their time, while she and Grimya still wore the mask of youth. She couldn’t bear that. Better to remember those dear friends as she had once known them, immortalize them in her memory and not look for them again in the real world.

Indigo lay down on the bed. The mattress was soft and comfortable, and with gentle regret she let the faces in her mind slide away before leaning over and blowing out the candles one by one. The window became a paler rectangle in darkness; now the sky had the strangely light but colorless look of cloudy winter nights. Grimya yawned with a glimmer of fangs, and Indigo pulled the blankets up about her shoulders.

“Sleep well, dear one,” she said quietly. And thought: Great Mother, please send me no sad dreams tonight.

Chapter II

Pitter the Trader was everything that Rin had promised. He ran his business from a collection of ramshackle stables and storehouses behind the harborside auction-sheds, and when she introduced herself Indigo was welcomed as though she were an old friend. Pitter—a full head shorter than she was, bald-headed and dressed in worn hide clothes that would have devoured half a drover’s yearly earnings—took her on a tour that encompassed everything from horses to candle-stubs, and with no hesitation delivered an inventory of everything she would need for traveling in a heartland winter. He wasn’t easy to bargain with and his prices were on the high side; but Indigo felt instinctively that she could rely both on him and on his merchandise.

“Of course,” Pitter said when at last they reached the stables and the most important purchase of all, “if you were a Redoubter, I’d say you couldn’t do better than one of these.” Turning, he slapped a hand against the rearing, polished wood runners of a single-seat sleigh that stood with several others under coils of rope festooning the low ceiling. “It’s a small version of the troika that every homesteader uses in the snow months; only difference is, you harness one horse to it instead of three. But if you’ve never driven one before, you’ll like as not find yourself headfirst in the first drift you hit.” He laughed, a high-pitched, infectious cackle that made Grimya start.

“I could try,” Indigo ventured.

“Doubtless you could, and you could learn. But you don’t want to waste a month in the learning, do you? No; here’s what you need.” He moved on to the stalls, where some fifteen horses of varying sizes stamped and whickered at the sound of his approach, and stopped by the rump of a big and massively built bay gelding. “He’ll be your best investment, take my word on it. Legs like trees and a barrel chest to match; he’ll go on all day in the worst weather and never complain. And splay-footed as a horse can be, which means he can cope with snow and stay upright.”

Indigo gazed at the gelding. She’d seen similar horses in the western continent; big draft animals, shaggy and solid and dependable. The horse turned his head and regarded her with speculative interest, flapping his whiskered lower lip. She repressed a smile.

“How much do you want for him?”

Pitter named a price that made her raise her eyebrows, but after a morning’s hard bargaining she was less inclined to argue than she might have been. She’d beaten him down on a few items. And she had a suspicion that the horse would be worth every last brass coin.

“Very well,” she said. “I’ll take him.”

They clasped palms on the agreement, and she was surprised to learn that Pitter could and would have all ready for her by dawn of the next day. It was more than she’d dared hope for, and her mood was cheerful as she and Grimya returned to the Sun at Morning.

Rin didn’t appear that evening, and when, later, she lay in her bed, Indigo heard again the voice of the north wind—the Groaner—stalking the deserted street and rattling doors and windows. The dying fire in her grate flared as though in protest, and a draught wailed in the chimney in unnerving harmony. The voice of the north… she felt it was calling her, summoning her away from this warm and quiet oasis, into a new and perilous world. Grimya, sleeping, whined and rolled over, her tail and one ear twitching as she dreamed. Indigo closed her eyes, and let her mind slip down a long, long slope, away from the Groaner and its summons, into darkness and silence.

The first snows began when they were six days out of Mull Barya. The previous night, huddled with Grimya in the lightweight domed tent that formed the bulk of their baggage, with the gelding rugged and dozing on the lee side, Indigo had heard the wind’s voice begin to change from the now familiar deep moaning to a thin, high scream, and had woken at dawn to find that a ferocious frost had turned the world to silver. In the early afternoon the first fat, white flakes started to whirl down from a featureless sky, and by sunset the landscape was transformed.

Grimya, who had always loved the snow, welcomed the change in the weather excitedly, and Indigo too enjoyed the challenge of winter’s first breath; the bracing cold, the cleanliness, the feeling that the world was being renewed. They had made good progress on their journey; true to Pitter’s promise the gelding seemed virtually tireless, and the northward road was empty now that the autumn droves were done. And gradually the scene around them was changing, as the lowlying coastal plains gave way to harder and hillier country. Even under the snow blanket which merged its finer features into a blur of unidentifiable whiteness, the Redoubt was beautiful. And somehow it seemed only a small hardship to press steadily on through the daytime snowfalls and the huge, silent freeze of the nights, making camp in hollows or under overhangs, watching the slow waxing of the moon towards her full, icy-haloed glory. There was game in plenty to be hunted and caught, either with Grimya’s speed and stealth or with a well-aimed bolt from Indigo’s crossbow; and even the placid and patient gelding, with the instinctive wisdom of its heartland-bred ancestors, foraged and ate well enough.

There were a few settlements along the way, villages rather than towns, which had grown up over the years to meet the needs of those who made the spring and autumn migrations between the interior and the coast. And between the villages lay the occasional homestead where a traveler could buy or barter fresh food supplies and where news from Mull Barya was always welcome. Each time they stopped at one such settlement, Indigo would take the lodestone from its hiding place and gaze again at the quivering golden pinpoint at its heart. Always the stone’s message was the same: northward, and onward. Their journey wasn’t ended yet. And in a way that she couldn’t quite assimilate, she was glad.

The month changed and the moon began to wane, relinquishing the night sky to the glare of unfamiliar stars. The landscape, too, was changing; they’d seen no sign of any habitation for five days, and the countryside around them was a wild and empty chaos of rivers and lakes and hills, with tracts of dark forest fringing the horizons. And then, as the sun set on a dazzling, icy day, Grimya raised her head, sniffed the air alertly, and warned Indigo of a change. A blizzard was coming; the first real onslaught out of the north. The she-wolf had sensed it long before Indigo could register the first telltale signs, but when the girl shielded her eyes against the glare from the west and stared hard northwards, she thought she glimpsed a line of purplish-pink clouds on the horizon.

That hint, and Grimya’s word, were enough. The road here was exposed to the worst of the elements, and besides, no one with any instinct for survival would face out what was coming unless they had no other choice. Indigo turned the gelding aside towards the south face of a belt of conifers overlooking a shallow valley which sloped down to a frozen lake. The trees would provide shelter from the worst of the storm, and they had food enough to see them through. They should be able to wait it out safely enough.

The blizzard came howling down on them a little before midnight, and raged through the following day and night. Sound rest was impossible under the wind’s roar, and Indigo divided her time between struggling out to check on the gelding—which, tethered in deeper shelter beyond the forest’s edge, seemed the least perturbed of them all—and huddling in the tent with Grimya while they both tried to keep warm and snatch what little sleep they could. But at last the gale began to lessen, its shriek dropping first to a thin wail and then finally to a silence that in itself seemed deafening, and the snow slackened away and died as the clouds cleared and the sun rose angry and crimson on an utterly still dawn.

Stiff and sluggish with cold, her hands and feet numb despite fur-lined gloves and boots, Indigo crawled from the tent as the first long shadows speared across the ground. She meant to light a fire, brew something hot to fight the crippling internal chill. But what she saw as she emerged made her halt and stare in chagrined astonishment.

The world outside the tent was unrecognizable. Where before there had been the lake’s frozen mirror, and the road and a few tussocks of grass still just visible under the lighter snowfall, now there was nothing but a featureless, glittering carpet of whiteness. Indigo blinked, shaking her head as the snow’s sheer blankness played havoc with her sense of perspective. Where was the road, and the lake? Even the valley’s slope had been all but obliterated; the snow had piled into treacherous drifts, levelling out to what must be, in places, lethal depths. There was nothing to indicate any landmark.

Quickly she turned to look back at the trees. The forest, it seemed, had proved a strong enough buffer against the blizzard, for apart from a thin covering of snow on its north-facing wall, the tent was unscathed, and she could see the gelding, protected from the cold by the heavy rug and laced leggings which Pitter had provided, stamping its feet and nosing disconsolately among the undergrowth. Flexing her fingers to try to urge some life back into them, she scrabbled in the snow around the tent and found it only an inch deep. They’d come through the blizzard unharmed. But dared they continue onward, through this altered and dangerous land?

She called softly to Grimya, and the she-wolf emerged, shaking herself as she stood upright and stared at the scene before her.

“I have n-never seen snow like this,” she said solemnly. “Not even in the coldest w-inters. Where is the rr-oad? And the lake?”

“It’s impossible to tell. And I wouldn’t like to take the risk of trying to find them.” Indigo got to her feet. “I’ll make a fire and we’ll have something to eat, then we must decide what to do.”

“I shall hunt.” Grimya wagged her tail, livened by the prospect of a warming chase. “There will be a l-lot of animals hiding in the forest after the storm. The kill should be easy.”

She slipped away into the trees, a grey ghost among the long morning shadows, and while she was gone Indigo built the fire and boiled up a hot mash from her supply of oatmeal for the gelding. While the horse was eating, Grimya returned with a large bird; not a species Indigo recognized, but enough for them both, and she plucked it and set it to roast. The she-wolf had developed a liking for cooked meat during their travels together, and ate her share with great relish while Indigo, licking the last gamey taste from her fingers, stared out at the white landscape and reluctantly turned her thoughts to the day ahead.

There was no point in even trying to find the road again. The snow covering was too deep, and it would be better to risk losing their way altogether than run the gauntlet of hidden drifts. She turned her head, sighting along the line of the trees and wondering how far the forest extended. They could follow its edge and be fairly sure of keeping to firm ground; if and when it petered out, they would let the lie of the land decide their next move. At least it would be progress of a fashion. And at least—thus far—the day was bright and clear, with no threat of further storms.

Grimya agreed with her suggestion, and so with the meal digested Indigo packed up her gear, saddled the gelding, and they set off. As her mount plodded stoically along the treeline, pausing now and then to snatch at a shred of grass that still struggled through the snow in memory of the lost summer, she had to admit that this cold landscape was awesomely beautiful. The snow sparkled under the low, crimson sun, as though countless diamonds had been smashed to shards and scattered carelessly down, and the silence, broken only by the crisp sounds of the gelding’s hooves and Grimya’s padding paws, was like a balm. The world was still under the sky’s vast, blue bowl, and it felt good simply to be alive.

Grimya, however, didn’t share Indigo’s enchantment, and as the day wore on she grew increasingly restive. At last, returning from a foray ahead, she fell into step beside the gelding and said,

“The north wind is coming again. I smell it. There will be more ss-now soon.”

Indigo looked at her, suddenly alert. “Are you sure?”

“Certain. It will come before nightfall. If we are wise, we should start to think of where we are to shelter.”

Indigo turned her head to survey the forest. By the sun she judged that it must be an hour or so after noon, and for some while their path along the trees’ edge had been veering gradually but surely further westward, suggesting that unless they corrected their direction before too long they would sweep round in a wide circle and return to their original camp. She pulled on the reins, halting the gelding, and stared into the north. Flat, white emptiness stretched away to the limits of her vision, and, as though to confirm what Grimya had said, an icy breath of wind rose seemingly from nowhere and made her cheeks tingle.

They could take shelter in the forest. But the next blizzard wouldn’t be the last, and they couldn’t hide among the trees forever. At some point they had to strike away and return to their planned road, storms or no.

She looked at Grimya again. “Before nightfall, you said?”

“I th-ink so.”

Indigo tried to recall her map, which she’d spent some time studying at their previous camp during the worst of the blizzard. If she remembered rightly, the lake at the forest’s edge was one of three fed by an underground river, and just a short way beyond the third lake in the chain lay a homestead of reasonable size. If they could find their way back to the lakes, then surely it wouldn’t be impossible to reach that homestead before the next storm bore down on them?

She voiced her speculations to Grimya, and the she-wolf swung her head uncertainly from side to side.

“So much d-depends on how quickly we can find the lake,” she said. “There may be deep snow, which the horse couldn’t get through. But I c-can go on ahead, and search out any d-angers that might lie in wait.”

Indigo squinted at the sun again. They had three hours—maybe four, but it was safer to be pessimistic—before darkness fell. The accuracy of Grimya’s finer senses could be relied on; so, three hours to find the settlement. It should be enough. And the intervals between this next blizzard and the one that would follow it were likely to be shorter…

“Yes,” she said to Grimya. “Run ahead, I think we should take the chance.”

Another icy breath chilled her face as the she-wolf loped away, angling out from the trees. She turned the gelding’s head and guided it cautiously in the direction Grimya had taken; almost immediately it sank to its knees in deeper snow, but she pressed on, encouraging the horse with a chirrup and a soft word, and giving silent thanks to Pitter for selling her such a willing mount.

The ride became a lurching, stumbling progress that several times almost tipped Indigo out of the saddle as drifts which had borne Grimya’s lighter weight gave way under the gelding’s less certain hooves. The sharp gusts of wind were increasing in frequency and intensity, threatening to merge into a steady blow; and in the far distance she thought—though it might have been overstrung imagination—that she could hear the thin wailing of the coming gale. But suddenly her attention was snatched back by an excited yip, and she saw Grimya racing back towards her, tail raised high.

“In-digo! I’ve found the lake!”

The horse shied and almost lost its footing as the wolf bounded up beside it, but Grimya was too excited to notice. “This way!” she cried. “There are no deep drifts—come on!”

Indigo shortened rein and urged the gelding forward once more. And suddenly she saw it, the telltale flat shine of ice where wind had scoured away the covering snow layers.

“I dug to find where the ice begins,” Grimya told her. “There shouldn’t be any drrifts at the lake edge—if I lead and you f-ollow, we should go quickly and safely enough.”

They set off along the ice, Grimya running ahead and sniffing and scraping at the snow to check that they were keeping to the lake’s frozen shoreline. The gelding didn’t like the ice underfoot, but stoically kept going, though its steps were uncertain now, and progress slower. The wind was strengthening; random gusts had become a steady northerly blow that stung Indigo’s cheeks and made her teeth and the bones behind her ears ache. She pulled up the fur hood of her coat, but the wind instantly whipped it back again, and after three attempts she gave up, clamping her lips tightly shut and narrowing her eyes against the cold blast. She could see the telltale build-up of cloud now, fanning rapidly up from the horizon ahead, and wondered for a queasy moment if her decision to press on had been a dangerous mistake. Grimya was growing more anxious as the gelding, unable to match her pace, fell progressively behind; she was stopping every few seconds now, looking back and pawing restively at the snow, and Indigo tried to urge her mount on faster, hoping that it wouldn’t slip and fall.

The first snowflakes came spiraling down as they reached the lake’s end. Indigo pulled the gelding up and waited while Grimya tracked about. They didn’t know whether this was the second or the third and last lake in the chain—it surely couldn’t be the first, Indigo prayed with silent dread—and her spirits sank when Grimya’s mental message came into her mind.

I’ve found a water-course. That means there must be another lake beyond this. A pause; the she-wolf didn’t want to articulate what they were both thinking.

It must be the last. Indigo projected back, with more confidence than she felt. Go on ahead, Grimya. See if you can find it.

The snow was thickening, drawing her eyes so that she felt she was staring into a vortex. At the moment it was falling quite gently, but she knew the hiatus wouldn’t last for long, and pressed the gelding’s sides with her heels, urging it into a reluctant and risky trot. Grimya, some hundred yards ahead now and sniffing at the ground, suddenly called back, Here! The ice widens—there is another lake!

Pray to the Mother that it’s the last! Indigo replied. If we—and she broke off as she saw that Grimya had stiffened and was staring to the north-west, her ears abruptly pricked forward. Grimya? What is it?

The wolf flashed her a quick, intent glance. Something coming, she said.

What? Indigo tried to look, but the snow swirled in her eyes.

Horses, I think. And something else. I—don’t know what it is. I’ve never heard such a sound before.

And then Indigo, too, heard it. A rushing noise, with a rumbling undertone. And—she found it hard to credit, but could think of no other possibility—the jingle of small bells.

A vicious snow flurry forced her to turn her head aside, and when it passed and she could look again, she saw a blur of movement on the white land that sloped up from the lake. And suddenly another sound mingled with the rushing and jingling—raucous but unmistakeable human laughter.

The troika came out of the flying snow like an apparition. Three stocky, shaggy horses were harnessed one behind another in the traces, and the high-prowed sleigh reared behind them. Grimya snarled and cringed as it swept round an arc, then a male voice shouted, “Whoa! Slow, you dumb bastards!” and more laughter rang out as the troika slewed to a halt.

Indigo’s gelding uttered a long, shuddering whinny that might have been a greeting or a challenge; the lead sleigh-horse answered with a whicker and stamped, sending up a flurry of snow. The four fur-swathed men piled in the troika stared disbeliev-ingly across a gap of some thirty feet, and on a sudden premonitory impulse Indigo reached behind her to the crossbow on her back. Then she paused. The men were grinning at her, but the driving snow blurred her vision and made it impossible to interpret their smiles.

Then a voice said explosively: “I don’t think I believe it. Out here in the middle of nowhere, and all on her own-alone!”

The words were slurred, and someone hooted with mirth that fell away into a hiccup. “Maybe she’s a weyer, eh?”

“Na! No weyer’d come skulking round here. ‘Sides, she’s got her faculties by the look of her.” The grin widened into a predatory leer. “All of ‘em!”

Grimya came running, belly low, back to Indigo. Indigo! I don’t like this!

They’ve been drinking, she told the wolf. Her gloved hand had closed more tightly round the crossbow and she was slowly easing it from its harness. Don’t move; don’t do anything yet.

“She doesn’t say a lot, does she?” one of the men commented. “Hey, beautiful—got a tongue, have you?”

“Give her a kiss, and find out!”

They roared with laughter, making their horses jink restlessly. Indigo shortened her reins, but still said nothing, hoping, though the hope was a slender one, that they’d tire of their own wit and move on. The last thing she wanted was to get into a fight, not against such odds. But how to reason with drunkards?

Another flurry hit her; the gust of wind that accompanied it sounded like a cat yowling, and the gelding began to shift about nervously.

“Come on, beautiful, how about it? How about a kiss?”

“Or something else?”

“Something to warm us all up on a cold day, eh?”

More gales of laughter. One of the men—the eldest and burliest by the look of him, and doubtless their ringleader—was climbing over the troika’s side, smirking like a hyena. Indigo’s mind snapped to a decision, and she whipped the crossbow free and around in one movement, setting the bolt she always kept ready in its groove and priming the weapon with a sharp, cold click.

“Take three more steps, and I’ll kill you,” she said flatly.

The burly man stopped, staring at her. Then he doubled over with a snorting guffaw. When he straightened up, he called out, “Now will you believe that! A lady who likes to play it rough—well, here’s a bonus if ever I saw one!”

Someone in the troika uttered a yelp of delight. “Go on, Corv, see what she’s made of! Go’n get her!”

Grimya snarled, baring her fangs, and Corv’s eyes flickered to the she-wolf. “Ah, look at that! Faithful doggie, see? C’mon, doggie—here now, come’n let old Corv rub your belly, eh?” He took another unsteady pace.forward, and Indigo’s voice snapped out.

“Stay where you are!” Her eyes were like flint. “I won’t warn you again.”

Corv made a mock show of appeal. “Ah, come on, beautiful! We’re only being friendly!”

Indigo and Grimya were watching him intently, so neither saw the man who, shielded behind the two others in the sleigh, raised something in his hands and took aim. Suddenly, a small stone hurtled through the air with a thin whine, and Indigo’s gelding shrieked, leaping stiff-legged to one side. Caught completely by surprise, Indigo yelled and lurched back in the saddle as the animal reared, then its muscles humped under her and it bolted. Instinctively keeping a hold on the bow she made a flailing grab for the reins with one hand, but missed, and then lost both stirrups. For a moment she clung precariously to the saddle with her knees, but then the gelding bucked, and she pitched over its withers to land face-first in the snow as her horse galloped away.

Indigo! Grimya raced towards her as the men roared with hilarity. Indigo rolled, shaking snow from her hair and lashes, and came upright to a crouch with her fury boiling over. She didn’t pause to think; a human shape was looming at her, and she jerked up the crossbow and fired straight at it.

A howl of pain rang out, and Corv fell. The laughter died as his friends realized what Indigo had done, and she looked up to see three shocked faces staring at her from the sleigh. Corv was kneeling, doubled over and making ugly gagging sounds; blood spattered the snow, turning from crimson to a sickly pink as it mingled with the white crystals, but the bolt had buried itself in his arm and the wound was messy rather than serious.

One of the men uttered a blasphemy, and someone came scrambling over the sleigh’s side to help Corv. Corv stopped groaning and looked up. His teeth were clenched with pain, but his expression was darkening vengefully.

“That’s… not nice…” he grated. “You dirty little bitch… that’s not friendly!”

A growl of assent came from his acolytes. Indigo reached behind her to snatch another bolt from her quiver. But to her horror, she found that the quiver wasn’t there. It must have come loose when the gelding bolted, and, frozen with sudden leaping fear, she thought desperately, four against two—we can’t fight them; not if they’re armed—

The troika creaked ominously as its other occupants began to climb out. Corv had shut his eyes, swearing softly, but, encouraged by the lead he’d given, a second man was advancing on Indigo.

“All right, lady, you’ve had your little bit of fun. But we don’t like women who play it nasty!”

Corv’s head jerked violently in assent. “Sort her out!” he hissed. “Bloody-handed, murdering little weyer—get her!”

“I’ll get her.” The other man continued to move slowly forward, and Indigo saw that he’d drawn a knife. “And I’ll teach her a lesson she won’t forget in a hurry!”

Grimya snarled again, interposing herself between Indigo and her approaching assailant, and Indigo cried, “Grimya, no! He’s got a knife.” She clutched at the wolf’s ruff, trying to drag her back as she crouched to attack, but Grimya pulled against her, writhing, and Indigo lost her balance and fell back.

Then suddenly, from behind them, a shattering roar split the whirling, snow-laden air.

Grimya yelped, her hackles bristling as though lightning had shot a violent current through her. The man bearing down on Indigo froze rigid, then looked up, and made a terrible sound in the back of his throat.

“Corv!” From the other two came yells of panic.

“Run! Mother’s sake, get back here!”

“Get out, get out, quick, for the love of it!”

They were piling back into the sleigh, Corv dragged between them. The three horses were rearing and screaming, their driver hanging desperately on to the reins as he fought to stop them from bolting as the gelding had done. Everything happened so fast that Indigo was too stunned to do more that sprawl where she’d fallen; and battering her mind and adding to its mayhem was a wave of stark terror that flooded to her consciousness from Grimya’s mind.

The horses shrieked again, and suddenly the troika was moving, lurching forward and kicking up a huge bow-wave of snow that blinded Indigo. She twisted about, trying to shield her eyes; heard the bells jingling madly and the humming racket of the sleigh’s runners as it gathered speed and raced away as fast as the horses could drag it. And then, chillingly, there was utter silence.

Indigo… It was Grimya’s voice in her head, and the wolf’s mind crawled with uncontrollable fear. Indigo…I…

Very slowly, Indigo began to raise her head. Her heart was pounding wildly with a combination of shock, incomprehension, and the terror that she was picking up from Grimya. She heard something; paused motionless. A soft, exhaled breath, with something in it that sounded like a massive, husky purr. And her nostrils flared as a hot, animal scent assailed them.

Her eyes strained upwards; focused.

And her voice cracked with awe and fear as she whispered, “Oh, sweet Goddess…”

It was three times Grimya’s size; five times her own weight. Dense, creamy fur, striped with midnight black, rippled over the immense shoulders and the long, lithe back; its tail twitched, and the huge, deceptively soft forepaws flexed, showing claws like daggers. Its rounded ears were set forward, and the golden eyes in the face of the snow tiger regarded her steadily and with preternatural intelligence.

Grimya was whimpering, helpless, unable to stop herself. Her ears were flat to her skull and her tail between her legs as she cringed away, trying to writhe backwards. Her loyalty to Indigo, her desire to protect her friend, couldn’t stand against the far older and deeper instinct bred into her kind over a thousand generations: the sheer terror of this king of all the forest predators.

Indigo didn’t move. She was mesmerized by the tiger’s calm and utterly sanguine gaze, and could only think, with a dreadful illogicality that overrode all instinct for her own survival, that this was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. Somewhere, in another universe, she knew that it might at any moment spring at her and tear her apart: but it was beautiful. And nothing else made any sense.

The tiger blinked, and suddenly Indigo’s crazed trance was broken. Real, physical fear stabbed through her like a sword in the gut, jolting her out of hypnosis and bringing bile to her throat, and in a violent reflex she felt her hands scrabbling, her mouth opening to release pent horror in a scream. But before the cry could come, the tiger raised its furred muzzle; then its head swung aside, it turned with a single, fluid movement, and the great muscles bunched to power it silently away. With wide, uncomprehending eyes Indigo watched it bound into the rising blizzard. And as it ran, her shocked senses registered something else: a dark form, running on two legs—human—that intercepted the tiger and raced away at its side. Astounded, she cried out, but the figure didn’t falter. And then both it and the tiger were gone, and she and Grimya were alone in the whirling, silent snow.

Chapter III

For some time they hadn’t had the breath for talking, and now, Indigo thought grimly, she at least didn’t even have the strength. She clutched more tightly at her hood, which the wind was trying to drag back from her skull, but her hands felt remote, as though they belonged to a body that wasn’t her own. The bitter cold was driving through her clothes and her flesh and into her bones, and she didn’t know how long she could keep struggling, head down, against the blizzard while the wind screamed like a banshee in her ears and the snow stung her like a million ice whips.

Grimya was a dark blur staggering on a pace ahead of her; her head and back were completely coated with snow now, giving her a bizarrely piebald appearance, but her panting, gasping breaths were drowned by the racket of the gale. She hadn’t even attempted to communicate telepathically with Indigo for a good while now, and though Indigo knew that she, too, needed all her concentration merely to keep upright in these appalling conditions, she also knew that Grimya was feeling acutely the shame—as she saw it—of her abject cowardice in the face of the snow tiger. Indigo couldn’t even try to convince the wolf that her reaction had been nothing less than natural. Grimya would continue to blame herself whatever was said: and besides, their present predicament left no energy for anything other than the urgent demands of survival.

The blizzard was intensifying. At first, as they plowed on beside the lake, it hadn’t been too bad; even with the wind against them and the snow flying in their faces they’d been able to make reasonable progress, and Indigo’s spirits had risen when at last they had reached the lake’s end and struck out in the direction of the steading that, according to the map, lay only a few miles away. But with the approach of sunset the weather had suddenly worsened, and now Indigo could see no more than a step before her as murky darkness swamped the world and the shrieking wind hurled snow and sleet to batter them in a savage, horizontal onslaught. The snow was drifting dangerously, almost too deep to wade through in places, and twice Indigo had found herself floundering to her waist, only scrambling free with Grimya’s help. She was soaked through and felt as though her clothing was frozen to her skin; all but her feet, which she could no longer feel at all. They had found no trace of the gelding and dared not leave their path to search for it; to be lost in this weather, with full night coming down like a curse on them, would mean only one thing: the horrors of succumbing to exposure.

But without the gelding, Indigo asked herself, what hope did they have? They had gambled everything on reaching the steading which the map had promised; yet she feared the gamble might have failed, for it seemed that they had been forging on into the gale forever, and still there was no sign of civilization. In these conditions they could so easily pass by the stead without so much as glimpsing it; a mere few yards would be enough to send them floundering away from their one chance of sanctuary and beyond any hope of rescue. And with the gelding had gone all their supplies. They had no food, no fuel, no shelter. And in the insanity of this storm, there would be no living soul to help them.

She swayed suddenly, and jerked herself upright with a tremendous effort as she realised that she had been about to fall face forward into the snow. For a delirious moment it had looked so inviting, like a soft goosedown bed, and she had wanted to cast herself down into its numbing, icy comfort, close her eyes and let sleep claim her. Furious and frightened, she sank her teeth hard into her lower lip in an attempt to rouse her senses, but her mouth was blue and stiff and she felt nothing even when blood welled sluggishly to mingle with the ice that had made a grotesque mask of her face. She must go on. She couldn’t lie down and sleep, not here, not in the snow, however much she longed to. And she mustn’t let the laughter that was trying to bubble hysterically at the back of her throat take hold, for if she started laughing, she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop. On, on. Talk to Grimya, talk to herself, anything to stop the snow-delirium from taking a grip. Next she’d start to see things, hallucinations in the snow, people, horses, tigers—

Indigo!

Grimya’s silent cry broke the chain reaction of the thoughts in her head and she stopped, rocking back as the first hallucination, which had almost come looming out of the howling darkness at her, shattered and disintegrated. Blinking, she realized that she could no longer see the wolf: there was only the dark and the gale and the blinding white vortex of snow.

Grimya…? Momentarily shocked back to rationality, she felt panic begin. Grimya, where are you?

Just ahead of you. The she-wolf’s mental voice was weak and unsteady, but there was a new note in it. Excitement? Indigo shuddered, not daring to hope.

There’s a light. I can see a light!

Hallucination, Indigo protested, too afraid to admit the possibility. But not Grimya, surely Grimya wouldn’t hallucinate…

She staggered forward, and suddenly saw the wolf. Grimya was standing still, shivering uncontrollably, but when she raised her muzzle and looked round, her ice-crusted eyes were fervidly alight.

I saw it, she insisted. Directly ahead of us. It can’t be far, Indigo! And it must be the steading! She set off again, butting into the gale with all her remaining strength, and Indigo ploughed after her, arms flailing, barely able to stay upright. Ten agonizing steps, twelve, fourteen: and she saw it. A faint yellow glimmering in the flying sleet, as though someone had lit a lamp to shine like a beacon from an as yet invisible window.

Adrenaline surged in a rush that made her giddy. Grimya was trying to run, leaping and plunging laboriously through the drifts, and Indigo flung herself forward in the she-wolf’s wake. The light was getting brighter, clearer—there were other lights; and the dim shape of an archway looming from the murk. She tried to shout with relief, but her lips and tongue were frozen; and suddenly she had stumbled—out of the deep snow and on to solid ground only inches beneath the whiteness. Stone, wood—the arch was above her head, bringing momentary, blessed relief from the elements’ assault; and through crusted lashes she saw a courtyard, lanterns, horses, human figures moving—

And, its runners rearing like horns in the whirling chaos, an unharnessed troika.

Indigo, look! Grimya had stopped and was staring in astonishment. The gelding!

For a moment she thought that the threatened hallucinations must at last have overtaken what was left of her reason. For there, shivering, head hanging wearily as two men ministered to it, was her own horse, still laden with all her baggage.

Unable to contain her excitement, Grimya uttered a shrill yip that carried even above the racket of the gale. Instantly the gelding tossed its head, snorting and stamping, and the men turned in surprise.

Indigo stared at two all too familiar faces, and saw their shock mirroring her own as they, too, recognized her. But she couldn’t react. Suddenly the scene before her was unreal, impossible. The lanterns, the horse, the gaping men from the drunken troika party. It wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.

The tableau broke as one of the men swore.

“It’s her!”

“Mother blind me, I thought that bitch was cat’s meat!”

“What in all damnation—” The bigger of the two started forward, and Grimya’s hackles rose as she growled threateningly.

“And that bloody dog!” The man’s fist bunched as Grimya blocked his path, her fangs bared. “Get out of the way, you bastard whelp, or I’ll—”

Grimya’s second growl erupted into a full-throated snarl, and the gelding reared, whinnying. Suddenly there was a rattling bang, and a heavy door on the far side of the courtyard was flung open, spilling light out on to the snow.

“Grayle? Morvin? What in the name of the good Mother is going on out here?” A male voice, sharp and angry; and someone emerged from the stead, carrying another lantern. At first he was no more than a silhouette, but as he crossed the yard and drew closer, Indigo suddenly saw him clearly. She made a terrible, inchoate sound as a new shock, beside which all else paled to nothing, hit her like a blow from a massive fist.

“Goddess blind me!” The newcomer’s eyes widened as he saw her wild face. And Fenran, her own love, her lost love, came striding towards her with his hand outstretched.

Indigo’s eyes rolled up in their sockets, and she fainted.

She returned to consciousness to feel herself wrapped in something warm and heavy. She tried to move her limbs, but they were leaden, and for a moment panic assailed her as she remembered the snow and her insane desire to lie down and let it enfold her. But no: this wasn’t snow, wasn’t the deceptive, murderous cold that numbed the body to a deadly illusion of warmth. She could feel true heat on her face, hear flames crackling, and the blizzard’s ceaseless shrieking had sunk to a muffled roar, distant and no longer threatening.

There had been a light. Grimya had seen it, and they’d struggled towards it, and… the gelding had been there. And two men. And—

The memory came back so abruptly that her stomach heaved. Fenran!

“Fenran!” She echoed it with a weak cry, and instantly heard brisk footsteps approaching. A hand, roughened but with a feminine feel, touched her forehead then slipped under the nape of her neck, trying to help her raise her head, and an unfamiliar voice said, “There now, it’s all right. Drink some of this.”

A cup pressed against her lips, and her nostrils flared at the heady smell of alcohol. Too confused to argue, Indigo took a sip that eased her locked throat, then followed it with a much larger swallow, feeling the liquor course warmingly down.

“We bathed your eyes,” the voice said. “They were crusted, but they should be all right now. Try to open them.”

She did, and slowly her surroundings swam into focus. She was in a big bed, in a sparsely but comfortably furnished room, and a fire blazed in an arched stone hearth and cast warm patterns of light and shadow across the low, heavily beamed ceiling. Standing beside her was a tall, rawboned woman in middle age, with braided dark hair and eyes that in this light looked black. She smiled a little reservedly.

“Better? Can you see me?”

“Y-yes…” Indigo struggled to sit up, and the woman helped her, plumping pillows behind her head.

“Well, you had a lucky escape, didn’t you?” The smile grew warmer, and the dark eyes showed sympathy. “It doesn’t bear thinking what might have happened if you hadn’t found us. But there’s no damage done. You’ll be on your feet again before you know it.”

A hundred questions were tumbling through Indigo’s mind, but the liquor, on an empty stomach, already was going to her head and making her giddy. Fenran—but no: it must have been a hallucination. Fenran was dead…

She whispered, “Where’s Grimya…?”

“Grimya?” The woman looked puzzled for a moment, then her face cleared. “Oh, your wolfdog? She’s well and fine. Had a rubdown and a good plate of food, and now she’s asleep before the kitchen fire. She wanted to stay with you, but I told her no.” Another smile, almost a grin this time. “She’s an uncannily intelligent animal, do you know that? I was half tempted to believe that she understood exactly what I said to her.”

Some of Indigo’s tension relaxed at the knowledge that Grimya was unharmed. But the other thing was rising again; the impossible thing, the insane thing, and she couldn’t quell it, especially now that the alcohol she’d been given was having its full effect.

She said uncertainly, “Fenran… But I saw Fenran…”

“Saw who?” The woman looked baffled.

“Fen… Fenran.” She was going to cry, Indigo realised. She was so confused. Nothing made any sense.

“There’s no one called Fenran here.”

“There must be! I saw him—he came to the door, and he had a lantern; and he stopped the others when they…” Her voice tailed off and she shut her eyes to stop the tears from squeezing past her lashes.

The woman regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then walked away. Indigo opened her eyes again in time to see her reach the door; she opened it and called out.

“Veness! Come up here, will you?”

A distant voice answered, and footsteps sounded on bare wooden stairs. This time Indigo was better prepared for the shock, but her heart still lurched when she saw his tall figure duck under the lintel and enter the room. The likeness was incredible: he could have been Fenran’s twin. That black hair, the grey eyes, his build, even the way he moved—and he must have been almost exactly Fenran’s age.

Fenran’s age. But that had been nearly half a century ago. If Fenran were alive now, he would be almost seventy…

She struggled to catch her breath and calm herself as the dark-haired man finished his whispered exchange with the woman and approached the bed. It took all her courage and all her will to force herself to look up into his face—but as she did so, she saw something that allowed her, suddenly, to cling to a semblance of sanity and perspective. He had a scar. Not disfiguring and not even particularly noticeable; just a ragged line under his jaw, the legacy of some old accident. But it was enough to tell her, finally, that this was not her lost love.

He dropped to a crouch and laid a hand gently on her shoulder. “How are you feeling? My aunt says you seem a bit confused.”

“I’m… all right, I think. Thank you. It was just…”

“You mentioned someone called Fenran?”

She bit her lip. “It… was a mistake. When I saw you, I thought—” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Well, as my aunt says, there’s no one here by that name.” He smiled faintly. “We’ve had quite a number of Fenrans in our family in the past, but there hasn’t been one now for a long time; since before my father’s time, in fact. I’m Veness; and my aunt’s name is Livian. And you?” The smile became a grin. “We haven’t the least notion who you are.”

“My name is… Indigo.” Crazily, impulsively, she had wanted to say her true name, Anghara.

“Indigo. You’re not a Redoubter, are you?”

She shook her head, and Livian said quietly, “Don’t ask her too many questions now, Veness. There’ll be time enough tomorrow.”

He nodded, acquiescing, and got to his feet. “Well, Indigo, I’m glad you found your way to us in time; it’s little short of a miracle that you didn’t miss the steading altogether in that blizzard. Oh, and… about Grayle and Morvin and the others. Look, I’ve only heard their side of the story, but I’ve a pretty shrewd idea of what happened, and I want to apologize to you on their behalf. They were drunk—they’re good cattlemen, but too hotheaded for their own good; they get pent up in this weather, and what with that and a few other things, high spirits got a little out of hand.” He hesitated. “I’m not making excuses for them; believe me I’m not. They had no business being out at all with the snow coming down, let alone setting on a complete stranger. I don’t blame you in the least for shooting Corv, and neither will he once he’s had time to sober up and reflect a while.”

“He’s… not badly hurt?” She didn’t truly care, but Veness’s open-handed apology pricked her conscience.

“Nothing but a graze; all blood and no glory. He and the others will say they’re sorry personally in the morning.”

“There’s no need.”

“There is, and I’ll see that they say it and mean it. You’re our guest after all, even if you didn’t intend to be.” He smiled again, and Indigo thought she detected an element of strain in his face. She nodded slowly.

“Thank you. You’re very kind.”

Livian intervened. “I think that’s enough, Veness. Ind—Indigo, is it?—really ought to sleep now. There’s some broth on the range downstairs; tell Rimmi to bring a bowl of it up here with a piece of bread, and then I don’t want Indigo disturbed any further tonight.”

Indigo’s gaze flickered to the woman. She was tired, desperately tired. But—“Can Grimya…?” she began.

“She’ll come upstairs with Rimmi and she can sleep on the rug here. The wolfdog,” Livian explained to Veness.

“Ah. Yes. And that reminds me—it’s all right, Livian, I’m not going to tire Indigo any more, but I must ask one last thing.” He looked at Indigo again, and suddenly his dark eyes were very intense, and troubled. “Is it true that you saw a snow tiger out there by the lakes?”

Indigo frowned. “Yes. It’s true. It was what drove your—the other men off. I thought it was going to attack me, but…” Her frown increased. “It didn’t. It just—looked at me, and then it went away.” Abruptly she recalled the human figure she’d glimpsed running at the tiger’s side, but she thought better of mentioning it. Veness wouldn’t believe that; he’d think she had been hallucinating, and now she was none too sure herself. But the tiger had been real. There could be no doubt of that.

Veness nodded gravely. “I see. Thank you. I wanted to be sure, and under the circumstances I couldn’t rely entirely on what Corv and the others said.” He moved towards the door. “I hope you have a good night. I’ll see you again in the morning.” And the door closed behind him.

Indigo let out a slow breath as Veness’ footsteps faded on the stairs outside. Livian had crossed the room to stir up the fire and put on more wood, and when she straightened, Indigo said,

“I’m sorry to have to put you to so much trouble.”

Livian regarded her, a little oddly she thought. “Don’t be foolish. Anyone in these parts would have done the same. Or almost anyone.”

“Veness—he’s—the head of this house?”

Livian hesitated. Then: “Yes. I suppose he is. He’s my marriage-brother’s son, you see, and…” She broke off, seemingly with relief, as more feet sounded on the stairs, and someone tapped at the door. It opened, and Grimya ran in. She looked anxiously about, then saw Indigo and hastened towards her.

Indigo! They said you were unharmed, but I didn’t know if I could believe them! Tail wagging, she reared up to lick Indigo’s face, and Indigo hugged her.

“Grimya!” And silently, unheard by Livian, she added, I’m fine, and well. There’s no need to worry.

Grimya had been followed, she now saw, by a plain, plump girl in her teens, bearing a laden tray. Open curiosity shone in her hazel eyes, but Livian gave her the opportunity for no more than a brief look at the stranger before shooing her out of the room.

“Here, now.” She pushed Grimya firmly aside and balanced the tray on the bed. “Drink this broth, then you’re to try to sleep through until morning.” She glanced towards the window. “The Mother alone knows how long this blizzard will continue; it looks to me as though it’s set in for a few days yet. So,” she turned back, her look faintly humorous. “You’ll enjoy our hospitality for a while yet, willy-nilly.”

The broth smelled rich and meaty; Indigo could see barley in it, and root vegetables, and it was appetizing enough to overcome her residual queasiness. “I’m very grateful,” she said, then, almost as an afterthought, “Though I don’t know the name of the family I’m grateful to.”

Livian laughed. “Oh, well, we’re not too formal about such things,” she said lightly. “And there are enough of us to be confusing to any stranger. But if you want to put a name to us all, you can be grateful to the household of Earl Bray.”

Indigo froze with the first spoonful of broth half way to her mouth. “Earl—Bray?”

“That’s right. Drink your broth, now, and I’ll settle you for the night.”

Indigo said no more. But inwardly, privately, her mind was in turmoil, and only exhaustion kept the numbing sense of shock and dread she felt from overcoming her.

Earl Bray. She knew the name only too well, and it took her back into the lost and longed-for past. For though she had never met him, though he was nothing more than a name and a shadow figure in her imagination, estranged by the vast distance that separated them, Earl Bray of the Redoubt had been Fenran’s father.

Chapter IV

Indigo woke to find the fire burned down to embers and a thin, dismal gloom that passed for daylight seeping through a gap in the shutters at her window. For a few minutes she lay still, letting her mind unravel dream from reality and listening to the muted howl of the blizzard still raging outside. Memory of the previous night came back gradually, and when she recalled the encounter with Veness it was with slow, sobering clarity rather than a renewed sense of shock.

The household of Earl Bray of the Redoubt. Fenran’s own family, moved on one or even two generations, under whose roof Fenran had once lived and worked. His father must by now have been dead many years, but there might still be someone, Indigo thought with a dreadful frisson, who would remember the story of that black-haired younger son who had quarreled with his kinsmen and left his homeland for a new life in the distant south. The uncanny likeness between Veness and Fenran couldn’t be coincidence. Unknowingly, unwillingly, she had brought Fenran’s shade back to the hearth he had abandoned fifty years ago.

Suddenly distressed, she sat up, pushing back the bedclothes and swinging her feet to the floor. Grimya wasn’t in the room, but the door stood ajar; either the wolf had managed to manipulate the latch, or someone had let her out while Indigo slept. She looked round, saw her baggage heaped on the floor by the bed, and began to rummage through it in search of fresh clothing to replace the borrowed nightgown she was wearing. She couldn’t stay: she must go downstairs and thank her hosts, repay them if they would accept it, and be on her way. She couldn’t stay. Not here.

Five minutes later, hastily dressed and with her hair roughly combed, she padded out of the room and on to a long landing. A broad, open staircase led down to the steading’s lower floor; there was light below, the sound of voices, and she hesitated, suddenly unsure of herself. Then a door banged somewhere, a shadow moved across the light, and the plain girl who had visited her room briefly last night appeared below. She started to cross the hallway, then, as though sensing something, paused and looked up.

“You’re awake!” The girl smiled. “How do you feel?”

“I’m much recovered, thank you.”

“Come down and join us. There’s some breakfast left over—you must be ravening after your ordeal yesterday.”

Indigo was hungry. Hesitantly returning the smile, she started down the stairs, and realised before she was halfway to the bottom that her words of a moment ago had been a lie. Her whole body ached and her legs were weak, threatening to give way under her as she stiffly descended. She felt light-headed, and her stomach was a queasy, bottomless pit. The girl must have seen something of her condition, for as she reached the hall a plump but firm little hand took her arm, steering her towards an open door beyond which lamps shone warmly.

“You’re not as steady as you thought, are you? Come into the kitchen, and we’ll see about feeding you. Your wolfdog’s there, anyway, and she’s already eaten.”

Heat and soft brilliance surged like a wave as the girl steered Indigo into a vast, vaulted room dominated by a scrubbed table and a black cooking-range. Here, as in the bedroom, the wooden shutters were tightly fastened, and Indigo blinked uncertainly as warmth washed over her and she took in the calm atmosphere. Salted hocks of beef and mutton hung in string nets from the rafters, iron and copper pans reflected the lamplight, and she smelled newly baked bread. And from a mat before the range, Grimya sprang to her feet and ran to greet her.

Indigo! The wolf’s mental voice was filled with relief. You are awake! How do you feel?

I’m fine, dear one. She tried to keep the real truth from the reply she projected.

Everyone is so kind, Grimya said. They gave me more food than I could eat, and they have been talking of you with great concern.

“Sit here, Indigo.” The girl pulled out a wheel-backed chair, and Indigo subsided on to it, leaning down to hug Grimya. “My name’s Rimmi. I saw you last night, but you probably don’t remember. You were more than a little groggy.”

“I do remember. You brought me some broth.”

“That’s right!” Rimmi looked pleased. “That’s a good sign, Mother says; it shows your brain hasn’t been affected by what happened to you. Some people who get caught in the blizzards lose their memories completely, you know, and go quite mad. They—” And she broke off as someone else entered the room. “Oh—Carlaze. This is Indigo. She came in from the storm last night; Mother told you about her.”

The newcomer was a few years older than Rimmi, and a good deal prettier. She had fair hair, braided in a single plait that was wound about her head, and lively green-hazel eyes. She was carrying a covered tray, which she set down beside the range.

“This is Carlaze,” Rimmi told Indigo. “My brother’s wife.”

Indigo smiled weakly. “Hello.”

“I heard about your misadventures,” Carlaze said. “I’m so sorry for what happened—we all are. Kinter—that’s my husband—has told Veness that Corv should be horsewhipped for what he did.”

Horribly embarrassed by her blunt words, Indigo shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It was just a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?” Carlaze raised her eyebrows. “That wasn’t the way I heard it. Besides, Corv’s the senior cattleman here, and that makes his behavior all the more inexcusable.” Then her expression softened. “But I shouldn’t be worrying you. Rimmi, haven’t you given Indigo anything to eat? There’s oatmeal, and fresh bread and honey, and the men will be back at any moment and wanting another brew. Boil the kettle; there’s a fresh bucket of water by the door.”

Rimmi, her brief authority undermined by Carlaze’s stronger personality, hurried to obey, and the fair girl sat on the edge of the table.

“Veness says that your luck was miraculous last night,” she observed with a smile. “It must have been one chance in a thousand that you found the steading in this blizzard.”

Indigo nodded. “I think so, too. And I’m very grateful to you all for helping me. Before I leave, I hope you’ll let me repay you in some way.”

“Leave?” Carlaze laughed. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

Carlaze nodded towards the shuttered window. “No one would survive more than a few minutes in this storm; it’s far worse now than it was last night, and it looks set to continue for a good few days yet. You’ll be here for a while to come, Indigo.”

Dismayed, Indigo opened her mouth to protest, but was forestalled by Rimmi’s voice.

“Carlaze?” The plain girl had lifted the cover of the tray which Carlaze had brought in. “Didn’t he—?”

“No.” Carlaze cut across her sharply before she could say any more. “And there’s no point trying to make him, Rimmi, you know that as well as I do. Leave it for a while. I’ll see what I can do later.”

Rimmi shrugged and returned a little sullenly to her tasks. Carlaze began to cut bread, and as she did so there was a distant crash of a door slamming in another part of the house. An icy draught whipped through the kitchen, setting the salted hocks swinging, and heavy footfalls sounded in the hall outside.

Veness appeared in the doorway, accompanied by a shorter, broader man. Carlaze screwed her head round to look at them. “Boots off, please,” she said firmly. “The kettle will be singing in a few moments.”

Veness raised an ironical eyebrow and kicked off his snow-covered leather boots. There was snow in his hair, too, and his hands, despite thick gloves, were blue-tinged. “There are five in the cattlemen’s quarters who’d appreciate a brew, Carlaze,” he said, then looked at Indigo and smiled. “Good morning, Indigo. How are you feeling today?”

His companion stared wordlessly at Indigo as he pulled out a chair and sat down. Trying not to let his open scrutiny daunt her, she returned Veness’s smile. “I’m vastly better, thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Oh—this is Reif, my brother. Reif: meet our fortunate refugee, Indigo.”

Reif nodded. “Fortunate indeed. Hello, Indigo.” His eyes, grey like Veness’s, were summing her up, and he looked as though he didn’t entirely like—or trust—what he saw. Rimmi brought both men a mug of steaming hot brew, and Carlaze said, “Indigo’s been talking of leaving us, Veness.”

“Leaving?” As Carlaze had done before, Veness laughed, and Reif smiled grimly. “Not until this blizzard’s blown itself out at the very least. And don’t think for a moment you’re imposing on us; we’re always glad of another pair of hands. Besides,” Veness paused to gulp at his drink, “I happened to notice that there was a harp among your baggage. Are you a bard?”

“Not a bard, no. But I do play.”

“Then we certainly won’t throw you to the elements: a new musician to liven up the evenings will be more than welcome, eh, Reif?”

“Certainly,” Reif continued to watch Indigo assessingly.

“Well, now.” Veness drained his cup and stood up. “We’ve work to do, so we’d best be on our way. Carlaze and Rimmi will look after you—oh, and our hotheads will have something to say to you later in the day.”

Indigo felt her face reddening. “Truly, Veness, there’s no need for that.”

“Yes, there is. I meant what I said last night.” He picked up his boots and gloves and pulled them on again. “Ready, Reif ? Right. We’ll see you ladies later.”

Despite her protests that she was fully recovered, Indigo was not allowed to help with the work of the household. Livian, who entered the kitchen a few minutes after Veness and Reif had gone, swept aside her offers, telling her firmly that for today at least she was to rest and not even consider any strenuous activity. She was welcome to look on, but Livian would permit no more.

And so Indigo and Grimya spent much of that day amid the warmth and bustle of the steading, in the company of the three women. Their activity was a distraction, keeping Indigo’s mind from straying too often or too painfully back to the dreadful irony of her situation, and her companions were eager to talk while they worked, so that as the hours passed she began to piece together a more cohesive picture of the Bray household.

She had been under the impression that Veness must hold the title of Earl Bray, but soon discovered that this was not the case. The present Earl, Livian told her, was Veness’s father, her late husband’s brother: but at the moment he was ill, and so Veness, as the eldest son, was effectively taking his place until his recovery.

“I’m sorry to hear of his illness,” Indigo said. “It must make my presence doubly troublesome to you.”

“Not at all,” Livian assured her, and Carlaze, who had overheard, voiced firm agreement. “The earl’s malaise isn’t serious—at least, we don’t believe so; we hope he should be fit again before too long.” She glanced at Carlaze; an odd look. Indigo thought, seeming to imply a caution against any further elaboration. “And were he fit, he’d have been the very first to make you welcome here.”

Indigo wondered what the nature of the illness might be. She’d already learned that Livian—who was, as she’d surmised, the mother of Rimmi and Kinter, Carlaze’s husband—was a widow who, after her husband’s death, had brought her family to live under this roof and to take on the role of chatelaine to the house. From this, Indigo inferred that Earl Bray might himself have been recently widowed, and guessed that perhaps his sickness might be the result of grief. Livian, however, made no mention of a bereavement, and she didn’t like to inquire too openly.

Veness, she discovered, had two brothers; Reif, whom she’d already met and suspected had taken an immediate dislike to her, and Brws—pronounced, with the unfamiliar Redoubt inflection which she still hadn’t mastered, Broze—who was fifteen. Livian’s son Kinter was of an age with Veness and, Livian confided proudly, an invaluable asset to the steading; he and Veness and Reif were the pivot around which the business of the estate revolved.

The estate itself was a far larger and more complex entity than Indigo had realised. The Brays’ primary interest, like those of their neighbors, was cattle; but in addition they also farmed several thousand head of sheep on a great acreage some miles to the north, and controlled tracts of forest that were cultivated for timber, as well as growing the hardy crops which fed their livestock. Livian said that she truly had no idea how many men were employed on Bray lands, but it must be well over a hundred, all living in small settlements and homesteads within the estate’s embrace. And while the menfolk worked and ruled the land, this great old house, the cornerstone of it all, was in its turn the domain of the small matriarchy that ran the steading’s domestic affairs. It was a satisfying and practical arrangement, reminding Indigo poignantly of her own childhood home, Carn Caille. Even the house itself, foursquare and solid, built from stone and slate and wood and designed to withstand the very worst of a near-Polar winter, had echoes of Carn Caille’s stern yet secure atmosphere. Everything about it was well-worn but comfortable; there was no opulence, no grandeur, yet the Bray house exuded a warmth that had no need of richness or fine trappings.

There was, though, one question which nagged unpleasantly at Indigo. Something Veness had said to her last night: that there had been no one named Fenran at the steading since before his father’s time. How old was Veness? she wondered. Twenty-five, probably, or thereabouts: so his father was likely to be fifty or more. That meant that the last Bray to have borne the name of Fenran must have died—or been estranged from his family—fifty years ago or more. Fifty years ago… Indigo felt a cold, clammy shiver rack her as she asked herself whether the present Earl Bray might have had an uncle whom he had never known…

But she couldn’t ask the question. Torn between longing and dreading to know the answer, she couldn’t find the courage to ask it. And perhaps, an inner voice warned her, it would be better not to know; not to resurrect a second time the ghost that had been awoken in her heart by Veness’s uncanny resemblance to her lost love, but to let it lie and to forget, if she could.

The routine of the household continued unabated throughout the day. Shortly after noon came something of an ordeal, when Indigo was confronted by her four assailants of the previous day, whom Veness had rounded up and sent to make their apologies. No one would listen to her plea that she neither needed nor wanted any formal show; Veness’s word, it seemed, was law, and in this he would brook no argument. The four—Corv with his arm in a sling—stood in a line before her in the hall, and each spoke his piece in turn. They were as embarrassed as she, and their contrition was genuine; though she sensed that Corv bore a grudge for the shame of being shot by a woman, which she gathered had already made him the butt of a good deal of teasing. But peace was made, and when the men left to return to their own outlying quarters, Indigo felt reassured that there would be no further trouble.

She slept for a while in the afternoon, caught by a sudden resurgence of weariness that caused her almost to doze off in her chair before the kitchen range. Carlaze, finding her, shepherded her instantly and firmly to her room, and though she was angry with herself for showing such weakness, Indigo found it impossible to stay awake once she had lain down on the bed. In truth, her strength was debilitated; last night’s experience had taken more of a toll than she’d realized, and to her chagrin she slept until Rimmi came to tell her that the evening meal was about to be served, and that everyone hoped she was sufficiently recovered to join the family in the dwelling-hall.

The evening meal, Indigo discovered, was something of a ritual in the Bray household. With work done, the family came together to talk over the day’s events and relax in each other’s company, and Indigo and Grimya were drawn into the intimate atmosphere around the table as though they were friends of many years’ standing. There were new faces to be met; Brws, Veness’ youngest brother, and Kinter, who sat with Carlaze across the table from Indigo. There was a great likeness between Kinter and Rimmi, though the stockiness that both had inherited, and which did nothing to enhance Rimmi’s looks, showed to advantage in her brother. Kinter had brown hair, friendly eyes, and a strong-boned face: he and Carlaze made a handsome and well-matched couple, Indigo thought.

Table talk revolved around mundane matters. Veness and Kinter, it seemed, had braved the weather to look at a section of fencing which the blizzard had brought down, and which, Kinter said glumly, couldn’t possibly be mended until conditions improved. It would make no difference to the livestock, as the cattle had all been moved to the shelter of their winter quarters, but now that one section had gone, more would surely follow, which meant long hours of labor on the repairs.

“How long do you think it’ll be before the blizzard abates?” Carlaze asked.

Her husband shrugged and looked at Veness, who said, “Another day at least; possibly more.”

Reif frowned. “If anything, it’s worse now than it was this morning. I’ve not seen a storm like this so early in the winter for a good few years. We’re in for a bad season, and no mistake.”

Indigo had been listening silently to the conversation, and at Reif’s last remark she looked up uneasily. “If you’re right, and the winter’s to be particularly severe,” she said, “then I mustn’t delay any longer than I have to. As soon as this blizzard ends, I’d best be on my way as quickly as possible.”

Veness stared at her incredulously, and Reif gave a sharp bark of laughter. “On your way?” he echoed sourly. “You’re jesting, of course!”

Veness glanced at him, then looked back at Indigo. “What my brother’s trying to say—though he could have put it more subtly—is that there’s not likely to be any question of your leaving us for a few months to come.”

Her jaw dropped. “A few months? But—”

Gently, Veness interrupted. “Winter’s beginning, Indigo, and a Redoubt winter isn’t something to be trifled with. Even the most hardened of us wouldn’t undertake a long journey at this season, and it’s obvious from your baggage that a long journey is what you had in mind.” He waited for her to confirm that, and at length she nodded reluctantly. “Well then, you’ve little choice but to stay.”

Her pulse was erratic. “But I couldn’t possibly impose on you for so long!”

“It isn’t a question of imposing; it’s a question of simple necessity,” Veness said. “And I, for one, will be glad to have you with us.”

Everyone at the table assented, though Reif seemed a little less sure than the rest. Indigo didn’t know what to think or what to say. She couldn’t stay under this roof throughout the winter. No matter how kind her hosts were, no matter how welcome they made her feel, she couldn’t stay in this house with its terrible associations; nor with Veness, whom she could barely bring herself to look at directly. And yet she couldn’t explain to this hospitable and well-meaning family why she felt as she did.

Reif said suddenly, “Maybe Indigo doesn’t want to remain with us.”

He’d seen her discomfort and misread the expression on her face, and it was obvious from his tone that he’d inferred some insult. Hastily Indigo said, “No—no, truly, it isn’t that; it isn’t that at all.” She forced her gaze to travel around the table and focus finally on Veness. “There’s nothing I’d like more.” Liar. “But—I have to go. I have urgent business in the north, and—

“So urgent that you’ll risk your life for it?” Veness asked.

“Well, no; but… I’d be a burden on you. Livian tells me that your father’s ill. I couldn’t put you all to so much trouble; you’ve already been too kind to me.”

“Now listen, Indigo.” Veness was smiling, leaning from his place at the table towards her. He might have taken her hand, but she drew back, trying to make the movement appear purely coincidental. “I see what it is that’s troubling you, and I appreciate your concern. But I want you to forget any thoughts of inconveniencing us, and forget them right now. It will be a pleasure to have you as our guest for as long as need be, and that’s an end to it. I can’t say it any more clearly than that, now, can I?”

His smile had broadened to a warm grin, and Indigo realised unhappily that she was trapped. She couldn’t refuse these people’s hospitality without either giving grave offense or being forced to tell them the whole truth; and she couldn’t bring herself to take either of those options.

Grimya, who until now had sat under the table and made no comment, suddenly spoke in her mind.

I think we must accept what they say, Indigo. I know how painful it must be for you to be in this place, but I truly believe that we’ll have to stay and make the best we can of it.

With her customary common sense the wolf had realized and accepted that this was the only possible answer to their dilemma, and Indigo’s resistance crumbled. Grimya was right: they had to stay. To consider anything else would be madness.

She blinked, and with an effort of will looked at Veness again. “Thank you, Veness. Indeed you can’t say it any more clearly, and you’ve reassured me. I am—we’re both—very grateful to you.”

It seemed that she had managed to keep the uncertainty she felt from her voice, for Veness sensed nothing amiss but simply looked pleased. “Then it’s settled. And I welcome you—officially, that is—to our house.” He raised his ale-mug. “To our new friends, Indigo and Grimya.”

“Indigo and Grimya!” The toast was repeated, then Rimmi, who had taken too large a mouthful from her own mug, began to splutter and choke. Kinter leaned over to slap her between the shoulder-blades, and Carlaze dissolved into helpless laughter. The incident served to disperse any lingering awkwardness, and once Rimmi had recovered the atmosphere relaxed and everyone began to talk more freely. Carlaze asked Indigo about her own background; and though, as always at such times, the question gave her a momentary cold shiver, Indigo told the company of the Brabazon Fairplayers with whom she and Grimya had traveled in the western continent. She’d learned in recent years that anecdotes about her sojourn with the traveling family were a sure way of diverting others from probing more deeply into her past, and her companions listened avidly to her stories, until Veness said, “Indigo, you’re a born storyteller! I wonder that your friends ever let you go.”

She smiled. The mood of the evening, and the ale she’d drunk, were acting like a balm on her; she felt more relaxed than she could recall feeling in a long while.

“My talents are nothing compared to theirs,” she replied. “Stead in particular—he was the father of the family—had an ear for a good tale that’s probably unmatched in the whole of the west. A legend, a mystery, a snatch of rumor, and Stead could turn it into dazzling entertainment.”

Rimmi hiccupped. She’d been refilling her mug more often than the others, Indigo had noticed, surreptitiously avoiding her mother’s censuring eye, and now she was more than a little drunk. She had also tried on a number of occasions to monopolize Veness’s attention, but had failed, and Indigo suspected that the ale was a compensation.

“It’s a pity,” she said, her voice faintly slurred, “that he never came here. Just think what a story he could have made from that old relic.”

As she spoke, she waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the room’s enormous hearth, and instantly silence fell. Veness and Reif looked quickly at each other, and Kinter gave Rimmi a furious glare, while Brws stared at his plate as though he wished he could slip under the table and vanish.

Livian was the first to collect herself, reaching to pull Rimmi’s mug out of her reach. “That’s enough, Rimmi!” she said sharply.

Rimmi’s cheeks were scarlet. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“It doesn’t matter, Rimmi.” Veness’s voice was firm, though with suppressed anger underlying it. “But we won’t dwell on that subject, if you please.”

Indigo stared at the hearth, wondering what could have caused such an extraordinary reaction among her companions. The ingle and grate were unremarkable enough, though built on an impressive scale; and the blackened wood mantel held nothing out of the ordinary. But then she saw that above the mantel hung something that she’d not noticed—or at least not consciously taken in—before. A heavy, round shield, dark with age and lack of polishing; and, slung diagonally across the shield’s face, a fearsome-looking axe.

Could they have been the subject of Rimmi’s unfortunate reference? She glanced around the table, but everyone else, including Rimmi, had determinedly returned their attention to the food. The moment when she might have asked for an explanation was past; but she wondered if, later, Livian or Veness might be persuaded to tell her a little more. For in the moment when she’d looked up at those old, neglected weapons, she had felt an unpleasant instinct stab through her mind, offering the answer to a question which, she realized now, she had been doing everything in her power to avoid asking herself.

Involuntarily, she put one hand to her throat, feeling the thong by which the lodestone hung about her neck. No one else noticed the gesture, but Grimya, alert as ever to the smallest flicker in her friend’s mind, caught the thought even before it could take full form.

Yes, she said. I wonder, too. Is it possible?

I don’t know. Talk was breaking out again, Veness leading a concerted effort to remove the tension that Rimmi’s unthinking remark had created. Someone refilled Indigo’s mug; she smiled reflexive thanks but her thoughts were elsewhere, and uneasily she added to Grimya, But I pray that we’re wrong.

Chapter V

Indigo had hoped that she might have the chance to ask Livian privately about the significance of the axe and shield, but she was disappointed. It was near midnight when at last the gathering broke up and Livian—who firmly believed that males were worse than useless when it came to domestic matters—drove the men away to their beds so that the women could clear away the remains of the feast. This time Indigo’s offer of help wasn’t refused, but as they carried empty dishes to the kitchen for Rimmi to wash, she had the distinct impression that Livian was deliberately avoiding being alone with her for more than a few moments at a time.

At last the work was done. Carlaze and Rimmi wished Indigo good night and went up the stairs, and Livian followed them before anything could be said, so that Indigo and Grimya found themselves alone in the dwelling-hall. Reif had banked down the fire for the night, and the hall’s only illumination now came from its crimson embers and from a single lantern which Livian had left for Indigo to light herself to bed.

The quiet felt strange after the cheerful noise of the evening, yet the house was far from silent. Outside, the blizzard raged as fearsomely as ever; Indigo could hear the wind’s moan, counterpointed by a thin, spine-chilling shriek that told her it had reached near-hurricane force. Shutters rattled sporadically, and a vicious draft whipped under the door, flapping rugs and nipping at her feet. She had intended to leave the room to solitude, but before she was halfway to the door she paused as the curiosity which she had been trying to ignore began to nag at her again. She turned, and saw that Grimya was watching her. An uncertain, half-formed query emanated from the wolf’s mind, and Indigo knew that she, too, was reluctant to leave without at least a closer look at the source of the evening’s mystery.

The fire’s embers were fading. Only a residual heat came from the hearth now, though the stones of the ingle were warm to the touch. Wind hooted dolefully in the chimney as Indigo stood before the mantel and looked up at the shield and the axe.

They were certainly very old; and from the look of them they had had years of hard and bloody use. The shield was dented and its edge reduced to knife-thinness in places; while the axe-blade was gouged and rough and the wooden haft worn.

Grimya, standing at Indigo’s side, stared at the shield as though trying to see through its surface to something beneath. After a few moments she said, There’s something about them that I don’t like, Indigo. I can’t properly describe it, but … Her nose wrinkled. They smell bad to me. Not clean.

Indigo was inclined to agree, though her instinct was less sure than Grimya’s. Holding the lantern high, she stepped closer and peered more intently at the weapons. The patina that had formed on them over the years had turned them almost black, making it impossible to tell what metal they were made from; and she reached up to scratch with a finger at the coating—

“For the Mother’s sake, don’t touch them!”

The voice made her jump with shock, and she almost lost her balance and stepped into the fire as she spun round.

Veness stood behind her. Even Grimya hadn’t heard him approach, and he came quickly across the room to take Indigo’s arm and draw her away from the ingle.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but I saw what you were doing and I had to stop you.”

Indigo was nonplussed. “Forgive me—I had no idea I was trespassing.”

“It isn’t that.” He was tense, she realized as the lantern illuminated his face; frightened, even. “I should have said something earlier, when Rimmi made her unfortunate remark; but I didn’t want to cast a blight on the evening.”

“A blight?”

Veness sighed. “Livian doesn’t like to talk about those particular family heirlooms; she’s superstitious, doesn’t believe in tempting fate. But I could see you were curious.” He turned and looked back at the mantel. “You’re not the first to be, by any means. Those things seem to fascinate all our visitors. I only wish that I’d been able to make a gift of them to someone, and get them out of this house for good—but I wouldn’t inflict them even on a sworn enemy.”

Grimya’s ears were pricked, and she communicated, I was right. There is something amiss here.

They reached the table; Veness drew out a chair and gestured for Indigo to sit down.

“I’ll tell you the story of those weapons, if you want to hear it.” He forced a grim smile, taking another chair next to her. “Rimmi was right; your friend Stead Brabazon could have made quite an entertainment from it, though it wouldn’t have been one of his happier masques. I don’t know for certain just how old the axe and shield are, but they’ve been in our family for a good many generations. And a few hundred years ago, they almost ruined us.”

Indigo said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“Our unlamented ancestor, the Earl Bray of that time,” Veness went on, looking back with distaste at the weapons over the mantel, “got into a dispute about forestry rights with a neighboring family, who owned land to the south of this steading. They squabbled and skirmished for a year or two, but it wasn’t an overly serious quarrel—until our ancestor committed a crime that put an ineradicable cloud on this house.”

For a moment there was silence. Then Grimya uttered a small, soft whine, and Veness laughed uneasily.

“That sounded like sympathy. You’d almost believe she understood, wouldn’t you?” He reached out to stroke the she-wolf’s head. “But we don’t deserve sympathy, Grimya. At least, our ancestor doesn’t.” His gaze returned to Indigo. “He sent a message to the neighboring homestead, saying that the feud had gone on for too long and suggesting a meeting to reconcile their differences and make peace. The neighbor—well, he was a smaller landowner, he didn’t have the strength or influence of the Brays, and he hadn’t wanted to quarrel with anyone in the first place; so he accepted the terms the earl had put forward, and invited him to be his guest, with full honor, at a celebratory feast.

“The earl went to the feast—but he went with a full force of warriors and attacked the neighbor’s steading. He must have taken them completely by surprise; they weren’t prepared, they didn’t have many fighting men of their own.” Veness stared down at his own feet. “The host’s household didn’t stand a chance. It was sheer slaughter.”

Indigo looked at the axe and shield. “And those were the weapons your ancestor used?”

“Yes.” Veness nodded. “But that’s not all the story; not by any means. It’s said that the neighbor took a long time to die. Some people say he was some kind of a sorcerer or witchman, and that he was almost impossible to kill. I don’t believe that; I believe he was as mortal as any of us: but I also believe that in dire extremes the human mind is capable of extraordinary things.” Another forced smile, this time faintly self-deprecating. “Reif and Kinter would never let me hear the end of it if they knew I was such a philosopher… but anyway, according to the legend he was lying in his own blood, cut almost in two, and in his last moments he caught hold of Earl Bray’s shield and pronounced a curse. The earl’s own weapons would turn on him and his kin, he said, as he had turned them on his innocent neighbor. And the curse would endure, so that the house of Bray’s treachery would never be forgotten.”

Once more there was silence for a few moments, but for the muffled shrieking of the storm. Indigo suppressed a shiver that she told herself was due to nothing more than cold.

“It’s funny,” Veness said at last, “but when I was little, I used to have terrible nightmares about that scene. I could see it so clearly; the carnage, the blood, the dead women and children… and the earl, too. Because, you see, as the neighbor pronounced his curse, Earl Bray found that the axe and shield were fixed fast to his hands. He couldn’t let go of them, no matter what he did. And as his victim died, he went beserk. Literally, a berserker rage. Do you know what that is?”

“Yes,” Indigo said somberly. “I know what it is.”

“He was insane. He ran from the house roaring like a bull, mounted his horse and rode back to this steading. When he arrived, he jumped out of the saddle, hacked the horse’s head off, then attacked his own wife and children, here in this very hall.” His grey gaze flicked unquietly about the room. “When his men returned, they found the entire family dead. The earl had killed them all, and then in a last frenzy hacked himself to death.”

Indigo drew in a slow, hissing breath. She didn’t know what to say: but Veness’s story wasn’t yet done.

“They buried the shield and axe with the earl,”-he said somberly. “But the morning after the burial, they were found back in their old place on the wall. A servant tried to take them down again—and the moment he touched them, they fused to his hands as they’d done before, and he, too, went mad. He was killed before he could wreak any more havoc, and no one dared touch the weapons; they left them lying where the servant had fallen. The next day, they were back on the wall again.” His eyes met Indigo’s. “And that’s where they’ve stayed ever since.”

The lantern was beginning to burn blue as its oil ran low; Indigo reached reflexively to turn down the wick, then thought better of it. “And no one has touched them since that time?” she asked quietly.

“Only once. It was a good many years ago, in my great-grandfather’s time. Great-grandfather was a very practical man by all accounts, and he didn’t believe in curses. He offered the shield and axe as gifts to a guest who’d admired them.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing, at first. The guest took them away, and great-grandfather thought that the story had finally been proved to be nothing more than superstitious legend. But they were back next morning, just as before, up there on the wall. And they found out later that the guest who’d taken them had died during the night. Apparently his heart simply stopped beating while he lay in his bed.

“So,” Veness rose abruptly and paced across the room; not towards the hearth but away from it, as though he wanted to put as great a distance between himself and the ancient relics as possible. “You’ll understand now why no one is ever permitted to so much as touch those weapons.” He paused, turning to look back at her, then shrugged as though embarrassed. “Maybe there’s nothing in the stories, or maybe the curse has lost its power by now; I don’t know. But we won’t allow anyone to take the risk of putting it to the test.”

Indigo said nothing for a few moments. She could feel excitement emanating from Grimya’s mind, but she shut it from her thoughts, not wanting yet to examine either the wolf’s reaction or her own to the tale Veness had told.

To carry such a burden down through the generations… had Fenran been aware of the curse, she wondered? In all the time she’d known him, been so close to him, he’d never once spoken of his early life but had preferred to sever all the links and pretend that they’d never existed. Yet surely he must have lived in this house with the knowledge of what it contained instilled in his mind from childhood.

She looked up at last, trying to quell the now familiar spectral hand that clutched at her stomach as she saw Veness’s face; Fenran’s face. Softly, she said, “You still feel the guilt of that crime, don’t you, Veness?”

For a moment he was still: then he shook his head slowly. “I don’t know, Indigo. I’m not a fool: I know that we can’t be held to blame for what happened centuries ago. We’re not even direct descendants of that earl; a cousin took over the estate and the title after he and his kin died, and our line has come down from there. But I still can’t ride over the lands that once belonged to the man Earl Bray betrayed, without feeling that I’m trespassing where I’ve no right to be.”

“Who owns those lands now?”

Veness paused again, then shrugged. “We do. It was all settled at the time, very pragmatically. The true owner and all his family were dead, and their murderer was beyond the reach of punishment. The new Earl Bray was a newcomer who’d had nothing to do with it all, so none of the other landowners saw any point in making him pay for a crime he’d not committed. No one else wanted the land; didn’t want to walk in a murdered man’s track; and so it became a part of the Bray estates. We’ve never done much with it. I suppose we’ve never had the heart.” He flexed his shoulders to loosen their stiffness. “But I’ve said quite enough for one night.” He gave her a faint grin, seemingly making a conscious effort to lighten the mood. “I don’t know about you, but after this I’m not ready for sleep yet. Will you take another cup of ale with me before we go our separate ways? The kitchen will be warmer than this hall; the range fire keeps burning all night. And maybe we can find a more cheerful topic to sweeten our dreams.”

It was an open-handed and friendly invitation, but Indigo didn’t want to accept it. She liked Veness—it was impossible not to—and yet at the same time he disturbed her deeply, for she feared that the extraordinary resemblance he bore to Fenran might trap her into making a terrible mistake. It would be so easy for her mind to impose Fenran’s image on Veness, and lure her into convincing herself that he was Fenran in all but name. Several times she had caught herself anticipating Fenran’s small, familiar mannerisms in Veness’s speech or movement, and each time their absence had momentarily confused her. She didn’t trust herself: and suddenly she didn’t want to be alone with him.

She said aloud, “Thank you, Veness, but—I think I’ll go to bed.” She managed a smile, though it didn’t feel convincing and, she was sure, didn’t look it. “I’m more weary than I’d realized,” she added lamely.

Veness didn’t comment, but his expression seemed to close in on itself.

“Of course.” He sounded as if he regretted having issued the invitation, and Indigo wished desperately that she could have refused it without giving him the wrong impression. “I’ll wish you goodnight, then.” His smile was still warm, but tinged with regret. “Sleep well.”

As the door closed behind Veness, Indigo pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead and sighed deeply.

I’ve upset him, she said silently, unhappily, to Grimya. That was the last thing I wanted to do. But I couldn’t tell him the truth, Grimya. I couldn’t.

It might have been easier to be honest, Grimya replied uncertainly. He likes you, and it seems a shame to let him think that you don’t want to be his friend.

Veness’s footsteps had faded; a floorboard creaked overhead and, judging that he had reached the upper floor and was out of earshot, Indigo spoke aloud. “I know. But in a way I don’t want to grow friendly with him. There are too many pitfalls.”

Because he looks like Fenran?

“Yes. And other reasons too, perhaps. I wouldn’t want him to think…” Her voice tailed off, and Grimya asked,

Think what?

Indigo shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m probably running too fast and too far. I just… don’t want there to be any danger of a misunderstanding.” She lowered her hands and stared at them. “I wish the blizzard hadn’t trapped us here. It would be better for everyone if we could leave this house.”

A little reluctantly, Grimya looked back at the mantel above the hearth. Yes, she said. Perhaps it would be better. She hesitated, then decided that she must voice the thing that lurked like the scent of a coming storm at the back of her mind. But I fear that there might be something more than the blizzard to keep us here.

“What do you mean?”

I think you know what I mean. You, too, have been thinking it, though you’ve tried to pretend otherwise even to yourself. Another pause, and when Indigo didn’t speak, the wolf added, I looked more carefully at the shield while Veness was telling us his story. There are places where the surface can still be seen through all the tarnish. I don’t know what metal it’s made from, but its color is silver.

Silver. Old memories slipped into Indigo’s mind like snakes; memories from other times, other lands. A pewter brooch that glinted like silver in the light of a dim fire. An old fortune-teller calling from the hurly-burly of a busy eastern market: silver cards for my lady and her fine grey dog … And a vicious child with silver eyes, unhuman, implacable, laughing in the shadows of a falling tower, walking with unseen menace in her footsteps, staring out through her own eyes and showing her the ugly truth of what she had become. Silver: the color and the embodiment of her own Nemesis—and a sign that she couldn’t ignore.

She’d sensed it, as Grimya said; but she’d refused to acknowledge it, hoping against all the goading of her instinct that she was wrong, and putting off the moment when she must learn the truth for good or ill. She could still dissemble; but now that Grimya had openly asked the question she knew that neither of them would be able to rest until it was answered.

She took the lodestone from its pouch and held it clasped in a clenched fist for a few moments. The stone no longer had the power to intimidate her that it had once possessed; that was one lesson she had learned during her travels with the Brabazons, and it had taught her something of the true nature of illusion. But though she had gained the strength to control the stone, she was not yet entirely its master, and at last she opened her hand and looked down at the smooth pebble.

The golden pinpoint of light shimmered and danced like a trapped firefly. It no longer pointed northward, but it would not be still. A silent question formed in Indigo’s mind: what now, old friend? And the pinpoint moved with a quick, emphatic flicker, to settle motionless at the stone’s exact centre.

She needed no further confirmation. The fourth demon was in this house.

Indigo didn’t speak. She simply put the lodestone away, then turned and picked up the lantern. Its oil was almost entirely gone now and the wick was smoking; the feeble light would last perhaps another minute or two but no more.

“I’m going to bed,” she said. Her voice was flat, dull.

Grimya dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Yess. There is nothing more to be done now.” She looked up unhappily, “I’m’s… sorry.”

Sympathy, or an apology for having forced her to face the truth? Indigo didn’t know, and it didn’t seem to matter. She shook her head.

“There’s no need to be sorry for anything, Grimya. Let’s sleep, if we can, and not think about it till morning.”

Out in the stone-flagged hall the noise of the gale was magnified in eerie echoes, whining through the passage and making the heavy curtains that hung at the doors to preserve warmth flap and shift unnervingly in the gloom. Shadows lurched on the stairs; they reached their room as the lamp flared with a last effort, and as the door closed behind them Indigo turned down the wick until the blue spark died. The room sank into darkness relieved only by a thin, pale line where the shutters let in the strange glimmer from the snow-laden sky, and Indigo groped towards the bed, sliding under the blankets without even attempting to undress and find her night-clothes. She suddenly felt exhausted almost to the point of delirium, and wanted only to forget everything—Veness, family curses, demons—in the oblivion of sleep. Grimya jumped onto the bed beside her; she felt the wolf’s warm body press against her back, but Grimya said nothing and Indigo was too weary even to wish her good night. In less than a minute, she was asleep.

She expected to sleep soundly until morning, but dawn was still a long way off when something roused her. She rolled over, only half awake and wondering confusedly what could have disturbed her rest, then as her eyes began to focus and grow accustomed to the room’s darkness, she made out the silhouette of Grimya at the window. The she-wolf was nosing at the shutters, and Indigo sensed great agitation in her mind, though it was impossible to make sense of the jumble of incoherent thoughts.

“Grimya?” She sat up, her whisper carrying over the muted noise of the blizzard outside.

Grimya turned quickly, her ears pricking. “Indigo! I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What are you doing? What’s wrong?”

“There is s…omething out there,” Grimya said. “A noise woke me, and then I smelled it.”

Indigo pushed back the bedclothes and crossed the floor towards her. At the window she paused, listening, but could hear only the wind’s moaning. “Perhaps if I open the shutters a crack—” she began.

No! The response came so quickly that Indigo started. She looked at Grimya’s dim shape; the wolf’s shoulders were defensively hunched, and her entire posture radiated a fear that was sharply emphasized by her telepathic protest.

“Grimya, whatever is it?” The sense of terror was beginning to affect Indigo, too, and her pulse was quickening uncomfortably. “What’s out there?”

Grimya said harshly, her voice barely more than a guttural snarl, “Tiger!”

And, as though summoned by the utterance of the word, a sound that was not a part of the storm came suddenly out of the night, audible even above the gale’s howling. Distant, but emphatically and chillingly powerful, it was the challenging cough and roar of a giant hunting cat.

Grimya yelped, and sprang down from the window ledge to stand quivering in the middle of the floor. Her hackles were up, and her fear was blossoming towards uncontrollable terror.

“Grimya!” Indigo hastened to her friend’s side and stroked her brindled head, trying to soothe her. “It’s all right, it can’t reach you! It’s a long way off—”

“No!” Grimya barked fearfully. “Not far. Not far!”

“Far enough! Be calm, love. You’re safe here.” She glanced back at the shuttered window, wondering uneasily just how close the great cat could be. That roar had carried so clearly on the storm.

She quickly pushed the speculation away, not wanting Grimya to sense her thoughts. The wolf’s entire body was trembling, and she pushed her muzzle against Indigo’s arm.

“I am s…orry,” she said in distress. “But I am so af…raid of it.”

Indigo hugged her with wordless sympathy. She herself was in awe of the snow tiger, and knew how powerful and dangerous it could be; but Grimya, driven by the inbred instinct of her kind and unable to fight that instinct with human logic, was all but paralyzed with terror. For several minutes they crouched together on the floor of the unlit room, listening tensely for another roar; but there was only the ceaseless, dismal moan of the wind and the rattle of the shutters as they fought against their latches. The snow tiger had made its presence known, and it seemed that that was enough.

At last Indigo felt Grimya’s shivering begin to subside, and she relaxed her hold, starting to rise to her feet.

“There’s no glimmer of dawn yet.” She spoke softly. “We should go back to sleep for a while.”

I… don’t think I want to sleep any more, Grimya projected.

“You should try. We both should. Come on; lie on the bed with me. There’s nothing to be afraid of now.”

A little uncertainly, Grimya allowed herself to be coaxed to the bed. The room was growing bitterly cold as the residual warmth from the dead fire began to fade, and Indigo was glad to pull the blankets around herself once more. She cast one over the wolf, and Grimya wriggled closer to her. Her heartbeat was over-rapid, and Indigo stroked her head. She whined, nuzzling her head into the crook of Indigo’s arm, then at last settled, though reluctantly, and was still.

Indigo lay wakeful for a while, listening to the sounds of the storm and wondering if anyone else in the house had been woken by the snow tiger’s roar. Odd noises impinged now and then; creaking of timbers or boards, a sudden mournful whistle, as though a door had opened and let the gale in. But the creaks were only the old house’s complaints as the wind rocked it; the whistlings only the echoes of a sudden gust in the chimneys. There was no one abroad.

At last, with Grimya’s head pillowed on her arm and the blankets pulled close about her ears, Indigo slept once more.

Chapter VI

Though no mention was made of it, Indigo suspected that she and Grimya weren’t the only ones to have heard the snow tiger during the night. The atmosphere at breakfast around the big kitchen table was subdued and a little tense; Rimmi was clumsy, Livian and Reif short-tempered, and Veness uncharacteristically quiet. Indigo thought better of her initial impulse to broach the subject and tell the others of what she had heard: although she had no real evidence to back the feeling, she suspected that some air of dread was attached to the great cat, and it seemed prudent to say nothing.

The storm still showed no sign of abating, but there was essential work to be done that couldn’t be postponed even in the worst weather. The steading was short of hands while the blizzard made it impossible for the usual contingent of working men such as Grayle and Morvin to come in from their outlying homes, and Indigo’s offer of help was gratefully accepted. Swathed in furs, she and Kinter went out into the shrieking mayhem to carry fodder from the great barn beside the house to the comparative shelter of the stables and cattle-byres. They slithered and stumbled across the yard, heads turned like swimmers in a current from the gale which threatened to bowl them off their feet at every step, to where the outbuildings loomed grim and spectral out of the murk. Shouting voices and the metallic clanking of buckets carried erratically and unreally over the shriek of the wind as Veness and Reif, in the protected well-house, drew water for humans and animals alike, and in the byre Brws and Rimmi milked the two house-cows and fed the penned flock of domestic birds.

They worked on throughout the short daylight hours, breaking only for a hastily snatched lunch and a chance to thaw frozen hands and feet at the kitchen range. With the stock work completed at last, Veness and Reif joined them to begin a battle to clear the snow that was piling and drifting in the yard. But it was an unequal struggle; as fast as the fallen snow could be cleared, the blizzard hurled new onslaughts down on them, and at last, yelling to make himself heard over the wind’s roar, Veness called a halt as the day’s whirling whiteness began to sink into howling, treacherous gloom.

In the house, the shock of stillness and silence after the pandemonium outside was acute and, for the first few minutes, disorientating. They found themselves shouting as though the gale were still whipping around them and snatching their words away, and Indigo’s ears sang with after-echoes of the storm’s din, now dimmed to a distant and sullen muttering by the protection of the house’s thick walls. Dazed by warmth and light and peace, she gratefully changed her clothes for dry ones which Livian had left warming by the fire in her room, and joined the others for the communal evening meal in the dwelling-hall.

This time there were no incidents to mar the gathering, and to Indigo’s relief it seemed that Veness had forgotten—or at least put aside—any pique he might have felt after her snub of the previous night. Personal tensions had been submerged in the sheer hardship of the day’s work; Indigo was now firmly and pragmatically accepted as another pair of toiling hands in the struggle for survival, and even Reif’s suspicious attitude had unbent a little, though he still did barely more than acknowledge her. Now and again during the meal she glanced at the mantel where the axe and shield hung in their shadowed place, but though their malevolent presence gave her a queasy lurch, she was far too tired to pay them much attention, and by midnight she was climbing the stairs to her warm, shuttered room and the relief of a sound night’s sleep.

The snow tiger didn’t return. Throughout the dark hours there was no disturbance, only the ceaseless noise of the blizzard which now was becoming as familiar, and in a peculiar way as soothing, as the silence of any summer night. The next day was spent much as the previous day had been, though Indigo was hampered by the fierce ache of muscles unused to such heavy labor, and returned to the house at dusk so stiff that she could barely walk. Carlaze took one look at her and hustled the men out of the kitchen, upbraiding them for letting their guest work herself to such a condition, then poured hot water into a tub before the range, added some herbal concoction of her own devising, and insisted that Indigo should soak in the fragrant water to ease her aching limbs. Bathed, toweled, and generally fussed over by the fair girl while Livian and Rimmi prepared food in comfortable chaos around them, Indigo began to feel like one of the family—a good feeling, yet a little frightening at the same time. She was quiet during the evening meal, and went to bed early, listening to the muffled sounds of talk and laughter from below and falling asleep in a strange mood of happiness and trepidation together.

The next day she woke before dawn. For a few minutes she couldn’t work out what had roused her; but then she realised that the world was startlingly and utterly silent. The blizzard had ceased.

Indigo sat up in bed and groped for flint and tinder to light her lantern. The extraordinary quiet after three days of storm seemed like an intrusion, and she had to shake her head several times, jamming the heels of her hands against her ears, before she could convince herself that the peace was real and not a dream. A spark flared; the lantern wick caught and she turned it up, lifting the room into patterns of amber light and sepia shadow—then smiled as she saw that Grimya was already awake and at the window. The she-wolf turned, and her tail wagged eagerly.

“The snow has’s… stopped!” she said. “The world is quiet again. We can go out!”

Grimya had been miserable during the last two days, Indigo knew; she hated confinement, yet, unable to help with any of the outdoor work, she’d had no choice but to stay in the house with the three Bray women. Now she scraped eagerly at the shutters with one paw, and Indigo slid out of bed and went to open the catch for her.

They gazed out on to a white, silent world that glittered ethereally under a black sky filled with stars. The starlight cast faint but discernible shadows of the house and barns on the snow; and Grimya whimpered with pleasure, her body wriggling.

“It is like the w… inters of my h-homeland,” she said rapturously.

Indigo smiled, and unfastened the latch of the glass-paned window, opening it just a crack. Bitterly cold air that snatched the breath from her throat whisked in, carrying the scents of ice and pine, and memories came crowding on its heels, of crisp, frozen winter mornings in Carn Caille, when the strong winds from the southern glaciers had briefly ceased and the world felt silent, clean, and newly made. Carn Caille and the Southern Isles were a world away now, and the constellations hanging over this winter dawn were alien to her; but the sense of cleansing renewal was the same.

She didn’t want to go back to sleep now. Grimya’s excitement had infected her, too, banishing tiredness, and so she dressed and went quietly downstairs, the she-wolf at her heels. The kitchen was warm still, the range glowing, and she let Grimya out into the icy pre-dawn before filling the big kettle from the bucket of water drawn last night and setting it to boil for the morning brew. As the kettle began to hiss and murmur comfortably she scooped flour and oatmeal from the crocks and mixed a dough for griddle-cakes, smiling wistfully to herself as she thought that here again was another sharp contrast to her long-ago life at Carn Caille. She’d had no mundane work to do then, no cooking, no feeding of animals, no clearing of snow: only the tasks and the pleasures that befitted a king’s daughter, while servants saw to all her everyday needs. Now though, it was hard to remember how it had been to live that way. Her world had changed so much: she had changed so much.

Grimya came back, her eyes alight with pleasure and her tongue lolling. She’d been rolling in the snow, and shook herself furiously in the doorway before padding across the floor. Her nose quivered as she sampled the smells of the kitchen, and she said, “I am hungry.”

“I’ll finish this, and find you some food,” Indigo told her, and smiled. “Is the snow good?”

“V…ery. And I think there might be good hunting.”

Doubtless the household would appreciate fresh meat, Indigo thought; she must ask Veness or Kinter what game could be found in the area. She set down a bowl of water for Grimya to drink, and as she was finishing the griddle cakes, the inner door opened and Veness came in.

“Indigo.” He was surprised, though he carefully played down any awkwardness he might have felt at finding her alone. “Well, you’re an early riser!”

“The silence woke me, strange though that might seem.”

“It isn’t strange at all.” Veness flexed his shoulders, rolling his head from side to side to ease residual stiffness. “We’ve all grown so used to the racket these last few days that we’ll feel peculiar without it for a while. The calm after the storm—by the Goddess, it’s a relief, isn’t it? We’ll be able to move about again, and get some real work done.” He paused, then grinned. “I see Grimya’s already taken advantage of the change.”

“She hates to be shut in for any length of time,” Indigo told him. The kettle was boiling, and she dropped a small bag of infusing herbs and spices into a copper jug before filling it with water and setting it on the range to simmer. “The brew will be ready in a few minutes; and I’ve made cakes.”

“There was no need to trouble. You should have waited for Livian; I heard her stirring, she’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“I’m glad to do something to earn my keep.” Indigo fetched mugs down from their hooks, aware that her voice and movements were stiffly formal, yet unable to relax in his presence. This was the first time since that first evening that they’d been together without the buffer of Kinter or Reif or at least one of the women to ease any tension, and she found it hard to meet Veness’s eyes or behave naturally.

There was a pause, during which she was aware that Veness was watching her. Then casually, yet with something more determined underlying his tone, he said:

“How good a shot are you with that crossbow of yours?”

The question caught her off guard and she turned, surprised. Veness was leaning on the back of a chair, and there was a broad smile on his face. She returned the smile uncertainly.

“I’m more than fair.”

“Kinter was telling me about the bow last night. I gather you showed him the basic principles, and it’s quite different from the weapons we use here. Kinter was impressed, and says I should see it for myself, so now that the storm’s over and we can set foot beyond the yard again, would you consider giving me a demonstration?”

It seemed he was determined to ignore her wariness and break down the barriers, and Indigo nodded, unsure of herself still but warming to him, wanting the constraint to ease. “Gladly,” she said.

“Good. I’m taking a troika out to the forest after breakfast; there’s a group of loggers working at a camp there, and I want to check that they’ve had no trouble during the storm and take them more supplies. Come with me, and I’ll trade you a driving lesson for some instruction with your bow.”

Grimya’s ears pricked and she said silently, I would enjoy that! There’ll be better hunting in the forest.

Indigo paused, but only for a moment. She’d been looking for an opportunity to make amends to Veness, for she didn’t want him to think ill of her: on the contrary, she wanted his approbation and friendship, though she quickly pushed that thought away before it forced her to question her motives. Besides, the forest might hold a clue to the conundrum of the snow tiger. Though the feeling was illogical, Indigo was convinced that the great cat’s appearance, firstly to aid her when she was threatened by the drunken Corv and his friends, then to issue its challenging roar during her second night at the steading, was significant in some way. Whether it had any bearing on her own quest, she didn’t know: but whatever the truth, she wanted to learn more.

She said to Veness, “Yes. I’d enjoy that—thank you.”

He laughed. “Don’t thank me too quickly! By the time we’ve loaded the dead weight of those supplies and then unloaded them at the other end and replaced them with a few hundred logs, you might wish you’d never agreed to come!”

For the first time Indigo felt relaxed enough to grin at him. “I’ll take that risk,” she said.

The sun was a scarlet ball above the horizon, flinging long, lean shadows across the snow, when the laden troika turned out of the steading courtyard with a hiss of runners and a jingle of harness-bells. Indigo sat beside Veness on the driving seat, while Grimya crouched in the well by their feet, her tail thumping excitedly against Indigo’s legs. They emerged through the stone arch into a dazzling white world under a sky that was growing harder and more intensely blue as the sun climbed along its low arc. The light reflecting on the snow was blinding, and Indigo and Veness pulled down the peaks of their fur hoods to shade their eyes, and pulled the ear-flaps tighter about their cheeks. The cold was vast and bitter and yet invigorating, and Indigo held tightly to the wooden bar before her as they left the house and barns behind and the troika began to gather speed. The three horses that drew the sleigh—two bays and a dapple-grey—were bred to harsh weather and sure-footed on the frozen snow. Brought from the stable, where they’d spent the past three days confined along with Indigo’s own gelding by the weather, they were as pent and eager as Grimya to be out, and set a terrific pace south-westwards, their shaggy hooves a blur, manes and tails flying like ragged pennants, and a white bow-wave churning from the sleigh’s runners behind them. Over the rush and ring of their progress, Veness shouted, “We’ll let the horses get the first flush of energy out of their systems, then you can take over the reins and see how you get on!”

She nodded assent. “I didn’t realize they could travel so fast on snow!”

“It’d be a different story if the snow wasn’t frozen and packed hard. If it was softer, we’d have to resort to dogs—and as soon as a thaw sets in, it’ll be impossible to go anywhere.” He turned his head and grinned at her. “So we’d best make the most of it while it lasts!”

Indigo nodded again, and returned her attention to the scene about them and the excitement of this new experience. The wind stung her face and sang in her ears with a whining hum that mingled vividly with the harness-bells’ music, and the ride was extraordinarily smooth despite the rough terrain. It was almost like being at sea, she thought, in a small but fast boat on a running tide with the wind behind her, and she could almost believe that if she looked ahead she’d see not the jouncing rumps and pricked ears of the three horses, but a sail belling and beating. She glanced down at Grimya and saw the she-wolf’s muzzle upraised to the wind, which whipped and sleeked her brindled fur back.

Happy? she askes silently.

Grimya’s tongue lolled. Yes! I am very happy!

They reached the loggers’ camp in a little over an hour. For a while Indigo had taken the troika’s reins to try her hand at driving. Handling three big horses in harnessed line was a far cry from riding a single mount; she felt remote and out of control, and several times the sleigh swayed alarmingly as the horses, unsure of her directions, fell out of step. But there were no mishaps, and though she felt that that owed more to the horses’ commonsense than to her own efforts, Veness insisted that she had a natural aptitude, and predicted that it wouldn’t be long before she was capable of handling the rig alone.

For twenty minutes they’d been running parallel to the forest, which lay now half a mile to the west of them; and Veness, who was back in control of the troika, whistled shrilly to the horses and pulled on the reins. The sleigh veered right, and as the ground rose and their pace began to slow, Indigo saw a trickle of blue smoke rising from among the trees. Closer, and she made out the bulk of a stone-built cabin where a stand of conifers had been cleared; there were several wooden huts around the cabin, and the general detritus of human habitation scattered beyond. Figures moved; someone saw the troika and a shout came faintly over the icy landscape to them; and two minutes later they pulled up at the camp in a great flurry of flying snow.

There were ten woodsmen at the camp. The stone hut, as Veness had explained on the journey, had been their temporary home now for well over a month, as they carried out the annual autumn clearance of the forest, removing dead or diseased trees, planting new saplings, clearing overgrown areas and—vitally—cutting the wood that would sustain the home fires of the entire Bray estate throughout the winter. Winter’s unexpectedly early onset had made their task all the more urgent, and they were now laboring against time to complete the cutting before further blizzards forced a halt to their work.

The woodsmen were a hard and hardy breed, rough-looking and rough-spoken and without the smallest trace of finesse. Indigo’s appearance in their midst prompted shouts of approval, accompanied by a good few lewd remarks and gestures, but the comments were harmless enough—intended by their code, she realized, as compliments—and the men’s cheerfulness and self-mocking humor soon eased her initial suspicions. Grimya was petted and made much of, and from their dwindled stores two of the men found her some scraps of meat which, though it was old and a little rancid, Grimya ate to please them.

There were willing hands in plenty to unload the sleigh, and when the supplies were stacked safely away in the cabin the head woodsman suggested that Veness might care to trek with him into the forest to inspect the newest clearance work.

“Will you come with us?” Veness asked Indigo. She shook her head, and patted her crossbow and quiver, which were now slung over her shoulder.

“I thought I might take Grimya with me and see what game there is to be found,” she said, then paused, glancing quickly at the group of foresters. “That is…”

Veness understood. “Don’t worry; there won’t be any repetition of what happened with Corv. To begin with, they’re all sober—they haven’t had much choice, I gather, as they ran out of liquor during the blizzard. They’ll have a riotous time tonight with the new supplies, but you’ll have no trouble from them now.”

“Thank you. I hope you don’t think—”

“No, no; I don’t blame you for being cautious. I’ll see you later.” He reached out as though to touch her arm, then thought better of it. “Good hunting!”

Indigo and Grimya set off along the forest’s edge. On foot the going was laborious, but by keeping just within the trees, where the crowding evergreens had prevented snow from piling too deeply, they made fair progress, and soon were out of earshot of the camp and in the midst of profound and silent stillness. There was no wind, not even a breeze; with the last of the blizzard it seemed that the elements had utterly exhausted their energy, at least for a while, and the only sound to break the quiet was the soft hushing of their feet in the snow.

Grimya sniffed the air, her hunter’s instincts alert, and Indigo watched the dappled patterns of sunlight and shadow through the trees, looking for the smallest flicker of movement that might betray a bird or even a deer. When they reached the clearing, she was too preoccupied at first to notice the line of tracks that crossed the otherwise virgin patch of smooth snow, and it was Grimya who ran to them first, nose to the ground—then stopped dead, her hackles rising and a low growl rumbling in her throat.

“What is it?” Indigo plowed through the snow to join her, and the she-wolf raised her head. Her lips were drawn back from her teeth, and her mind prickled with fear. She backed away several paces, and Indigo crouched down to examine the tracks more closely.

A big animal—very big. Soft-padded, and with claws fully retracted… her pulse quickened as she realized that there was probably only one kind of beast in the forest that could have made these pug-marks, and Grimya’s terror confirmed it beyond doubt.

“The tiger…” She spoke softly, rising to her feet again and staring to where the tracks vanished under the forest canopy, then turned eagerly back to the she-wolf. “Grimya, how fresh are those prints?”

Too fresh! Indigo, I don’t like this! You’re not going to follow it? Please—

“It’s all right, love. I truly don’t believe the tiger means us any harm. But it’s as if…” And she realized that she couldn’t explain to Grimya what she felt about the cat. Her thoughts were too uncertain and too muddled; and the she-wolf’s reaction would be clouded by the animal instinct that made her fear the tiger at the expense of all other reasoning.

Yet she couldn’t let it go at this. The tiger might be nearby: it might even be watching them at this very moment, though she doubted that, for Grimya would have detected its presence if it had been close. She wanted to find it. Though she couldn’t explain the impulse even to herself, she needed to find it.

She turned to the wolf again. “Grimya, I want to follow those tracks.”

No—

“Hear me out, please. I can’t properly explain to you what this means, but as your instinct tells you to run from the tiger, so my instinct is telling me to search for it. It’s important.”

Why? Grimya asked unhappily.

“I don’t know. But I feel there’s a link somewhere between us and the cat. When we encountered it, it helped us, remember? It drove Corv and his friends away when they might have tried to kill us.”

I know that. But—

“I don’t think we’ve any reason to be afraid of the snow tiger, Grimya. I think it’s our friend. And I want to find it again.”

Grimya whimpered. She didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend, and though Indigo sympathized with her plight, nonetheless she couldn’t let this unlooked-for opportunity slip from her grasp.

“You don’t have to come,” she said gently, kindly. “Go back to the camp and wait for me there. I shan’t be long.”

“N-no.” In her distress the she-wolf’s voice was barely distinguishable from a pained growl. “I can’t! I in… ust stay with you!”

“I’m in no danger.” Indigo crouched again and took Grimya’s head between her hands, stroking her silky ears. “Please, dear one. Don’t fret—go back to the camp.”

Grimya started to protest again, horribly torn between loyalty and fear for Indigo’s safety, and the stark dread that made her long to race back to the safety of the stone cabin and the woodsmen. But before the words could form in her throat, her nostrils suddenly flared involuntarily as a new and powerful scent assailed them.

She froze rigid. Her eyes focused on a point beyond and behind Indigo, and her thoughts collapsed into horrified chaos.

Indigo swung round. Ten feet away, framed by the trees and the crowding, snow-laden undergrowth, serene golden eyes gazed back at her from a motionless, cream-furred face.

Grimya…. Stunned yet struggling to maintain her calm, she tried to project reassurance to the wolf; but the attempt came too late. Grimya’s nerve broke, and with a yelp she twisted about and bolted, ears flat to her skull, racing across the clearing, into the trees, away towards the camp in blind panic. Fired by her terror, a part of Indigo’s mind screamed at her to follow, flee, run: but another part, stronger, told her to stand her ground and wait. Above all, wait.

The tiger hadn’t moved. She could see it more clearly now, though its camouflage among the forest’s sun and shadow was superb. Its tail was twitching and its breath condensed steamily in the cold air, but apart from those small signs of life it might have been a statue. Then, with no forewarning, she felt something assail her mind: a warm, animal energy, that same sense of preternatural intelligence that she’d experienced once before but this time more emphatic, as though the giant cat were trying to communicate with her. Indigo struggled to slow her rapid breathing, tried to tune her mind to the peculiar and unnerving sensations that were crowding in. But she hadn’t the skill; her telepathic powers were too limited and the tiger’s consciousness too alien. She couldn’t understand.

Abruptly the tiger’s head jerked up, its ears flicking back, and the tenuous link between them snapped. Startled, Indigo swayed, staggering to regain her balance, and as she did so the tiger turned with fluid grace and moved away into the trees.

“No!” Her arms flailed and she started forward. “No, wait! Please!”

It ignored her. Undergrowth rustled, and shadow swallowed the striped form. Desperately, Indigo started to flounder through the snow at a run. She couldn’t let it go, not now, not after this! It had wanted to communicate with her; she mustn’t let it simply slip away again—

“Wait!” Snow disturbed by the echoes of her cry slid from a branch as she plunged into the trees, and thumped down, showering her with ice-cold wetness. “Come back! Please, come back!” Rationality told her that the cat wouldn’t understand, but still she pleaded, stumbling in pursuit as it silently outdistanced her. There was another clearing ahead; for a moment the tiger appeared in full view, lit by the sun that filtered through the forest canopy—and Indigo inhaled sharply as she glimpsed another form that scurried from the trees on the far side to meet it. She had time only for the briefest of impressions, but it was enough to imprint the image indelibly in her mind. A human figure, swathed in hides and furs—she heard a sound, a throaty, purring prrrusten, a tiger’s greeting; then in her haste she blundered into a low-hanging bough, and when she pushed it aside and shook the snow from her face, they were gone.

Indigo advanced into the clearing and stopped, looking wildly about her. The trees and the undergrowth were still; the forest was utterly silent. Like ghosts, the snow tiger and its mysterious companion had melted away and vanished.

Like ghosts… but the tiger was real. Flesh and blood, alive and breathing and aware. She hadn’t dreamed it, hadn’t imagined it. It had come to her, and it had tried to communicate with her; and when she failed to understand, it had turned its back on her and slid away into the forest again. But why hadn’t it waited? Why hadn’t it tried again?

Bereft of an answer that made any sense, Indigo pressed her knuckles against her eyes and shook her head fiercely. A snow tiger, running with a human companion; seeking her, yet afraid or unwilling to stay for more than a few moments. It made no sense. There was no pattern, no link, nothing from which she could begin to piece together even a small part of the puzzle.

A bird chattered somewhere in the distance, making her jump, and she wondered with a flare of hope if it might have been disturbed by the tiger passing by. But there was no further noise, and eventually Indigo admitted to herself that to stay here was fruitless. Poor Grimya—by now she must be back at the camp, and doubtless in a paroxysm of shame and guilt and worry. She might even have alerted the woodsmen and drawn them out to search. Best to return, before the camp was in uproar.

She turned reluctantly and started to leave the clearing, pausing with every step as her fevered imagination thought it caught a hint of sound that might have been the tiger’s presence. But there was nothing. Not even a mist of breath or the echo of a purr. And at last, forcing herself to accept that she would find no more trace of the creature, Indigo set her face bleakly back towards the camp and left the glade to silence and solitude.

Chapter VII

“You saw it?” Veness’ eyes were wide.

Indigo nodded, reaching down to rub Grimya’s head as the wolf pressed against her thigh. “It was ten feet from me, no more.” And silently she added to Grimya, It’s all right, dearest, it’s all right. Stop fretting—there’s nothing for you to be ashamed of!

“Sweet Earth.” Veness swung round, paced away, then halted. He was deeply agitated, but Indigo was too preoccupied with her efforts to soothe Grimya to fully take in his state. At last he came back to stand in front of her. “Did you try to shoot it?” he asked.

“What?” Indigo looked up quickly.

“You had your crossbow—did you try to shoot the tiger?”

“No!” She was appalled. “Of course I didn’t! I couldn’t kill such a beautiful creature! Besides,” she added with a hint of rancor, “I owje it a debt.”

Veness flushed. “Yes… yes of course.” Then he sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Indigo. You’re quite right; we’ve no cause to harm the snow tiger. Even if we had, I don’t know if any ordinary weapon could hurt it.”

“What do you mean?” The cryptic remark caught her attention on a new level, and she felt a sharp, uneasy tingle.

“Oh, nothing.” Veness obviously regretted his indiscretion. “Pay no heed to me: it was just an idle speculation.”

He wasn’t being truthful. There was more to this; his eyes betrayed it; and suddenly it seemed to Indigo that a few disconnected threads were beginning to tangle together. “Veness, tell me what you meant,” she said urgently. “There’s something afoot—we both know it, so there’s no point in trying to pretend otherwise. You’re afraid of the tiger; I can see it in your face, and it’s more than a rational fear. Please—tell me why.”

She hadn’t any right to ask him, she knew; and she expected him to brush her off with an angry word. But he didn’t. Instead, he hesitated for a long, taut moment, then said:

“All right. If you want to know, I’ll tell you. Or rather, I’ll show you.” He turned on his heel and shouted to a group of woodsmen who were standing a short way off, watching the exchange between them. “It’s time we were starting back! Let’s get those logs loaded!”

Indigo watched him as he strode away to unhitch the troika horses and lead them to the stockpile behind the cabin. She would have started after him, but Grimya reached up to nudge at her hand.

Indigo? The wolf was still very distressed. I failed again! I was a coward!

Oh, Grimya .. . Indigo dropped to a crouch and gazed into the wolf’s anxious eyes. You must forget about that. It doesn’t matter, and no one blames you.

I blame myself!

That’s a very human trait, old friend, and it isn’t worthy of you. You only did what anyone with any sense would have done—I was the fool, for staying. But now I’m glad I did stay, because there’s something important afoot; something I haven’t told you yet. She looked up, saw that no one was paying them any attention now, and turned back to the wolf.TTze tiger tried to communicate with me. I couldn’t understand its thoughts, but I know it wanted to tell me something. Grimya, there’s a vital link here, I know there is!

Grimya’s head swung uncertainly from side to side. With the demon?

I’ve no proof of it, but I believe so. And that’s why we must try not to fear the tiger, but discover what it wants from us.

The wolf paused for a while. Her thoughts were in turmoil, but at last she said: Yes. I understand what you are saying. And I will try not to be afraid. I will try.

That’s all I ask. Indigo rose and smiled down at her, then added aloud: “Come on. I’d best go and help with the loading. The sooner it’s done, the sooner we can be on our way.”

They made their farewell:, to the woodsmen a short while later. Though Veness joined in the cheerful parting jokes, it was obvious to Indigo that his levity was a mask concealing underlying tension, and as the camp fell behind he lapsed into silence, his grey eyes narrowed and thoughtful as he concentrated on controlling the horses and the laden sleigh.

They reached the foot of the long incline that led up to the forest, and Indigo realised that Veness didn’t intend to return to the steading. Rather than guiding the horses towards home, he turned them instead to the south. Although they were now running parallel to the forest’s edge, the trees were invisible beyond the snow-covered ridge, and Indigo stared about her as she tried, and failed, to find a landmark that might tell her where they were.

They had been traveling for some ten minutes when Veness spoke at last.

“You know it could have killed you, don’t you?”

She turned her head and looked at him. His expression was unreadable; he continued to gaze straight ahead at the horses’ bobbing backs.

“Yes,” she said. “But I don’t think I was in any danger.”

One corner of Veness’s mouth twitched, perhaps cynically, perhaps with reluctant agreement, she couldn’t be sure. “When Grimya came back—” The sleigh was suddenly traveling on harder-packed snow, and the noise of the runners increased to a deafening rumble, so that he was forced to raise his voice. “When Grimya came back to the camp alone and so agitated, I didn’t dare imagine what might have become of you. We were about to start a search when you returned.” He hesitated. “I thought about the tiger then. I wondered—”

“I’m sorry, Veness. I know that what I did was very foolish. But…”

“But?” He looked at her now, keenly, and she shook her head.

“I don’t know. I can’t explain it clearly, but I felt I had to stay.” She wondered whether to tell him about the snow tiger’s attempt to communicate with her, or of the human figure she’d glimpsed among the trees, but some inner sense warned her to caution. She didn’t want to stretch his credulity too far; and besides, she wasn’t sure that it would be wise to tell him everything, at least not yet.

Veness said, “I see.”

“It must sound ridiculous.”

“No. No, it doesn’t.”. His expression was grim again, but before she could say any more, he transferred the reins to one hand and pointed ahead with the other. “Do you see those trees in the distance? Where the forest comes down to cross our path?”

“Yes.” She wasn’t certain, but it looked faintly familiar; possibly even the site of one of the temporary camps she and Grimya had struck on their journey.

“That’s where the chain of lakes begins, though you can’t make out their surfaces now. And there’s something else there. Something you should see.” He raised his voice suddenly to a harsh yell and cracked the reins down on the horses’ backs, goading them faster. The sleigh lurched as the three animals broke from a rapid trot to a canter, and Indigo clung to the rail, unnerved and wondering what private specter was dogging Veness’s thoughts. She said nothing more, only watched the far-off dark swathe of blue-green forest drawing nearer and nearer, until finally Veness began to slow the team, first to a trot, then to a slithering walk. He seemed to be casting about on the ground close by, as though looking for something, and suddenly he hauled on the reins, calling the horses to a halt.

Silence fell. The lead horse snorted and pawed at the snow, then quieted; and Indigo’s ears sang with the after-echoes of the troika’s noise. The sleigh creaked as Veness stood up.

“Come on,” he said. “It isn’t far.”

She climbed out after him, and Grimya followed her. They were, she realized, standing on ice that the blizzard had scoured clear of all but a thin snow layer. This must be the first lake that Veness had mentioned, but it didn’t look familiar.

I think we must have joined the water-courses further north, Grimya observed, staring about. I don’t remember this place.

No…. There was a peculiar atmosphere, Indigo thought; nothing that she could pinpoint, and it might be simply the tension in the air between herself and Veness; but this place felt… odd.

You are right. Grimya had picked up the unconscious thought. There is something strange here. I don’t feel easy. And the horses, too, were aware of it. They didn’t want to come here, and Veness had to force them.

Indigo looked at the wolf. What sort of a strangeness do you mean? Can you describe it more clearly?

No. But I think it’s very old.

Veness had walked away along the lake shore, and now he stopped and called back to them. Moving cautiously on the slippery surface, they followed to where he stood beside what looked like the almost petrified stumps of several felled trees. Here, the lake ended; ahead of them the way was barred by a bank of deep snow, and a hundred yards or so beyond that the forest swept round to block the wide vista.

“Where are we going?” Indigo asked.

“We’ve arrived.” Veness prodded a tree stump with one foot, then pointed a short way beyond it. “Look.”

At first she thought that the dark shapes in the snow were the remnants of more trees, but then she realized she was wrong. The fallen, tumbled shapes weren’t wood, but stone—the stones of a ruined house.

Veness said no more, but started towards the ruin. Away from the lake, the snow was deep enough to cover his boot-tops, but he ignored it as he waded towards the stones, and after a moment Indigo and Grimya trudged in his wake.

There was almost nothing left of the house. Just the ragged top of a broken wall, its foundations buried by the snow, and a few massive fallen blocks showing through the thick white blanket. Veness started to walk alongside the wall, running a gloved hand over its surface. Then he stopped, bent and probed about, clearing snow from something that lay across a break in the stonework where a doorway might once have been.

The rough-cut slab that he exposed must, Indigo realized, have been the keystone of the house’s main entrance. It was a single, massive piece of granite, and as Veness brushed its surface clean she saw that something had been carved into it. A stylized representation, but obviously the work of a skilled craftsman, it depicted the lithe form of a running tiger.

Indigo stared at the carving for a long time, then looked up and met Veness’s eyes. He was watching her, and his expression was a blend of bitterness, trepidation, and—oddly—relief.

“This was their steading,” he said. “The family that the Brays betrayed and slaughtered.” He smiled thinly. “It’s a strange place, isn’t it? Nothing much left to see, but you could take a handful of the atmosphere and squeeze it in your fist.”

“Was it… burned down?”

“No. I think it simply fell down, after a few hundred years of neglect. No one would live here, of course, not after what had happened; so it’s just been left to rot for all this time.” He hunched his shoulders and drew in a long, hissing breath. “I haven’t been here since Reif and I came for a dare when we were children. No one ever comes here, if they can possibly avoid it.”

Indigo could believe that. She looked at the fallen keystone again. “And the carving… ?”

“It was their family emblem, just as the horse is the emblem of the Brays. Round here, all the landowners have animals as their totem, for good luck and prosperity. There’s the ox, the stag, the bear…”

“And the tiger.”

“And the {iger.” He had been staring down at the stone, but now he looked at her once more. “To us, the snow tiger is a living reminder of what our ancestor did, and of the curse he brought on our house. But they’re rare creatures: in fact, to the best of my knowledge, one hasn’t been sighted in these parts for decades until recently. But now it seems that the tiger—or at least a tiger—has returned to the forests.” His eyes were unhappily intense, and a small, self-deprecating smile quivered at the edges of his mouth. “Can you imagine what that means to us, Indigo? Can you understand the fears and the superstitions that have been reawakened?”

Indigo turned to the broken wall and, heedless of the ice-cold surface, sat down. “I think,” she said slowly, “that I can understand it, Veness.” She met his gaze again, and her own expression was suddenly bleak. “The tiger has become a symbol of the Brays’ nemesis.”

“Nemesis.” Unaware of the bitter frisson that had shuddered through Indigo as she uttered that statement, Veness considered what she had said for a few moments. “It’s a strange word to use, but… yes; you’re right. And its return now portends something. If I’m never sure of anything again as long as I live, I’m sure of that.”

There was a conviction in his voice that implied more than superstition, and it alerted Indigo. Cautiously, testing her suspicion, she said, “You sound as though you’ve good reason to be certain.”

“Oh, I have. You might call it an unpleasant coincidence.”

A pause. “Will you tell me what it is?” Indigo asked gently.

He shook his head. “No. It wouldn’t serve any purpose; it’s solely a family matter, and I’m not willing to involve anyone beyond the immediate household. Please—” He raised his hands in a defensive gesture as she seemed about to press him, “don’t ask me any more, Indigo. I brought you here because I felt you should know of the link between the tiger and our history; but beyond that I don’t want to say anything.” He looked at the fallen keystone once more, and kicked it. “There’s nothing else to say.”

Indigo conceded. She could see that Veness was disturbed by their conversation; he wanted to retreat, and despite her need to learn more she didn’t want to distress him any further. They made their way back to the sleigh, where the horses greeted them with a good deal of eager whickering as though they too were relieved by the prospect of leaving this place of old and ugly memories. As he climbed into the driving seat and unhitched the reins, Veness hesitated, then looked at Indigo.

“I’ve been asking myself one question since the tiger was first sighted in the forest a month ago. I’ve been asking myself: is it a creature of flesh and blood, or is it something else, something that’s come out of the past to haunt us?”

“It’s flesh and blood,” Indigo said gently. “That much I’m sure of.”

“Yes. But I don’t know if that’s any comfort. After all, what’s the difference between a living threat and a supernatural one? At the last, they might prove to be one and the same.” He raised his head, and stared round at the still, white scene. “This place stinks of old and unclean things. Let’s go, before its poison seeps into our bones.”

The troika jolted away with a vivid jingle of bells that contrasted sharply with the mood of its passengers, and the horses settled into their smooth rhythm as they turned north and homeward.

Indigo and Veness spoke little on the return journey. The subject of the tiger and the long-dead family was closed and couldn’t be reopened, and the lighter and more mundane topics of the day seemed irrelevant. Even Grimya was disinclined to communicate: she was still brooding over earlier events, and Indigo felt it best to let her be for a while and allow her to resolve her thoughts in her own way.

The sun was westering by the time the Bray homestead came in sight. The muffled thud of the horses’ hoofbeats changed to a racketing clatter as they entered the yard, which during the day had been cleared of most of its snow covering, and as the troika slithered to a halt Veness looked at Indigo and smiled wryly.

“I never did have my lesson in the use of the crossbow.”

“And I brought back nothing for the pot. I’m sorry.”

The apology had deeper implications, and Veness knew it. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder; a friendly, almost brotherly gesture, yet implying something that neither of them quite wished to examine more deeply. Then the moment broke as a door banged and Brws came out to greet them. Immediately Veness’s manner changed and he became the brisk, efficient householder, unharnessing the horses, issuing instructions for the unloading of the sleigh. Kinter, too, emerged from the house and told them that Livian had a hot brew waiting, and at last they left him and Brws to lead the animals to their stable and rub them down, and went in to the warmth and comfort of the steading.

Constraint was submerged in the house’s busy, down-to-earth atmosphere, and after a welcome mug of Livian’s brew Indigo went to her room to wash and change her clothes. Carlaze, who had helped her to carry up a basin of hot water, stayed while she readied herself for the evening, offering to comb out her hair, which despite the practical single braid she wore had become almost impossibly tangled. They talked inconsequentially for a while, then Carlaze said,

“Did you enjoy your driving lesson?”

“Greatly—though I don’t think I was a very apt pupil!”

“I heard Veness telling Reif that you showed great promise, and he should know.”

“He was probably just being kind.”

“Oh, I believe he meant it.” A pause, then Carlaze said, “Do you like Veness?”

Indigo turned her head to look at the fair girl. Carlaze was smiling, and there was a glint of mischief in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” Carlaze said. “That was impertinent of me. But—well, I can see that Veness has taken a great liking to you. We all have, of course, but he…” She nibbled at her lower lip. “I’m speaking out of turn, I know; but Veness is our cousin, and Kinter’s dearest friend, and we’re very fond of him. Matters haven’t been easy since Earl Bray became ill. Veness has had to shoulder a great deal of responsibility, and he hasn’t had much joy in his life of late. I’d like to think that he might find something—or someone—to brighten his days a little.”

Indigo didn’t know what to say. Carlaze had been candid; almost naively so: and clearly she wanted Indigo to confirm her hopes. She looked away again, stared down at her hands.

“You’re very kind, Carlaze,” she said quietly. “And yes, I do like Veness. But I don’t want you—or anyone—to think that there’s more between us than liking.” Her fingers clenched. “Especially, I don’t want Veness to think it.”

“Of course.” Carlaze tugged at a recalcitrant tangle, apologizing when Indigo winced. “I’m sorry… there, that’s got it. Forgive me, Indigo; I didn’t mean you to think that I was matchmaking. I simply wanted… well, I suppose I wanted to be sure that you were willing to be Veness’s friend; nothing more than that. I’m afraid I expressed it clumsily. I shouldn’t have spoken.”

Indigo smiled at her. “I’m glad you did.”

“Thank you.” Carlaze set the comb down and stood back. “I do believe that’s the last of the knots. You have wonderful hair, Indigo. I wish mine was as long.”

“Isn’t it?” Indigo had only seen Carlaze with braids wound about her head, and Carlaze laughed.

“No, to my great sorrow! When I unbind it, it’s barely past my shoulders.” The laugh subsided to a grin. “When I was fifteen, I had a notion that I wanted to be as good as any man, so I smuggled a knife to my bedchamber one night, and marched down to breakfast the next day shorn like a spring sheep! My parents were horrified—and I’ve regretted it ever since. Still, there’s time enough yet for it to grow longer. One day, I promise I’ll rival you!”

They lapsed into companionable silence for a few minutes. Carlaze prodded at the fire, sending a cascade of sparks whirling up the chimney; then at length Indigo spoke again.

“Carlaze…” She wasn’t sure if her question was wise, or if she had any right to ask it, but she was curious, and Carlaze of all the Bray household seemed the most likely to give her an honest answer. “What does ail Earl Bray?”

Carlaze stopped riddling the logs. She set the poker back on its stand, then straightened and sighed.

“To tell the truth, Indigo, we don’t know. It isn’t a sickness in the ordinary sense. More a… malaise of the mind.”

A long pause. Then Indigo said, “Do you mean he’s mad?”

“No; not that.” Carlaze looked at her, her blue eyes troubled. “I don’t know how best to describe it to you. We do what we can for him, but his illness is something beyond the scope of any physician. You see, he—” And she stopped as the door latch clicked, and Rimmi came in.

“Ah, there you are!” Rimmi looked eagerly around the room, as though feeling that she had been missing some vital and secret pleasure. “Carlaze, Mother says that dinner will be ready in half an hour, and she needs us to help.”

“I’ll come down.” Irritation flickered in Carlaze’s eyes as she glanced at her sister-elect. “Don’t fuss, Rimmi. I was busy here with Indigo.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Rimmi asked.

“No, there isn’t.” Carlaze shepherded her back towards the door. “Go back downstairs; I’ll join you in a minute.”

Reluctantly, Rimmi allowed herself to be shooed out, and Carlaze turned to Indigo with a helpless shrug.

“I’m sorry. I should help Livian; and I don’t want to say any more while Rimmi might be listening. She’s so tactless; she could easily say something out of place to Veness or Kinter.” She hesitated. “Perhaps we’ll have a chance to talk later. I’d like to. There’s a great deal you don’t know; and… it would be a relief for me to be able to speak freely to someone, without feeling that I was treading on sensitive ground.”

“Of course.” Indigo nodded. “Later, then.”

“Yes. I’ll see you downstairs.”

When Carlaze had gone, Grimya raised her head from the rug where she had been lying.

She seems very troubled, she said.

I know. Indigo looked at the closed door, feeling a faint stirring of excitement. It’s another thread in the tapestry, Grimya. And I think that Carlaze may be more willing than Veness to tell me the whole story.

The evening meal began uneventfully enough. Ve-ness, Reif and Kinter all had news to exchange; mundane estate matters that occupied them while Livian, presiding over the table, served a hot broth and then brought in a joint of mutton and a vast tureen of vegetables. The conversation broke off as Veness rose to carve the meat; then suddenly, unexpectedly, the door of the dwelling-hall opened. Kinter, in the act of passing platters, turned his head—and stopped dead. Other heads turned: and silence crashed down on the room.

A big, bearlike man stood in the doorway. His greying hair was rumpled, as though he’d just woken from sleep, and his clothes looked as though he hadn’t changed them for a month or more. He swayed on the balls of his feet, gripping the doorpost for support, and the grey eyes that scanned the room were wild and desperate.

Reif sprang upright, muttering an oath; Brws paled, and Carlaze said softly, “Oh, Goddess…” Veness, who had his back to the door, turned very slowly, as though he knew, before his eyes confirmed it, what he would see. His eyes met those of the heavyset man, and now Indigo could see the resemblance between them. Then Veness said: “Father…”

Earl Bray moved slowly, deliberately into the room. He stared at the motionless people around the table, taking in their faces one by one, and his lips moved, mouthing names, counting them. Then at last he reached Indigo, and stopped.

“Moia?” He raised a hand, as though to reach out to her, but then the movement was abruptly arrested. “No.” His voice, which normally might have been a strong baritone, shook with an undefinable emotion. “No. I don’t know you, woman. Who are you?”

Indigo didn’t know how to answer him. He stumbled forward, still staring fixedly at her, and she saw that beneath their wildness his eyes were filled with pain and misery.

“Who are you?” he demanded again. “Tell me your name! And for the Mother’s sake, tell me what news you bring of my wife!”

Chapter VIII

“Father, sit down here.” Veness’s voice was quiet and persuasive; he had one hand under the earl’s arm and was trying gently to steer him away from Indigo to an empty seat at the table. Livian hastened to help, and at first it seemed that Earl Bray would submit to their ministrations without protest. But as the chair was drawn out for him, he suddenly stopped and looked at Indigo again.

“Some news,” he said piteously. “You must have some news… ?”

“Come, father; sit. This lady is Indigo, our guest; she has no news for you; she knows nothing of Moia.” Veness looked quickly at his brother. “Reif, carve some meat for Father, and serve him with vegetables.” There was steel in his tone, daring anyone to argue with him, and Reif nodded curtly and moved to obey. But Earl Bray refused to let Veness and Livian shepherd him to his seat; he pulled his arm free from Veness’s grasp and, before anyone could stop him, strode towards the hearth. Two paces from it he stopped and stared up. His eyes, Indigo saw with trepidation, were focused with terrible intensity on the tarnished shield and axe above the mantel.

“I’ll find her.” The words grated from his throat like rusty iron. “I’ll bring her back. I’ll bring her back!”

Livian hurried to his side. “Come away, now, brother,” she pleaded. “You’ll only upset yourself to no good purpose. Come away, and sit and eat with us.” She tugged at his arm, but he still refused to move. Around the table there was consternation; Carlaze and Kinter were on their feet now, but helpless; Rimmi had clenched her fists tightly before her scarlet face and was staring at them as though her life depended on it; Brws could only sit rigid with fear, embarrassment and confusion. And Indigo continued to watch the earl as a violent mix of emotions tumbled through her mind. The words of his desperate appeal had stunned her, and the image of his eyes, anguished, pleading, burned in her memory. She wanted to ask a hundred questions, but she didn’t dare utter a word.

“Father, please.” Veness took the earl’s arm again, and now Kinter moved to help him and Livian. “You mustn’t even think about that. Do as Aunt Livian asks; come and sit down, now.”

Earl Bray’s jaw worked spasmodically. “I want…”

“Brother, pay heed to Veness! He knows what you are suffering; he understands; we all understand. But this will solve nothing!” Livian shook the arm she was gripping, and at last her pleas seemed to find their mark. The earl turned his head, blinking in bewilderment, and Indigo saw that there were tears in his eyes. Suddenly he became aware of her again, and for the second time his gaze fastened on her with hungry desperation.

“Where have you come from?” he asked.

Indigo wasn’t sure if it would be wise to answer him directly, but she couldn’t ignore him, or pretend she hadn’t heard.

“From the south, sir,” she said quietly. “From Mull Barya.”

“Mull Barya… and you’ve heard nothing? You’ve heard no news of her?”

“I’m sorry…” Indigo glanced helplessly at Livian and Veness. “I don’t understand.”

“Brother, Indigo cannot help you,” Livian said cajolingly. “She would if she could, but there is nothing she can tell you. She has no news. There is no news.”

Kinter said in an undertone, “I think we should persuade him to go back upstairs, Veness. He won’t settle if he stays here. It would be for the best.”

Veness hesitated a bare moment, then nodded. The earl no longer made any attempt to resist when Livian and the two men began to shepherd him towards the door. Once, on the threshold, he stopped and looked back at Indigo, searching her face as though trying to commit it to memory. Then, escorted by the three, he shuffled out of the room. Carlaze, unprompted and with a tight-lipped, indrawn expression, piled a plate with food and hastened after the small party, and when she was gone the silent tension in the dwelling-hall was suffocating.

Brws broke it. “He’s been drinking again, Reif.”

Reif shot him a withering look. “If you can’t find anything more intelligent to say, hold your clack.” Brws shrank back in his chair, and Reif glanced at Indigo. “You might as well sit down.” He strode round the table, picked up the carving knife and began to attack the mutton as though it were his deadliest enemy. Rimmi had shut her eyes and seemed to be praying silently to herself, and Indigo subsided on to her chair, knowing that anything she said at this moment could only make matters worse. She wished Grimya were here; but tonight Grimya had said she would rather be out in the night than in the dwelling-hall with the humans. She was somewhere about the yards, on a pretext of exploring and hunting for rats, though Indigo knew that in truth she simply wanted to be alone for a while.

In the tight, unpleasant atmosphere, she nodded her thanks as Reif put a plate of meat in front of her. She didn’t want to eat, but she went through the polite motions of helping herself to vegetables from the tureen. Reif served Rimmi, who just glanced miserably up at him, and was carving meat for Brws when quick footfalls sounded outside and Carlaze returned.

Reif looked at her under lowering brows.

“He’s back in his room,” she said. “Livian’s taking care of him, and the others will be down in a few moments.” She moved to the table. “Let me do that, Reif. Pour Indigo some more ale.” She met Indigo’s gaze, warning her with a slight sidelong flicker to say nothing, and carried on the carving as Reif picked up the ale-jug.

Veness and Kinter came in a few moments later. Kinter paused to touch Carlaze’s shoulder and kiss her hair briefly, then returned to his place at the table. Veness, too, would have sat down, but Reif forestalled him.

“Veness, this can’t go on.” His voice was taut with anger and frustration.

Veness pulled out his chair with a scrape that grated on Indigo’s ears. “I don’t want to discuss it, Reif.”

“Well I do, damn it! He can’t go on like this; we can’t go on like this! What’s to be done about it, that’s what I’ve been asking ever since it happened—and we still haven’t got an answer, have we?”

Veness turned to face him, furious. “I said, I don’t want to discuss it! Not here, and not now!”

Reif snorted. “You’re going to have to eventually, whether you like it or not! And I’ll tell you this; we’ll achieve nothing by trying to smooth it over and pretend that nothing’s going on—if you want my opinion, I think we should stop this charade; let Father do what he wants to do, and have it over with! And if he kills the whole bloody-handed lot of them, it’s no more than they deserve!”

There was a moment of appalled silence. Even Rimmi’s head had jerked up, and everyone stared at Reif in chagrin.

Veness’s eyes narrowed to furious slits. “Reif.” His voice was under ferocious control, but Indigo had rarely heard such an intensity of rage underlying a single word. “I won’t hear any more. You don’t know what you’re talking about—hold your tongue, and don’t dare, don’t ever dare, to say such a thing in my presence again! Do you understand me?”

The two brothers stared each other out, Reif defiant, Veness outraged, both on the brink of violent explosion. Then Reif broke the contact. He snatched up his plate and with a gesture of blind frustration hurled it and its contents to the floor, before striding out of the room and slamming the door with a crash that set dishes rattling.

No one moved for a minute which to Indigo felt like an hour. Then Carlaze took a deep breath and rose from her chair. Her face expressionless, she walked round the table to the mess of food and broken crockery, and bent to clear it up.

“Leave it, Carlaze.” Veness’s voice cut through the silence. He sounded icily calm. “There’s no reason why you should be my brother’s servant. Reif can clear it for himself when he comes to his senses.”

Carlaze hesitated, then continued determinedly with the work. “Best not to let it lie,” she’s’aid quietly. “It’ll only take a moment.” She piled the debris on to another dish, and Rimmi scrambled to her feet.

“I’ll take it to the kitchen, Carlaze.” There was a plea in her voice; Carlaze nodded and handed her the plate. Rimmi left the room, and from the passage came a harsh, gulping sound that might have been a sob.

Veness gripped the back of his chair, stared at his whitening knuckles for a moment, then seemed to force himself to speak.

“I apologize for Reif’s behavior,” he said slowly. “And for mine. And especially”—he made an effort, and met Indigo’s gaze—“to you, Indigo. I’m sorry: it’s neither courteous nor civilized to expose a guest to such an incident. But it won’t happen again; I’ll make sure of that. And now, I suggest that we eat this good food, and consider the subject closed.”

Livian’s face was troubled. “Veness, don’t you think—”

“The subject is closed.”

His tone forestalled any further argument. Rimmi returned, her face damp and looking newly-scrubbed, and everyone did their best to continue with the meal as though nothing had happened. But the evening was blighted. Appetites had been destroyed by the fracas with Earl Bray and Reif’s subsequent outburst, and what conversation there was, was stilted and formal. Most of the food was returned to the kitchen uneaten, and only the ale was welcomed as a diversion from the prevailing mood. Rimmi became quietly and thoroughly drunk, and this time Livian made no attempt to stop her; Kinter and Carlaze talked together in low voices, seeking solace in each other, and Brws made a valiant attempt to talk to Indigo about horse-breeding.

At last, to everyone’s relief, Rimmi provided an excuse for the meal to end by sagging forward over the table and announcing that she felt sick. Livian immediately took her upstairs, chiding and comforting by turns, and, taking this as an unspoken signal, the others, too, rose from the table. Kinter was swaying a little on his feet, and as Indigo helped Carlaze to carry the remains of the meal to the kitchen, the fair girl looked worriedly back and said in a whisper,

“I’m sorry, Indigo, I don’t think we’ll be able to talk tonight. Kinter’s taken a little too much ale; I should go with him and see him safe to bed, and he’ll probably want me to stay with him.” The kitchen door closed behind them, shutting them off from the others, and Carlaze set her tray down before turning to face Indigo fully.

“We didn’t expect this to happen. It’s the first time in I don’t know how long that the Earl’s so much as ventured out of his room, let alone downstairs. He’s been incarcerated in his bedchamber for so long… he wouldn’t come out, he wouldn’t eat; he’s hardly even spoken a word to anyone ever since this whole business began.” Her mouth worked into a painful grimace. “That’s why we told you he was ill, you see. It was the easiest way to explain it. And now tonight… well, his appearance came as something of a shock, and I think it’s upset us all. It’s probably not the best moment to discuss anything very rationally.”

Indigo nodded. She felt a little hazy herself; the ale was strong and she couldn’t remember how many times her mug had been refilled.

“I understand, Carlaze.” Was she slurring her words slightly? She wasn’t sure. “You’re right; now isn’t a good time.”

Carlaze yawned. “I’m not going to wash these. The morning’s soon enough.” She set the last of the dishes down, then hesitated and looked at Indigo over her shoulder. “Maybe you should ask Veness to tell you what lies behind tonight’s events. He may well feel that he wants to talk. Goodnight, Indigo. And let’s hope the sun rises on a happier day tomorrow.”

Indigo pondered Carlaze’s last words as she made her way up the stairs and along the landing to her room. She didn’t intend to take the girl’s advice; her mind was too fuddled from the ale, and the troubles of the day all seemed to be combining like a tangled weave, so that she couldn’t separate one from another and consider her feelings clearly. If she was to talk to anyone, she wanted to talk to Grimya, for Grimya alone could bring some clarity to bear on her confusion, and she quickened her steps along the passage, eager to find the she-wolf.

There was a modicum of light in her room, from the fire’s embers and from the lantern which she’d left burning low. By the dim glow she saw that Grimya was indeed there, but sound asleep; and she stopped on the threshold, disappointed. It wouldn’t be fair to wake the wolf, and yet Indigo knew that it would be fruitless to simply slip into her bed and try to follow Grimya’s example.. She was too troubled, and the tumble of thoughts wouldn’t let her alone: she almost wished that she’d drunk more than she had, for a few more cups of ale might have dulled her mind beyond the reach of pointless speculations rather than leaving them disordered but inescapable in her head.

Grimya snored gently, and twitched a dreaming paw. Quietly, Indigo withdrew back on to the landing and closed the door. There was a fresh ale-jug in the kitchen. Another cup or two might help her to sleep, and if she suffered a headache in the morning, it would be a small price to pay for the night’s peace.

She knew the house well enough by now not to need a light as she crept back down the stairs, trying to avoid creaking boards that might disturb anyone else. To the hall, and then along the narrow passage that led to the kitchen. There was a bright moon tonight, and its light shone in through cracks in the old kitchen shutters, forming thin, ghost-white patterns that enabled her to see her way to the cupboard where the ale that had been drawn from the cellar barrels was kept. But there was no jug to be found. Indigo sighed, and closed the cupboard door. She felt too weary and dispirited to climb down to the cellars and draw a new supply from the barrels: the idea had been a whim, no more, and she’d do better to go back to bed and try to sleep without the help of more liquor.

Slowly, she retraced her steps towards the stairs: then paused. There was a glimmer of light showing under the closed door of the dwelling-hall; too bright and too pale to be a reflection from the banked-down fire. Someone must have forgotten to douse the lamps, and Indigo pushed the door open.

Veness was sitting alone at the cleared table. A single lantern burned at his elbow, and the missing ale-jug, together with a cup, were on the board in front of him. At the sound of the latch he looked up, and Indigo saw how bleak his eyes were in the unguarded moment before he could mask them.

“I’m sorry.” She stopped on the threshold. “I saw the light; I thought someone had forgotten a lantern.”

Veness continued to look at her for a few seconds, then smiled. “I’m afraid,” he said, “that I’m just a little drunk.” A pause. “Can’t you sleep, either?”

She returned the smile hesitantly. “No. The ale’s affected me, too. That, and… other things.”

“Ah. Yes. Well, why don’t you join me? Now that we’ve both made friends with the ale-jug, there doesn’t seem much point in stopping, does there?”

Indigo hesitated. As Carlaze had predicted, it seemed that Veness did indeed want to talk; or perhaps more accurately, needed to talk. She wanted to help him if she could. And his company would be more welcome at this moment than she was entirely willing to admit.

She said, “I’ll fetch another cup.”

“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” Veness tilted the ale-jug, filling both Indigo’s cup and his own. “You with your harp, and your experiences among the travelling players; you’re the one who’s best qualified to be a storyteller. But you seem to spend half your time here listening to my tales instead.”

“I’m glad to listen.” Indigo said, and meant it. “And if I can help in any way—”

Veness leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “In a practical sense, there’s nothing you or anyone else can do. But to be able to talk to someone who isn’t involved, and who doesn’t take sides one way or the other… that does help. It puts it all into perspective somehow, and that can be invaluable.” He looked intently, if a little blearily, at her. “Do you understand what I mean?”

“Yes; I understand.” Indigo fingered her cup. “Though I don’t want to pry.”

“You’re not prying. I’m the one who’s imposing on you, by burdening you with my family’s troubles. I didn’t intend to tell you anything about this; there didn’t seem any point, and it didn’t feel fair. But all right: maybe my tongue’s been loosened by liquor, and maybe what happened with Father tonight has brought you into this ugly mess, whether either of us wanted it or not. So I’ll tell the sorry tale.”

There was silence for perhaps a minute, while the lamp hissed softly. Veness drained his cup, refilled it again and took a deep draught, as though to steel himself. Then, he began his story.

Earl Bray’s first wife, the mother of Veness, Reif and Brws, had died six years ago. The marriage had been a happy one, and the earl had mourned his spouse for a long time; until, at the big midsummer celebrations of the previous year, he had encountered Moia, the eighteen-year-old daughter of a family who farmed land some hundred miles to the west of the Bray estates.

“When he first began to make overtures to her father,” Veness told Indigo, “we all believed that he had in mind a match between Moia and Reif. Poor Reif: his life was barely worth living then, Brws and Kinter and I teased him so. But we were wrong. Father didn’t want Moia as a wife for Reif—he wanted her for himself.

“He was almost old enough to be her grandsire, let alone her father. But he was obsessed with her. It’s easy to mock such feelings, and say he was growing into his dotage and that there’s no fool like an old fool. But whether he truly fell in love with Moia, or whether it was just a kind of infatuation, trying to recapture his lost youth, Father believed that what he felt for her was real. And of course, as you’d expect, she wasn’t interested in him. How could she be? At eighteen, you don’t want wealth and position; you want passion and excitement and romance. And the Mother knows, there’s little enough romance to be had from life at the best of times.”

Veness sounded bitter, like an old man himself. Indigo stared down at the table, saying nothing; and the tale continued. Earl Bray, it seemed, wasn’t deterred by Moia’s indifference to him. The girl’s kinfolk weren’t wealthy, and two mediocre summers had brought their already meager fortunes perilously low. Determined to win Moia at any price, Earl Bray offered a marriage gift generous enough to allow her father to pay off his debts and bring his steading back to prosperity. The man had two more daughters and two sons whose futures he must consider; and after some months of deliberation, he decided that the family’s greater good must take precedence over Moia’s wishes. The bargain was made, and as the first winter snows began to fall, a new chatelaine came to the Bray household.

But it had been obvious from the beginning, at least to Veness and Reif, that Moia didn’t love her husband and never would. And within a few months the earl was brought violently out of his new dream of happiness when he began to suspect that his bride had turned her attentions to another man. Ten miles from the Bray steading lay the small estate of Olyn, a distant cousin—“Our family has spread like tares in a cornfield through these parts,” Veness said with wry acidity: “Everywhere you go you’ll find another offshoot of the clan, all claiming kinship with one another”—and Olyn’s son, Gordo, was a regular visitor to the earl’s steading. Gordo and Moia were of a similar age; Gordo was handsome, lively, and with a captivating personality; and as time passed, his visits became more frequent and seemingly more coincidental with the earl’s absences on estate business. Nothing was said: all the family knew of Earl Bray’s suspicions, but no one dared broach the subject in his presence. And though one of the women might perhaps have taken Moia aside and warned her, loyalty to the earl and lingering uncertainty combined to make them hold their tongues—until one day, little more than a month before Indigo’s arrival, it was too late.

Earl Bray had found the letter hidden in one of his wife’s gloves. He’d been searching her belongings, Veness said, looking for evidence and yet praying not to find it. But even the most blinded of men couldn’t have ignored or explained away the passionate message, written in Gordo’s own hand, that finally betrayed Moia’s infidelity.

The scene that ensued in the dwelling-hall an hour later was one that Veness vowed he’d remember for the rest of his life. Gordo was visiting the steading yet again, and as the family sat down to eat, Earl Bray had stormed into the hall like an avenging spirit and roared out his accusation before the entire gathering.

“He’d have killed Gordo there and then,” Veness told Indigo sombrely. “He dragged him from the table, like a hound on a rat, and he had a hand under his jaw, bending his head back to snap his neck. Moia was screaming, and Reif and Kinter and I—well, we stopped Father; we pulled him off. It took all three of us to subdue him, but we couldn’t stand by and do nothing.” He paused for a long moment. “Father hasn’t forgiven us for that. And Reif thinks now that we shouldn’t have intervened, but let Gordo die. I know how he feels.” Anger—and something deeper, darker—showed in his eyes. “But at the time, we thought only of stopping any bloodshed.” Another, briefer hesitation. “Anyway, Gordo fled from the house, and Livian took Moia to her room while the rest of us tried to calm Father.”

“That can’t have been easy,” Indigo said gently.

Veness smiled quickly and without humor. “No. No, it wasn’t. But when he finally came back to his senses, in some ways it was worse than before. He was quiet, withdrawn; like a complete stranger. He told us to lock Moia’s door, then he sat down here and said that he wanted to see no one.

“I don’t know what he meant to do; whether he’d try to reconcile things with Moia, or whether he’d simply have kept her a prisoner and pretended to the world that nothing was amiss. But any plans he might have made were useless, because by morning Moia had gone. The Mother alone knows how she found the courage; she must have climbed out of her window and down the side of the house, and that’s something I’d defy the fittest man to dare.” He frowned. “I think she was in fear of her life, or she’d never have taken such a risk. She didn’t understand Father: she didn’t realise that, whatever she might have done, he’d never have harmed her. He loved her too much; that’s the pity of it. And nothing mattered to him, other than to find her and bring her back.”

Earl Bray was certain, Veness said, that Moia and Gordo were together, and he’d immediately set out too see Olyn, Gordo’s father. In some trepidation, Veness and Reif had persuaded him to allow them to accompany him, and the earl had ridden to his cousin’s house, hammered on the door and, when Olyn appeared, accused him point-blank of sheltering the runaways. Olyn had vigorously denied any knowledge of the affair, and there was a quarrel, which was only prevented from becoming violent by the intervention of Reif and Veness. At last Olyn and the earl calmed a little, and Gordo was sent for so that his side of the story might be told. But Gordo couldn’t be found.

“That was the proof Father needed,” Veness said bitterly. “Nothing anyone said after that could sway him, and he accused Olyn of pushing Gordo and Moia together, and conniving in their elopement.”

“But why should Olyn do such a thing?” Indigo asked.

Veness shrugged helplessly. “Who can possibly say? Spite? Father has the earl’s title and the earl’s estate; but for an accident of birth they might have been Olyn’s. Jealousy can work in strange ways.”

It rang hollow, and Indigo said, “So you truly believe that Olyn’s guilty?”

“I…” Then Veness shook his head. “I truly don’t know, Indigo. And anyway, what does it matter whether I believe it or not? Father does—and that’s where the danger lies. Because, you see, Father wants revenge.”

Involuntarily, Indigo’s gaze flickered across the room to the mantel, and though she tried not to let Veness see what she was looking at, he didn’t miss the slight movement of her head.

“Yes,” he said somberly. “That’s what we’re all afraid of.”

“But your father wouldn’t; he surely wouldn’t—”

“I think he would. He’s talked of it, and I don’t believe his words are just rantings.” Veness leaned forward, rubbing his own upper arms as though suddenly chilled. “Moia was everything to him: when she betrayed him she broke his heart, and now I think his mind’s on the verge of breaking, too. If that happens—if he finally accepts that he can’t win her back—then he’ll feel he has nothing left to live for, and he won’t care what happens to him. All that he’ll be able to think of is tracking down anyone he believes had a hand in the betrayal, and killing them. And he’ll use the most lethal weapons he can find.”

He looked up at her, and suddenly the monstrous entirety of his burden was reflected agonizingly in his eyes. “It’s beginning again, Indigo. The feud between our house and Olyn’s; the deception; the betrayal. It’s the same chain of events, returning to haunt us after hundreds of years. And now the snow tiger has come back. It’s an omen, a terrible omen. And if it means what I think it does, then I fear that the wheel will come full turn again, and there’ll be another slaughter like there was all those centuries ago. Only this time, the curse won’t fall on some distant and forgotten ancestor whose name doesn’t mean anything any more. It’ll fall on this house, and all the innocent people in it. And my own father will be the one who brings it back to life.”

He reached for the ale-jug, filled his cup and drained the contents at one draught. The cup slammed down on the table again and he tilted the jug a second time; but only a small trickle ran out. For a moment Indigo thought that Veness would hurl the jug across the room; but with an effort he controlled himself and instead simply set it to one side.

Indigo wondered how much they had both drunk. The jug, which held a half-gallon or more, must have been at least three-quarters full when they began; and she was beginning to feel giddy, coupled with a sluggishness in her limbs and an uncertainty of vision that made everything in the room look faintly unreal. She wanted to say something, but could think of no words that wouldn’t sound empty and irrelevant.

Suddenly Veness covered his face with one hand, and his shoulders sagged.

“Where’s it going to end?” His voice was slurred, and racked with tension. “I can’t stop it. None of us can stop it. Mother help us all, where’s it going to end?”

Indigo lurched to her feet. She didn’t make a conscious decision—she didn’t even know if she was capable of rational thought at this moment—but gave way to the surge of pity, and fellow-feeling, and the other emotions which she’d tried so hard to guard against but which, now that the ale had broken down her mind’s defences, came tumbling on their heels. She stumbled round the table to Veness’s side, reaching out to him, wanting to touch and comfort and not thinking beyond that point. Her fingers made contact with his shoulders, and he turned swiftly, his hands clasping her arms, drawing her down to him and pressing his face against the long swathe of her hair. She smelled the scents of him; leather and wool and an unfamiliar skin; the sensation assailed her like a rip-tide and she swayed as he gripped her more tightly, losing her balance, slipping down to one knee. Veness’ arms were around her body now, hands moving hungrily, almost desperately over her back: he twisted about, and through the tangled confusion of their hair, tawny and black, she met his grey eyes, the eyes of a stranger yet agonizingly familiar.

They stayed still, gazing at one another, neither daring to move lest this intimate moment, which neither of them had sought yet which suddenly both ached to hold on to, should shatter and be gone. At last, very slowly, very tentatively, Veness broke the hiatus. He put one hand to Indigo’s face, lifting aside her hair: then he paused again. She could feel her own heartbeat, an arhythmic, painful pulse; involuntarily her fingers tightened on his arms, and suddenly his mouth was on hers, kissing her with an intensity that sent a shuddering shock through her. Reflex made her try to draw back, but Veness pulled her hard against him and suddenly she didn’t want to resist, didn’t want to deny him what she, too, desired. Every nerve felt as though it were on fire; her body sang with a tingling, shivering awareness that was both terrifying and glorious; and her fingers tangled in Veness’s hair, in his clothes, on his skin as she met his passion with her own racking longing that she’d forced herself to suppress for so many years. Black hair and grey eyes, the feel of a young man’s body in her arms, his intensity, their shared need, the memories… Past and present melded, fired by her drunkenness, confused into one image as her hands traced the contours of his face and knew him, knew him; and as their mouths broke apart Indigo’s voice gasped brokenly, “Oh, Fenran…”

The spell cracked. Whether Veness had heard her barely coherent words, or understood them if he had heard them, she didn’t know. But it was as though a shadow had passed through the room and touched them with the cold hand of reason. Veness’s cheek was pressed against hers; she felt his deep intake of breath, and then he turned his head and looked into her eyes. She saw sadness and uncertainty, and then he turned away again and laid his forehead on her shoulder.

“I’ve drunk too much.” The sheer mundanity of the words shook Indigo’s reeling mind a little closer to rationality, and when Veness laughed a little at his own admission she had to force herself not to laugh too, knowing that if she gave way to the impulse, she wouldn’t be able to control it. “Oh, Goddess…” He squeezed her shoulders. “We’ve both drunk too much, haven’t we? I’m sorry, Indigo. I shouldn’t have—”

“No.” She kissed his neck, shutting her eyes as she suddenly realised that she didn’t truly know whose skin her lips were touching. “Don’t say that. Please.”

Slowly they moved apart, and Indigo sagged down to the floor. The walls of the dwelling-hall seemed to be tilting at her, and she put one hand up to grip the table top, trying to pull herself to her feet. Veness rose unsteadily and helped her, and she leaned against the table, one arm draped over his shoulder as she tried and failed to make some sense of her churning thoughts.

“We both need to sleep. The ale’s caught up with us.” Veness reached for the lantern. It shook when he picked it up, making shadows dance manically across the walls. “Indigo—”

“No,” she said again. “Don’t, Veness.” There were so many things she wanted to tell him, so many things to explain; but the words wouldn’t come. She felt a little sick.

They said no more as he led her from the room and, both helping the other, they made their unsteady way up the stairs. On the landing, Veness turned to Indigo again.

“If the others could see us now ..•.”

She snorted, struggling to suppress an explosion of foolish laughter. It was funny; and yet, on another level, it was anything but.

“Indigo…” He touched her face, traced the line of her cheek, and his fingertips came to rest on her lips. She couldn’t read his expression; in the gloom his eyes were nothing more than faint, dark smudges in the paler oval of his face. “Have I made a terrible mistake?”

She was silent for a time that seemed to endure almost beyond bearing. How could she answer him? Reckless inebriation was battling with the deeper, older loyalties. And Veness, who wore Fenran’s face and yet was not Fenran, was touching her, threatening to rekindle the intensity of their brief madness in the dwelling-hall. She couldn’t answer him. Not if she wanted to be sure that her answer was true.

But another part of her, in which reason had no say, took hold of her and spoke before she could stop to consider or control it.

“No,” she said softly. And she raised her head to kiss his lips once more, artlessly yet with meaning. Then, before the shards of her resolve could crumble altogether, she turned and stumbled away along the landing, leaning on the wall for support, to the sanctuary of her room.

Chapter IX

“I think,” Grimya said, “that you are as trr-oubled by what happened with Veness are you are by Earl Bray’s story.”

Indigo frowned at the growing pile of split logs before her. “That’s foolish, Grimya.” Her voice was defensive.

“It is not f… oolish; it’s true. I know. I can tell. I always know when you’re hiding something from me.”

Indigo hesitated, then with a sigh put down the axe she was holding and reached up to push hair from her eyes. This morning, she had volunteered—despite Livian’s and Carlaze’s protests that it wasn’t woman’s work—to prepare logs for the house fires; it was a solitary task, and gave her an opportunity to be alone with Grimya and to tell her all that had happened last night. She’d explained Earl Bray’s unhappy story, and the family’s fears that he might lose his sanity and try to use the cursed axe and shield against those who had betrayed him; and, a little shamefacedly, she’d also told the wolf what had followed Veness’s revelations. She’d tried to play down the incident and portray it as nothing more than a momentary aberration, but even as she spoke she knew she was being disingenuous, and Grimya knew it too.

The trouble was, she thought, it was impossible to keep her thoughts concealed from Grimya for long. They had been too close, and for too many years, to have secrets from one another; and if she sensed that her friend was troubled, Grimya was honest enough and uncomplicated enough to say so without reservation.

“All right,” Indigo admitted. “It’s true, Grimya: what happened with Veness is troubling me. We were both drunk last night,” she frowned, recalling the after-effects she’d suffered on waking and which hadn’t yet entirely worn off, “and we let the emotions of the moment get the better of us. That’s all it was. And yet… it’s created a complication that I desperately didn’t want. And I don’t know what to do.”

For a few moments there was silence but for the distant sounds of other work progressing in the yard, muffled by the woodstore’s thick walls. Then Grimya said: “Do you th… ink that Veness loves you?”

It was one of the questions Indigo had striven to avoid. She’d dreaded racing Veness this morning, but when they met at breakfast he had behaved as though nothing had happened, only catching her eye, once, with a shy, private, and faintly sheepish smile. And yet, though he’d tried to conceal it, she had sensed an undercurrent of change in his attitude, a suppressed eagerness and, most disconcerting of all, hope.

She gazed back at Grimya unhappily. “I fear he might. Or might believe he does, which is as bad.”

“And you?”

She tensed, and seemed about to dissemble: but then realized that there was little point. “I honestly don’t know,” she said. “Veness is so like Fenran that it frightens me. He has Fenran’s face, Fenran’s build—Goddess help me, even Fenran’s voice sometimes. When I woke this morning, I thought I’d made a terrible mistake last night. I was drunk; I was confused; I thought that I must have believed for a mad moment that Veness was Fenran.” She paused. “But now I don’t think that’s true. I didn’t believe it. I knew what I was doing, and I… I welcomed it.”

She shivered as the memory assailed her afresh. One moment when the ale had broken down her inhibitions; one kiss; one flaring instant of a desire she hadn’t experienced since Fenran’s own lips and hands had touched her. In the sobering dawn she’d tried, tried so hard, to tell herself that it had meant nothing. But still she couldn’t banish the echoes of the emotions that brief moment had aroused.

She waited for Grimya to speak again, but the wolf was silent, and in an attempt to sidetrack herself from her own thoughts Indigo set another log in position and picked up the axe once more. The solid, heavy sound as the blade bit into the half-frozen wood seemed to clear her head a little, like a metaphorical fist thumping down on a table; and it forced her to a decision.

She finished quartering the log and set it on the growing stack behind her, then picked up another. For a few moments she hefted it, staring speculatively at the intricate patterns in the bark: then she looked at Grimya again.

“Whatever I may or may not feel for Veness,” she said soberly. “I have to forget what happened last night, Grimya. I have to distance myself from it, and from him. Anything else would be too dangerous.” She sucked in a sharp breath and swung the axe, venting a little of her frustration in the savagery of the blow, and a ragged, useless sliver split away from the log. Indigo swore under her breath, then her shoulders slumped and she put the axe down again. “We know,” she said, “that our next demon is under the roof of this steading. But though we believe we know the form it has taken, we can’t be certain.” Old and unpleasant memories stirred in her eyes. “There have been so many deceptions and so many false trails in the past. And now the complication of Ve-ness. For all I know, the fact that he looks so uncannily like Fenran could be the bait in yet another trap!”

“I don’t th… ink so.”

“Perhaps not. But can you be sure?”

Grimya hesitated, then dipped her head as honesty got the better of her wish to please. “No,” she said. “I c-an’t be sure.”

“Then I daren’t take any risks. Where Veness is concerned, I—” And she stopped as Grimya gave a soft, warning growl.

The latch of the door clicked, and a huge breath of ice-cold air heralded the entrance of Reif. He stopped on the threshold, and looked at the pile of prepared logs with surprise. But if he was impressed by her industry he didn’t comment on it; instead he glanced quickly round the woodstore, then frowned.

“Veness not here?”

“No.” Reif’s efforts to disguise his hostile attitude towards her were cursory at best, and Indigo detected an implication in his tone which raised her hackles. “Why should he be?”

Reif shrugged. “I heard you talking to someone. Thought I heard you mention his name.”

“No,” Indigo said again. Her eyes held his steadily.

“Ah. Well, maybe you were talking to Grimya then, eh?” A faint grin. “I’d watch that sort of thing, if I were you—they say it’s one of the first signs of insanity. Well, if you do see Veness, tell him that the grey gelding’s managed to gash its leg on a splinter in the stable, and it needs looking over. Oh, and Rim-mi’s just been out to say that food’s ready when anyone wants it.”

He reached down to tug Grimya’s ear and rub the top of her head, then strode out, leaving the door wide open. Indigo stared after him with a mixture of exasperation and bewilderment. She’d given up asking herself why Reif should be so unbending in his behavior; that small gesture towards Grimya had seemed like yet another deliberate snub.

He doesn’t trust us, Grimya commented sagely, lapsing for prudence’s sake into telepathic speech. He feels that we threaten him.

Or does he threaten us?

What do you mean?

Ohh… nothing; I’m seeing specters in the dark. Indigo shook off the momentary thought. We need to talk, Grimya. Not about Veness—that must be put aside and forgotten. We need to talk about the demon, and decide what we’re to do.

Grimya looked up at her. Must it be now? Can we not wait just a little while longer? I am—

Hungry? Indigo laughed aloud as the wolf’s plaintive and eternal plea broke a little of her tension. All right. Let’s go back to the house and see what Livian has for us to eat. But later, there’ll be a great deal to discuss. And . .. She shivered suddenly, though not from the cold. I don’t want to delay any longer than we have to.

That evening, Indigo braved the inevitable teasing to plead a headache, the price of the previous night’s excesses; and went to her room early. She believed—though she couldn’t be entirely sure—that she had succeeded in avoiding any risk of an awkward encounter with Veness without making her ploy obvious, and she and Grimya sat together by the banked-down fire to sift through what they had so far learned of the evil force that had lodged in the Bray household.

The greatest problem, as Indigo had pointed out earlier in the day, was that though they might be aware of the demon’s nature, they couldn’t yet be sure of the form it had chosen to take. Thus far, all the evidence seemed to suggest that the ancient shield and axe, hanging shunned and hated over the dwelling-hall hearth, were the focus of the demon’s power; physical vehicles for its as yet intangible presence. But that evidence was based on little more than conjecture and instinct; it had no solid foundation. The truth could so easily lie in another direction; a human direction. And there were so many possibilities. Earl Bray himself, Reif, Kinter, Carlaze: even the earthy and apparently harmless Rimmi, or—Indigo’s skin crawled at the thought—Veness.

Or, Grimya said darkly, it may be that there is another answer. It may be that the greatest danger doesn’t lie within this house at alt.

Indigo looked at her, curious, and sensed immediately what she was driving at. “The snow tiger? Oh, no, Grimya—surely not!”

Grimya eyed her uncertainly. We can’t be sure. We can’t be sure of anything yet.

“But…” And then Indigo realized that, as with all else, she had nothing but her own intuition to support her. She sighed, “I don’t know. It is possible, I suppose. But I don’t sense anything evil about that creature. On the contrary, it’s been our ally rather than our enemy.”

So far, yes. But who can say that might not change?

She was right; and though her judgement might be colored by her innate fear of the great cat, it would be wise to take no chances. Indigo shifted, stretching her toes out towards the fire and looking at them thoughtfully.

“Then,” she said, “we’re little better off than we were on the day we arrived here. The only thing we know for certain is what the lodestone told us; that the demon is here. But as to precisely what it is, or how it might manifest, we’ve barely a clue to guide us. Just the legend attached to the axe and shield—and even that might be a false path. So what are we to do?”

Grimya thought for a few moments. Then she said:

In my homeland, when I was hungry and could find no prey, I used to ask myself that question. And the answer was: wait, and watch. She looked up at Indigo. It isn’t an easy thing to do when your stomach gnaws as though it had teeth of its own and your mouth drools with remembering the taste of food and hungering for that taste again. But it is the only way. I learned that quickly when my own kind cast me out and I was alone. Wait, and watch. And pursue anything that comes, no matter how small and how hard to catch it might be.

Indigo considered her words. They were frustrating counsel; but what other choice did she have? She could do nothing more at present; she couldn’t force the demon’s hand and provoke a confrontation, for that would be—to coin another of Grimya’s analogies—like trying to bite the wind.

It will come, Grimya said. Like prey, it will show itself. But I don’t know when.

Indigo got to her feet. She felt tired and dispirited, and suddenly she didn’t want to talk any more, for there was nothing worthwhile left to say. They might sit all night turning the problem over and over in their minds, and achieve nothing beyond this depressing hiatus. It would be better, or at least a little less futile, to go to bed and sleep, rather than wasting the hours in pointless speculation.

Grimya watched her as she crossed the room. You’re not happy.

Indigo looked back and smiled, though with little humor. “I’m not happy. But there’s nothing to be done about it. Let’s sleep. I’m bone-weary, and the Mother alone knows it’ll be morning again soon enough.”

The wolf turned her head away. I’m sorry. I have been of no help to you.

“No, no. You told the truth, and the fact that I don’t like the truth doesn’t make it any less valid. Come on, now. Lie down with me while the room’s still warm. Maybe in the morning we’ll find something to inspire us.”

They were brave words, but hollow, as Indigo admitted to herself when later, unable to sleep, she lay staring at the dim outlines of the bed foot. She had heard the rest of the household, in ones and twos, making their quiet way to their beds with creakings of floorboards and the occasional faint whisper; and once, someone had paused outside her door as though listening for any hint that she might be awake. She guessed who it must have been, but she’d held her breath, staying still and silent, and after a few seconds the soft footsteps had crept slowly away.

Grimya lay with her muzzle on her front paws, her breathing a husky, rhythmic sound against the background silence. Envying her peace, Indigo dug the heel of one hand several times into her pillow, which seemed to have formed a ridge as solid as stone under her neck, and tried again to achieve the rest she craved. At last, the first hints of sleep began to come; the pleasantly disorientating sense of floating, reality starting to blend with disjointed and nonsensical thoughts; and she began to drift off—

Only to be jerked back to wakefulness by a sound that sent a violent shock down the length of her spine.

Indigo! Grimya’s silent cry of alarm came instantly on the heels of the sound which had shattered her embryonic dreams. The wolf was on her feet and bristling with shock, and Indigo sat bolt upright. The tiger—and it was close, so close that she could almost believe—

Realization struck suddenly, and she scrambled from the bed and ran to the window, ignoring Grimya’s protests as she wrenched the shutters open. Cold moonlight flooded the yard outside: and there, framed in the stone arch and dramatically highlighted by a shaft of that silvery brilliance, the snow tiger stood poised like something from a feverish vision. Its muzzle was raised, questing; and though its face was in shadow Indigo knew that it was staring up at her window. For a time she couldn’t even guess at—it might have been a minute, maybe less—she gazed back as though hypnotized, and deep in her psyche she felt some unnameable force stirring from slumber and tugging at her consciousness. The creature was calling her. And with a sick, lurching thrill that was part excitement and part terror, Indigo knew that she must answer.

“Indigo, whh-at are you doing?” In her agitation Grimya cried out aloud as Indigo swung away from the window and started to scrabble for her clothes. “Indigo!”

“Hush!” It was vital, vital, that no one else in the house should be woken, and Indigo turned quickly to take the wolf’s muzzle between both hands. Her eyes were avid, and she switched to silent speech. I’m going outside, Grimya. The tiger’s come to find me, and I must try to discover what it wants.

Grimya was trembling. It is dangerous!

No: I don’t believe it is. Please, Grimya—come with me or wait here, as you wish, but understand that I have to go!

A shudder shook the wolf’s body from head to tail. I won’t let you go alone. I… I will come. But I am frightened!

There’s nothing to fear, dear one: if I’ve ever been sure of anything I’m sure of that, though I can’t even begin to explain why. Indigo continued dressing, throwing on shirt and trousers haphazardly, pulling her boots on to her feet, snatching up her coat. Ready, she paused, then reached for her crossbow and slung it and her quiver over her shoulder. It was, she was sure, an unnecessary precaution; but if nothing else it would help to ease Grimya’s fears for their safety. She hoped the tiger would understand.

Traversing the unlit landing and the stairs beyond was hazardous, but she didn’t dare light a lantern. They reached the hall, and hastened to the main door, which was barred and bolted for the night. The bar lifted easily enough, but one of the bolts squealed like a rat in agony, and Indigo shut her eyes and held her breath while she counted to twenty, praying that the noise wouldn’t bring one of the men running from the floor above. Her prayer was answered; there was no sign of movement from upstairs, and at last she felt confident enough to pull the door open a crack, and with Grimya at her heels, slipped out into the bright, bitter night.

The courtyard looked strange and ethereal. Shapes which by day were comfortable and familiar were transformed by the moon’s tricky light into alien silhouettes that carried an aura of threat. New frost glittered on the surface of the snow, sharp and brittle as glass, and Indigo heard Grimya whimper, the sound carrying with peculiar clarity in the stillness.

For a moment, as she moved cautiously towards the arch, she thought that the tiger had gone. But then she saw it, its coat forming part of the pattern of snow and shadow. And now she could see the deep, warm inner glow of its amber eyes, regarding her steadily as, heart pounding, every nerve alive with trepidation, she walked very slowly, with the alert unease of the trained hunter, towards it.

She was perhaps ten yards from the great cat when it raised its head a little and uttered a soft, whiffling prrrusten. Grimya froze in terror, but Indigo instinctively recognised the sound as both a greeting and a reassurance. The snow tiger meant them no harm. In its own way, and it its own inscrutable tongue, it was saying, friend.

Indigo stopped, and she and the cat looked at each other. Again, she felt the strange sense of communication pricking at the edges of her mind; but again she couldn’t interpret what the creature was trying to tell her, and the nervous emanations from Grimya, which the wolf was struggling unsuccessfully to control, blurred the sensation still further.

She glanced down at Grimya, who stood rigid at her side, then looked up at the tiger again.

“1 don’t know if you can understand me,” she said to it, echoing the spoken words in her mind. “But I haven’t the power to communicate as you do. Please: show me what it is you want.”

For a few moments the tiger didn’t respond. Then, abruptly, it turned. She thought it was about to bound away, and started after it—but it stopped, and looked back at her. Its tail twitched as though with impatience.

It wants us to follow it, Indigo said to Grimya.

The wolf shivered. I don’t think we should. I don’t think it would be wise.

The tiger was waiting. Indigo spoke to it again.

“My friend is afraid of you. She doesn’t want to go with you, in case you mean us harm.”

The golden eyes blinked slowly, then the great head swung until the tiger was looking directly at Grimya. Its furred lips drew back slightly, and again it uttered its gentle prrrusten—and as it did so, Indigo felt a huge surge of energy skim through her mind. She sensed warmth, invincibility, a trace of pitying indulgence: and then she felt the stunned shock in Grimya’s mind as the wolf, too, felt the full power of the emotion the tiger had projected. Grimya made a peculiar, gurgling sound in the back of her throat; not quite a whine and not quite a growl; then she looked up at Indigo with eyes filled with confusion.

I knew its thoughts! she said, awed. I felt them . ..

So did I.- This is no ordinary animal. Now do you believe that it doesn’t want to hurt us?

Grimya’s jaws worked spasmodically. /… yes. I think I must believe it…

The tiger’s tail flicked again, conveying greater urgency, and Indigo bent to touch the she-wolf’s head reassuringly.

Come, then. Let’s see where it wants to lead us.

They passed under the stone arch and into the night world of the Redoubt winter. The sky was clear, a jet-black immensity that held a million glittering stars, and the moon was hazed by a cold aura tinged with ethereal colors, casting an eerie, dreamlike sheen across the snow. Their shadows, thin and sharp and grotesquely elongated, were flung out behind them, and the cold stung Indigo’s skin and seared her lungs as she breathed.

The tiger led them away from the steading and towards the distant forest. The snow was no more than a foot deep in most places; clearly the great cat had chosen its route carefully, though Indigo was surprised—and a little disconcerted—to see no sign of spoor approaching the steading. She told herself that the creature must have made its approach from a different direction, and shivered beneath her hide coat.

The silence that pervaded the night was awesome. The snow swallowed any sound their feet might have made, and there wasn’t the smallest breath of wind to disturb the stillness. Indigo imagined that if she concentrated her mind she might hear the Earth herself breathing, or the faraway, eldritch singing of the stars. Ahead of her the tiger was a flowing apparition, one moment clearly visible, the next blending with the snow and almost lost from view; at her side, Grimya ran like a silent grey shadow, her thoughts muted but still touched with a trace of unease.

She wondered how far the tiger meant to take them. The only landmark she could see nbw was the forest, a dim, dark smudge breaking into the white landscape far ahead. The moonlight played tricks with her sense of perspective, so that the forest seemed to be impossibly close and impossibly distant by turns, and she hoped that the great cat didn’t mean them to travel that far; for, not knowing the hour, she feared that the Bray household might wake and discover their absence before they could return to the steading.

But even as she hesitated, wondering whether to call out to the great cat and ask it to indicate—if it would or even could—how much farther they must walk, she saw a solitary shadow on the snow some hundred yards ahead of them. It was too distant yet to be recognizable, but it was a human figure: and Indigo’s blood pulsed with sudden excitement as she recalled the mysterious, fur-clad form she’d seen running with the tiger in the forest.

The tiger lifted its head and called to the figure: not a challenging roar or a threat, but a loud, kindly cry, like a greeting. It broke into a run, loping across the snow with its tail raised high, and as Indigo and Grimya hastened after it, the figure started towards them.

They were a mere few paces apart when the tiger turned suddenly, defensively, to bar their path. Its ears flattened and its lips drew back, showing fangs like ivory daggers; a clear warning for them to halt. Indigo stopped, and Grimya dropped to a crouch with her hackles raised. The figure—it was small, but beyond that Indigo could tell nothing—stretched out a gloved hand towards the cat, and the tiger’s threatening snarl transmuted into a purr as it, too, dropped down to lie in the snow.

“You came.” It was a woman’s voice: somehow Indigo hadn’t anticipated that. “Thank you for trusting us.”

She stared back at the stranger. Her face was obscured by the shadows of a fur hood, and her voice was adult but ageless. Indigo frowned, and asked, “Who are you?”

A quick shake of the shrouded head. “My name wouldn’t mean anything to you, and it isn’t important. Please; forgive this subterfuge, but I had to speak you alone. I need your help.”

Indigo was nonplussed. “My help? But you don’t know me.”

“I think I do. I think I know who you are, and why you are here in the Redoubt.”

“That’s not possible!”

“It is, if one has the necessary divining skills. Please, hear what I have to say. You’re living at Earl Bray’s steading. I think you must know by now that his family is in danger.”

A cold foreboding crawled the length of Indigo’s spine, and she said sharply, “What do you know about that?”

“Enough to make me fear for the future. There is a storm cloud over the Bray house, and the storm is gathering power. That power takes the form of two ancient weapons—a shield, and an axe.”

“You know of the curse?”

“Yes. And you must believe me when I say that I also know it isn’t merely an old legend. The rift between Earl Bray and his cousin must be healed, or those weapons will bring more than bloodshed; they will bring carnage.” The woman paused, then added with a pleading note in her voice, “I don’t know how I can convince you that I’m telling you the truth. But I beg you to believe me.”

Indigo didn’t answer her for some moments. Grimya had risen to her feet and was tensely alert; she knew that the wolf was trying to probe beyond the stranger’s words to the deeper consciousness beneath, but the frustration in her mind told Indigo that she had met with a barrier and couldn’t break it down. Abruptly Grimya looked up at her, and said silently, I cannot reach her, Indigo. Something prevents me. But… my instinct tells me that we should heed what she says.

That was enough for Indigo. She turned back to the woman, and said, “I’m listening. Please: tell me all you can.”

The figure’s fur-clad shoulders hunched. “The shield and axe are more powerful that the Brays realize,” she said sombrely. “Far more powerful. They’re beyond human control. No one can contain the evil in those weapons; no mortal flesh has the strength to overcome them. And if Earl Bray’s mind should lose the battle between sanity and madness—”

“There are enough of us to protect him,” Indigo interrupted.

“No; you’re wrong. Because there is a traitor under his roof.”

Indigo’s stomach turned over as the woman’s words echoed her own half-formed fear. “A traitor?” Her voice was harsh. “Who?”

Again, the figure’s head shook in negation. “I don’t know. My skills are limited: I can’t divine into the steading; I can’t see into the minds of those who live within its walls. But I do know that what I say is true.” She looked up, and for one instant only Indigo saw a glint of color as moonlight reflected in her eyes. Blue—a rare and vivid sapphire blue.

“Gordo is the only one who might have realized,” she said, and now a desperate, pleading note had crept into her voice. “Gordo—Olyn’s son. He may know who the traitor is.”

Indigo felt herself beginning to shiver. “Gordo is missing.”

“I know. I’ve tried to find him; I’ve tried—I’ve searched and I’ve searched; but there’s no trace of him. And he’s the only one who can tell the whole truth.”

“His father… couldn’t he help us?”

“Perhaps. They were always close: it may be that Olyn knows where Gordo might have gone. But he’s too afraid to speak out. He fears what his cousin might do.” Another, longer pause, then: “Olyn and his family are blameless, but Earl Bray will not be convinced of their innocence. Other voices whisper in Earl Bray’s ear; other voices urge him to take revenge. And that’s where the evil is rooted. That is what the curse is feeding on, and what gives it new strength.” She started forward suddenly, one hand reaching out as though to touch Indigo; then quickly drew back. “You must find that root, and tear it out,” she said piteously. “And the quarrel between the two families must be resolved without bloodshed; for if it isn’t…” Her voice trembled, broke: with a great effort she regained control. “If it isn’t, then my conscience will never be able to rest. Please. I feel you are a friend, and I trust you, just as you have trusted the tiger, who is wiser than us all. I beg you—let there be forgiveness. Help them.”

Again she reached out towards Indigo; and again caution—or fear—arrested the movement before there could be any contact. And then, so suddenly and unexpectedly that Indigo was caught completely unawares, the woman turned and ran.

“No!” Recapturing her wits, Indigo shouted after the fleeing figure. “No, wait! Come back!” She started forward in pursuit, but before she had taken two steps, the tiger leaped to its feet and sprang into her path with a warning snarl. Indigo froze, staring fearfully at the huge mask, the glowing golden eyes, no more than a few perilous inches from her own face. The cat’s lips drew back a little, its breath condensing in the icy air as it huffed at her; then, seeing that she wouldn’t try to evade or defy it, its massive shoulders relaxed.

The woman was already some way off, running fleetly and seemingly unhampered by the snow. Indigo stared after her, feeling a surge of frustration, then looked at the tiger again. It was quiescent now, no longer threatening—and then, as though sensing her dismay, it stepped forward and pushed its head against her gloved hand. Shock shuddered through Indigo as the consternation triggered by sheer terror of its size and strength mingled with a realization that the creature was reassuring her. She felt the enormous physical power of its body beneath the thick fur, felt the warm rush of its breath, sensed the awesome energy of its mind. Then it, too, turned, and with a silent leap sped away after its companion.

Indigo stood motionless, watching the two diminishing figures and feeling as though her entire body had turned to petrified wood. The brief moment of contact with the tiger had stunned her, driving home to her for the first time the true extent of its incredible strength. It could have killed her with one blow of its paw or one bite of its jaws, and she would have been helpless, unable to defend herself. No wonder, she thought wildly, as she felt the first shivering reaction begin in the wake of her frozen fear, that Grimya was so terrified of such a creature. Now she had tasted awe akin to the wolf’s, and it was a deeply sobering experience.

But far from harming her, the tiger had shown that it was a friend and an ally, and she had learned a second lesson from its touch—the lesson of trust. You have trusted the tiger, who is wiser than us all, the woman had said; and Indigo knew with a sure instinct that those words were both true and intensely significant.

She could no longer see the two running figures; under the deceptive moonlight they had vanished into the snowscape. Her mind was beginning to work coherently again and, shaking off the last of her paralysis, she turned to Grimya. The wolf stared back, her eyes awed: there was no need for words.

“We must return to the steading.” Sudden urgency gripped Indigo. “We must get back before anyone wakes!” A traitor in the household. Who? she asked herself. Who? She started to stride out—then stopped as she realised that Grimya wasn’t following her.

“Grimya?” Indigo looked back and saw her still gazing in the direction that the woman and the tiger had taken. “What is it?”

Grimya turned her head. She radiated disquiet, though her fear of the tiger wasn’t the cause. For a moment she hesitated, then she said,

“It may mean nothing. But… she has left no footprints.”

Chapter Ten

Snow was falling by the time they reached the steading. They’d seen the telltale mustering of clouds from the north, a pale and ragged haze slowly blotting out the stars; and the first flakes had begun to spiral down as the house’s black silhouette cut the skyline ahead. Grimya, testing the air, said she doubted if it would amount to much—and besides, she added, it would cover their tracks so that no one in the house would be aware of their night’s adventure.

Indigo’s thoughts were in turmoil, compounded by Grimya’s strange observation just before they had left the rendezvous. The wolf had been right: the mysterious woman had left no trace of a footprint in the snow as she sped away. But the encounter, Indigo knew, hadn’t been a dream or an astral experience, and nor did she believe that the strange pair had been ghosts. She had touched the tiger; she had felt its powerful frame, felt its warm breath. It lived: and so, she was sure, did its strange companion.

And then there was the woman’s revelation, which posed new and terrible questions. A traitor in the house, she had said: someone who wished Earl Bray ill. Could she be right? What could she have to gain by lying? And, most disturbing of all, how could she possibly know of a betrayer, unless she herself had some connection with the Bray household?

Grimya’s attitude to the mystery was unequivocal. The woman’s word, she said, wasn’t enough. She was a stranger and an interloper; they simply couldn’t afford to trust her without question, however fervently she might plead. But neither could they afford to ignore what she had told them; indeed, they must be alert for any hint or clue, for if she had told the truth, then their search for the demon would take on a new and very dangerous dimension. And above all, tonight’s meeting must remain a closely guarded secret.

Indigo agreed with Grimya’s view, though its implications dismayed her. Again she had asked herself who among the Brays could possibly wish to bring evil on the house, and again she was forced to acknowledge that no one in the family seemed any more likely a suspect than anyone else. That meant that she must mistrust them all—even, she realized with an icy clenching at the pit of her stomach, Ve-ness.

No, a part of her argued vehemently, not Veness. It isn’t possible. But she knew it was. And in one undeniable way, Veness would have the most to gain if some disaster should befall Earl Bray; for, as the eldest son, he would inherit his father’s title and estate.

She thrust the thought away, hating it, hating herself for considering it. The answer must lie in another direction. Livian, perhaps: she was wife to the earl’s dead brother, and who was to say that there might not be some old grudge between them? Or Reif, though she couldn’t see what he might have to gain from his father’s death, unless Veness should die too. Or Kinter and Carlaze, or even Rimmi, jealous, perhaps, of her uncle’s new wife who had taken her mother’s former place as chatelaine? Or even Brws—

Indigo realized suddenly that this line of speculation would get her nowhere. She could argue the grounds for suspecting this person or that until her head spun, but she’d be no nearer to a solution. The key to the mystery, she thought frustratedly, the true key, lay in the identity of the woman she’d met in the snow tonight. If she could only learn who that woman was, then perhaps the skeins would begin to unravel. But how to achieve that? The Brays might know her, or at least know of her; but she dared not ask them. Even the most oblique and seemingly casual questions might raise their suspicions, and she couldn’t take that risk. The only clue she had was that one momentary glimpse of the woman’s eyes, a vivid and unusual blue. And that wasn’t enough.

As they approached the steading, Indigo forced herself to put away the churning, unanswered questions. She and Grimya were tired, cold and now wet from the fresh snowfall; they could begin again to look for answers when they were rested and their minds fresher in the morning. She felt relieved when at last they walked under the great arch and into the silent, deserted courtyard—and then as they started towards the main door, Grimya abruptly stopped.

Indigo! she said warningly, There’s a light!

Indigo looked up, and saw, to her chagrin, the flickering, uncertain glow of a candle or a lantern in one of the upstairs windows. As she watched, the light moved, dimming, then growing stronger again, moving towards the heart of the house.

“Sweet Mother,” she hissed softly. “Someone’s abroad. Quickly, Grimya!” And she broke into a run, heedless of the slippery ground underfoot. Whoever carried that light was moving towards the main staircase: they had to get into the house, bar the door and slip away through the hall before they were seen.

Reaching the door, Indigo lifted the latch and pushed gently, praying that the hinges wouldn’t squeal and betray them. The door opened soundlessly: with a fervent, silent prayer of thanks she slid through, Grimya at her heels, and turned to set the bar and bolts back into place.

In her haste and the rush of relief, she forgot the unoiled bolt. As she pushed it home, it screeched as loudly and as surely as though it had been an elemental guardian set to trap her, and Indigo’s heart missed with a violent, nauseous lurch. She shut her eyes, her teeth clenching on a savage oath—and then she heard the quick tread of feet, and lantern-light spilled from the top of the staircase behind her.

“Indigo!”

No, she thought desperately. Not Veness. Please, not Veness!

He came down the stairs at a run, and with a tremendous effort Indigo made herself turn and face him. He was dressed in a loose woollen robe; his feet were bare, and his face, thrown into a bizarre relief of light and shadow by the lantern cage, looked haggard and fearful.

“Indigo! Great Earth Mother, are you all right?”

The suppressed panic in his voice, the wild concern where she had expected anger or something akin to it, took her aback. “Y-yes,” she said. “Of course—”

“What happened?” He had reached the foot of the stairs now, and set the lantern down on a table before crossing the hall in a few strides and catching her by the arm. “You’re soaked! Indigo, where have you been’? I thought—Goddess help me, I don’t know what I thought!” He was touching her hair, her face, gazing into her eyes, striving to interpret what he saw there. “I’ve been frantic with worry! What’s happened to you?”

“Nothing’s happened, Veness!” And she thought silently, desperately, Grimya, what shall I say to him?

Grimya didn’t answer, and, bereft of help, Indigo tried to fend Veness off by going on to the offensive. “How did you know I was gone?” she demanded.

“I went to your room. I thought… oh, damn it, it doesn’t matter what I thought. But when I found you weren’t there, I—” He stopped. Both hands were tangled in her wet hair, cupping her face, and suddenly Veness said tautly: “I thought you’d left me.”

There was a sharp silence. At last Indigo raised her own hands and, very gently, gripped Veness’s wrists and pulled his fingers away from her face. As he spoke, she’d seen something in his grey eyes that had shocked her to the core, and she didn’t want to acknowledge it. She had to draw back, regain the distance between them.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, and very deliberately stepped back a pace so that he was obliged to release her altogether. “I didn’t mean to cause you any alarm, Veness. And there’s no need for concern. Grimya and I have simply been out for a short while.”

He wouldn’t accept that, she knew; but it gave her a moment to gather her wits and decide how much—or how little—she could safely tell him.

“What do you mean?” His eyes searched her face again, worriedly, hungrily.

“We were both woken by a noise from outside,” Indigo told him. The partial truth, she’d decided, would be better than a downright lie. “We thought it was the tiger.”

“The tiger?”

“Yes. So we went to investigate. But we found nothing.” She forced herself to smile. “It was gone by the time we left the house—either that, or it was never there to begin with.”

“You mean you went out, knowing that that creature might be there? Unprotected, you—”

“Not unprotected. I took my crossbow.”

Veness stared at her, appalled and, for a moment, unable to express anything of what he felt. Then sud-> denly the tension, the pressure of his emotions, got the better of him, and he moved towards her, catching her in his arms before she could even think of evading him, and hugging her close against him.

“Indigo, Indigo—didn’t you realise the danger you were courting? Don’t you know what might have happened to you if that creature had been waiting out there? Sweet Goddess, promise me, you must promise me that you’ll never do such a thing again!”

Indigo’s body was pressed hard against his. Her first instinct was to fight him off, but a second instinct, following rapidly on its heels, stayed her. She could feel his heart beating, pounding against his ribs, creating an answering vibration through her own frame, and she felt her defenses collapsing into confusion. She didn’t want to break away from him, for he had suddenly become an anchor in a sea of uncertainty, and his presence, his warmth, his physical reality, were chains that she needed to cling to. She wanted to trust him, wanted to believe in him: but at the same moment she recognized the danger of that desire, and, floundering, her mind reached frantically to make contact with Grimya, to bring her back to earth.

Grimya—

But the she-wolf wasn’t there. When she had slipped away, and where she had gone, Indigo didn’t know; but there was only a blankness, an absence, where the familiar touch of her mind had been, and suddenly, alone with Veness, she felt very vulnerable.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was low-pitched and indistinct. “I didn’t mean to cause you worry. If I’d known, I…” She shook her head, not knowing what else she could say.

“Thank the Mother that there was no harm done this time. But Indigo, I was so afraid—if anything should happen to you, it would break me apart!”

“Please, Veness.” She dared not meet his eyes, but stared down at the floor. “I didn’t mean to cause you worry; I wouldn’t have dreamed of upsetting you. But as you say, there was no harm done.” This time she did find the courage to pull away from him. “I think we should both go back to our rooms. I’m tired—I’d very much like to sleep.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Veness’s hands loosed their hold. He said nothing, but as she turned and moved towards the stairs he followed her, picking up the lantern and holding it high to illuminate the way. They climbed in silence, and when they reached the landing and Veness turned to light her to her room, Indigo didn’t protest, and still didn’t speak. Her mind was ablaze: she couldn’t think rationally, couldn’t reconcile the feelings of doubt, suspicion, fear—and the emotions that were rising within her again, twisting her perspectives into confusion. They reached her door, and she stopped. She wanted to say something, but it seemed that there was nothing she could say that wouldn’t either alienate Veness or offer him an encouragement that she didn’t want to give.

Didn’t want to give? a small inner voice challenged. Indigo ignored it, and pushed the door open. Her room was dark, and she suppressed a shiver as she stepped over the threshold and away from the lantern light. Veness didn’t follow, but stood in the doorway. She would have to face him. At very least she must say goodnight.

She turned, and he said,

“Indigo. Will you make me that promise?”

“Promise… ?”

“Not to take risks. I think perhaps you know how important it is to me.”

“Veness, I—”

“No: I think I’d better say this. It’s what I’ve been wanting to say; it’s the reason why I came to your room in the first place, mad though that might seem to you. Indigo, what happens to you is vital to me, because I love you.”

Indigo shut her eyes. “Oh, Goddess…”

“I know you don’t love me, and I accept that. But it doesn’t alter my feelings for you. And if anything were to happen to you—”

She interrupted him, and to her horror realized that tears were springing to her eyes. “Please, Veness, don’t say that! You don’t understand; you don’t realize…” And suddenly she couldn’t control her reactions, but covered her face with both hands as the tears started to stream down her cheeks. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me!”

She was ready to back away if he should try to take hold of her again: but she didn’t. She heard him move, sensed his presence immediately in front of her. Then his hands came to rest very lightly, very gently, on her upper arms.

“Don’t cry.” He sounded as bewildered as she was. Indigo shook her head violently. She was trying to stem the tears, but they wouldn’t stop, and her shoulders hunched as she strove to mask the shaking that racked her.

Veness said softly: “Do you want me to go?”

Did she? Sense and reason said yes, for his presence was too dangerous, and if he didn’t leave now, this moment, she might weaken and give way to that other part of herself that yearned for him to stay. He wasn’t Fenran: Fenran was beyond her reach; he’d been beyond her reach for more than forty years, and if she turned to Veness now, if she turned to him as she ached to do, then she would betray everything and her quest would be ashes.

But Veness was here before her, an emphatic and physical presence, Veness was alive and real, and his hands were touching her, awakening the need again, the need she’d felt when he had touched her once before, and held her, and kissed her. She tried to think of Fenran and conjure his face in her mind. But what she saw—what she saw wasn’t Fenran, but a meld of Fenran and Veness, and they were merging so that she could no longer tell one from the other.

And her need, her longing, her sheer loneliness, were stronger than her ability to fight.

She said: “No. I don’t want you to go…”

Veness touched her face, tilting her head so that she opened her eyes and looked at him. He kissed her wet cheeks, so gently that she began to shiver anew. Then he kissed her mouth, lightly at first but then with growing confidence.

The door had swung to, and tapped against its post. Veness turned, lifted the latch, then let it fall back into place, securing them in the room. For a fleeting instant Indigo felt that he had turned the key of a prison… but then the feeling fled, and with it the fear, and she knew instead that, in a way she had never dreamed possible, he was setting her free.

“I can’t…. Please, forgive me; I—I can’t.”

“Why, love? What is it? What’s wrong?” A shake of the head; she sank her teeth into her lower lip. “I can’t tell you: I can’t explain. It wouldn’t be fair…”

Gentle movement at her side. The bed was warm; his body was warmer; and she wanted him, wanted him.

“Is it… someone else? Are you promised to another?”

“I…” The truth. She had to tell him that truth, if nothing else. “I was. But he—” She couldn’t finish; it was impossible that he could understand.

“Is he dead, Indigo? Is that your grief? Oh, my love—”

Dead and yet living; alive in her mind and in her hopes. But he wasn’t here. She couldn’t reach him. And this man, so like him and yet so unfamiliar, was with her and would be kind to her: and here, now, he alone could take away the pain she felt.

The tears were flowing again, and this time she didn’t even try to staunch them. Her voice breaking, she whispered,

“We were… never lovers. And I wish…”

He didn’t let her say more. His lips were gentle and his hands were reassuring. And suddenly nothing else mattered. For this moment, for this precious, secret hour, nothing else mattered.

Chapter Eleven

She asked him to leave her as the first traces of an icy dawn were creeping across the sky, and Veness, understanding that she needed to be alone for a while, kissed her one last time and went quietly out of the room.

Indigo lay very still. Outside, the night was slowly becoming day, but she didn’t want to rise and open the shutters. The warm cocoon of darkness held her safe, a buffer against the reality of morning and the cold, harsh truths it must eventually bring.

She had shed many tears during that night, but they were gone now, leaving an intense and almost fatalistic calm in their wake. She had lost so much; far more than mere virginity: the events of the night had shifted her world out of key, and with that shift had come an irrevocable change in her own self. She felt as though a chain whose existence she’d barely been aware of had snapped, setting her free from the burdens of a self-imposed constraint, and yet at the same time bringing its own new and unfamiliar responsibility—responsibility towards Veness.

Veness loved her. Whether his love was real, or a self-delusion that would in time either shatter or simply fade into a miasma of guilt and embarrassment, she didn’t know; and it wasn’t something that she wanted to consider. And she… she didn’t love him. In the night, with his arms about her and his body hot and intimate against her own, she had felt love awakening like fire in her soul; in the glory of her release she had matched his passion with hers, and later when he slept she had caressed his face and twined her fingers in his dark hair, and had felt the ache of her love as she sank into an uneasy doze.

And had heard herself whisper, one lover to another: “Fenran…”

She turned over and lay on her back, staring up at the raftered ceiling with expressionless eyes. All the guilt and the horror of betrayal were there, but they were held savagely down, kept at bay because she couldn’t bring herself to face them. But one question twisted and writhed in her head, refusing to be crushed. Fenran: Veness. She’d believed that she knew what she was doing. She’d believed that her mind and her emotions were under control, and that she wasn’t deluding herself and trying to reach out to Fenran through Veness. Only later, when there could be no going back, when the aching and the longing and the desperate need to break free of her shell and accept the love that was offered to her had been assuaged, had she realised her terrible mistake. And by then, it had been too late.

Grimya had known what was happening. That was why she had gone, and why she had made no attempt to return; for she had realized that she could do nothing to help Indigo to resolve the complexity of emotions battling within her, and that her decision must be entirely her own. How she would face the wolf now, what she would say to her, how she could explain, Indigo didn’t know. Everything had changed. Everything. And she felt utterly, helplessly adrift.

Then there was Veness himself. What would he expect of her now? She had given herself to him, and, coldly and relentlessly analyzing her motives, she knew that she had used him. For the sake of her own need, for the sake of an escape from loneliness, from uncertainty, she had allowed an illusion to take the place of reality, and taken what he had offered without thought for its implications. She had betrayed Veness just as surely as she had betrayed Fenran. And running deeper still, like a poisoned river, was the undercurrent of what she had learned out in the snow last night. The traitor in the household. The ill-wisher, the schemer whose identity she didn’t know. If the woman’s warning was true, then it was possible that last night she had become the lover of the man who was destined to be her enemy.

Indigo shut her eyes momentarily as a feeling of desolation washed over her. She wished she could go back to sleep, and wake again to another morning in which all this had been merely a dream. For a short, precious while in Veness’s arms she had been happy; but daylight and rationality had shown that happiness for what it truly was: transient, illusory, with no place in the real world. Unbidden, a verse from an old song she’d learned as a very young child came into her memory, and she sang it softly to herself, her voice quavering and barely more than a whisper.

“South wind coldly blow;

Ice and sleet and snow;

And what shall she do oh, the little brown wren?

She cannot fly away;

And so she must stay;

Until the summer sun comes to set her free again.”

Indigo smiled a painful, private smile in the gloom. A simple piece of children’s doggerel, yet it struck with cruel accuracy at the core of her trouble. She was no helpless little bird; but her wings were clipped as surely as those of the wren trapped by the winter snows. She couldn’t fly away and leave her travails behind: she must stay in the Redoubt, under this roof, until the evil thing that she had set out to confront was found and destroyed. And somehow, somehow she must learn to live with herself.

Full day had come now, and slivers of light were insinuating their way into the room through cracks in the shutters. She couldn’t languish here, Indigo thought. There were sounds of activity downstairs; the household was up and about. She dreaded facing them all, for she felt that her guilty confusion—and what lurked behind it—must be as clear on her face as though it were written in letters of fire across her brow. But she had to overcome her cowardice, and the sooner the ordeal was faced, the sooner it would be over.

Slowly, reluctantly, she slid out of bed. Her body ached, recalling again the night’s passion, and for a moment she felt like a stranger to herself, her torso alien, her limbs unfamiliar and uncoordinated. She tried to thrust the peculiar sensation away, not wanting to dwell afresh on those memories, and groped for flint and tinder in the gloom.

The room was cold, and felt strangely empty when the lamplight lifted it into relief. As if someone else should be here With her, and their absence had left a terrible void.

Indigo shuddered, quashing the fancy, and began to dress.

They were all in the kitchen, and though their greetings seemed casual enough, Indigo had the terrible, unshakeable feeling that, somehow, they knew. Liv-ian’s warm smile seemed to have a new edge of tolerant amusement, Carlaze’s grin looked faintly conspiratorial; even Reif’s scowl, she thought, carried more suspicion than usual. And Veness… he stood up to greet her, and in his look was such pride and pleasure that she couldn’t bear to meet his gaze, but had to turn away.

And Grimya wasn’t there.

“Grimya?” Carlaze said in response to her stammered inquiry. “She’s about the yard somewhere, I think—she was here when I came downstairs, and I fed her and let her out.”

Indigo felt mentally for the she-wolf’s mind. Grimya… ? she called tentatively. There was no response.

“I’d best go and find her,” she said uneasily.

“Nonsense: she’ll be perfectly happy for a while. Probably hunting.” Carlaze pulled out the chair next to Veness and steered Indigo firmly towards it. “Sit down and eat your breakfast.”

Not wanting to make matters worse by arguing, Indigo sat down. Her hands clamped tautly together on the table, and Veness reached out and covered them with his own, squeezing gently and reassuringly. Though the gesture wasn’t blatant, he was making no secret of the fact that there had been a change in their relationship, and she silently and miserably cursed him for it, but then turned the curses on herself. How could she blame him? He was in love, and he wanted to show his love to her, no matter who else might be watching or what they might think. She should have been glad, reassured, comforted, as any normal woman would have been. But all she felt was a hard knot of despair that was slowly tightening within her.

She didn’t want to eat, but forced down a few mouthfuls, at the same time trying to play the part that Veness expected of her and pretended that she, too, was happy. It was a desperately hard mask to maintain, especially as Veness’s pleasure was so painfully apparent, but she couldn’t compound the betrayal by rejecting him; not here, not now. The time would have to come when she must tell him the truth, but that time would be private and carefully chosen.

At last, after what seemed to Indigo an interminable ordeal, the breakfast gathering broke up and everyone turned their attention to the day’s work ahead. The men went out into the yard, where the new snow was now freezing under hard sunlight, and Livian disappeared to the cellar to check on food stocks. Anxious to find Grimya, Indigo returned to her room to fetch coat and gloves—and as she came down the stairs again she saw Veness, alone, waiting for her in the hall.

“Indigo.” He took her hands. His fingers were warm; his eyes, as he looked at her, warmer. Memories of the night surged back again, and Indigo felt her defenses beginning to crumble.

“Oh, Veness; I… I don’t know what I can say to you. I feel—”

“Hush.” He put a finger to her lips, silencing her. “There’s no need to say anything, not now.”

Indigo hesitated, then resolved not to let cowardice get the better of her. She couldn’t let the misunderstanding go on.

“I have to say it, Veness,” she protested unhappily. “I’ve got to be honest with you; because I don’t want you to think that—”

“That you love me, as I love you? No; I don’t think that.”

She looked up at him in surprise and consternation, and he smiled a little sadly.

“I don’t know why you wanted me as you did last night, and it wouldn’t be fair to ask. But it doesn’t matter, Indigo; not to me. I don’t expect anything of you; I have no claim on you. All that counts is that you made me happy, and I think that, just for a while, I made you happy too.”

She hung her head, unable to answer.

“I know how to be patient,” Veness went on gently. “And I’ll wait for you to tell me what you want. Whatever it is, I’ll accept it.” He touched her chin, tilting her face up. “Do you believe that?”

Indigo wished that the ground would open and swallow her. And the worst of it was, she knew he was telling her the truth.

“Yes,” she said miserably. “I believe it.”

“Then don’t worry, and don’t fret. It’s up to you, Indigo. For the time being, we’ll carry on as things were before last night; I think that would be easiest for you, wouldn’t it?” He took her silence as consent. “And if your feelings change… I’ll be here. Always.”

She knew that beneath the calm and gentle exterior he was hurt, but nothing would have induced him to admit it. He was being so scrupulously fair to her that her guilt redoubled.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice barely audible.

“There’s nothing to thank me for.” From the kitchen Kinter yelled his name, and Veness looked up, then sighed resignedly.

“I’d best go. We’re taking a troika to check some of the boundary fences, and I doubt if we’ll be half finished before dusk.” A pause. “I suppose you wouldn’t like to come with us?” And his smile became humorously wry. “For another driving lesson?”

She shook her head, unable to suppress an answering smile. “Not today. I think it would be better if—”

“No. I understand.” Kinter appeared in the doorway, and abruptly Veness’s manner changed. He forced a smile—though his eyes still gave him away—and leaned forward as though to kiss Indigo; then, remembering, drew back and simply said, “I’ll see you this evening.”

Kinter made a farewell salute, and Indigo watched them walk away to the main door. A blast of icy air whirled down the hall, and then the door closed and they were gone. For some moments Indigo stood motionless, trying to assimilate what Veness had said. She hadn’t expected that. She hadn’t expected him to show such sensitivity or such understanding, and it had torn her between conscience and relief. But there was something else, too; a new feeling and one whose implications she wasn’t yet sure of. And it frightened her. It frightened her.

Slowly, she returned to the kitchen. Its only occupants now were Carlaze and Rimmi. Rimmi looked up as Indigo entered, then as quickly turned away and began to throw the cleared dishes noisily and, it seemed, sullenly, into a bucket of hot water to soak. As the last plate went into the water, Rimmi straightened, announced that she had “something to attend to” and flounced out. Carlaze watched the door slam behind her, then turned to Indigo with a thin smile.

“Take no notice of Rimmi. She’s only jealous.”

“Jealous… ?” Then Indigo understood, and her face flushed. “There’s nothing for her to be jealous of, Carlaze.”

Carlaze laughed. “Well, I don’t think she sees it that way! Rimmi has entertained notions about Veness for a long time: haven’t you see the way she looks at him, especially when she’s had a few drinks? Everyone knows about Rimmi and her passions. Mind,” she added with disdain, “I think even she’s realized by now that Veness wouldn’t be interested in her if she were the last woman left alive in the world. It’s just that knowing that he’s actually fallen in love with someone else makes her face up to the truth.”

“Carlaze—” Indigo began to protest.

“Oh come, now, Indigo; you’re not going to deny that Veness is in love with you? I’m not making any presumptions about you, but it’s obvious to anyone how he feels; and I’m glad to see it.” She paused. “I do feel sorry for Rimmi, too, of course. It isn’t her fault that she’s so plain, after all. But you mustn’t let her sulks worry you, Indigo; she knows deep down that Veness was always out of her reach. Give her a day or two, and she’ll forget all about it and probably turn her attentions to Reif instead. Though between you and me, I doubt if she’ll get any further with him than she did with—”

She stopped hastily as the door crashed open again. Rimmi marched in, pointedly ignored them both and went to the bucket, where she began to attack the dishes vigorously. Carlaze pulled a face behind Rimmi’s back and shrugged helplessly at Indigo.

“I’ll see you later,” she said, and went out. Rimmi waited until her footsteps had diminished along the hall, then she gave a long, ostentatious sniff and said, without turning round,

“I saw Grimya outside. I thought she looked very lonely.”

Indigo stared at her ramrod back. She thought of trying to say something that might soothe Rimmi’s hurt feelings, but could think of no words that wouldn’t sound patronizing. And the appalling thought crossed her mind: could Rimmi’s jealousy have some more malignant root than simple pique? Unwittingly, Carlaze had opened the door on to another possible clue, a new motive, a new suspicion. Rimmi? It seemed unlikely; almost impossible. But long and bitter experience had taught Indigo the folly of trusting outward appearances.

She said, quietly and gently, “Thank you for telling me,” and left the kitchen.

“Grimya? Grimya—where are you? Please—don’t hide yourself away from me.”

Something moved in the shadows of the stable, and Grimya emerged from the stall where Indigo’s bay gelding was housed. She looked up at Indigo with uncertain eyes, then glanced furtively from side to side to ensure that no one else was about.

“I w-as not hh… iding,” she said at last. “But I thought you might not want to see me.” A pause. “I thought you might not want my ff… riendship; not now.”

“Oh, my dearest.” Indigo bit her knuckles in an effort to choke back emotion. “It isn’t like that!” She’d been such a fool; she’d thought that Grimya was angry with her, censuring her for what she had done; but she should have known better than to ascribe such human mores to the wolf. Grimya wasn’t angry; she was afraid. Afraid that Veness had ousted her from Indigo’s affections and that she therefore no longer had a place in Indigo’s life.

“Grimya, you mustn’t think such a thing!” She dropped to a crouch and hugged the she-wolf, pulling her close when Grimya held diffidently back. “/ feared that you’d abandoned me! I thought perhaps you despised me, and—”

“Despised?”

Grimya didn’t understand, and it was so hard to explain something that Indigo barely comprehended herself. All she could do was open her mind, let Grimya see into her deepest thoughts and feelings and make of them what she would.

Indigo gazed into the troubled amber eyes, and said, “Grimya, I can’t tell you what I feel, because I don’t know myself any more. Look for me. Look in my thoughts. I’ll hold nothing back from you.”

She felt the warm touch of the wolf’s consciousness as it merged with her own. The sensation was comforting and familiar, and when at last the mental contact withdrew, she felt as though she had been cleansed.

Grimya continued to look at her for a few seconds longer, then said with sympathy, I think I understand a little more now. And I think you are frightened, Indigo.

“Frightened?”

Yes. Like I am frightened of the tiger. You fear something that is greater and stronger than you are, and you don’t know what to do for the best.

She had struck, as she so often did, to the core of the matter, and Indigo let her breath out in a long, unhappy sigh.

“I am afraid, Grimya. And guilty, and unsure of myself. I’ve hurt Veness; I didn’t want to do that. I tried to put him in Fenran’s place, and that was cruel and selfish and stupid. And yet, at the same time…” She could be completely honest with Grimya, she decided, and went on: “At the same time there’s a part of me that doesn’t regret what’s happened. And when I think about what that woman told us last night… if it’s true, then Veness himself might be the traitor we’re seeking. And if he is…” She shook her head, unable to express what she felt.

If he is, Grimya said soberly, then you will have a choice to make. A terrible choice.

“No.” Indigo stood up. “No, I don’t believe that. I may be a fool, but not that great a fool. If Veness is the traitor, there’ll be no question of where my loyalties must lie: though the Mother knows it will be hard to face.” She paused. “But if he isn’t the traitor, Grimya; what then? He loves me. He says he’ll wait for me to come to know my own feelings. And… I think that’s what I fear above anything else.”

You think, then, that you might come to love him? As he is, and not as your picture of Fenran?”

Memories of the night stirred again. And the newer memories, of Veness’ face as he had held her hands in the hall a mere few minutes ago. That was what had so deeply disturbed her, for it had been then, and not in the heat of the night’s passion, that she had truly understood him. And in those brief moments, as he held her hands and spoke so kindly and so gently to her, his image had separated from the older, precious image of Fenran and become distinct in her mind. She didn’t believe that she would ever confuse them again. And she feared what that could mean.

“Yes,” she said in a small voice. “I think that I might.”

Chapter XII

Thanks to the blizzard, the daylight hours on the Bray steading were filled with work for all available hands, both to make up for the weather-enforced halt and to repair the additional damage that the storm had caused. During the next three days Veness, Reif, and Kinter were away from the steading from dawn to dusk, leaving Indigo, Brws, and two outworkers to cope with the more mundane but necessary chores closer to home.

Indigo was thankful for the respite, and glad of the chance to submerge her troubles in the physical distraction of sheer hard work. By mutual agreement, she and Grimya had said no more about Veness, but instead had devoted what little free time they had to the other and more portentous matter that preoccupied them: the strange woman’s message, and the search for any evidence that might prove her claim.

They were still no nearer to discovering the woman’s identity. Subtle and careful questions to Livian or Carlaze had yielded nothing; there were, it seemed, no tales of strange sightings or solitary prowlers in the forest. And the snow tiger, as Indigo quickly discovered, was a taboo subject under the Bray roof.

And then, on the afternoon of the secbnd day, when she came in from the yard as an icy, sullen dusk was falling, Indigo walked into the dwelling-hall to fetch a lantern to light her to her room—and stopped dead as she came face to face with Earl Bray, who was sitting at the great table.

The earl had been staring down at something between his cupped hands, but at the sound of her voice his head came up sharply. It was too late to back out without acknowledging him, and Indigo said uncertainly,

“I’m sorry if I disturb you, sir. Please, excuse me.”

“No.” He raised a hand, palm out, as she started to withdraw. “Wait. Who are you? What are you doing here?”

His voice was slurred, though whether with drink or weariness she couldn’t tell.

“My name is Indigo, sir,” she said. “Your son took me in during the blizzard.”

“Blizzard…” Earl Bray frowned. “Ah. Yes. I’ve seen you before. Once before.” Slowly, his gaze traveled to Grimya, who stood at Indigo’s side, and the frown relaxed a little. “Is that your wolfdog?”

“Yes.”

A grunt. “A good animal. Good hunter, eh? I know those dogs: good noses. Good hunters. They’ll track for you; find what you’re seeking. Worth a great deal, a dog like that.”

Indigo was saved from replying as quick footsteps sounded along the hall and Carlaze came in. She was carrying a pot of soup, and when she saw Indigo she halted, consternation in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Indigo whispered. “I didn’t realize he was here. I’ll go.”

“What’s that?” the earl demanded loudly. “You’re whispering! Who’s there, who is it?”

“Only me, uncle.” Carlaze stepped out from behind Indigo so that he could see her. “I’ve brought something to nourish you.” She flashed Indigo a swift glance, and with her free hand made a gesture indicating someone drinking, her eyes sliding expressively in Earl Bray’s direction. “Humor him, if you can,” she whispered. “There’s been a little trouble—I’ll explain later.”

Carlaze crossed to the table and set the bowl down before the earl, at the same time sliding the small object that he’d been cradling away out of his reach. It was a small, flat oval of something, but in the dim light Indigo couldn’t make out any detail.

“There now, uncle,” she said soothingly. “Eat this soup while it’s still hot. It’ll warm your vitals and do you good.”

He stared at the bowl as though he’d never seen such a thing before, then looked up at Indigo again. “That’s Carlaze,” he said indistinctly. “Carlaze. My sister’s… son’s girl. No. Wife now, isn’t it? Wife…” The frown returned. “She’s a good lass. Pretty, too, eh? All that yellow hair. She looks after me well, Carlaze. But not so well as—”

Carlaze interrupted quickly, a little desperately. “Eat your soup,” she persisted. “You need your strength.”

“You ought to give some to that wolfdog there. Never known a dog that wasn’t hungry, and they work better if they’re properly fed. Track better, you see? More willing: more loyal to a generous master.” Suddenly his stare intensified and he addressed Indigo once more. “Come here, girl. Let me look at you.”

Cautiously, Indigo moved towards the table. Earl Bray’s stare was unsettling, and, sensing the knife-edge on which his mind and temper were precariously balanced, she didn’t know whether to hold his gaze or cast her own eyes down. As she came within his reach, he stretched out a hard, callused hand and gripped her fingers.

“You’ve got blue eyes.” It sounded like an accusation, then his voice grew more impatient. “Here, girl, I said here. Closer. Let me see you properly!”

Indigo leaned forward. The earl stared more intently for a few moments, then abruptly released her.

“Ah, no. They’re not like hers, now, are they?” A triumphant yet desperately sad little smile curved his lips. “Named you for your eyes, did they, your people? Indigo. Yes, I see it. But hers were blue, d’you understand me? Blue. Like sapphires.” Suddenly, and so quickly that Carlaze couldn’t intervene, he reached across the table and snatched at the small object she had removed from him. The soup-pot tipped and fell on its side, sending the contents flooding across the table top in a hot wave, but Earl Bray ignored it.

“Here,” he said, and the one word was ablaze with bitterness and hatred and longing. “Look at her. Look:

Indigo gazed at what he held out to show her. She saw now that it was a painted miniature of a woman’s head and shoulders, not overly skilled, but good enough to show the features in detail. A heart-shaped face, pretty and a little wayward, dark hair coiled and falling in two braids over her shoulders. And wide, vivid blue eyes.

“My little Moia,” Earl Bray said, and now bitterness had given way to savagery. “My wife. Mine!”

His eyes glittered, and tears began to trickle down his cheeks. Carlaze looked in frantic appeal to Indigo.

“Fetch Livian,” she hissed. “Please, Indigo—fetch Livian, quickly!”

The earl was sobbing now, clutching the miniature while his other hand, clenched into a fist, beat slowly, rhythmically on the table as though by sheer persistence he would smash it to matchwood. Blue eyes. And an image of the fur-clad figure in the snow, the moonlight momentarily reflecting a glint like sapphires.

Indigo turned, and ran towards the kitchen.

“I don’t know for all my life how he got hold of the drink.” Livian clattered pots, using the mundane activity to disguise something of the tension in her voice. “We’ve done all we could think of to keep it away from him, because we’ve seen before what effect it has.”

“When want speaks, way follows,” Carlaze put in somberly. She and Indigo were peeling root vegetables at the table. “For all we’re aware of, he could have secret supplies hidden all over the house. Anyway, I know exactly how he achieved it this time.” She looked up. “Someone forgot to lock the door of the store cupboard.”

Rimmi turned round from the stove where she was stirring stew. “Don’t try to accuse me!” she snapped. “I had nothing to do with it!”

“I’m not accusing anyone,” Carlaze retorted wasp-ishly. “I’m simply saying that it happened, and that we must take the greatest care it doesn’t happen again.”

Livian looked thoughtfully from her daughter to her daughter-elect, then pursed her mouth to a narrow line. “Rimmi, go down to the cellar and fill the flour-crock,” she said.

“But it isn’t empty.”

“Never mind. Do as I say!”

Sullenly, knowing the tone, Rimmi obeyed. As the cellar door shut behind her, Livian lowered her voice and said,

“I didn’t want to speak my mind before Rimmi; she can’t be trusted not to prattle. But I think that something more must be done, to ensure that matters don’t come to this pass again.”

Indigo and Carlaze both understood her meaning. Carlaze had, it seemed, come upon Earl Bray in the dwelling-hall a bare few minutes before Indigo’s arrival. No one knew when he had emerged from his room, but by the time Carlaze found him he had disposed of two ale-jugs “and was starting on a third—and he had begun to swear murder on his betrayers. Carlaze had used every wile she could think of to coax him from his thoughts of vengeance, and in desperation had finally taken the risk of putting Moia’s portrait into his hands to distract him from his deadly preoccupation with the axe and shield over the mantel. The ploy had worked, but its effect was precarious; at any moment the earl’s maudlin mood might have switched again to something far more dangerous, and only Livian’s intervention had finally persuaded him to return to his room, take a little food, and sleep off the effects of the drink.

“We can’t afford to let this happen a second time.” Livian knew now that Indigo was aware of what lay behind Earl Bray’s “illness,” and so she felt able to speak frankly. “It grieves me to say it, but I think, for all our sakes as well as for his, that he should be locked in his room from now on.”

There was silence. Then Carlaze said uneasily: “We couldn’t do that without Veness’s permission.”

“Then his permission must be sought. I know, Carlaze; we’d resolved not to add more weight to his burden by telling him about this. But I think we must.” Her eyes took on an introspective quality for a moment, then she shook the private thought off. “I believe that we dare not take the risk of keeping silent.”

Carlaze stared at the pile of peeled roots before her. “Then we’re admitting it, aren’t we? We’re admitting that he’s mad.”

Blue eyes, Indigo thought with an inward shiver. And if I’m right, if it’s true—what is Moia trying to do to her husband?

Livian moved the stewpot, which was threatening to boil over.

“Yes,” she said bleakly. “We are.”

I think, Grimya said, staring into the fire, that there is only one thing we can do. We must find her again, and confront her.

They were sitting together on a rug before the hearth in Indigo’s room. Indigo had added a new log and the flames crackled warmly and brightly; though it was late and the rest of the household abed, neither of them yet felt ready for sleep.

But how can we find her? Indigo mused. She shows herself only when she wishes to. You might track her, but then there’s the tiger to consider. It won’t let us approach her if she doesn’t want to be found.

That is difficult. The wolf looked at her, her eyes candid. And I would not approach the tiger unless I knew it wanted me to. I wouldn’t dare. She paused. Besides, we may be wrong. Many humans have blue eyes.

I know. But it’s the first possible link that we’ve come across. We must at least try to follow it.

There was a long hiatus. Then Grimya said: I feel very sad for the earl. When we encountered him, I saw into his mind; it was very open, like a young cub’s. He is a simple man: he wants only to be happy. And now that his happiness has been taken away from him, he doesn’t know what to do, and so he seeks refuge in anger. Another pause. I would like to help him if I can.

Indigo stroked her head. So would I. Alone now, locked in his room, what must he be thinking and feeling? she wondered. And Moia—if, indeed, the mysterious woman was Moia—what did she feel? Was there any remorse in her heart? Or did she know only the relief of being freed from a marriage that she had never wanted? Indigo couldn’t, in all justice, condemn her out of hand; she knew nothing of what lay behind her flight, and nothing of her motives now. She had spoken of a traitor, but had claimed not to know who that traitor was. Yet if she had lived here, if she had been, however briefly, mistress of this household, then surely she must know who was a friend and who an enemy?

Grimya yawned hugely, stretching her hind legs. We have no answers, she said. And there are too many questions. I am tired, Indigo. Let us see what the morning brings. She turned her head towards the window. The wind is changing again. I smell snow. Perhaps that will bring other changes, too.

Indigo thought of Earl Bray, alone, lonely, burning with his pain and his rage. And she thought of Ve-ness, tight-lipped, stricken by the news that Livian had gently broken to him and reluctantly agreeing that his father must become a prisoner. She’d wanted to speak to him and offer him what comfort she could; but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it. And it might only have made matters worse than they already were.

A comfortable bed and the sleep it promised beckoned her. She stood up, rubbing her legs which tingled from the heat of the fire. Perhaps Grimya was right, and the morning would bring something new.

Outside, the wind was moaning. It would be easy to imagine other sounds carried with its voice; the coughing roar of a tiger, or perhaps something more human…

The fire flared as drafts murmured in the chimney. Indigo turned towards her bed, and doused the lamp before slipping between the welcoming sheets.

“Well, what is the problem? Didn’t he say?”

Reif shook his head. “He was nothing more than a message-carrier, and a fool at that. All I could get out of him was some garbled claptrap about an emergency at the logging camp, and they need our advice urgently.”

Veness swore under his breath, earning a disapproving look from Livian. “If they can’t send a clearer message than that, I’m damned if I’m going to trek out there until I’ve finished eating!” He glared round the table; no one gainsaid him, and he sighed. “But I suppose I’d better not waste any more time than I have to. I’ll take the troika. You’ll come with me, Reif?”

“I would and gladly; but the farrier’s coming in this morning to look at the grey gelding. I should be here.”

“Yes, yes; of course. Kinter?”

“I’ll come,” Kinter said.

“Good. Whatever their trouble is, two heads will probably be better than one.” Veness cleared his plate and swallowed what remained of his brew. “Well then; we’d best get harnessed and away.”

It was a signal for others to leave, and Indigo and Grimya set off for the yard and the first chore of mucking out and carrying feed for the domestic livestock. Minutes later the troika, with Veness and Kinter aboard, raced away through the arch in a bow-wave of snow, and Indigo settled down to her work.

Grimya’s weather prediction hadn’t yet come true, but the sky was a dangerous and heavy grey edged by a purplish-pink threat on the horizon, and Indigo surmised that the snowfall wouldn’t be long in coming. Goaded by the thought, she and Reif and Brws toiled at their separate tasks through the morning without a break—and then, shortly before noon, Rimmi, bare-headed and gloveless, came running from the house in search of Reif.

“I think he’s in the second barn,” Indigo told her. “Rimmi, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Rimmi stared at her for a moment with wide eyes, then turned and, without a word, ran away across the yard, slithering on the icy surface. Indigo gazed after her; then, struck by an ugly premonition, she hastily tied the neck of the feed-sack she’d been hauling, thrust the sack into a corner, and set off towards the house.

She met Carlaze in the hall. Carlaze’s face was dead white but for two high spots of crimson colour on her cheeks; she took one look at Indigo and said desperately, “Where’s Reif?”

“Rimmi’s fetching him. Carlaze, what’s happened?”

“It’s the earl.” Carlaze’s voice was stark. “He got out of his room; we think he broke the lock. None of us knew, until he started shouting… oh, sweet Mother, I wish Kinter and Veness were here!”

“He’s drunk?” Indigo could hear nothing.

Carlaze nodded. “Livian’s with him, trying to calm him. He’s quietened now, but—Indigo, I’m-frightened! I’ve never seen him this bad; he’s—” she shook her head helplessly, then jumped like a shot rabbit as the main door opened again and Reif came in. “Reif! Oh, thank the Goddess—you’ve got to do something!”

Reif looked from Carlaze to Indigo and back to Carlaze. “What’s amiss?” he demanded. “Rimmi said something about Father.”

“Reif, he’s drunk again. We don’t know where he found it; but it’s worse, far worse than last time!”

Reif’s face became granite-hard. “Where is he?”

“In there.” Carlaze nodded towards the closed door of the dwelling-hall. “Please, you must do something! Livian’s trying her best, but I’m afraid that this time it won’t be enough!”

Reif thrust the door open and barreled through. Indigo thought of following, but stopped, and instead turned to Carlaze again.

“Carlaze, do you think he’ll—?” She couldn’t bring herself to complete the question.

Carlaze nodded miserably. “I think he might. He’s been ranting, saying that he’s going to kill his cousin and avenge himself; and I can’t help feeling that this time he meant it! And if he touches those weapons—if he touches them—”

Indigo thought quickly. Herself; Reif; Brws. They were the only ones who had the physical skills to overpower Earl Bray if the worst should happen. And even their combined strength might not be enough if the earl was truly insane and the demon had its claws into him.

She said: “We need Veness. And Kinter—I’ll go to the camp; I’ll find them—”

Before Carlaze could respond, Reif reappeared. His face was thunderous, and he said without any preamble, “He’s got that thrice-damned letter! We hid it from him—how in the name of a hundred demons did he find it again?”

“Letter?” Indigo was nonplussed. Reif gave her a searing look.

“Her love-letter from that crawling serpent Gordo—not that it’s any concern of yours.” He started to turn back to the hall. “Come on, Carlaze. I need you to help.”

“I’m going to fetch Veness!” Fury was welling up in Indigo; fury at Reif’s aggression, and fear for what might happen.

Reif stopped, turned again and stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

She made one more effort to reason with him. “You can’t cope with this yourself, Reif! You’ll need more strength; you’ll need Veness here to—”

“Are you telling me I can’t handle this alone?” Reif roared. “Damn you, you bitch, what do you know about anything? What’s it to do with you, you interloper, you weyerV

“Reif!” Carlaze was appalled.

“Shut up, Carlaze!” Reif rounded on the girl. “She has no place in this! Coming here, seducing my brother, trying to tell us how we should conduct our business—this is family! For the Mother’s sake, can’t you see what she is?” And suddenly the wildness gave way to vicious self-control. “You,” Reif added, pointing an accusing finger at Indigo, “keep out of this, do you hear me? This is for the Brays to deal with, not you! Keep out of our affairs, or I swear I’ll do something I might regret!” And he snatched Carlaze’s arm, propeling her forcibly through the door before him. The door slammed, shutting Indigo out, and she struggled to control the boiling anger that urged her to fling it open again, stride after Reif and strike him with all her strength. That would achieve nothing: however great her fury with Reif, she must think first of Earl Bray.

How long would it take to reach Veness and Kin-ter? Horseback would be the quickest way: if the snow was hard-packed enough for the troika, then her gelding should cope easily enough, as long as she didn’t lose her way or run into any unexpected drifts… but that was a risk she’d have to take. She could do nothing here, even without Reif so violently set against her.

“Grimya!” Indigo ran back out into the yard and towards the stables, calling the she-wolf as she went. Grimya had been ratting in the larger of the barns; seconds later her brindled face appeared at the door and she came racing to intercept Indigo. Tersely, as she began to saddle the surprised gelding, Indigo communicated the bare bones of what had happened, and explained her mission.

We can follow the path the troika took easily enough, Grimya said. It isn’t snowing; there will be tracks. And if the tracks should fail, I can scent the way. If we follow them exactly, we shan’t risk foundering in a snowdrift.

Indigo nodded, tightening the saddle girth. The gelding, sensing her agitation, began to stamp and fidget; but the bridle was on now and Indigo grabbed the reins, backed the animal out of its stall and led it outside. In the yard it began to dance nervously, tossing its head, so that she wasted a valuable minute in calming it enough to allow her to mount. The gelding plunged as it felt her swing herself astride its back; Indigo fumbled for her second stirrup, shortened rein, and the horse, barely under control, broke into a perilous standing gallop towards the arch.

The snow and the ice-cold air curbed the gelding’s nervous excitement almost as soon as they were clear of the steading, and it settled down to the rapid, short-stepped trot of an animal bred for the Redoubt winter. There were clear hoofprints in the snow, edged by the marks of runners: Grimya sniffed the ground for a few moments to ensure that this was the trail they wanted, then barked an assurance and set off ahead of Indigo, running fast and confidently in a straight line towards the distant forest.

The gelding was over its brief show of rebellion now, and only eager to work after days of idleness. Indigo loosed the reins to the lightest contact and allowed it its head; she could trust it to follow where Grimya led while she simply stayed in the saddle—and that gave her time to think.

Beneath her more urgent concerns, she was still seething over Reif’s outburst: and now that her mind had cleared a little, she was beginning to ask the dark question: why? What possible reason could Reif have for such savage hostility towards her? He barely knew her: she had done nothing to harm him. Or at least, nothing that she was aware of—unless the arrival of a stranger in the house had put an unfortunate spoke in the wheel of some private machination.

Reif, the traitor? She remembered the quarrel between Reif and Veness at the dining table after Earl Bray’s first unexpected appearance, and Reif’s shocking statement that Earl Bray should be allowed—even encouraged—to take his vengeance on the man who had stolen Moia away. At the time, she had thought it nothing more than an irrational challenge in the heat of anger; and certainly the rift it had caused between the two brothers hadn’t lasted. But could there have been more to it than that? Might Reif have meant what he said—and might he have some secret reason for wanting his father to take that deadly step? Jealousy, perhaps? Jealousy of the earl’s title and power? Jealousy of his possession of Moia? When the earl began the marriage negotiations with her father, Veness had said, they’d thought that she was to be Reif’s bride. Could that be the crux of it? Had Reif wanted Moia for himself ?

There were, she knew, flaws in her reasoning; but it was nonetheless the first hint of any motive that made some logical sense, and as the seed of it germinated in her mind she thought with trepidation of what might be happening at the steading. Earl Bray drunk and raving: Reif with him and possibly planning evil; and only Brws, the three women and a couple of hired hands to cope as best they could if something should go hideously wrong.

That image, and its implications, made her look fearfully towards the forest, which was now visible as a dark, indistinct line on the horizon. She longed to urge the gelding on faster but resisted the impulse, aware of the dangers of haste in these treacherous conditions. But everything within her screamed silently to reach her goal, find Veness and warn him.

Within minutes, which seemed to Indigo like hours, the forest ahead had grown to fill the skyline, and the logging camp was a clearly visible landmark among the trees. As they drew nearer she saw Ve-ness’s troika beside the main hut, with the three horses tethered nearby; but no men moved in the vicinity, and no one hailed their approach. The camp, it seemed, was deserted.

The gelding slowed and halted before the hut, and as all the horses whinnied greetings, Indigo slid from the saddle and stared about her.

“There’s not a soul here.” She tried the hut door; it opened onto an empty room. “Where are they?”

The message that came for Veness said there was some sort of trouble here, Grimya reminded her. Perhaps something has happened deeper in the forest, and that’s where they are. The horses are still here, so they can’t have gone far—I should be able to track them easily enough.

She put her nose to the frozen ground, sniffing and casting about, and after just a few moments her ears pricked and she waved her tail.

I’ve found their trail. It leads this way—into the forest.

Indigo started after her, then hesitated. “You don’t mind going in there?”

Grimya looked back over her shoulder. Because of the tiger? No. I am trying not to be so afraid of it now. It is hard, but I am learning.

Indigo smiled at her. “That’s brave of you. Well, then—lead the way.”

They moved into the heavy, blue-green shadows of the forest. Underfoot the ground was less hazardous than in the open, but the trees’ branches were weighed down with snow and hung low, making the going hard and visibility poor, at least for Indigo. Some felling and coppicing had been carried out in this part of the wood, but there was no sign of any new activity—until Grimya suddenly stopped, muzzle raised, and said, I hear them!

Indigo listened, and she too caught the faint sound of men’s voices not far away. They sounded agitated, and hastily she followed the wolf as she turned sharply off to the left. The trees thinned, interspersed with newly felled trunks, then suddenly there was a clearing ahead, and she saw the men. They were on the clearing’s far side, where a great stack of brushwood and lopped branches had been piled to form a tall pyramid. Veness was in the midst of the group of loggers, while Kinter stood a few yards off with his back turned. They were unaware of the newcomers’ arrival, and only when Indigo called out did they turn in surprise.

“Indigo!” Veness broke away from the group and came striding towards her. “What are you doing here?”

The other men had moved a little apart; enough for her to see what they had all been looking at. A shallow hole in the ground, at the foot of the brushwood pile…

“I’m sorry, Veness—I had to find you; it’s urgent…” Her voice tailed off as she saw that his face was a sickly white; saw the grim expressions of the woodsmen. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

“Yes,” Veness said tautly. “Something’s happened… no, Indigo, don’t!” as she started forward. He caught hold of her arm. “Better if you don’t see it. It isn’t pleasant.”

Indigo stopped; but Grimya had run on ahead of her, and halted only when she reached the men and stared down for herself at their discovery. For a moment she was utterly still: then she looked up, and there was shock in her mental voice.

Look!

Indigo pulled her arm free from Veness’s hold, and ran to join the wolf. Someone said warningly, “No, lady, I wouldn’t—” but he was too late. And as Indigo looked down and saw what Grimya had seen, all thought of her own urgent mission fled from her mind.

Whoever had dug the grave had made a poor—or hasty—job of it, for it was barely deep enough to conceal its grisly contents. Though the bitter cold had slowed the process, the corpse, wrapped in what looked like a mildew-stained cloak, was beginning to decay; the face was tinged with yellowish-green and the lips had fallen in, exposing the teeth in a ghastly grin. Long, dark hair surrounded the skull like a gruesome halo, sodden and clogged with earth. One arm was exposed, showing flesh that in patches was discolored and sunken, with fungal growths beginning to creep across the shriveling skin: and Indigo thought she glimpsed a glimmer of bone at the finger-ends.

“Mother blind me…” She stepped back, though unable to tear her horrified gaze away, and felt her gorge rise as the full shock hit her, combined with the first assault of a sick-sweet stench from the grave which mingled horribly with the forest scents of pine and earth. Veness and one of the loggers caught her arm as she staggered, and pulled her away. The logger started to admonish her but a sharp word from Veness silenced him; then Indigo regained her balance and her breath.

“Ohh…” She waved away their hands. “No: I’m all right; I’m all right.”

“Sit down.” Veness steered her to where a felled log lay at a respectable distance from the grave. “You’ll feel better in a minute; it hit us all in the same way.” He glanced to where Kinter had turned and was watching them with a drawn face and haunted eyes. “Put your head between your knees if it helps.”

Indigo shook her head. The shock was passing and the contents of her stomach were safe. She had seen far worse than this, she reminded herself. It was just the suddenness.

“They found her at dusk yesterday,” Veness said grimly. “They were clearing brushwood, building up the pile: someone tripped over what he thought was a root, and saw…” He shook his head with a meld of misery, disgust and anger. “Whoever did it—whoever killed her—didn’t even have the decency to bury her properly.”

Indigo looked up. “Killed her?” It was logical, of course—how else could she have come to be buried?—but it simply hadn’t occurred to her before that moment.

“Oh, yes,” Veness said. “She was strangled, and her neck broken.” He paused, “Kinter examined her. I don’t know how he found the courage; I’ll be forever grateful to him. I just couldn’t do it. Once we saw her, and realized, I couldn’t.”

Indigo looked at Kinter. His face was a mask, his skin drained of all color. He looked as though he would suffer nightmares for the rest of his life.

Then what Veness had said registered, and she turned to him again. “Realized?” she asked quietly. “Realized what?”

Veness’s face grew more tense than ever. “Realized who she is,” he replied, and then the edges of his mouth twitched in a spasm. “It wasn’t difficult to identify her. Her eyes told us—what’s left of them.” He shut his own eyes briefly as though to blot out the memory. “And her marriage ring. It’s Moia.”

Chapter XIII

Indigo felt as though an invisible fist had punched into her stomach. Moia. Then she’d been wrong: the mysterious woman couldn’t have been—

And a small inner voice said: And she left no footprints …

“Oh, great Mother…” Chill sweat broke out on Indigo’s face and body, and suddenly the reality of this gruesome discovery meshed with her own mission, which came back to her like a second blow.

“Veness!” He’d turned away, but looked quickly, sharply back when he heard the stark urgency in her voice. Indigo drew breath, trying to control her voice.

“Veness, there’s more. And it can’t wait, not even for this.”

Kinter, a few paces away, overheard and raised his head; and Veness said tensely, “What is it?”

She told him. As her words sank in, the little color still left in Veness’s face drained utterly, and when she finished speaking he turned on his heel.

“Kinter!”

Kinter came towards them, and in a few short sentences Veness repeated what Indigo had told him.

Kinter looked sick. “Goddess, no—not this too; not now—” He shut his eyes tightly.

“Listen.” Veness laid a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve got to go back to the steading, and fast. Are you up to it?”

“Yes.” Kinter nodded quickly, swallowing. “Yes, I—I’m well enough now. But, Veness, what about Gordo?”

“Gordo?”

Kinter nodded back towards the grave, suppressing a shudder as he did so. “If he… if it’s as we suspect…” He paused, swallowed again. “He’s got to be found, before the Earl learns the truth about Moia.”

Veness swore softly. “You’re right.” A moment’s hesitation, a brief flicker of doubt; then his face became granite-hard. “Very well: there’s only one man who I’d wager knows where Gordo is, and that’s his father. One of us will have to go to Olyn’s house, and warn him.” His eyes grew arctic. “Though I’m damned if I’m not beginning to agree with Reif. If Olyn had any hand in this—”

“We’ve no proof that Olyn knew anything, Veness. And we can’t hold him responsible for what Gordo might have done.”

“No… no: that’s true.”

“You’d best go to him,” Kinter said. “He doesn’t know me from a weyer; he wouldn’t listen to me. But if there’s anyone in our household he still trusts, it’ll be you.”

Veness acknowledged that, though reluctantly. “Then Indigo and I will take the troika—you’d best ride Indigo’s gelding.” He glanced at Indigo for confirmation; she nodded quickly. “And do whatever you can, Kinter. Stop Father. Whatever it takes, stop him.”

“I understand.” Kinter turned and ran towards Indigo’s horse. As he went, Indigo suddenly called out on impulse: “Kinter!”

He stopped, looked back.

“My crossbow. Its in my room if you should need it—”

Kinter hesitated a bare moment, then raised a hand. “Pray it doesn’t come to that!”

The troika, with Veness driving, swerved out of the camp and away along the forest’s edge. As the horses settled into their rapid, ground-eating stride, Indigo turned her head from the wind’s stinging whips and shouted over the noise of the runners. “What did Kinter mean about Gordo?” Veness’s face set hard and at first she thought he wasn’t going to reply. But after a few moments, he shouted back,

“We think that Gordo killed Moia.” “Gordo killed her? But they were lovers!” Veness transferred the reins to one hand, and with the other felt in a pocket of his coat. He drew something out, and held it towards her. Indigo took it and looked at it. A gold chain, with a small medallion dangling from one of the links. Etched on the medallion was the image of a standing horse.

She looked at Veness blankly. “I don’t understand!”

“It’s the Bray emblem. All the branches of our family have a horse as their symbol, and each branch of the family depicts it in a different stance. The rearing horse is our totem. The standing horse is Olyn’s.”

Indigo still didn’t see the significance. “But surely—” she began. Veness interrupted her. “We found this chain around Moia’s neck. She was choked to death with it.” He took the medallion back, and glanced unhappily at Indigo’s face. “I don’t want to believe it. But neither can I ignore something so blatant.”

Indigo said nothing. Veness was right: this was damning evidence. Yet the idea that Gordo had killed the girl he had loved made no logical sense: moreover, it didn’t fit with the mysterious woman’s warning. And the woman herself—Indigo still couldn’t shake off her conviction that, living or dead, she was Moia. If that was so, then she alone could reveal the identity of her murderer. But she hadn’t done so. Instead, she seemed to be weaving a complex web of hints, half-truths and warnings. Why? A vengeful spirit was surely just that: vengeful. Why, then, this convoluted and baffling trail? And the snow tiger. She couldn’t believe that that creature, whose fur she had touched, whose hot breath she had felt, was a ghost. What could be the connection between them?

She looked at Veness again. She so much wanted to tell him all she knew: about the tiger, the woman, the warning. But the warning in itself stayed her. She couldn’t be sure of him, no matter what her heart might say. She dared not reveal her secret.

She said, forcing away the urge, “Your father’s cousin—Olyn. Do you think he knows the truth?”

“If Gordo’s returned to him for sanctuary, then yes,” Veness told her. “I pray he has, for his sake. Olyn’s an honourable man; he won’t countenance murder, even by his own son. If Gordo’s confessed to him, then he’ll help us see to it that justice is done in the proper way.” He flicked her a quick, bitter look. “It’s our only hope, Indigo. It’s the only way to stop Father from bringing the curse down on us all.”

He cracked the reins again, uttering a harsh yell to spur the horses still faster, and Indigo hunched down, gripping the rail more tightly as the troika began to rock and jounce. She thought of Kinter, riding as fast as the gelding could carry him towards the steading, and silently prayed that he’d arrive in time. She’d played down her quarrel with Reif, and now feared that that had been a terrible mistake: Kinter should have been forewarned of Reif’s mood, and the thought that he might have to contend with more than just Earl Bray’s madness chilled her blood.

The forest was a blur beside them now, its shadows lengthening as the short day waned. The sun, huge and crimson, hung just above the treetops, and as she glanced at it Indigo realised that the sky’s hard blueness was changing to a flat, menacing off-white. The wind was changing, too, veering into the north; its voice was rising, vying now with the noise of the sleigh, and she knew even as Grimya confirmed it what that presaged.

It’s the great north wind, Grimya said. Another blizzard!

Icy air sawed in Indigo’s throat as she reached out to shake Veness’s arm. “Veness!” She pointed towards the sun.

“I know: I’ve seen it!” Veness’s words were whipped away by the strengthening wind. “We’ve been expecting this; it’s only by a miracle that it hasn’t come sooner!”

“How long before the snowfall starts?”

“Three hours or so, I’d say. It’ll probably hit us with nightfall!” He glanced at her, quickly, tensely. “We should just race it home, if there are no problems at Olyn’s house!”

Olyn Bray’s home came into view half an hour later. Smaller and more modest than the earl’s steading, it stood in bleak solitude against a sky that lowered now with the bruised colors of the approaching storm. Two men driving a small group of horses towards the shelter of the stable block paused to stare as the troika raced past them, but the courtyard in front of the house was deserted. The horses slithered to a halt, the steam of their breath mingling with steam from their coats, and Veness jumped from the sleigh and ran to the main door. A bell was suspended above the lintel; he jerked hard on the rope and the bell voiced a harsh clarion. As Indigo and Grimya hastened to join him, the door was flung open.

The man on the threshold was taller and thinner than Earl Bray, but the family resemblance was unmistakable. Olyn stared at his visitor—and then his eyes took on the look of dulled steel.

“What do you want?” He rapped out the words as a bristling dog might have barked them; but beneath the hostility there was a hint of wariness.

“Cousin.” Veness held Olyn’s gaze; his own voice was firm and determined. “I’ve come peacefully and only with the best intent. There isn’t time for anything but straight dealing between us—I have to find Gordo.”

The muscles in Olyn’s jaw and neck tensed, but beyond that he showed no other outward reaction. Only his stare flicke4 briefly beyond Veness and Indigo to the courtyard, as though he half expected to see someone—or something—else at their backs.

“Gordo isn’t here,” he said sharply. “He’s been gone this past month and more, as you know full well even if you refuse to admit it! And I know nothing of his whereabouts.”

Veness met his cold eyes steadily. “Cousin, I ask your forgiveness for doubting your word, but I must entreat you: if you do know anything, or can surmise anything, to—”

Olyn interrupted him. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“No! Not that—but there’s no time for sparring! And this is far too serious for anything but the unguarded truth to be spoken.” He took a deep breath. “Olyn, Moia is dead. Her corpse was found in the forest last night. She was murdered.”

Olyn was visibly shaken, and Indigo saw despair in Veness’s eyes as he realized that the man wasn’t acting. He hadn’t known. And that could only mean that Gordo had not fled back to his home.

“Murdered…” Olyn said at last, his voice quivering. “But she—they were—” He stopped, swallowed. “Who? Who killed her? How did it happen?”

Veness pulled the gold chain from his pocket. He held it out on an open palm, and said quietly, “This is your emblem, isn’t it?”

“What?” Olyn stared at the medallion. “Yes!” Then his eyes widened. “By the Mother, it’s Gordo’s own; the very neck-chain that I gave him last midwinter feast!” Suddenly, horrified, he reached out and grabbed Veness’s arm. “Where did you find it? What’s happened to my son?”

“We found it round Moia’s neck,” Veness said bleakly. “She was strangled with it.”

“What?” Olyn’s face paled, then flushed with fiery anger as he realised what Veness was implying. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m sorry; but we can only conclude—”

“You can conclude nothingl Are you as mad as your father? Do you believe for one moment that my son could have murdered that girl?” His chest heaved convulsively, as though he was struggling to drag air into his lungs. “Damn you to perdition, he loved her, and with a young man’s love, not an old fool’s selfish infatuation! And now you accuse him of something so foul…” He began to shake. “I spit on your filthy accusation! Are you stupid, are you blind? Can’t you see the obvious when it’s in front of your eyes? Whoever killed Moia has probably murdered my son, too!” His fingers dug like talons into Veness’s flesh. “Where was she found? Have you searched the area? Gordo may be there; Gordo may be dead, too! Have you looked—have you?” And suddenly, before Veness could respond, he stopped, and a terrible understanding dawned in his eyes. “By the Earth Goddess, your father… your cursed, twice-damned father…”

“No,” Veness said quickly. “It wasn’t my father, Olyn! I swear to you—”

“You swear”?” Pain, bitterness and fury mingled in Olyn’s savage retort. “And what’s your oath worth? Damn you, you’re his son—his blood runs in your veins! I’d as soon trust your word as a weyer’s!”

Veness’s lips whitened. “Be that as it may, it doesn’t change the truth!” He stepped back, breaking Olyn’s hold on his arm. “I believe that Gordo’s still alive. I want to find him; and if you’ve any wisdom left, you’ll help me—for his sake!”

On the brink of a fresh tirade, Olyn hesitated. “What are you talking about?”

“I think you know very well what I’m talking about. You know what’s been happening at my father’s steading: you know what Moia’s loss has done to him. If he learns of this—”

“You’ll tell him?”

“No, damn it—what do you take me for? But it can’t be kept from him forever! One wrong word, one slip, and he’ll find out. And when he does, he’ll be obsessed with only one thing—finding Gordo, and exacting vengeance!”

Olyn’s face paled. “The shield and axe…”

“Exactly. He’ll have nothing left to lose. And I don’t know if we’ll have the strength to stop him from using them. Olyn, if you love your son, you must help us find him before Father learns of Moia’s death!”

Indigo heard the sharp, indrawn hiss of Olyn’s breath. It seemed momentarily that Veness’s plea had breached the barrier of his hostility; but then abruptly his eyes narrowed.

“No,” he said harshly. “I don’t trust this—and you’ll get no help from me. Give me that chain. Give it to me!” Veness handed it over, and Olyn stared at it. When he looked up and spoke again, his voice had taken on an aggressive, challenging edge. “You’re lying to me!” His fist closed tightly round the medallion. “When did you steal this from my son? Before he fled with that poor child, and got her away from your monstrous father? Is that it? Ah, yes; I’m beginning to understand now! You haven’t found Moia’s corpse—you haven’t found anything*. This is a trick. That madman’s trying to find out where Gordo is, and he’s sent one of his tame dogs to tell me a pack of lies in the hope that I’ll be deceived into giving my own son away!”

Veness’s face had whitened. “Damn you, that isn’t true!”

“Oh, but I think it is!” Olyn looked over his shoulder and yelled a name. Somewhere in the house a dog started to bark; running footsteps sounded, and seconds later two heavyset men, each carrying a short bow of the Redoubt design, emerged from the gloom of the hall to flank their master. Grimya snarled, and swiftly Indigo caught hold of her ruff lest she should make some aggressive move. Olyn’s cold grey eyes flicked briefly to the wolf and Indigo, as though he’d utterly forgotten their presence; then with a scornful twitch of his lips he dismissed them as of no consequence, and stared at Veness again.

“Take your whore and your animal with you, and leave my steading.” His tone now was controlled and icy. “If you or your father or any of his blighted brood sets foot here again, my men will shoot on sight, and shoot to kill. Do I make myself clear?”

“Olyn, listen to me—”

“No!” Olyn made a ferocious, cutting gesture with one hand, and the two men beside him raised their bows and took aim. “Get out! Go, nowl”

For an ugly instant Indigo thought Veness might attack the older man, and she started forward, catching at his arm. “Veness, don’t!”

His muscles went rigid under her hand, and he looked at her. Then, without speaking, he turned on his heel and strode towards the troika. Indigo and Grimya ran after him, scrambling over the sleigh’s high side as Veness unlooped the reins and jerked the horses’ heads around. In the house the dog was still barking; Olyn’s men took several pointed steps forward, covering Veness with their crossbows, while Olyn himself stood immobile in the doorway, staring at them with loathing in his eyes.

Something small and cold fell on Indigo’s cheek. She looked up, and saw that it was beginning to snow. The sky was heavy and brooding, dirty white like the underbelly of a dead fish. Then the troika was moving, the runners hissing as the horses began to turn it in a tight circle. Suddenly Veness yelled, cracking the reins savagely down on the animals’ backs; they lurched forward with startled snorts, and the troika rocked out of the courtyard and away across the smoother snow, leaving the bleak house behind.

Indigo and Veness didn’t exchange a word on the return journey. Veness drove the horses to their limits through a snowfall that thickened with every minute, and as she hung grimly on to the rail with one hand whilst holding Grimya tightly with the other, Indigo seethed with anger at Olyn’s pig-headedness, and with fear for what now lay ahead of them. She prayed fervently that Reif had seen sense; that he and Kinter and the others had managed to calm Earl Bray and avert the threatening disaster. And, looking sidelong at Ve-ness’s set, harsh, tortured face, she ached for his plight with a sympathy that tore her heart. But she couldn’t voice her feelings. There were no words that weren’t pitifully inadequate, and she stayed silent as they hurtled onward.

The murky daylight was failing when the house with its sprawl of outbuildings came into view through the flying snow. Snorting and whinnying, the horses plunged under the arch, their hooves racketing on the courtyard paving—and as the troika slewed to a halt Indigo heard the noise for the first time.

“The dogs—” She jerked round, looking at Veness in alarm.

Like all Redoubters who needed to travel in the depths of winter, the Brays kept a pack of harness-dogs to draw their sleighs through the worst of the snow. According to Grimya, who looked on them with tolerant disdain, the dogs were foolish but basically good-hearted animals: but there was nothing good about the hysterical barking and yelping that was now echoing from the kennels. Grimya laid her ears back, her eyes gleaming redly in the gloom; the horses tossed their heads and jinked nervously. Veness stood up in the sleigh.

“What in the world—” He started to climb out, but Indigo caught his arm. She’d seen something—a dark, indistinct shape, not moving, by the stable door, and she pointed towards it.

“Over there—look. What is it?”

Veness frowned uneasily. “I don’t know… ah, quiet, now!” as the horses started to stamp again, their nostrils flaring. “Something’s frightening them. I’d best steady them down before they get out of control.” The sleigh lurched as the lead horse tried to rear, and Veness jumped out, hastening to the animals’ heads. As he tried to calm them, Indigo ran towards the stable to investigate the dark, unmoving shape.

She saw the blood first, and it brought her up short. A huge, dark stain, spreading out from the stable door and across the paved yard, turning from brownish-red to an obscene pink as the snowfall began to dilute it. Grimya growled deep in her throat, then Indigo drew a deep breath to calm her racing heart, and moved slowly towards the stable. Snow flew in her face, half blinding her; so that it wasn’t until she was almost on top of the carnage that she saw for the first time what it was.

A horse lay dead in the doorway. Its neck had been all but severed from its body in what looked like a frenzy of hacking that had turned its forequarters to a chaos of ripped flesh and splintered bone. Slumped over its bloodsoaked withers was a ghastly, near-dismembered hulk, barely recognizable as the remains of a man. And as Indigo looked up, her brain frozen by the sight and all reaction frozen with it, she saw a second human corpse wedged in the doorway, one arm flung out and the hand locked into a claw as though pleading silently for help.

She opened her mouth. She tried to shout to Ve-ness, but sound wouldn’t come. Sickness was burning in her throat, choking her, and horror was crawling up from the depths of her stomach, threatening to release her from paralysis to hysteria as the first inklings of the terrible truth began to dawn. She heard her name called, as though from a great distance; boots scuffed in the snow, and then Veness was at her side.

He uttered a soft and dreadful oath, staring, as she had done, and unable to fully assimilate what he saw. Detachedly, Indigo registered sounds from within the stable, audible now above the dogs’ frantic noise; horses whinnying and stamping in fear, terrified by the scent of so much blood.

She spoke at last, not consciously aware of what she said, only voicing, clumsily, the worst thought of all that battered against the barriers in her mind.

“The house…”

Veness jerked as though someone had struck him. Then he made an incoherent noise, turned, and ran towards the main door. His reaction brought Indigo sharply out of her own immobility, and she stumbled after her him, Grimya at her side. Part of her yelled inwardly that she didn’t want to go into the house, didn’t want to know the worst; but she ran nonetheless, not wanting to lose sight of Veness and desperate to get away from the horror by the stable.

The door was barred and bolted. Veness charged it with his shoulder, fruitlessly, then hammered with both fists, shouting for Reif. The dogs barked with renewed frenzy, and suddenly among their racket a voice called from the far side of the door.

“Who is it? What do you want?”

“Kinter?” Veness stepped back, panting. “Kinter, it’s Veness and Indigo! Open the door!”

Scufflings and scrapings; the unoiled bolt squealed and the door swung back. A confusion of impressions struck Indigo at once; Kinter, grey-faced and haggard with his left arm bandaged and bloodstains on his shirt; the yawning darkness of the hall, where no one had yet lit a single lantern; sounds from the kitchen, muffled by distance and the thick walls, of a woman crying.

Veness took in the scene and his eyes hardened with dread. “What’s happened?”

“Come to the kitchen.” Kinter shut the door at their backs, slamming the blots home again. “Livi-an’s there; but for the Mother’s sake don’t try to talk to her, not yet.”

The two men hastened down the hall. Indigo made to follow, but Grimya paused by the closed door of the dwelling-hall and growled. Her hackles were up, and as Indigo turned to look at her, the wolf bared her teeth in a defensive snarl.

“Grimya?”

Grimya’s flanks quivered, and her mental voice was harsh with suspicion. Something in there.

Indigo didn’t stop to think, but opened the door.

There were no lamps burning. The room’s only light came through the failing daylight square of the window and from the last of the dying fire’s embers.giving the scene a darkly hellish tinge and intensifying the shadows. Something lay on the great table, covered with a curtain which had been torn down from the window: in trepidation Indigo approached, pulled off her gloves and lifted a corner of the covering.

Brws’s dead eyes stared glassily up at her. His mouth hung slackly open and his hair was crimson, saturated with blood; she realised with sudden revulsion that the curtain, too, was soaked; staining her hand red as she held it. With an ugly, choking sound she dropped the fabric, started to back away.

Grimya said, with a new dread in her voice: Indigo …

The wolf was staring at the mantel above the fireplace. Indigo looked, and saw it too. Where the ancient, cursed shield and axe had hung, there was only a blank space on the wall.

Indigo turned around very slowly until she was facing the door again. She’d known this: known it from the moment of the first gruesome discovery in the courtyard, though she’d fought to shut the knowledge out of her conscious mind. Now though, she had no choice but to face it—and to face the consequences for herself and Grimya.

She took two unsteady steps to the door, and her bloodied hand gripped the doorframe to steady herself. Calm, she told herself savagely. You must be calm. No panicking; no hysteria. You II need your wits now. You’ll need them as never before.

She took two carefully modulated breaths, trying to ignore the warm, almost sweet smell of blood and raw flesh that hung in the air. Then she turned and, with iron control, made herself walk towards the kitchen.

Chapter XIV

“I didn’t know he was there.” Kinter sat at the scrubbed table, his fists tightly clenched on its surface and his face drained of all colour. “If I’d realized; if I’d thought .. . but Reif and Livian had calmed him; I thought he’d gone back to his room…”

Veness laid a hand on the other man’s shoulder. Indigo, looking up from where she crouched beside the sobbing Livian, saw tears glittering in his grey eyes. “It wasn’t your fault, Kinter. The Mother knows, it wasn’t your fault!”

“But it was’t” Kinter refused to be comforted. “I should have taken more care! But I was so anxious that Reif should know what had happened—” He shook his head, unable to finish, and covered his face with his hands.

Soberly, Indigo turned back to Livian, who sat clutching her own upper arms and rocking back and forth. Indigo had prepared a sedative draught, giving silent thanks for the elementary healing craft that her nurse of so many years ago had taught her, and slowly Livian was calming under its influence. But nothing could wipe out the knowledge of what had happened in this house, or restore the lives of those who had died in the carnage that Earl Bray had wreaked.

Kinter’s account of the grisly events had been brief and grim. Reaching the steading on Indigo’s gelding, he’d run to the house to find, instead of the mayhem he’d feared, that Reif and Livian between them had succeeded in calming the earl to the point where he was submitting, albeit reluctantly, to Livian’s efforts to persuade him out of the dwelling-hall and back to his bedchamber. As soon as he judged the earl out of earshot, Kinter had taken Reif aside and urgently told him of the grim discovery at the logging camp—then had stopped as he saw Reif’s eyes focus suddenly and with horror beyond him. And, turning, Kinter came face to face with Earl Bray, who stared back at him with the piercing, insensate glare of a madman.

They’d tried to stop him, Kinter said. They’d wrestled with him, struggling to drag him back as he fought his way across the room towards the mantel. The earl had begun to bellow on a horrible, unending note, like a mortally wounded bull: the rest of the household had come running; but even their combined power wasn’t enough. Bray’s madness had awoken an awesome, almost unhuman strength in him, and he threw them off, knocking Reif senseless and kicking Livian aside as she made a final, desperate effort to stop him. He flung himself at the hearth, reached up: his hands had closed round the shield and axe, and he tore them down from the wall.

Instantly, his bellowing had stopped. And as he turned to face his horrified family, Earl Bray had begun to laugh. That laughter would stalk his worst nightmares for as long as he lived, Kinter said. It was the laughter of implacable triumph, of complete contempt for life. It was the laughter of a soul turned utterly and irrevocably insane. And, with an appalling, demented smile cracking across his face, the earl raised the shield before him, and began to swing the axe in huge, whistling, lethal arcs, like a monstrous pendulum.

Brws had been the first to die. He had done nothing more than simply and tragically get in the earl’s way during those first ghastly moments, and he had been cut down to die screaming as his father hacked his body in two on the hearthstone. In the mayhem that followed, Rimmi had met the blade of the axe full-on and had fallen, bringing Livian and Carlaze crashing to the floor with her. Kinter had caught a second axe-blow, but by a miracle the blade had done no more than graze his arm; nonetheless he too had fallen, and had glimpsed the earl, still laughing maniacally, leaping over him as he sprawled in shock on the floor, and barrelling through the door.

Four of the steading’s outworkers had tried to stop Earl Bray as he came rampaging from the house with the axe whirling above his head. Three had died; the fourth looked unlikely to survive; and two horses had also been slaughtered in the carnage before the earl, still laughing, had vanished into the darkening day.

Veness took in the story, and the toll of the dead and injured, with a face as expressionless as that of a marble statue. Only his eyes showed any animation; burning with pain and grief and anger in such measure that Indigo could not bear to look at them. At last Kinter faltered to a halt, and for a moment the kitchen was ominously silent but for Livian’s sobs, softer now that the sedative was beginning to take effect. Then Veness said in a cold, remote voice:

“Where are the others now?”

Kinter looked about him dazedly, as though expecting them to materialize. Then he pulled himself together with an effort. “Carlaze is upstairs with Rimmi. Rimmi’s badly hurt; she’s lost a lot of blood…. Carlaze is doing everything she can, but…” he shook his head with helpless misery.

Veness shut his eyes for a moment. “And Reif ?”

“When he came round from the blow, he… went after your father.” Suddenly Kinter looked up. “I tried to dissuade him, Veness, I tried: but he wouldn’t heed me! And he wouldn’t let me go with him; he said I had to stay, in case the earl came back…”

“He was right. But he shouldn’t have gone.” Suddenly the mask shattered, and anguish showed shockingly in Veness’s face. His mouth worked, but there were no words he could find that could express what he felt, and after a few seconds his self-control returned.

“Carlaze isn’t hurt?”

“No… nor Livian. They were the only ones.”

Veness nodded. It was a small mercy in the face of such horror, but he was grateful for it none the less. “My father,” he said. “How did he travel?”

“On foot.”

“And Reif?”

“He took a horse.” Kinter glanced uneasily towards the window. It was now pitch dark outside, and they could all hear the snowstorm gathering force. “He won’t get far in this. He’ll never catch up with the earl.”

“Pray you’re right.” Veness’s haunted gaze darted quickly about the kitchen, then he seemed to come to a decision. “I’m going after them both. I’ll take a dog-sleigh; dogs can go where no horse could cope in this weather.”

Kinter got to his feet. “I’ll come with you.”

“No. You’re hurt—”

“It’s barely more than a graze. Veness, I can’t just wait here uselessly; I’ve got to do something! For the Mother’s sake, let me come with you—let me try to make amends!”

Veness hesitated. “And if my father comes back? Who’ll protect the women?”

“He won’t come back. It’s Gordo he wants, not us. And even if he were to return, Indigo can protect the house as well as we can.” Kinter paused, his face strained. “There’ll only be one way to stop him, Veness: and if it has to come to that, Indigo’s as accurate a shot as either of us.”

Indigo saw Veness’s shoulders hunch tightly in an instinctive protest against Kinter’s harsh honesty. But he was right. No one who came face to face with Earl Bray now could hope to reason with him: and no one could face him in direct combat and hope to live. Only a crossbow bolt would halt his berserker madness and free him from the axe and shield’s deadly hold.

She spoke up. “Veness, what Kinter says is true. If the worst should happen, I can keep the others safe. But…” And suddenly, unbidden, she burst out before she could stop herself, “But I don’t want you to go!”

Veness turned and looked at her, and Indigo felt her heart contract painfully. A deep, sick sensation was curdling her stomach, a terrible, intuitive apprehension. She was afraid for him—no, far more than that; she was terrified. She wanted to run to him and cling to him, beg him not to leave the house. But she couldn’t explain the feeling to herself, let alone to Veness. It was too primal; too deeply rooted. And as she looked into his eyes, she knew with a cold clutch of despair that nothing she could say would make any difference.

Veness said gently: “He has to be found, Indigo. And he has to be stopped. We daren’t lose any more time.”

She turned her head away; she understood all that he hadn’t said, all the reasons why he must go in pursuit, and couldn’t argue with him. But neither could she fight her own instincts, and she said piteously, “Then if you have to go, let me come with you instead of Kinter!” She threw Kinter a desperate glance, silently pleading with him to back her. “He’s injured; and whatever he says, the wound’s sure to hamper him. If he stays here to protect the others, you and I can—”

“No.” Veness spoke gently but implacably, and Indigo’s hope crumbled. “It wouldn’t make sense, Indigo. Kinter knows the district as well as I do, and he knows the likely haunts and hiding places. I need him with me. And besides, you can do so much more here than he can.” He glanced meaningfully at Liv-ian.

She knew—though she couldn’t have induced Veness to admit it—that his unspoken concern was for her safety above all else; but even so she had no answer to his reasoning. Defeated, she nodded unhappily.

“Yes. You’re right: I understand. But…” Impulsively she reached out and grasped his hands. “Please, Veness, you must take the greatest care. I’m afraid for you—afraid that something might go wrong.”

For a brief second Veness frowned, as though he sensed something deeper behind what, on the surface, was no more than natural concern. Then he shook the momentary uncertainty off and looked at Kinter.

“Kinter, would you start harnessing the dogs? I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

Kinter took the hint, but paused at the door as a thought struck him. “Indigo,” he said, “your crossbow—you said earlier that I might take it.”

“Yes; yes, of course.” She was relieved that he’d remembered it; it might be invaluable to the earl’s trackers, and she’d cope well enough with a less powerful weapon in any emergency that might arise here. “It’s in my room.”

He nodded. “I’ll fetch it. And I’ll tell Carlaze that we’re leaving; reassure her…” He gave them both a quick, strained smile and left the kitchen.

As his footsteps thumped away up the stairs, Indigo and Veness turned to face each other again. Their hands were still clasped, and Indigo felt her throat constrict as her violet eyes met his grey ones. “Veness…” She had to speak the truth; she couldn’t hide it. “I am afraid for you. And I don’t know why. It’s an intuition.”

“I’ll take heed of it,” he promised her gravely. “But I have to go after my father nonetheless. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Indigo’s fingers tightened suddenly on his. “And all I can do is pray for your success, and your safe return.”

Veness smiled with such warmth that she felt a shiver run through her. “That means more than I think you know,” he said gently. “I’ll carry those words with me, Indigo. They’ll keep me safe.” And he bent to kiss her. She responded instinctively, without pausing to think, and as his mouth touched hers and he released her hands to slide his arms around her, a violent and emphatic emotion flowered in Indigo’s mind. Shocked by it, she made to speak as they broke apart at last. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t voice it. The revelation was too sudden, and too great.

“I must go.” Veness gripped her shoulders for a moment, reluctant to step back from her. “Pray for me, love, as you promised.”

“I will. Oh, I will. The Mother keep you safe!” And before she could speak again, he was gone.

Indigo stood motionless, staring at the kitchen door. She heard Kinter come back down the stairs, heard the double bang of the main door and, shortly afterwards, the eager barking of the sleigh-dogs as they were brought from their kennels to the courtyard. Grimya, who all this time had sat in silence under the scrubbed table, watched her with unquiet eyes. She had sensed enough of the turmoil in Indigo’s thoughts to guess at the rest, and didn’t wish to intrude on this private, painful moment.

At last Indigo shut her eyes tightly, as though to banish the images that ramped through her mind. A long shudder racked her, then she looked up again, pushed her hair back from her face and turned. The gesture was a studied and painful attempt to appear matter-of-fact; Grimya wasn’t deceived, but maintained the charade.

Livian is asleep, the wolf said silently.

Indigo glanced towards the chair where the older woman sat, and saw her head resting against its wheel-shaped back. Livian’s eyes were closed and her mouth slightly open; the sedative and her emotional exhaustion had combined to bring her a much-needed escape.

Best leave her to rest where she is, Indigo communicated. The dogs were still barking in the courtyard, and to distract herself from thoughts of Veness and his perilous mission she turned her mind to Carlaze, upstairs with Rimmi who was fighting for her life. There might be something she could do. Her healing skills were rudimentary, but there might be something. And Carlaze’s company would be a balm at this moment.

I’m going upstairs, she told Grimya. I’ll bolt and bar the main door, then I’ll see if I can help Rimmi.

Shall I come with you?

No, old friend. Stay here and watch over Livian. And listen for anything untoward.

Grimya dipped her head in acknowledgement. For a moment it seemed that she might ask the question that Indigo dreaded: but to Indigo’s relief she thought better of it, and instead rose and padded to the rug before the range, where she settled down.

Indigo hastened along the passage, averting her eyes from the closed door of the dwelling-hall. As she threw home the bolts and set the heavy bar into place, she heard the dogs’ barking rise to a crescendo and knew that the sleigh was leaving; a man’s voice shouted encouragement and the sounds slowly faded into the moan of the wind. A fresh rush of emotion welled up, catching Indigo off guard; she bit her lower lip and pressed her forehead against the door’s rough surface. Veness was gone. And she hadn’t been able to admit the truth to him; the truth that had hit her so hard and so unexpectedly in those few moments before they parted.

What was it she had said to Grimya only a few brief days ago? That above all else she feared coming to know her own feelings. And now, in a time of crisis, she had been suddenly and bleakly forced to confront that fear and acknowledge what she had suspected since then. For during those last moments when he had been on the verge of leaving, she had realised that she was afraid not only for Veness’s safety but for herself, too. Above all else, she was afraid that she might lose him.

But now Veness had gone, and it was too late for any of the words that she might have said to him. She could do nothing but keep her promise to pray for him: pray that the dangerous mission would succeed and he and Kinter would return safely. And pray, too, that the ominous sense of premonition which lurked within her would prove false.

Her head still pressed against the door, Indigo whispered, “Earth Mother, please help me now! Keep Veness safe—please, keep him safe!”

Her eyelashes were wet as she straightened and turned around. The house was very silent, and the absence of the familiar sounds of domestic activity was eerie and oppressive. Outside, the wind howled mockingly, beating against the door as though trying to break it down. Indigo drew breath, calming her racing heart, and walked towards the stairs.

In Rimmi’s bedroom, she found a desolate scene. Rimmi lay silent in the high, narrow bed, her face deathly white and her cheeks and eye-sockets sunken. Her breathing was shallow and stertorous, and Indigo could see bloodstains in her hair.

Carlaze sat beside the wounded girl. She had clearly been crying, but refused to admit that her emotions were now under anything but iron control, and with rigidly forced calm she drew back Rimmi’s blankets to show Indigo the swathed bandages. The axe had struck Rimmi’s rib-cage, just above her stomach; Carlaze had managed to stop the bleeding, but she feared that without expert treatment the would might not heal.

“I can’t do any more for her,” she said, turning away and putting a clenched fist to her mouth as her voice threatened to break. “We can’t reach a physician, and I don’t even have Livian’s herbal knowledge… oh, Indigo, I’m so afraid she’ll die!” She covered her face with both hands and began to rock back and forth.

The sight of Rimmi had shaken Indigo sharply out of her own turmoil, and suddenly she felt her rational, practical side surfacing with a rush. Here was something she could do, something that might help; and she glanced quickly round the room. The fire was fading; there were no lamps lit. She’d need light and warmth; some warm water, a candle and trivet and a bowl to prepare her potions. Maybe she could achieve no more than Carlaze had already done, but she could at least try.

“Carlaze.” She laid a hand on the fair girl’s shoulder and felt Carlaze flinch involuntarily. “I have some healing knowledge. I don’t know if it’ll be enough to help Rimmi, but I can prepare a painkilling draught, and something to help her over the shock.” She paused as Carlaze looked up at her in an anguish of hope, then added, “And it’ll give you the chance to rest for a while. You’re shocked, too; and you’ve suffered hurt, even if it isn’t a physical wound.”

“No,” Carlaze said stubbornly, “I’m all right—I don’t need to rest.”

“Oh, but you do, and you must. Give me just a few moments to fetch my herb-pouch and a few other things from the kitchen, and I’ll take over your vigil while you sleep for a few hours.”

Carlaze’s shoulders relaxed in acquiescence. “Perhaps you’re right. I am tired.” She shook her head as though to clear it of a miasma. “I’ll build up the fire and light a lantern.” A hesitation, then her gaze flickered sidelong to Indigo’s face. “They’ve gone? Kinter and Veness?”

Halfway to the door, Indigo stopped. “Yes. They took a dog-sleigh.”

Carlaze looked away again and made a religious sign over her own breast. “The Goddess keep them safe!”

“Amen,” Indigo echoed fervently: then ventured the question that she hadn’t dared to ask Veness. “Carlaze… if they find the earl, they’ll kill him, won’t they?”

Carlaze looked at her again. “Kinter didn’t say anything about it, but… I think they’ll have no choice. They can’t try to disarm him without running a terrible risk; even if the earl himself didn’t kill them, they’d only have to touch those horrible weapons for an instant and they’d be possessed of the madness, too. I think they’ll have to shoot him. There’s no other way left to them. They’ll have to kill him, or risk losing their own lives.”

Indigo didn’t speak. She understood the stark implication—if they can—that Carlaze had left unspoken, and shared her unwillingness to face that thought. She opened the door and started out of the room, but Carlaze called her back. The girl asked, softly,

“Is it true, Indigo? About Moia?”

“Yes,” Indigo told her. “It’s true.”

Carlaze nodded soberly. “I wanted to ask Kinter the whole story, but there wasn’t time. I suppose… they haven’t found Gordo yet?”

“No. I’ll tell you everything I can a little later.”

Another nod. “Thank you.” And Carlaze made the religious sign again. “Poor, poor Moia. Rest her soul.”

The sound of a voice close by roused Indigo from a stupor brought on by weariness and the soporific heat of the fire. She started out of a semi-dream, blinking foolishly as for a moment imagination and reality refused to separate; then she recalled where she was and why, and turned quickly to the bed.

Rimmi was conscious. Her eyes had half opened and her mouth was working, small sounds coming from the back of her throat. Quickly Indigo leaned over her, dabbing saliva from her lips with a dampened cloth; and Rimmi tried weakly to catch hold of her arm.

“It’s all right, Rimmi; it’s all right.” How long had she dozed? Impossible to be sure, but the logs in the grate hadn’t burned down, so she doubted if it was more than half an hour at most.

“H… hurts…” Rimmi croaked. “Ohh, it… hurts…”

“Lie still,” Indigo urged gently. A painkilling draught was keeping warm in the hearth; she fetched it and held it to the girl’s colorless lips. “Drink as much of this as you can. It’ll take the hurt away.”

Rimmi sipped, coughed convulsively and moaned with pain. Indigo wiped her chin and tried again, and this time a fair measure of the draught went down. It was a strong decoction from the sap of the mountain-poppy: as well as soothing pain it was also a powerful sleeping drug, and sleep, Indigo felt, was Rimmi’s best hope in the absence of a more skilled healer. She bathed and stroked the girl’s brow, murmuring comforting words, and then, as Rimmi seemed to begin to relax, surreptitiously lifted the blankets to check on the bandaging. She was thankful to find no new blood seeping through; thus far at least the wound didn’t appear to have reopened, and Indigo allowed herself a cautious modicum of hope that perhaps Carlaze had been wrong, and the axe hadn’t cut mortally deep. She tucked the blankets in again, and as she straightened Rimmi suddenly caught hold of her wrist and gasped, “Kinter!”

Indigo’s heart moved with pity as she looked down at the girl. “Kinter can’t come to you now, Rimmi,” she said, “but it’s all right; he’s safe. He wasn’t hurt.”

“No!” Rimmi shook her head, then grimaced as pain flared at the incautious movement. “Kinter! Kinter!”

“Rimmi, I promise you, Kinter’s all right!” Indigo was moved by Rimmi’s desperate concern for her brother, and only hoped that she could soothe the girl’s fears and convince her that she spoke the truth. “He’s with Veness; they—”

“No, no!” Rimmi’s head jerked from side to side again, thumping audibly on the pillow. Her voice was slurring as the drug took effect; she seemed to be trying to say something more, but her coordination was slipping away. “It—it—”

“Quiet, now; quiet.” Indigo held her still. “Sleep, Rimmi. See Kinter when you wake.”

“Nn… no… you don’t understand!” Rimmi’s drugged eyes widened as she struggled desperately against the narcotic. “Mother! Where’s Mother?”

“She’s sleeping, Rimmi. She isn’t hurt either, but she needs to rest.”

Rimmi grimaced. “Kinter!” she hissed. “It was Kinter: oh, Goddess, it was Kinter…”

“What was Kinter?” Baffled, Indigo leaned over her, then started at the sound of the door behind her opening.

Carlaze stood on the threshold. “I heard Rimmi crying out,” she said. “Is anything amiss? Can I help?”

Rimmi moaned, shut her eyes and released her grip on Indigo’s wrist, her hand falling back limply on the bed. Indigo sighed and shook her head.

“She was calling out for Kinter,” she told Carlaze. “I couldn’t make much sense of it, but I think she’s fretting about him.”

Carlaze glanced at Rimmi, who seemed now to have slipped into a drug-induced stupor. “Perhaps I should talk to her,” she said. “She knows me better than she knows you—forgive me, but she’ll perhaps be more likely to take my word that Kinter’s safe.” She met Indigo’s uncertain gaze, and smiled sadly. “I’m rested now; and Livian’s awake too and feeling a good deal better. Let me take over here, Indigo, and you can rest in your turn.”

“Well…” Indigo didn’t think she could rest, let alone sleep; but perhaps Carlaze could, as she said, do more to soothe Rimmi’s fears and reassure her. She returned the fair girl’s smile warmly. “Thank you, Carlaze; I’d be grateful.”

“Well, then.” Carlaze moved across the room to-gaze down on her sister-elect. “Is there anything more I should give her? Another draught?”

“No. I’ll make up a fresh decoction later; best for now to let this one do its work. And if she goes to sleep knowing that her brother’s unharmed, that will probably do her more good than any of my potions.”

Carlaze nodded. “Go, then. I’ll reassure her, and I’ll look after her.”

Indigo slipped out of the room and down the stairs. In the kitchen she found Livian standing at the range over a pot that was just coming to the boil, while Grimya, curled now in a warm corner beside the range, was sound asleep.

Livian looked round at the sound of Indigo’s footsteps. She was red-eyed, her face drawn, and she was honest enough not to even attempt a smile.

“We’ll need to eat,” she said by way of greeting and explanation. “The men will be back in time, and…” Her voice tailed to a halt and her lower lip quivered for a moment before she asked pleadingly, “Is Rimmi going to be all right?”

“I believe she will be, Livian,” Indigo said. “The wound doesn’t seem to be as serious as Carlaze feared.”

Livian shut her eyes and murmured a thankful imprecation under her breath. Then her expression hardened. “We have to go on,” she said flatly. “No matter what’s happened, and no matter what else might befall. We have to think of what lies ahead. Even if Rimmi… even if Rimmi dies—”

“She won’t. I’m as sure as I can be that she’ll live now. And Kinter, too. He and Veness know what they’re doing—they won’t take any unnecessary risks.”

She suspected from Livian’s answering look that the older woman knew she was trying to reassure them both. Then just a hint of her old warmth crept into Livian’s eyes.

“Well, then.” Her voice was suddenly brisk. “We must keep the fire warm for them, mustn’t we; and keep ourselves ready for whatever may come.” She nodded towards the pot. “There’s soup here warming. You should drink a mug of it, and then follow your Grimya’s example and try to sleep for a while.”

“I don’t think I could. I’ll stay and keep you company—but let met take some soup to Carlaze first. She’s going to stay upstairs for a while, until Rimmi falls asleep.”

“That’s kind of her. She’s a good girl, Carlaze.” Livian ladled soup into a mug and set it on a small wooden tray with two pieces of bread from the previous day’s baking. Indigo took the tray and carried it through the darkened hall. The blizzard was still worsening; she could hear it now like a hundred banshees raging about the steading, and she pushed away unbidden thoughts of how Veness and Kinter might be faring in the dark and the snow. They know what they’re doing. She’d said it to Livian, and she must make herself belief it, too. They’d return. They’d be safe. They had to be.

The landing was darker even than the hallway, and she felt her way carefully along the uneven floor to where a thin bar of yellow light showed under Rim-mi’s door. Balancing the tray precariously on one hand, she lifted the latch, pushed the door open.

And Carlaze started upright like a shot deer from where she had been standing over the bed with a pillow pressed to Rimmi’s face.

Chapter XV

Indigo and Carlaze stared at each other, and Indigo heard the mug of soup rattle on the tray as shock made her hand shake.

“Carlaze.” She spoke the girl’s name, unsure of herself, yet deep down knowing that her eyes hadn’t deceived her. And something was beginning to slip horribly, hideously into place. “Carlaze. What are you doing?”

Carlaze’s cheeks turned from crimson to dead white. “I—” Her mouth worked spasmodically, making her face suddenly ugly. “She’s—oh, Indigo, I think Rimmi’s dying!” She’d snatched up the pillow and was clutching it to her breast; now she flung it away and clasped her hands together in a dramatic gesture. “She started to choke, and I—somehow she’d turned over, and she was smothering—her face—I pulled the pillow away, but—”

Indigo’s voice cut across her babble like a newly honed knife, as suspicion flared to certainty. “Liar!”

Carlaze froze. Her eyes widened, but behind the assumed astonishment and outrage Indigo saw something else. Guile—and the first stirrings of fear.

She tossed the tray aside. It hit the floor with a crash, and hot soup spattered over the doorframe and splashed on to her arm. She wasn’t even aware of the scalding, for rage was awakening in her and eclipsing all other considerations as the piece of the pattern, the thread of the tapestry, suddenly became clear, and with appalling certainty she knew what Carlaze had been attempting to do.

“You…” Her voice was barbaric. “You were trying to kill her!”

“What?” Carlaze was a good actress; she had to credit her with that much. “Kill her? What are you talking about? Indigo, what—”

Indigo advanced a pace into the room. “Drop this charade, Carlaze! I saw exactly what you were about!” And abruptly it all fell into place: Rimmi’s half-coherent pleas, the fear that she’d struggled to communicate. And something else. Indigo hadn’t realized it until now, but something Carlaze had said earlier had struck a sour note in her subconscious mind. Something about Gordo not having been found. But how could Carlaze have known that Gordo was suspected of being involved? She’d claimed that Kinter had told her nothing; that there hadn’t been time for detailed explanation. And yet she’d latched on to the idea of Gordo’s involvement, as though she had suspected it—or, perhaps, known it—all along. And she’d spoken as though she had expected a second corpse to be lying beside Moia’s…

” ‘It was Kinter‘. What did Rimmi mean by that, -Carlaze?” Suddenly Indigo strode across the room and caught hold of her, dragging her off balance and away from the bed. Her fingers gripped a hank of Carlaze’s hair near the temple, wrenching until Carlaze yelped in pain.

“Indigo! Stop it—are you out of your mind? I don’t know what you’re talking about! Let go of me!”

But Indigo’s grip didn’t slacken. “Oh, I understand now!” she hissed. “It was Kinter. What was Kinter, Carlaze? What did Kinter do? Answer me, you little bitch!”

Carlaze wailed and struggled, but Indigo was by far the stronger. “Answer me!” she snarled again. “What did he do? He told Earl Bray that Moia was dead, didn’t he? He deliberately told him! And who killed Moia, Carlaze? Who killed her?”

Carlaze screeched like a tormented cat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! You’re mad, you’re as mad as the earl! What do you know about anything; who do you think you are, interfering with—” And suddenly she broke off as she realized what she had said. For a moment her twisted face stared up at Indigo, and in that instant everything was laid bare: her guilt, her terror of discovery, her determination not to be thwarted whatever the price that anyone else might have to pay. Her eyes had betrayed her, and Carlaze knew it. She froze for a single heartbeat: then with an energy that took Indigo by surprise she twisted free and dived for the door. Her fingers clawed the latch, she jerked the door open—then yelled as Indigo caught her around the waist and hauled her bodily back. Carlaze spun round, spitting defiance, and Indigo’s temper exploded. Caring nothing for the other girl’s frailty, for the sheer fact of her womanhood that might have stopped a man, she smashed the heel of her right hand across Carlaze’s jaw, sending her spinning against the wall with stunning force. Carlaze collapsed howling, and Indigo crossed the room in two strides to pull her up by the hair.

“Tell me the truth!” She cracked the girl’s skull against the wall. “Tell me what you’ve done, or I’ll tear you apart!”

Carlaze moaned and her eyes rolled up in their sockets as though she were losing consciousness. But it was a sham; another charade. Indigo could feel the tension in her muscles, only waiting the smallest chance to flee, and she grabbed the neck of Carlaze’s wool dress, dragging her towards the hearth.

“Fire burns, Carlaze, and it hurts! Tell me what you and Kinter have done, or I’ll put your face in the flames!” She meant it: her rage was out of control, and goaded by a new and erupting fear for Veness, who had gone out into the blizzard with Kinter, not knowing that he traveled with a venomous serpent at his side. Carlaze knew, though. And Carlaze must know what Kinter planned to do next.

Carlaze squirmed and writhed like a snake herself. There were other noises now; shouts from downstairs, the sound of a door banging, Livian’s voice calling anxiously, but Indigo ignored them. And suddenly Carlaze twisted in her grip, and her feline little face turned upward.

“You’re too late!” she shrieked wildly. “What do you know about anything—you and your precious, twice-damned Veness? He’ll be next! Kinter’ll get him even if his mad father doesn’t, and we’ll be well rid of them all!”

Indigo stopped shaking her as the hysterical and vicious invective went home like knives. Snatching her chance, Carlaze fought free, scrambled for the door again and stumbled through. “Damn you!” she screamed as she gained the landing. “Damn all of you!”

“Carlaze!” Livian’s voice, shrill, from the hall below. “Indigo! What’s going on up there?”

Her cries snapped Indigo’s thrall, and she started after Carlaze, who was making for the staircase. She caught the girl at the top of the flight, and hit her full in the face, ignoring Livian’s screech of outrage. Carlaze reeled back, slipped and tumbled chaotically down several stairs before her flailing hands caught at the banister and halted the headlong fall: in an instant Indigo was after her, ready to kick her, pummel her, hurl her down the rest of the flight to the stone floor below. Another voice had joined in the mayhem as Grimya, woken from her sleep, came running, barking aloud in agitation as she also cried out telepathically to Indigo to stop, wait, tell her what was going on. And then suddenly, smashing through the din, came the roar of a powerful male voice.

“What by the Mother’s eyes is going on here?”

It was Reif, emerging from the kitchen like an apparition with his head, shoulders and boots caked white with snow. He saw Carlaze huddled half way up the stairs with her arms over her head to protect herself, saw Indigo standing over her with her fist raised and murder in her eyes, and his jaw dropped in outraged astonishment.

“What d’you think you’re doing?” He flailed out of his coat, dropped it on the floor and started towards the staircase.

Carlaze’s head came up. “Reif!” she cried piteously. “Reif, oh, help me—it’s her, it’s Indigo; she’s insane!” Gambling that Indigo wouldn’t dare to attack her in full view of Reif and Livian, she scrabbled to her feet and bolted like a rabbit towards the hall, falling down the last three stairs and sprawling on the stone floor. Reif ran to help her up, and she clung to him like a frightened child.

“Reif, she’s mad, she’s dangerousV Carlaze trembled, wide-eyed, in a convincing show of terror, babbling the words into Reif’s face. “We didn’t know—all this time we’ve been harbouring a serpent in our midst, and we didn’t know!”

“Liar!” Indigo spat furiously. “Whoring little liar!”

Carlaze burst into noisy sobs. “She tried to kill me! She said she’d push me into the fire—oh, and, oh, Reif, I think she’s tried to kill poor Rimmi!”

“What?” Outraged, Reif looked up at Indigo, and she realized despairingly that with just a few well-chosen words and a melodramatic acting performance, Carlaze had already poisoned his mind against anything she might say. She had to convince him of the girl’s perfidy, before the poison went too deep for redemption.

“Reif, she’s lying.” She was breathing over-rapidly, but her voice was clear and firm. “She tried to kill Rimmi—I found her pressing a pillow over Rimmi’s face!”

Carlaze wailed, trying to swing Reif’s attention back to herself. “It isn’t true, it isn’t true!”

“Reif, listen to me, I beg you!” Indigo started to descend the stairs. “Carlaze and Kinter—they’re both traitors to this house! Kinter knew that Earl Bray was listening when he told you about Moia—he and Carlaze planned this between them; they wanted the earl to take up the cursed weapons! And now Veness has gone after the earl with Kinter—Reif, he’s in danger!”

The furious hostility in Reif’s eyes faltered at this, and Indigo realized that she’d unwittingly struck home. She’d been wrong about Reif; he was no traitor, but deeply and fiercely loyal to his elder brother. And that loyalty was her only hope now.

Reif said suspiciously, “Danger… ?”

“Yes! I think Kinter means to kill him!”

“No!” Carlaze cried. “Don’t you see what she’s doing, Reif? She’s trying to turn you against Kinter, against your own cousin! She wants to divide the family—she wants Veness for herself, Veness alone!” Then, as though struck by a sudden and dreadful revelation, she opened her eyes still wider and clenched her small fists. “Sweet Mother, that must be why she was trying to murder Rimmi! She knows Rimmi’s in love with Veness, and she wasn’t about to tolerate any rival for his affections!” She swung round, clutching at Reif. “Reif, please, you’re head of the house while Veness is away: you’ve got to do something! She’s dangerous—lock her up, kill her if you have to! Oh, please: she’s hurt me so, I’m afraid of what she might do!”

Indigo could see that Reif was wavering. All his instincts were to trust Carlaze: and, she asked herself, why should he not take the word of his cousin’s wife, a trusted member of his own family, against that of an interloper and virtual stranger? The only shadow of doubt lay in his fear for Veness’s safety; but it was a small shadow, too small to count for long against the tide of Carlaze’s pleas and arguments.

Abruptly then Reif decided. Gently he set Carlaze aside—Livian hastened to comfort her—and moved towards the stairs, at the same time setting his hand to the hilt of a short sword at his belt. Indigo retreated a step: and suddenly Grimya interposed herself between them, hackles up, growling.

Reif stopped, and stared down at the wolf. “Out of the way.” The command was sharp, authoritative, such as he might have uttered to a dog. Grimya stood her ground, and the growl became a snarl. Reif looked up at Indigo.

“Call her off, Indigo.” His voice was hard. “I don’t want to hurt her: she thinks she’s doing her duty, and I wouldn’t punish an animal for obeying its master. But I warn you now: call her off.”

Indigo stood motionless. “She thinks you mean to kill me.”

Reif sighed in exasperation. “Damn it, I’ve no intention of doing any such thing, unless you force it on me! But I don’t trust you. And I mean to lock you in a secure room until Veness and Kinter return and we can get to the root of this filthy mess.”

Indigo hesitated, wondering whether to make one last effort to convince him. But it would be useless: he wouldn’t believe her. Yet she couldn’t allow him to do what seemed to him the reasonable, rational thing, for if he did, she knew that the truth would never reach Veness’s ears. Carlaze and Kinter would see to that.

Her hesitation had been a bid for time; just the few seconds it took for her to think through what she must do. Now she spoke.

“No, Reif. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you confine me. I have to find Veness before it’s too late.” And in her mind she said silently to the wolf: Grimya—hold him off when I make my move. And be ready to flee!

Reif said angrily, “Don’t try that tactic on me! You’ll obey my order, and we’ll wait for Veness to—”

He didn’t get any further, because, without any warning, Indigo sprang at him. The stairs gave her the advantage of height and, like a mountain cat ambushing its prey, she knocked him flying and they fell to the floor together, she on top. Reif bellowed; Carlaze screamed; then suddenly Indigo was on her feet, evading the grab Reif made at her legs. She snatched up the coat he’d dropped, and ran for the main door. As she wrestled with bar and bolts she heard him pounding after her, then heard Grimya’s warning snarl and Reif’s oath, and the rattle of the sword coming free from its scabbard.

Grimya! Indigo flung a desperate glance over her shoulder. Be careful!

He doesn’t want to hurt me! The wolf snarled again, and as the last bolt came free Indigo turned and saw her holding Reif at bay. Carlaze was crying out, “Kill the animal! Kill it!” but Reif ignored her.

“Indigo, I’m warning you! Call her off, or—”

“Reif, I’m going after Veness!” She had to try to explain, for Rimmi’s sake. “Guard Rimmi—keep her safe, and don’t let Carlaze near her! Please—do that, at least, until I can find Veness and come back!”

“You’ll never find him! You stupid weyer, you’ll die out there! No horse could get through that blizzard, let alone a woman on foot—why do you think I came back?” Reif was struggling to be reasonable, though she guessed that it was only through fear of his brother’s wrath should any harm befall her: without that constraint, he might well by now have taken Carlaze’s wailing advice and run her through.

“I don’t care about the risks.” She grasped the door latch. “I’m got to find him, Reif. If Rimmi regains consciousness, she’ll tell you why; she’ll tell you the truth. Take care of her.”

She opened the door, and a howling blast of wind snatched it from her and slammed it back against the wall. Snow whirled like dervishes into the hall, making Livian cry out and stumble back, and Indigo, with Grimya at her heels, ran out into the blizzard.

She heard the voices shouting after her as she stumbled across the courtyard, struggling into the coat as she went; heard in particular Carlaze screaming, “Don’t let her get away, Reif! Go after her, kill her!” But there was no pursuit, no crunch of running feet through the snow and ice at her back. And the arch was looming through the howling dark ahead. Indigo staggered towards it, dragging the coat around her and pulling the hood up over her hair. She hadn’t given a thought to where she would go, how she would find Veness; all that had mattered until now was to keep her freedom, and get away from Carlaze’s poison and Reif’s misguided attempts to see justice done.

They emerged from under the arch, from the relative shelter of the steading yard, and the blizzard hit them like a solid wall. The wind, roaring down out of the north with the voice of a thousand tigers, picked Indigo up and hurled her off her feet against the stonework; she struggled upright again, saw Grimya small and vulnerable, a dark blur through the chaos of horizontally-flying snow, and heard the wolf’s despairing voice in her mind.

No tracks! Nothing to follow! How will we ever find them?

Leaning into the gale now, legs braced and head down like a ram against the onslaught, Indigo realized for the first time the sheer, foolhardy futility of her mission. They would never find Veness. Even if, as she believed, the dog-sleigh had headed back to the logging camp—the most likely place for Earl Bray to have gone, now that he knew the circumstances of Moia’s death—she and Grimya could no more follow than fly. Without a trail to lead them, their chances of reaching the camp were so remote that only madness could induce them to try.

Madness: or utter desperation. For they couldn’t go back. Behind them was Reif and the threat of imprisonment; and, far worse, Carlaze, who would move the Earth if need be to ensure that Indigo and Veness never saw each other alive again. A hideous, impossible situation to face. They couldn’t return—and yet how could they go on?

Then from the shrieking darkness came a sound that wasn’t one of the storm’s myriad voices. A deep, authoritative summons, half cough and half moan, counterpointing the blizzard’s roar. It came from somewhere ahead and to the left: Grimya tensed, her ears straining forward, and Indigo turned, staggering against the gale, as she struggled to peer into the murk.

The tiger loomed ghostlike out of the night, pale and shimmering amid the snow’s whirling silver-grey. Silently it moved towards Indigo, its eyes twin golden lamps lit by an inner radiance. Then it raised its head, and she saw the ivory fangs, the cloud of its breath streaming madly away, as it called again. And at the same moment Grimya’s astonished mental voice broke into her mind.

Indigo, I hear what it’s saying to us! It says, “follow!”

The tiger tossed its head again as though in confirmation, and uttered the sound Indigo had heard before; the almost gentle prrrusten which, she knew, meant reassurance. Yet underlying the call there was an agitation, an urgency; as though time were of the greatest essence.

She called back to the great cat. “Is it Veness? Please—is it Veness?”

The blizzard tore her voice away, but the tiger must either have heard her or sensed what was in her mind. Its great muzzle came up, the fur of its ruff streaming in the gale, and it opened its jaws again in a coughing roar.

It was confirmation enough. Indigo staggered towards the cat and, acting purely on instinct, reached out to it. Her fingers closed on the dense, snow-soaked fur at its shoulder, and instantly she felt the huge muscles bunch as the creature turned about and faced into the night. Grimya ran to Indigo’s far side, pressing close against her, and the tiger set off.

Their progress through the blizzard felt as unreal as a dream. The tiger moved with seemingly effortless ease in the snow, and Indigo stumbled beside it, striving to keep her precarious hold on its ruff, while Grimya labored determinedly a pace away. Indigo didn’t know where the cat was taking them—not, she thought, towards the forest, though it was impossible in the dark and the flying snow and the screaming wind to be sure of anything—but she followed, blinded by the storm, freezing, numbed, knowing that she could only trust in her guide. Sometimes she lost her footing and fell, plunging on all fours into icy white wetness; then she would feel the two animal presences close in on her, their warm bodies helping her up again, their hot breath, wolf and tiger, mingling on her stiffly frozen face. Their strength was a powerful counter to her human frailty, and as she listened and responded to Grimya’s eager encouragements, she felt, too, the mind of the giant tiger blending with her own consciousness and urging her wordlessly on. Now and then, with awareness drifting and dreamlike and her sense of time utterly lost, she felt that the three minds became one, and the strange trio melded into a single entity battling on against the elements.

Until, in the wild night ahead, she saw the ghost. A white figure, stumbling and staggering as she herself stumbled and staggered, but with no companions to help and protect it. And carried on the gale came a crying, a howling, as though the blizzard had given birth to something beyond mortality and sent it to haunt the plains.

Grimya and the tiger halted instantly, and the striped head and the brindle grey jerked up, looking, questing. Through ice-crusted lashes Indigo saw the ghost weaving like a drunkard in the snow, and, stunned with tiredness and the blizzard’s sense-deadening assault, her mind made an instant, illogical connection. She summoned her voice, though her throat was raw with cold, and shouted with all her strength:

“Moia? Moia!”

The phantasm jerked violently. Then an unhuman screech ripped out of the night, and, even as she realised her ghastly mistake, even as the truth hit her like a body-blow, the figure charged.

She saw him clearly for just one appalling moment. His clothes had been ripped and hacked to tatters that flew about his body like the rags of a long-buried shroud, and his hair blew like smoke in the gale. The face above the burly frame was a living nightmare: unprotected by any coat, his skin had turned an evil blue-grey, and his claylike lips and yellowed teeth were flecked with blood and spittle. There was blood, too, on his face, where his broken fingernails had scored great gouges down his cheeks. And his eyes burned like stars, beyond humanity, beyond comprehension, far, far beyond any hope of sanity.

Earl Bray screeched anew, and the screech deepened into a great bellow of agony and mad rage. In his left hand the cursed shield flashed, its disc radiating ghastly light like an earthbound moon: in his right, the axe whistled in a singing arc, faster, faster, hypnotizing Indigo as her eyes, drawn by the lethal, whirling blur, saw only silver, silver—silver, and her own Nemesis—

Chapter XVI

Carl Bray’s banshee screaming was drowned by a shattering roar, and the snow tiger sprang between Indigo and the oncoming madman. She was buffeted aside to sprawl in the snow, and the mesmerizing spell of the deadly silver weapons snapped as she hit the ground.

“No!” Sense came back, and Indigo rolled, spitting out snow before she could shriek at the full pitch of her lungs. “Don’t go near him, don’t try!”

The tiger was poised in a half crouch, its ears laid flat, its tail lashing. It roared a second time, and Earl Bray reeled back, howling like a banshee, as a massive paw slashed out at him. Grimya was at the tiger’s side, snarling wildly—and for just one instant, something akin to sanity flickered like a near-dead fire in the demented man’s eyes. The howl dropped away to a panting, slavering groan, and he stood motionless, the axe raised above his head but stilled, the shield glinting evilly. He couldn’t speak—Indigo had the terrible feeling that he had forgotten how—but his jaw sagged and he drooled like a pathetic, idiot child, and a surge of deep pity welled in her for the thing he had become; the travesty of a human being that the ancient curse had made of him.

For a moment it seemed that Earl Bray’s stare and that of the snow tiger met. And then the earl’s eyes glazed over as the spark of reason fled from his twisted brain. His mouth worked into a mad, rictus grin—and suddenly he turned, stamping one booted foot hard down into the snow, and with a piercing yell he plunged away into the blizzard, screaming, laughing, sobbing as he careered out of sight.

Breath rattled from Indigo’s lungs, and she struggled to her knees as Grimya came running to her.

“Grimya!” She hugged the wolf tightly, fighting the shock of reaction that was beginning to set in. “Oh, sweet Mother, I thought he’d cut us down!”

He didn’t dare to face the tiger! Grimya licked Indigo’s face. The tiger saved us from him!

“You—” Icy air sawed in her lungs and she coughed convulsively, then switched to telepathic speech. You were both so courageous!

I didn’t stop to think. I was afraid, but the tiger gave me strength. There was wonder behind Grimya’s words, and Indigo buried her face in the wolf’s cold, wet fur.

It’s given us both strength, dear one. We owe it a great debt.

Before Grimya could reply, an angry rumble made them both look up. The tiger stood a few paces away, tense, head raised, tail still twitching with disquiet. Sensing their attention it turned its head towards them and showed its fangs in an uneasy snarl; then it quickly looked away again.

It senses something else, Grimya said. Her own ears pricked alertly, then she shook her head in frustration. I can’t scent it. The wind is wrong; it’s cutting across us… . And she jumped as suddenly the tiger roared again, a furious challenge. Its muscles bunched and it streaked away as though in pursuit of something it alone could see or smell, and in dismay Indigo scrambled to her feet, calling, “Wait!” But the tiger didn’t heed her, and in seconds it had vanished.

Quickly! Grimya urged. Follow its tracks—we dare not lose it now! And she was off in the great cat’s wake. Indigo stumbled after her, slithering, floundering, following the deep prints which already were beginning to fill and vanish as the snow pelted down. Amid the gale’s howl she heard the tiger roar again; and suddenly there were other sounds, thin and barely audible as though they echoed from a vast distance—the frantic yelping of dogs.

Grimya slewed to a halt. Indigo! I think—

Yet another roar from the tiger silenced her, and her ears shot forward. Then before Indigo could react, the wolf sprang away at a run. Calling her name, Indigo ploughed after her. And then she saw the dark shape ahead.

“Grimya!” Her voice cracked and grated. “Grimya, be careful!”

But Grimya was too excited to heed the warning, and her frantic communication reverberated in Indigo’s mind.

“It’s them; it’s the sleigh! Indigo, we’ve found them!” And she howled her joy aloud as the dogs’ cries redoubled frenziedly.

Arms flailing, Indigo slithered across the ice towards the sleigh. She could see the dogs now, still in harness, leaping and jumping in a turmoil of furred bodies, but they made no attempt to rush towards her. And then she saw why.

The lead dog, a big black animal and the best in the Bray kennels, lay dead in its harness, its blood staining the snow. Its eyes were open but filmed over, and its jaw gaped wide, fixed in a snarl of agony. From its side, piercing the magnificent coat just below the shoulder and rammed through into its heart, protruded the steel shaft of a crossbow bolt.

Indigo felt the cold, clutching panic of apprehension. “No…” she said softly. “Oh, no… no…”

The six surviving dogs yelped their pleasure and relief at her, straining to reach her yet bound by their training not to move from the places without their pack leader’s command. Wildly Indigo looked about her for the tiger, but it had vanished; and swiftly she turned her attention to the sleigh. Something was moving inside it; something lying among the pile of pelt rugs heaped inside; and Indigo ploughed through the snow, grabbing the sleigh’s runners to bring herself slithering to a halt. She looked down, and felt sickness lurch up from the pit of her stomach.

“Veness!”

He was huddled in the well of the sleigh, trying to drag the pelts around him in an effort to shield himself from the bitter cold. And she knew instantly from his white, strained face that he was injured.

“Veness!” She scrambled over the sleigh’s side, and crouched down beside him. “Oh, sweet Goddess, what happened?”

He stared at her uncomprehendingly. “Indigo… ? How in the Mother’s name did you…” and he winced with pain.

“Never mind that—you’re hurt! Let me help you-“

“No!” His stare flicked wildly from right to left. “He’s here: Kinter, he’s got your bow, and—”

She understood suddenly what the tiger had done. They must have come upon the sleigh even as Kinter and Veness were fighting, and the cat had intervened to drive Kinter away before he could complete his murderous work. He’d fled, doubtless shooting the dog as he ran, and the tiger had gone after him. Indigo’s gut contracted at the thought of what a crossbow bolt could do to the magnificent cat, and she prayed silently that the creature would be safe. But her greater concern now was for Veness.

She said: “He’s gone, Veness. The tiger drove him away.”

“The… tiger… ?” He was bewildered, but there was no time to explain fully. Indigo’s gloved hand, reaching to aid him into a less twisted position, came away stained dark, and Veness bit his lip hard. “It’s… all right; I can do it. Just give me a… moment…” His teeth were chattering with cold and with reaction, but he shifted his body slightly, then let her draw the furs aside and examine him more closely. His coat was soaked with blood, and though Indigo could see little in the darkness and the whirling snow, she thought that more blood was still seeping sluggishly from a wound just below his rib-cage.

“What happened?” Her voice was harsh with fear and anger, and she started to pull the furs more closely around his chilled body.

Veness grimaced. “We f-found him. My father: we found him, but… I couldn’t shoot at him, I just couldn’t do it! Kinter’t… took the bow, but he missed. I thought Father would attack us, but he turned away; he ran; I—I don’t know why. And then…” He coughed, swore at the racking agony it brought to his ribs, and anger and confusion mingled with the pain in his eyes. “Then Kinter… he’d reloaded the crossbow, and he turned it on me. I didn’t understand, I yelled at him, and he—he laughed. Laughed. And then—he didn’t say anything; he just fired, point blank.” His voice betrayed his utter bewilderment, but then he rallied himself and gripped her forearm. “Indigo, I—Kinter, he’s a—”

“I know exactly what Kinter is.” Indigo told him grimly.

Veness coughed again, and spat over the side of the sleigh. “You know? But—”

“I’ll tell you everything, Veness; but later. It’s vital that I get you back to the steading first: you need warmth, and your wound must have attention.” She paused, looking over the sleigh’s high prow to where the dogs milled and yelped. Would they run without a leader? She thought not; or surely they would already have taken off for home.

Indigo! Grimya spoke up quickly. I can take the dead one’s place! The dogs aren’t afraid of me, and I know how to make them understand and obey. They will follow me if I lead them!

Indigo turned towards her. But we don’t know the way back to the steading. And Veness is in no condition to guide you.

The dogs know. They will tell me.

As though they had sensed and understood the wolf’s words, the dogs’ yelps changed to high-pitched barking, and they jumped and snapped eagerly in their traces. They were fresh enough; the cold hadn’t yet sapped their strength. And if Grimya was willing…

Swiftly she suggested the plan to Veness. He nodded painfully, and she added, “Can you bear up, Veness? It won’t be an easy ride.”

A second nod. “I can cope. Better than… staying here to freeze.” He licked his lips, the moisture turning to ice almost instantly. “I pulled the bolt out. I think perhaps I… shouldn’t have done…”

Indigo pushed down a sick, fearful dread at his words, and climbed out of the sleigh, back into the teeth of the blizzard to struggle to where the dogs waited. With stiff, fumbling fingers she tackled the dismal task of freeing the dead dog from its harness, and dragged the carcass clear, regretting that the handsome and noble animal must have such an ignominious last resting-place. Then, amid the other dogs’ increasing clamor, she fastened the harness about Grimya’s chest and shoulders. It wasn’t a good fit, but Grimya said it would serve, and Indigo sensed her excitement at this new and unfamiliar adventure. At last they were ready, and Indigo hastened to climb back into the sleigh—then started at a soft sound behind her.

The tiger had returned. Pale in the snow, it stood watching her, keeping downwind of the sleigh. It made no attempt to approach, and on impulse Indigo turned and moved towards it. She no longer had any fear of the cat: tonight’s events had banished any lingering uncertainty she might have felt, and she knew it was a true ally and friend. The tiger raised its head as she approached, and Indigo stopped two paces from it.

“I have to take him home.” She spoke aloud to the beautiful creature, feeling that she owed it a debt and must explain herself. “I know that there’s something else I must do—something more you want from me—but I must put Veness’s safety first. Please: can you understand that?”

The tiger’s soft-furred lips drew back from its teeth and it grimaced. Under the wind’s moan she heard its deep, throaty reassurance; and then it turned its face in the direction from which they had come, and looked at her expectantly. It was, she knew, both an acceptance and an implication that it had no intention of deserting her; and she felt gratitude and intense relief.

She ran back to the sleigh and scrambled in, huddling down beside Veness and holding him steady as best she could. The dogs were on their feet, tails waving; at the head of the train Grimya raised her muzzle and yipped, and the pack set up a yelping chorus in answer. They leaned into the traces and the sleigh began to move, jolting over the snow, gathering speed, and, with the huge, ghostlike form of the tiger running lithely at their side, the convoy swung about and away in the direction of the steading.

They careered into the courtyard with a racket of barking and yelping and the hiss of runners that brought Reif racing from the house. The tiger had sheered away half a mile outside the steading’s stone walls, vanishing into the wild night, and Grimya had led the dogs on, howling encouragement as at last the glimmer of lights came in sight ahead.

Reif took one look at Veness, huddled in the sleigh with Indigo’s arm tight about him, and his eyes met Indigo’s with a look of stricken and remorseful horror.

“Don’t say anything, Reif,” Indigo told him. “Just help me get him inside.”

They carried Veness into the hall and through to the kitchen—and Carlaze started up in shock from where she had been sitting at the table. Indigo stared at the fair girl for a single, blistering moment. Then she turned and ran back out to the courtyard, telling herself that her first duty was to see to Grimya and the dogs, but also knowing that if she’d stayed in Carlaze’s presence for a moment longer she would have killed her.

She released the traces and led the dogs to their kennels behind the great barn. The blizzard had begun to slacken off; though the wind still roared, the snow was falling less thickly, and overhead a few patches of clear night sky showed, stars glittering coldly down. The dogs were greeted by their kennel-mates in a frenzy of barking, licking and nipping: Indigo stayed watching them for a while, forcing herself to take her time; then at last, when she judged that she’d regained enough self-control, she returned with Grimya to the house.

Reif was alone in the kitchen. Indigo stopped dead on the threshold, and they looked at each other, neither wanting to be the first to speak. At last, Indigo broke the silence.

“Where’s Veness?”

“Upstairs.” Reif’s voice was flat, not quite steady. “Livian’s with him, tending the wound.” He turned his head away, not wanting her to see the emotion on his face.

Indigo forced herself to ask it. “And… Carlaze?”

“I’ve locked her in below, in one of the cellars.”

Indigo tensed. “Veness has told you, then?”

“Yes. All of it.” There was a long pause, then Reif forced himself to turn again and meet her gaze. The old hostility, the uncertainty, the mistrust, were ashes; all she saw was a desolate and bitterly repentant man. “Indigo, I don’t know what to say; how to apologize—”

“Don’t try.” Indigo moved towards him and laid a hand on his arm. “In your place I’d have thought as you did, Reif. Why should you have believed me? What reason did you have for taking my word against hers?”

He looked at her miserably. “That isn’t the point, is it? When I think of what’s happened—and now this—I could have averted it, don’t you see? If only I’d understood!”

“Reif, none of us understood. How could we have done? Kinter and Carlaze hid their scheming so carefully, and no one had any reason to suspect them of treachery.” Except, she thought unhappily, that I had reason to suspect someone: and I was fool enough to look in entirely the wrong direction,

Reif drew in a sharp breath and glanced towards the cellar door. “If anything happens to my brother—”

“Don’t. Don’t even think it.” She’d thought it too, unceasingly, since the sleigh had started for home, and she was desperate not to dwell on such a possibility. “I’ll go upstairs—perhaps I can help Livian.”

Reif nodded, and she left him, hastening along the hall and up the stairs. As she approached Veness’s room, the door opened and Livian came out. The older woman saw her, and stopped.

“Livian!” Indigo ran forward. “Is he all right?”

“He’s sleeping.” Livian looked drained and old, and Indigo felt a stab of guilt as she realized that in all the furor she hadn’t once thought of what Livian must be suffering. Her daughter wounded and fighting for life; her son a proven traitor and would-be murderer. It was a brutal double blow, and as she gazed at the older woman Indigo saw how thin the dividing line between rigid self control and complete breakdown had become.

Livian turned and closed Veness’s door quietly behind her. “Best not disturb him for now,” she said in a tight, remote voice that betrayed how grimly she was clinging to her composure. “Let him sleep.” Then she unbent a fraction. “I don’t believe the wound’s as bad as we first feared.”

Indigo longed to go into the room and see for herself, but Livian was right; it would be better for Veness to leave him undisturbed. She said, “How is Rimmi?”

“Rimmi? Oh… she’s very weak, but I think she’s beginning to pull round.” There was a long, painful hesitation, then: “If it hadn’t been for you—”

“Please, Livian.” Indigo didn’t want her gratitude, and felt she didn’t deserve it. Her position was too ambiguous: for though she might have saved Rim-mi’s life, she had also exposed the truth about Kin-ter and Carlaze, and whatever her sense of justice, that wound must be as painful to Livian as the physical injuries of Rimmi and Veness.

But Livian wasn’t about to be put off. She,squared her shoulders and said pallidly, “No: it should be said and it will be said. You saved my girl’s life. But for you, I’d have lost them all. I won’t forget that, Indigo. I won’t forget it.” And she moved past Indigo and on to the stairs.

Feeling small and shamed, Indigo followed her back down to the hall, where they met Reif coming from the kitchen, shrugging into his coat—the coat Indigo had snatched in her earlier flight. For a moment his face was fearful as he looked at Livian, but she simply said, “He’s well enough, Reif. I’ll prepare some food for us all,” and walked on into the kitchen. Reif stared after her for a moment, then looked at Indigo. “I’m going to feed the dogs,” he said gruffly. “Double rations. The Goddess knows they deserve it tonight.”

Indigo nodded. “I’ll come with you, if I may.”

“Yes… yes, and welcome.”

Reif fetched several haunches of mutton and a bucket of hot mash, while Indigo put on her own coat and called Grimya, and they left the house and crossed the yard towards the kennels. The snow had stopped, though the wind was still powerful and vicious, and the sky now was awesomely clear, a vast, black bowl filled with icy stars.

“No moon,” Reif said. “But enough light to cast shadows. I don’t like this kind of weather so early in the winter. Blizzards one moment, clear skies the next—it makes conditions too unpredictable. We could have a few problems when we start the hunt.”

It was the first time he had mentioned any plan, and Indigo looked sidelong at him. “What do you intend to do?”

Reif hunched his shoulders. “Round up as many able-bodied men as I can get at first light, arm them, and start combing the district.” A pause. “We’ve got to find them both: Kinter and my father. And I wouldn’t like to say which of them is the more dangerous.”

Indigo said nothing. She hadn’t told Reif of her brief and terrifying encounter with Earl Bray, and was reluctant to burden him with it now. Chances were that he’d see the grim truth for himself before this affair was over.

Grimya, padding at her side, communicated, /I the sky stays clear and no more snow falls, it will be good tracking weather. If we—and her mental voice abruptly cut off.

“Grimya?” Indigo frowned at her, and Reif looked round in surprise. “What’s wrong?”

Grimya didn’t reply, but stared towards the arch, which was a wedge of darkness with the snowbound landscape glimmering faintly beyond. And then Indigo whispered: “Oh, by the Mother…”

The tiger emerged from the arch’s shadow and stepped silently into the courtyard. Indigo felt Reif freeze behind her, and heard his soft, shocked oath; but the giant cat ignored him. Its deep, expressive eyes stared intensely at her: and then it raised its head and uttered a coughing, challenging cry.

Reif snapped out of his trance, and metal clanged as he pulled his short sword from its scabbard. “Indigo!” he hissed. “Get back!”

“No!” Indigo protested. “Don’t threaten it, don’t try to harm it! It’s a friend!” And, seeing his incomprehension, she remembered that he didn’t know about the tiger—to him, it was the symbol of something fearful and deadly; not an ally, but an enemy.

The tiger roared again and started towards them. Reif, near panicking, made a grab for Indigo’s arm, trying to drag her out of its path and to safety behind him, but she fought free, for she had heard the tiger’s summons—no, more than heard; she had felt it, an urgent, insistent demand powering into her mind—and knew what it wanted or her.

“No,” she said again, but this time she spoke to the cat. “I must wait—I’m needed here; and when dawn breaks—”

She was interrupted by a fearsome snarl, and again the summons echoed in her head. There were no words, but the meaning was clear and unmistakable. Come, it was telling her. Come. Now. And it wouldn’t be gainsaid.

She glanced quickly at Grimya. The she-wolf was staring at the tiger, and in her eyes was a peculiar mixture of awe, respect and, to Indigo’s surprise, eagerness. Suddenly Grimya said:

Indigo, we must do what it asks! It’s vital—I feel it is vital!

The cat grimaced, tossing its head. Indigo turned to Reif.

“Reif, I have to go with it. I can’t explain; not now. But I have to go.”

Reif looked at her as though she were mad. “Go with that creature? In the Mother’s name, what are you talking about?”

The tiger snarled, and she felt the imperative again: now, hurry, no time to lose. Indigo shook her head desperately. “I’ll be back, Reif. Tell Veness—”

“Wait a minute!” She’d started to back away across the snow-covered yard, and suddenly Reif lunged after her. His fingers closed on her wrist, but before he could pull her back, the tiger sprang at him. Its huge forepaws knocked him flying; he fell heavily, and as he sprawled, winded, the cat backed away, lips curling back over its fangs and growling softly. It stood between Indigo and Reif, as though protecting her, and as Reif began to climb to his feet Indigo said, “Reif, I’m sorry—but I can’t stay to explain. I’ll tell you everything when I return, but for now, please trust me. And… tell Veness I’ll be back soon.” She paused, then: “Tell him I love him!”

And Reif, standing dazedly in the courtyard, had one last impression of the threesome—a strange and unlikely troika—as Indigo, Grimya, and the snow tiger ran through the arch and away into the night.

Chapter XVII

The first precursor of dawn showed as a cold, dim and colorless glimmer on the easterly horizon. The stars were slowly fading, leaving the sky a dead black, and the forest’s outline was barely discernible, darkness overlaid on darkness.

The logging camp was deserted. Moia’s corpse, wrapped in a blanket, had been carried to the main hut to await proper burial, and Veness had ordered the men to return to their homes. They’d gone quickly enough; superstition ran deep in even the hardiest souls, and no one wanted to linger near the dead woman lest her vengeful ghost might be stirred into life.

Indigo wasn’t overly concerned with ghosts, but nonetheless the atmosphere of the empty camp, and the knowledge of what it contained, gave her an unnerving frisson as, following the snow tiger, she and Grimya approached the silent, unlit huts. Why the great cat had led them to this of all places Indigo couldn’t be sure; but the possibility that her suspicions suggested wasn’t one she cared to consider too far. Not for the first time, she regretted her swift and reckless departure from the steading, with no weapon but the knife she always carried in her belt. She’d have given a great deal for her crossbow now, and a full quiver of bolts.

In the center of the compound, the tiger halted and waited for Indigo and Grimya to catch up. For a moment Indigo thought that they had reached the end of their journey; but as they drew level with the cat it turned about with fluid grace and began to move on, into the forest itself. Indigo hesitated, and looked at the she-wolf.

What do you think, Grimya? Should we still follow?

The tiger looked back at her, and she had the distinct and disquieting feeling that it had sensed and understood the thoughts that passed between them. But Grimya was gazing at the cat, and her reply was immediate and emphatic.

Yes; we should follow. There is no danger here yet—and the tiger is our friend.

Wondering at the startling change of heart which seemed to have come over the wolf, but implicitly trusting her instinct, Indigo started forward again.

The forest was deeply and eerily silent as they moved in among the trees. The gale had finally died out, leaving a profound stillness that tingled in the marrow, and the cold lay on the world like a vast, motionless shroud. The woodland swallowed the feeble beginnings of the daylight, plunging them in deep gloom; and it was some minutes before Indigo realized that the territory into which the tiger was leading them was vaguely familiar. That great trunk to their right; fallen naturally and left to decay and return to the soil from which it grew; surely she had seen it before? She glanced at Grimya, projecting a tentative question; and the wolf’s ears pricked forward.

I think we have walked on this path before, she said. A pause, then: I think it leads to the clearing where the dead woman was found.

Of course… Indigo recalled it now. And, peering between the dark, crowding trunks, she thought she glimpsed a lessening of the gloom, as though light were filtering down through a break in the forest canopy.

The tiger, an indistinct and ethereal shape ahead of them, looked back and called softly. And, moving after it, Indigo and Grimya emerged suddenly into the familiar clearing. There was the great brushwood pile, untouched since the grim discovery of Moia’s body. And there, too, was the grave, empty now, nothing more than a shallow scar in the earth.

The tiger padded to the graveside and stopped. It lowered its head, sniffing at the disturbed soil. Then it looked up once more, and snarled savagely. Unnerved, Indigo took an instinctive pace back; but Grimya’s voice spoke in her mind.

No—it is angry, but not with us. It’s trying to tell us something. I sense … Her ears flicked back, then forward again, and abruptly her hackles rose. Indigo, there’s something else there! That’s what the tiger is saying, I’m sure of it!

Slowly and cautiously, her heartbeat quickening, Indigo moved towards the grave. The tiger’s tail lashed once, but as she approached, it withdrew a step or two. Encouraged, she took another pace, and another: then saw that the grave soil was freshly disturbed, as though something had been clawing and scraping in an effort to dig deeper.

And saw, too, the three decaying fingertips that protruded above the surface of the scratched earth.

It was Grimya who finally uncovered his face. The real decay was only just beginning to set in, and, when she had conquered her first revulsion and could look closely, Indigo surmised that the cold had helped to preserve his body, so that he had probably been dead for longer than appearances suggested. And whoever was responsible for his death had been brutally efficient, for the young man’s throat had been cut with a single slash of a knife.

At last she rose to her feet and stepped back from the grave. Though she had never seen the victim before, she knew who he must be, and there was cruel confirmation in the black hair, the faint but unmistakable family resemblance. Gordo—Olyn’s missing son, and Moia’s lover. And she knew now, without the smallest shadow of a doubt, who their murderer could only have been.

Grimya stared down at the corpse. Kinter was very clever, she said somberly. The woodsmen didn’t think to dig any deeper for another body after the first had been found.

“Oh, he was certainly clever. Him, and his scheming, murderous wife.” Anger blurred Indigo’s vision suddenly, but before she could say any more, a new voice spoke from the shadows at the clearing’s edge.

“So you’ve found him.”

Indigo whipped round, her pulse crashing, and snatched for her belt-knife. But instantly on the heels of shock came recognition: she knew that voice. And the tiger was turning, and from its throat came the purring, welcoming prrrusten call, as a fur-clad figure emerged from among the trees.

Indigo’s hand fell away from the knife as the woman walked slowly forward. Clear now of the deepest shade, the face within the hood was just visible as a pale, indistinct oval, and for a moment Indigo glimpsed the vivid blue of her eyes. Then they vanished in the shadow once more as she halted by the grave and gazed down.

“The tiger unearthed his body last night,” she said softly. “I’d thought he was still alive. I didn’t realize that it had come to this.” Quickly then she looked up. “Who killed them, Indigo? Do you know?”

Indigo continued to stare at her. “Them?” She was nonplussed. “But you—I thought—”

“That I was Moia?” She lifted one hand to grasp the hood. “No.”

The hood fell back; the fur coat opened. Standing before Indigo was a thin but strong-boned woman of perhaps thirty-five summers, with fine, straw-colored hair that hung straight to her shoulders. Beneath the coat she was wearing a lightweight linen shirt of a style Indigo didn’t recognize, and linen breeches that looked as though they had been made for a man. Then the fur coat slipped altogether from her shoulders, slid to the ground—and vanished.

“As you see,” the woman said gently, “I am not Earl Bray’s wife.”

All Indigo’s preconceived ideas, all her certainties, collapsed. She struggled with words as the first hint of the real truth began to creep over her, and at last, faltering, she managed to stammer out, “Then… who are you?”

The woman smiled sadly, and with a hint of self-mockery. “I don’t think my name matters any more,” she said. “No one remembers it now. And why should they remember? I died so very long ago.”

Skeletal fingers took Indigo’s heart in a bone-hard grip. “You—” She swallowed raw, freezing air. “You are of that old family…”

“Yes; I am. Or was. My kinfolk have been dust for centuries; but while they have gone to rejoin the Earth Mother, I have remained here. I’m not alive; but neither am I truly dead.” A long, chilling pause. “I can’t truly die. Not until I have unmade the evil that I wished upon the Bray house all those centuries ago.”

Indigo’s lips and throat were dry and icy; at her side she heard Grimya utter a soft whine. “The evil that you wished… ?” she echoed.

The woman looked at her again, and her sapphire eyes glinted with a hard-edged pain. “Yes,” she said. “The legend, you see, is wrong in one vital detail. I was the last to be slain. I had witnessed the deaths of my husband, my children, my brothers and sisters—all our clan, cut down at our own table, innocent.” She paused. “But I had certain wisecraft skills. They weren’t enough to save us, but they were enough for me to curse the name of Bray. Only, in my last extremity the power of the curse I spoke proved greater than even I dreamed possible. And it echoed down the centuries to take a hold that couldn’t be broken.”

Another pause, and now Indigo could see that the woman—phantom, revenant, whatever she was—had begun to tremble as though gripped by a fever. “The shield protected our murderer from my kinsmen’s swords, and the axe severed their bodies like sheep at the butcher’s block. With my last breath I cursed those weapons, and I cursed every hand that should ever touch them. But I didn’t know then how much more innocent blood would be spilled by my bane.” She stared down at the snow beneath her feet, though her eyes didn’t seem to focus on it. “All these years. All these centuries of waiting, praying for a chance to undo what I wrought that night and find peace. And now you have come here, and I believe you have the means to release me.”

“I have…?”

“Yes. I don’t know your ultimate destiny, Indigo, but I sense a link between your goal and mine.” Her eyes focused abruptly, intently on Indigo’s face again. “My form of existence allows me to see into dimensions that are closed to others. It isn’t always a welcome talent, but it has its uses. I’ve glimpsed something of what you are, and I believe that you have your own good reasons for wanting to put an end to the curse’s power.” She paused. “In many ways we’re two of a kind, you and I. You’re alive, I know, and I am dead. Yet there is a twilight area where our different worlds meet, and where we share the same cup of bitter wine. You might say that we’re both a little more than human. And perhaps you, too, know what it is to be in limbo, and to long for nothing more than to go home.”

Indigo stared at her as the words sank in. To be in limbo, and to long for nothing more than to go home. And she felt the pain of it, the hurt of forty years of travail without an end in sight, and without a hearth that she could truly call her own. The knowledge that friends and enemies alike were growing old and dying and falling behind in the ever-deepening mists of time and memory, while she couldn’t age, and couldn’t die, yet could not truly live. Limbo. A cold void, an emptiness stretching away into a future that couldn’t be divined: there was indeed a terrible parallel with the life-in-death that this woman suffered. But this poor creature had endured her shadow existence not for mere decades, but for centuries. Centuries of waiting, of clinging to a hope that might never be fulfilled. She felt a vast, shuddering sensation welling in her, and fought it back, fearing it because she knew that in pitying the unhappy revenant she also pitied herself.

She said, a little unsteadily, “Why didn’t you tell me this the first time we met?”

Pale lids came down over the woman’s sapphire eyes, as though she were trying to shut out an image that she didn’t want to see. “I’ve taken far more from the Brays than I had any right to claim,” she said quietly. “Vengeance on the men who murdered my kin is one matter: but vengeance that echoes down the years and strikes the innocent as well as the guilty is quite another. I was afraid that if you knew the truth, you would loathe me for what I’ve done.” Then she opened her eyes again and regarded Indigo with hard and painful candor. “Now though, everything has changed. The worst has happened: the curse has been reawakened. I can’t stand by and watch the past repeated—and you are my only human ally, so I have no choice but to cast myself on your mercy.” She looked at the grave again. “I’ve nothing left to lose.”

Indigo, too, stared at the body of Gordo, and for a few brief seconds she felt something of the anger that the tiger had shown when it had first led her and Grimya here. Anger at the savagery of these murders, the cruelty and deviousness of the mind behind them: and, strongest of all, at the wanton, destructive power of the demon within the cursed weapons.

The woman said: “Will you help me, Indigo? Will you help me to stop this once and for all?”

Indigo glanced down at Grimya, who was watching her intently, but the wolf said nothing. Yet, she realized with sudden, sobering clarity, she didn’t need Grimya’s advice; for she had no choice in this. She had come to the Redoubt to destroy a demon: but the remote and impersonal adversary she had originally set out to face had changed into something far more tangible. In just a short time, her life had become inextricably bound up with Veness’s life and therefore the lives of all the Bray family; and the demon’s machinations, through the ancient curse and through the schemings of Kinter and Carlaze, had become her bane as well as theirs. She had her own score to settle.

She met the woman’s strange blue gaze, and said, “Yes, I will help you/1 She smiled, thinly and without humor. “I, too, have no other choice.”

The tiger, which had been watching them silently, raised its head and purred softly. The woman’s face visibly relaxed. “Thank you,” she said, and her eyes brimmed with emotion. “Thank you!”

Indigo didn’t want her gratitude, and, discomfited, she looked up at the forest canopy. Full daylight had crept across the sky now, though the forest itself was still steeped in heavy shadow, and trepidation sank its cold claws into her stomach as she wondered what was happening at the steading; how Veness fared, whether Reif had told him of her hasty flight and what he had said, what he had felt. She pushed the unhappy thoughts away; other matters had to take precedence now, and she dared not let her private fears crowd out more urgent concerns.

They had to find Earl Bray. And she felt—she couldn’t explain the conviction, but it was there, and it was certain—that it was vital to track him down before Reif’s planned search could get under way. She rationalized the instinct by telling herself that she didn’t want Reif and his men involved in what lay ahead, for they were unaware of their adversary’s true nature and therefore dangerously vulnerable. But deep down, she knew there was more to it than that. Far more.

She turned once more to the sapphire-eyed woman. “We’ve no time to lose,” she said. “We need to find the earl, and quickly. You say you can see into dimensions that are invisible to others—can you reach him? Can you tell me where he is?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I… can’t be sure,” she said at last. “My powers are too limited… but last night, after we discovered Gordo’s body, the tiger scented another human presence in the forest, not far from here. I sensed nothing, but the cat knew, and it wouldn’t let me investigate; it warned me away.” She glanced at the snow tiger, which was watching her, its amber eyes inscrutable. “I’ don’t know who was there. But it might be worth our while to look.”

There has been no snowfall for some hours now, Grimya said. /I there is a scent, the tiger and I should be able to follow its trail easily enough.

It was a slender chance, but thus far the only clue they had. Indigo nodded. “Yes—yes, it’s worth trying.”

The woman held out one hand. “Come, then. I’ll take you there.”

Indigo reached out reflexively to take the proffered fingers. They touched—and the woman’s hand passed through her own without the smallest sensation, as insubstantial as mist.

Indigo’s heart lurched, and the woman stood momentarily very still. “Ah,” she said gently. “Of course. Just for a moment I’d forgotten that you and I are not entirely alike…” And with a small, bleak smile, she turned and began to lead the way into the forest’s depths.

They walked in silence, the woman leading while Indigo followed her, flanked by Grimya and the snow tiger. Pale sunlight was filtering down into the forest, casting tricky shadows, and occasional snatches of birdsong sounded faintly in the distance. Indigo’s eyes and ears were sharply alert for anything untoward, but her thoughts were on other matters, not least an uncomfortable awareness of the incongruity—she might even say the insanity—of this situation. They were four of the most disparate and unlikely allies imaginable. Herself and Grimya, a wild tiger and a ghost; pitting themselves against a supernatural enemy whose true nature only she and Grimya knew. The demon that now controlled the axe and shield wielded far more power than the dead woman’s ancient curse: and yet she was setting out to confront and destroy it with nothing more than a belt-knife and hope as her weapons.

And that in itself posed a further question; for if she was to prevail over the demon, she must first face the man whose mind and body it had usurped. Earl Bray was an innocent victim: his only crime had been to fall in love with a wayward young woman and try, in his folly, to possess her against her will. And he was Veness’s father. Mad or not, beyond help or not, Indigo didn’t believe that she was capable of slaying him in cold blood. Yet until and unless the earl died, the demon would continue to feed on his madness through the cursed weapons he carried. And until and unless he died, she couldn’t reach the core of the evil; couldn’t touch its heart and grasp it and crush it out of existence.

Grimya spoke up in her mind. Maybe he doesn’t have to die, Indigo. If he could be separated from the weapons, perhaps the madness would leave him.

She’d considered that, but even if it were true, could such a thing be achieved? No one could come within reach of the earl and hope to escape unscathed: and only a highly skilled swordsman would stand a chance of disarming him. She didn’t have that skill—she didn’t even have a sword. So what could she hope to do?

There may still be a way, Grimya said hopefully when Indigo conveyed her thoughts. I know you don’t want him to die, and I feel the same. He doesn’t deserve death. She looked up, and showed her teeth suddenly. Unlike the others. Unlike Carlaze and Kin-ter.

Kinter had been far from Indigo’s thoughts, but Grimya’s last angry words brought him sharply back to the forefront of her mind. It could be a fatal mistake to overlook Kinter. He was still at large, and with his treachery exposed he had two choices: he could flee, or he could try by whatever means he could find to snatch back the advantage he’d lost. Indigo suspected that he was cold-blooded enough—and desperate enough—not to give up, whatever the odds stacked against him, and that made him very dangerous.

Was he hiding somewhere hereabouts? she wondered. It seemed likely; certainly he wouldn’t dare return to the steading. And he was armed with her own crossbow, which had a fearsome range in competent hands. He would be hunting for Earl Bray; and he was an unpredictable factor, a potentially deadly maverick.

She was about to call out to the woman ahead of her, to voice her thoughts and warn her of the danger that Kinter might pose, when the tiger stopped and raised its head. Instantly the others, too, were still, watching the cat tensely. The tiger’s whiskers twitched, its amber eyes gazing intently into the trees towards the forest’s edge. Then its lips wrinkled and it made a soft, warning sound.

“What is it?” The woman retraced her steps—the utter silence with which she moved, and the fact that not a leaf or a blade of grass was disturbed by her feet, unnerved Indigo—and stopped beside the great cat. For a few moments it seemed she couldn’t tell what had drawn its attention; but suddenly she hissed, “Listen!”

I hear it! Grimya communicated eagerly. A cry. A human cry. It sounds like someone in distress. But—

She didn’t finish, for with no forewarning the tiger launched itself forward into the trees. It glided noiselessly away, blending into the shadows; the woman started after it, and, anxious not to be left behind, Indigo and Grimya hastened in her wake. They struggled between close-packed trunks, through low branches that whipped back under Indigo’s hands and spilled icy showers of snow over her face and arms, until abruptly the giant cat halted again and, breathless, Indigo was able to catch up with her fleeter companions.

They were close to the forest’s edge: just a few yards away she could see the light of the unobstructed day casting hard shadows on the tree trunks. She could see nothing unusual here, but Grimya and the tiger were both peering ahead, their ears forward as they listened.

And then she heard it. A cry; faint, feeble, the unhappy protest of someone in pain. A woman’s voice, Indigo thought; but instantly a deeper sense told her that something was wrong with that judgement. Something about the tone and pitch of that voice wasn’t quite right, as if—

The suspicion was interrupted before it could take form, as the tiger snarled a soft, angry threat and began to stalk cautiously forward. Grimya followed, her ears back now and her body low to the ground. The two animals crept closer to the treeline; Indigo saw them move into sunlight, pause, slink another cautious pace. Then Grimya’s shocked, excited voice echoed in her head.

Indigo! Come quickly!

She and the revenant woman reached the forest edge together, and Indigo slithered to a flailing halt as she saw what awaited them.

Virgin land swept away from the trees in a gentle, white-blanketed slope that sparkled under the pale winter sun. And about twenty yards from where they stood, the otherwise unbroken whiteness was marred by what at first glance looked like a solitary tree, casting a gaunt, scarring shadow over the ground. But it wasn’t a tree. Or rather, not a living tree. It was the remains of a sapling, felled, stripped of roots and branches, and driven into the ground to form a stake some eight feet tall. And bound to the stake, its back to them so that recognition was impossible, was a human figure.

“Eyes of the Mother…” Indigo’s breath exhaled in a cloud as she hissed the words. “Who—” And she broke off as they all heard the quavering, agonized cry carried to them on the wind.

“Help… me. Please… help me…”

Indigo didn’t delay another instant. She ran forward, plunging into suddenly deeper snow and floundering towards the the stake and its helpless, pathetic prisoner. Behind her the tiger snarled a warning, but she paid no heed, only struggled on, drawing her knife in readiness to cut the cords. She could see black hair blowing, the torn and filthy hem of a gown encrusted with soil; and their telltale significance didn’t strike her, not until it was too late, and she had reached the bound figure, and—

“Aah!” Shock and revulsion slammed like a mailed fist into her stomach, and she reeled back from the hideous sight of Moia’s decaying corpse which, with its nose and lips now rotted away, grinned maniacally at her from its bonds. Grimya, who had raced to join her, skidded to a stop and whined as she too came face to face with it, and the woman, following the wolf, stared at the horror with dismay and pity in her eyes.

“He stole her body…” Understanding had hit Indigo a second blow, and she swung away from the gruesome sight, struggling to control her heaving stomach. “He stole it, and he—” The voice, of course; that was what had been wrong with the voice! Not a woman’s cry for help, but a man’s imitation, a trap, a lure—

Suddenly, the snow tiger roared. The sound was shattering, making Grimya yelp in fright, and Indigo and the woman spun round to see branches at the forest’s edge threshing as something crashed among the undergrowth. Another sound answered the tiger’s challenge; not a cat’s roar but a human voice, shouting, bellowing, one word that chilled Indigo’s blood as she recognized it.

“MOI-AA!!”

Earl Bray came plunging out of the forest like a mad, wounded bear. His right hand swung the axe in wide, wild arcs, while with his left hand he held the shield high above his head as though it were a war-banner. In the first horrified seconds Indigo saw that not only the blade but the entire haft of the axe was crusted with dried blood, the shield too spattered and stained. And the earl himself was a living nightmare. What had befallen him during the long night she couldn’t even begin to guess, but he was almost naked, his skin hideously blanched by frostbite and criss-crossed with the bloody scars of yet more self-inflicted wounds. The untamed cloud of hair was all but gone; he’d torn at it, ripping it from his head in great handfuls, and his bald scalp beneath was grazed and inflamed. And his eyes, which before had burned with an insane, all-devouring fire, were now like banked-down furnaces, glowing unhumanly in the black hollows of their sockets.

Earl Bray saw the scene before him—or it registered in some form on his disordered brain—and stopped. His arms fell to his sides, the deadly weapons trailing in the snow, and he stared past Indigo and her companions to the stake. Slowly, slowly, his drooling mouth opened, and a sound bubbled up from deep within him.

“Merr… merr…” But suddenly he couldn’t make his throat and tongue form the syllables of his wife’s name. The last shards of intelligence were deserting him, robbing him of his vocal powers, draining away his final coherence as he continued to stare at the sagging, decaying thing that had once been his lovely young Moia. Whether or not he recognized it for what it was, was impossible to judge; all he could do was utter the dreadful sounds again and again, as uncomprehending and piteous as a dying ox.

Indigo’s heart began to pound like a hammer against her ribs as she realized that she was no longer afraid of him. There was nothing to fear now. Earl Bray wouldn’t attack her—he was mesmerized by the corpse, stunned, immobile.

Very cautiously, she took a pace forward. The tiger, which still stood at the forest’s edge, raised its head immediately, tense; and Grimya projected an anxious warning. Indigo, be careful!

It’s all right. I don’t think he’ll even try to harm me … And there was a chance, she told herself, a slender and near-impossible chance, that somehow she might get the cursed weapons away from him. Somehow—

She took another pace. Earl Bray didn’t seem to be aware of her existence, but still stared fixedly ahead. His jaw worked and long ropes of saliva were sliding down his chin; but now he made no noise at all.

Another step. He was ten feet from her now, no more. Another—

And she heard, in the split second before it happened, the dull, heavy and lethal sound of a crossbow’s spring released.

She didn’t see the bolt, for its passage was too fast for the human eye. But she heard it: the whine of displaced air, and the sickening thud as it hit its target. Earl Bray didn’t scream. He simply rocked on his feet, then, grotesquely, his eyes crossed like a drunkard’s as he looked down and focused on the ten-inch steel shaft that had slammed into the back of his neck and punched through his throat.

He tried to speak. As Indigo and her companions stood rooted, too stunned to react, the earl opened his mouth one last time. A trickle of blood ran between his teeth and over his lower lip; then his shoulders convulsed in a cough, and a scarlet flood vomited from his throat before he swayed like a felled tree and collapsed face-down into the snow.

Chapter XVIII

“RUN!” Breath came back to Indigo in a sawing, shocking rush, and she yelled at the top of her voice, “Get to the trees, get under cover—fast!!”

Even as she shouted, she was charging through the snow, swearing, cursing herself for her blind stupidity in not seeing the obvious when it was there before her eyes. Kinter had set the trap—she’d known it, just as she’d known that his was the voice that had cried for help and lured Earl Bray to the scene. And he’d been there all along, waiting and watching: of course he’d been there, and even a child would have remembered that, would have realized, wouldn’t have let such cretinous, single-minded, blinkered idiocy block out everything but the immediate moment—

Instinctively she was zig-zagging as she ran, head down, trying to present as small a target as possible. Grimya jumped and yipped ahead of her; the wolf could have reached shelter in moments, but she wouldn’t leave her friend behind. Indigo shouted to her, urging her to run on: the tiger had already vanished into the forest and the revenant woman was a flying wraith, almost home to sanctuary. Then something snapped and whined out of the wood away to her left, and a silver blur flashed past Indigo at eye level. She yelled, lost her balance as she tried to dodge it, and fell into the snow.

Indigo! Grimya’s alarmed mental cry was accompanied by a howl. Indigo, get up!

By a miracle, he’d missed her… Indigo struggled to her feet—and froze as she saw the fur-clad figure at the forest’s edge. He’d reloaded the crossbow in the space of seconds, and now he stood, feet braced, his manner almost casual, with the bow aimed at her stomach.

“That was merely a warning, Indigo.” Kinter’s familiar voice carried over the snow, but now it had a vicious edge that she’d never heard before. “I won’t miss you a second time, any more than I missed Earl Bray.”

Neither Indigo nor Grimya moved. Indigo thought: he may be lying; he may not be that good a shot—but she crushed the idea. She simply didn’t know how good Kinter was, and she didn’t want to put him to the test. Certainly he was well within range; if he should fire now, there was every chance that the bolt would find its mark. And if it did? she asked herself. He couldn’t kill her, but at this moment her immunity to death was small consolation, for though she might be immortal, she wasn’t impervious to pain or to physical damage. And she knew only too well the kind of damage that those bolts could inflict.

Grimya made a convulsive move towards her. Kinter shifted the bow a fraction, and Indigo’s hand shot out. “No, Grimya! Stay back!” Kinter’s reaction had been enough to tell her that he was skilled, and that his reflexes were fast. She ran her tongue round her lips, tasting frost and salt and not caring that the moisture would freeze and crack her skin. “She’ll withdraw if I tell her to,” she said slowly and clearly. “Let her go. You’ve no quarrel with her, and she can’t betray you.”

Kinter’s shoulders lifted with insouciant disinterest. “Whatever you like, Indigo. As you say, I’ve no quarrel with Grimya, and I wouldn’t waste a good animal’s life unnecessarily. And your other friends.” She saw a faint glint as his gaze moved briefly to the forest where the tiger and the revenant had disappeared, then he walked a few paces forward until he was well clear of the trees. “If they’re sensible, they’ll go quietly away and leave us to our business. If they’re not sensible, then I’ve enough bolts left for all of them. Do you understand me?”

Even the tiger wouldn’t be fast enough against him; he’d see it if it launched an attack, and could kill it before it stood a chance of reaching him. Indigo swallowed bile, and nodded.

“I understand you, Kinter.” And in her mind she said: Grimya, go. Take shelter in the forest, and warn the others not to try to approach.

No! Grimya cried, anguished. I won’t leave you, Indigo, I won’t!

Grimya, obey me in this! She put all the authority, all the command she could muster into the desperate order, for something was stirring in the back of her mind; something she’d seen, a hint, a clue. When Kinter had glanced at the forest and she’d seen his eyes reflect the sunlight momentarily, those eyes had been silver. Silver. Like the axe and the shield. Like the eyes of the demon child, Nemesis. This wasn’t Kinter as she had known him. Something else was rising in him and through him, and it was an adversary she had come to know very, very well.

Obey me, Grimya, she said sternly as Grimya still hesitated. Obey me as you would obey your pack leader. Go!

Grimya whined miserably, but she realized that nothing she could say or do would sway Indigo and, instinctively, she felt bound to obey her. She turned and slunk away, tail between her legs. With every few paces she looked back and her mind tried to form a plea, but she met only an unbreachable mental wall that shut her out.

Kinter watched the wolf until she reached the trees and disappeared in shadow. Then he started to walk laconically towards Indigo again. She eyed the crossbow, but said nothing and made no move. Suddenly Kinter smiled unpleasantly.

“How’s Veness?” he asked, taunting.

Sweat broke out on Indigo’s face and immediately chilled to clamminess in the icy air. “Veness is alive,” she said savagely. “And so is Rimmi, despite your little bitch of a wife’s efforts to finish her.”

“Well, that must be a great relief to you, mustn’t it?” Kinter sneered. “So: no weeping and wailing over a dead lover yet awhile.”

Indigo’s face flushed, but she stayed silent. Kinter waited for a few moments, then, seeing that she wouldn’t allow herself to be goaded, continued, “You’ve made life a little awkward for me in a number of ways, Indigo. Firstly you and that damned cat stopped me from dealing properly with Veness, and now it seems that you’ve been telling tales to the household into the bargain. That’s a pity: it means I’ll need to work out a new strategy for dealing with the rest of them. But in the meantime I have to decide what’s best to be done with you.”

Indigo watched him carefully. Despite his apparent carelessness she could see that his hands on the crossbow were poised and ready, and knew that the smallest movement which might be misinterpreted would provoke him to fire. Yet she had the feeling that he didn’t want to shoot her; at least, not yet.

Kinter’s smile became a grin. “What are you thinking, Indigo? Are you wondering why I don’t simply put a bolt through your heart and have done with it?”

She tried to keep her voice steady and confident. “I’ve asked myself that, yes.”

“Well, rest assured, my reasons are perfectly rational. I’m not about to gloat to you over my triumph and relish the spectacle of you wringing your hands in despair before you die.” He took another pace towards her; reflexively she’d moved back a corresponding distance before she realized disquietingly that that was what he had both expected and wanted her to do. “I’ve something much more practical in mind.” He paused. “Look behind you.”

She turned her head. In the churned snow some yards away, the body of Earl Bray lay spreadeagled. In death he was no longer frightening; simply pathetic. And, ironically, he had finally released his hold on the axe and the shield, which lay close by him, one on each side of his outflung arms.

Indigo looked back again—and her stomach turned over. For just one instant, which passed so quickly that she couldn’t be sure whether she had actually seen the transformation or merely imagined it, Kin-ter had vanished and in his place had stood a vastly more familiar figure. The silver eyes had laughed at her, the smiling lips had parted to show the sharp, catlike teeth, the hair, a pale nimbus, blew ethereally in a capricious gust of wind. And then Nemesis was gone and Kinter was back; and Indigo was left with searing anger in her mind… and the first glimmerings of understanding.

So, she thought, you’re here at last, my evil-minded sibling. I wondered how long it would be before you showed yourself, or where you’d manifest. But I’m not taken in by your efforts to deceive me. I know you’re not truly lurking behind Kinter’s eyes; you haven’t the power to mesh yourself with a human being, and whatever else he may be, Kinter is still human. No: I think I know now where you’re hiding and what you’re hoping to do.

Kinter was smiling thinly. “Move back further,” he said. She obeyed him, and he followed her, always maintaining the same distance between them. “A little more. That’s right.”

She was standing beside Earl Bray’s body now. The shield, dark against the snow and shining dully under the sun’s light, was only inches from her left foot. Kinter settled the crossbow more comfortably, and she saw his knuckles flex on the release.

“I’ll give you a choice, Indigo,” he said evenly. “You can die now, with a bolt through your gut, or you can take your chance with the same madness that possessed my uncle. Pick up the axe and shield, and I’ll let you go free—unless, of course, you attack me, in which case I’ll simply shoot you where you stand.” He grinned, showing his teeth briefly. “As I said, it’s a chance. And that’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”

Indigo believed she understood his reasoning. If she once touched those weapons, she would be possessed by the insanity that had destroyed Earl Bray. If she then turned in a mad rage on Kinter, he’d simply kill her before she could reach him. But there was another possibility: the lure of the steading itself and the surviving Brays. She might be drawn back there, and how much havoc could she wreak before she was shot or cut down? Enough to allow Kinter to follow her and finish what she had begun? Oh, yes; it was possible. And though the chances of her succeeding in doing Kinter’s work for him were remote, it was, for Kinter, a gamble worth taking, for even if it failed he’d have lost nothing.

“Well?” Kinter’s voice broke into her churning thoughts. “Decide, Indigo. I won’t waste any more time. Death, or the weapons.”

She glanced quickly, obliquely towards the forest. There was no sign of any of her friends, though she suspected that Grimya was trying to communicate with her. She wouldn’t allow the wolf to break through; mustn’t allow it: for once, Grimya must be forbidden from coming to her aid, for both their sakes. A thought, a plea, flicked through her mind, keep her back, keep her safe—and a momentary image of the snow tiger’s proud and beautiful face quivered like a mirage in her inner vision. Then it fled; and there was just herself, the dead earl, and Kinter.

She looked down at the corpse, and at the axe and shield that had been his nemesis. His nemesis: now, with an irony of which he was unaware, Kinter meant them to be hers. The shield reflected a dim, indistinct image of her face, and for one instant that face seemed to be smaller, narrower, unclean and mocking. Ah, yes. She was right. She knew she was right. And the risk—perhaps the greatest risk of her entire, eventful life—must be taken now.

Indigo dropped to a crouch, and reached out towards the weapons. For a moment she hesitated, looking up at Kinter once more, and suddenly she saw through the trappings of flesh and bone to the core of him. Corruption, greed, envy. Small and petty and such very human obsessions. He didn’t know what he had been playing with: he was too self-absorbed to realize just what he had unleashed. Pray she could show him. Pray she could hold on to her control. Pray she could.

Her left hand slipped into the grip of the shield, as her right closed around the axe’s haft.

It was like touching—but she couldn’t contain it; her mind and body couldn’t assimilate the colossal, screaming shock that came roaring out of utter darkness like a tornado, smashing her and splintering her—Indigo heard a ghastly, ululating shriek rip the air—but no, it wasn’t her voice, it couldn’t be, not that, not that inhuman howling—

Her arms had turned to granite. Their weight dragged her down, and in each hand she held white-hot fire that was melting flesh from her bones. Beneath her feet the ground was heaving, as though something vast, unnameable, were humping up from an age-old slumber deep in the earth. She couldn’t see—the world was a chaos of black lightning, of silver suns, of searing heat and shattering cold—and a voice, not hers, another voice, huge, insensate, hideous, roared over and over in her brain for her to KILL! KILL! KILL! And she screamed again, now in terrible harmony with the voice, a banshee’s challenge, a deadly warning: she couldn’t contain the monstrous energy, the towering, toppling, all-consuming hate that filled every part of her being, hate for the world, for life, for herself, for—

for herself—

“NNNN…” The scream was changing, she made it change, had to make it change. A word, a name. NEMESIS. Hatred. She hated it, and she would control it, for it had no power over her, not if she willed, not if she could break through the pain and the fear and the chains of a legend that tried to convince her that its power was greater than hers. It wasn’t greater: she was the stronger of the two. Yes, say it again and again, a litany, a rite, a conjuration. SHE WAS THE STRONGER.

An explosion of blackness roared at her, blasting out of the vortex before which her consciousness, her whole being, hung like a fly in a spider’s web. Indigo opened her mouth and shrieked, and then her lungs heaved as she sucked the blackness in, swallowed it, welcomed it, drew from it the very power which it had massed against her. She flung her head back, and though her heart felt on the point of bursting, still she breathed in, and in, and—

Explosion became implosion, with a sound that erupted beyond sound to a titanic, silent concussion. And the world was dark. More than dark: all her senses had shut down. No vision: no hearing: no sensation. She knew that she was outside time, perhaps even outside space as she knew it. Between worlds. Her world, and—what? She didn’t know. But this, truly, was nowhere.

She still held the axe and the shield; she knew they were there, eyen though she couldn’t feel their cold reality between her fingers. And she wasn’t entirely alone. Not Kinter: he was far, far away in the world of life, frozen in that last instant as she’d touched the cursed weapons, while she had stepped aside into another place. No; not Kinter. But something.

Indigo blinked. And instantly, with a faint, musical clink as though someone had tapped a fingernail on glass, a tableau flicked into life before her.

Nemesis stood on a raised dais in a travesty of the great hall at Carn Caille. Behind the demon child, familiar phantoms moved in the grotesque motions of ghosts, their lips mouthing silent words, their hands heaping invisible food on to invisible plates and lifting invisible cups in empty toasts. Her father, her mother, her brother. Puppets, pantomiming rituals which no longer had any meaning.

And Nemesis smiled, and said, “Welcome home, Indigo.”

She raised the shield. It was no longer heavy, and though it still blazed like white fire, there was no heat in it. Only cold. Intense, implacable cold. She held the shield before her, and she swung the axe, once. It cleaved through the demon’s face, and she saw the vicious little smile change to a grimace of shock, the silver eyes start in their sockets, silver blood pour from the slender neck—

Indigo stared through the nimbus of her silver hair, and blinked again. Clink. The scene vanished. And before her, on barren rock clogged with black ash, lay a pewter brooch, poorly fashioned into the shape of a bird. She stared at it, and the brooch came alive, the bird, seemingly crippled, flapping its wings feebly but unable to rise and fly. Then she saw the pinpoint of its eye, watching her craftily. A silver eye.

She raised the axe, and brought the blade smashing down on the tiny bird. It shattered into a thousand pieces. Indigo blinked her own silver eyes.

Clink. The fortune-telling card was backed with silver, and when Nemesis, smiling, turned it over, Indigo saw the black moon and the sea and the rearing, hideous serpent.

The axe swung. Nemesis’s skull split in two as the blade struck the crown of its head, and the card fluttered down, down, falling away, fading, vanishing.

Indigo smiled, showing her cat’s teeth, and blinked.

Clink. And in a rotting hall, a figure stepped out of flaring, blue-white light and stood before her like a demonic host greeting a loved and long-anticipated guest. Nemesis said, “Welcome, sister. I have been waiting for you.”

“And I,” Indigo said, “have been waiting for you.”

She felt the power rising, a wellspring, a torrent, a cataract. The axe began to glow, the shield flared like a captive sun, and Indigo started to swing her arm above her head in a hypnotic rhythm, around, and around, and around. She heard the blade’s whistling scream, felt the chilly blast of its scything, circling passage—and with unhuman violence her arm came down, and the axe’s scream was drowned by another as the blade sheared Nemesis in two.

And Nemesis and the rotting hall vanished. Again, Indigo was in a place of utter darkness and silence, and she could feel nothing. Even her own heartbeat seemed stilled. But she knew what she had done. This had been the first challenge, the first abyss to be crossed: and she had crossed it. Now, she stood apart from what lay within the axe and shield; she had found the strength to set herself aside from it, and she had control. She no longer feared the demon of the weapons, for she had countered it with a demon of her own: the devilish child that was the manifestation of her own dark self. At this moment, she and Nemesis were one. And as one, they were more powerful than the force within the axe and shield. That other demon might have brought madness to Earl Bray: but the creature that was Indigo and Nemesis would not be so easily overcome. They could fight it. They could destroy it. All she must do was hold what she had, keep her control of it. Keep control. And as for Kinter…

She focused her eyes on the blackness before her, and it seemed that a thin, vertical line of brilliance appeared, wrenching the dark into sudden perspective. Ah, yes. Her cat’s teeth smiled; her silver hair shimmered as she raised her head a fraction. Her silver eyes blinked. And she stepped out of the nowhere-place, back into cold snow and glittering winter sunlight, and into the presence of the man who meant to kill her.

Chapter XIX

One second had passed, no more, since Indigo had dropped to a crouch and laid her hands on the cursed weapons. But what rose now before Kinter, what climbed to its feet with the axe and shield in its hands, was not Indigo. Haloed in pulsing silver, it lifted a glaring, unhuman gaze to meet his own horrified eyes, and it smiled, a terrible and feral smile that revealed teeth sharpened to savage points.

Kinter stumbled back, losing cohesion, almost losing his control and falling into the snow. At the last moment he rallied himself, but his mind was screaming, no, it wasn’t like this before; the weapons didn’t have this power! Something had gone wrong, something had happened, something—

A wild yell raked his throat and echoed over the landscape, and he fired at the vision before him. Indigo saw the bolt coming at her, and—to Kinter it was a blur, impossibly fast—she brought up the shield to deflect it. Metal struck metal with an ugly sound, and the bolt ricocheted harmlessly away.

Kinter moaned. He was fumbling with the crossbow, snatching at a new bolt, forcing it into the breech with fingers that suddenly seemed to have turned to wet snow, and the thing wasn’t making any attempt to attack, it was just watching him, waiting, laughing at him—

He fired again: again, the bolt bounced off the shield and dropped harmlessly into the snow.

“No…” It was the only word he could conjure, and it had no use, no value, it didn’t express what he felt and it couldn’t protect him. “No… oh, no…”

Slowly, Indigo began to swing the axe. And she said, as though pronouncing a death sentence, “Kinter.”

“No…” He’d dropped the third bolt, and there was no time to scrabble for it. Another—he snatched another, and realized with horror that it was the last. And he couldn’t control his hands; they wouldn’t obey him, the bolt wouldn’t go in, it wouldn’t fit—

“Kinter.” The arc of the axe was lengthening; Indigo had started to swing her arm in a full circle, and the sound the blade made as it cut through the air was lethal and inexorable.

The bolt slammed home at last, and Kinter fired again, though he knew even as the spring recoiled that it was useless. The shield flashed; the bolt spun away. And Kinter had no other weapon.

For a final moment their eyes met: and bloodlust surged from Indigo’s heart and into her arteries like a wild and irresistible drug. She heard the great, hideous voice in her head again as the demon fought against her hold and bellowed its one insensate imperative: to KILL, to KILL. Suddenly its power raged up to new heights, and she felt her own being reeling back before the onslaught. Frantically she resisted; but it had a grip on her, a giant fist crushing reason and sanity and screaming through to snatch the reins from her and send her mind careering out of control. Ghe couldn’t hold it back! It was taking her over!

What Kinter saw in that moment, Indigo would never know. But he screamed, high and shrill as the last vestiges of his courage disintegrated before blind panic, and he ran. And Indigo’s voice, and Nemesis’s voice, and the demon’s voice, blended together in a war-shriek that dinned in her ears as she launched herself after him with the axe whirling above her head.

Kinter fled towards the trees, and the creature that had been Indigo pursued him, her shrieks becoming wilder and madder. Madder—the dead souls of the curse’s victims were howling inside her and roaring for release: Earl Bray, bellowing his unfaithful wife’s name in longing and in vengefulness; and the others, the unwitting, the unknowing, and, darkest of all, that earl of long ago, paying for treachery and greed with his sanity and finally with his life. She knew them all, they were a part of her, joining together in unholy alliance. And Indigo herself was lost, drowning in the sea of madness as the demon’s hold tightened. She would slay Kinter, she would slaughter him and hack him asunder as he screamed his final agony, and when he was dead there would be more, more—there would be Carlaze, and there would be Reif, and Livian, Rimmi, Veness—all of them; all of them; and their men and their animals—MORE, her twisting mind screeched; more blood, more dying, more killingl

She crashed into the forest, bursting through undergrowth and low branches already crushed and broken by Kinter’s desperate flight. Somewhere, a million miles away, a million worlds away, something that had once been Indigo, and had once been sane, was crying out to her to stop, but it meant nothing now. The demon was alive in her and burning; and Nemesis flung back its silver-haloed head and laughed as she powered on, faster, chasing her running, doomed prey among the trees.

Kinter was tiring. She knew it, just as she knew that her own strength, fed by the demonic power that filled her, wouldn’t falter until the ravening hunger for blood and vengeance was satisfied, and a great surge of unholy glee erupted in her head. Kinter wasn’t enough: she wanted more than Kinter, more than his death, more—he was only yards ahead of her now, stumbling, arms flailing, and he was screaming: not for help, for he knew that it was far too late for help to come, but in mindless, hopeless terror. On through the trees, on into the clearing where the grave of Moia and Gordo lay—a bloody grave; blood and death and slaughter—now he was only five paces ahead, now four, now three, now two, and the axe whirled, hungry, its whistling like the screech of a mad child as it homed in for the murderous blow that would bring her quarry down.

And then, like black-and-gold lightning shattering into the crazed silver storm of Indigo’s mind, the snow tiger sprang from the forest’s shadows into their path.

Kinter howled in panic and spun around, trying to launch himself aside and away from this new terror, but he lost his footing and his balance, and fell heavily. Indigo yelled in triumph, raising the axe high—

NO.

The huge, calm voice hit her mind like a hurricane, smashing through the cacophony of voices in her head, and the axe’s whirling was violently arrested with a jolt that shook her entire frame. The tiger stood motionless, gazing at her, while between them Kinter moaned and tried to struggle to his feet. To her distorted vision the cat looked huge: its head was menacingly lowered and its ruff gave an awesome dimension to its hunched shoulders, while its eyes, molten amber, burning, blazing, issued a terrible challenge. And the calm, unhuman voice spoke again.

HE IS MINE.

The voices in her head, Nemesis, the demon, the dead ones, erupted in a babbling chaos of outrage. Not yours, not yours; ours! Kill him, kill him, KILL! With a horrible blend of humanity and demonic mania, Indigo yelled, “No! I want him! He’s mine, he’s—”

ours, OURS!

“Not yours, mine!”

OURS! Kill this creature, cut it, maim it, SLAY it— Her cry rose to a hysterical pitch as the demon voices overran her, and she screeched wordlessly, the axe swinging up for a murderous blow. The tiger’s eyes flashed momentarily—then, massive muscles flowing like a waterfall under its coat, it reared on its hind legs, towering over her, and a shattering roar erupted from its throat as a forepaw with the weight and power of a sledgehammer smashed into the side of her head.

The world spun into chaos as Indigo crashed to the ground. She heard the tiger roar again, glimpsed the great, furred body swing away from her in one lithe, graceful, and deadly motion. And, her head reeling and the demon-voices momentarily stunned into silence, she saw the cat spring at Kinter as, scrabbling, he made a last, desperate effort to throw himself clear.

He didn’t stand a chance. He screamed once, a wild, primal cry, and then the scream cut shockingly off in a hideous bubbling as the tiger’s full weight hurled him to the ground and its jaws, clamped shut on his neck. His body jolted as though from a massive shock, and then he slumped, limp and lifeless, face down in the undergrowth.

With delicate grace, the tiger stepped back from him. Indigo, on hands and knees and still dizzy from the blow its paw had delivered, stared numbly at the tableau they presented, her mouth hanging open, her breath rasping painfully in her throat. Kinter was dead, had died instantaneously as the tiger’s weight hit him and the single, awesomely powerful bite broke his neck. Drops of his blood showed like bright beads on the cat’s muzzle as it turned its head and looked at her; but it would inflict no more damage on Kinter. Its attack had been nothing more than a clean and frighteningly efficient execution; Kinter was worthy of no further attention.

BUT YOU…

The amber gaze burned into Indigo’s skull. And the voices, the clamouring, mad voices, came babbling back like a tide.

Kill—

Strike it—the axe; the axe!

Hate—bloodlust, death, HATE—

Indigo showed her teeth in a ferocious hiss. Deep within, sanity was struggling to fight back; deep within, she knew what was happening to her, what Nemesis and the demon were doing. But she was drowning in the howling, raging otherness, too weak to resist, too weak to drag herself—Indigo, not the others, Indigo—up through the churning insanity that filled her head.

The hiss became a spitting, salivating snarl as she rose to her feet. In her hands the axe and the shield were glowing; once again she felt blistering heat shoot through her arms. Kill. There was no other reasoning, no other motivation. Kill. Nothing else in the world. Kill.

She took a pace forward.

Indigo.

Indigo tensed as the new voice broke through the mayhem in her mind. She knew it, and she felt a serpent’s-tail whiplash as the part of her that was Nemesis recoiled from the voice in anger. Then, moving from the trees, slowly, carefully, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on Indigo’s face, Grimya appeared. Her hackles bristled along her spine, her head was lowered, and her fangs showed ivory-white. She slavered; she growled, a deep, threatening rumble. She looked more dangerous than any wolf Indigo had ever seen, as dangerous as the snow tiger. And she and the tiger were suddenly and frighteningly allied in a common cause.

We will take it from you, Indigo. Grimya spoke slowly and deliberately in her mind. Give it to us. We will destroy it.

The voices in her head screamed, NO! But Grimya was pushing at the barriers, forcing her will through, reaching for the real Indigo drowning under the alien force.

Give it to us. Show it to us. We can free you.

And she felt a second presence blending with the she-wolf’s. Animal, warm, and powerful, taking hold of her flailing mind. She could hear them breathing, wolf and cat, steady, implacable, calling to her, calling her to fight free, fling off the demon, come back, remember what you are!

Indigo uttered a terrible cry as other hands, silver hands, snatched at the mooring-ropes of her consciousness to drag her back. Bloodlust—death—No; she must fight it! She was stronger than any demon! But it wasn’t just the demon: Nemesis was rising again; before her inner eye she saw the vicious child’s face, heard the cruel, ethereal laughter as it mocked her, as it laid its hands on her to pull her away, away—

“Ah, no!” Her own voice, her own, broke from her lips as suddenly she realized what was happening to her. She couldn’t fight Nemesis and the demon together; even the combined power of Grimya and the snow tiger wasn’t enough for that. But without Nemesis, without its evil deceits to give the demon power, what then? What then?

Indigo! You have the strength! And Grimya’s voice and the snow tiger’s voice joined together to batter against the final barrier: GIVE THE DEMON TO US!

A massive, shattering shock coursed through Indigo, and her hands burned in agony as though she had plunged them into a furnace. Her fingers jerked, splaying wide—and with a wild shriek, she flung the axe and the shield from her.

She heard the howl of rage echo through the forest, Nemesis screaming frustration as the silver symbols of its power spun away and it lost its hold on her. Then in the wake of the cry came a pain so vast and so all-consuming that Indigo felt it must split her apart. Rising, swelling, growing, bursting… she staggered, her body bending backwards and her jaw stretching as she struggled to give voice to her agony and terror. She felt it rising from the depths of her being, tearing at her gut and her stomach, suffocating in her throat—then the pain imploded, vanishing with a jolt that sent her reeling backwards; and Indigo heard Grimya’s howl of triumph blending with the tiger’s full-blooded roar.

The thing that had erupted from within Indigo spun and flickered in the clearing between them, like a mad will-o’-the-wisp. It had no form of its own—it seemed to consist of nothing but nacreous, colorless light—but Indigo’s shock-blurred eyes glimpsed momentary travesties of human and animal in its whirling shape, as though the demon, dragged from its sanctuary within her mind, was striving to find some new image on to which it could fasten and hold. Twisted arms flailed, cloven hoofs kicked; a three-fingered hand became a sword-blade; a serpent’s tail tipped with the head of an axe lashed frenetically. And with its mouths, and its beaks, and its muzzles, it yammered and yowled in mounting panic.

A vast, warm voice spoke in Indigo’s mind: Grimya and the tiger together. And they said: KILL!

Indigo smiled. She felt the smile crack her frosted lips, and she welcomed the pain because it was real, it was human, it was a part of her own, untainted self. And she and the wolf and the tiger began to close in on the flickering, yammering thing. The tiger’s head was up, its eyes alight with hunger; Grimya was panting, eager, ready; and Indigo’s hand closed round the hilt of her knife and drew it from its sheath. Closing the net, closing the circle. Nearer: nearer…

The demon made a dart for freedom. The tiger reared, snarling, and its clawed paw raked the shimmering horror, sending it tumbling and screeching to the ground. Floundering, the monstrosity flicked wildly through a dozen hideous changes; then membranous wings flapped and lifted it, flopping, towards Grimya. The she-wolf’s jaws snapped twice, three times; torn almost in half, the demon bowled towards Indigo, writhing in shrill agony. The knife-blade flashed down—she felt nothing, it was like stabbing at smoke—and the thing crawled away to lie quivering in the center of their deadly circle. Mortally wounded, its silver-grey glow was fading and it seemed now to be incapable of maintaining any shape for more than a moment. The metamorphoses were racing faster and faster, blurring into utter chaos, and with a surge of triumph Indigo knew that its essence was draining from it, its strength and its power melting away.

The demon mewled piteously. But she felt no pity, only disgust and contempt and a remote, detached loathing. She heard a soft exhalation; saw the tiger begin to move forward again, and she and Grimya advanced with it until all three stood gazing down at the weakening, dying thing that lay in their midst. Its light was dimming, almost extinguished, but Indigo had the disquieting sensation that, formless though it was, it was looking up at her. And then, for one moment, a face formed in the failing nacre. A face that embodied all the hatred, all the greed, all the naked and ugly hunger for dominion that Kinter had aspired to, yet which, hampered by the limits of humanity, he could never have hoped to equal. And in that face, masked by the demon’s warped countenance but still distinct and unmistakable, she saw the fading echo of Nemesis.

Something like a shaft of pure, clean ice seemed to shoot through Indigo’s spine and into her brain. She raised the knife—Grimya and the tiger withdrew, but she didn’t see them, was suddenly oblivious to them—and stabbed it down into the writhing face, again and again and again. She saw the demon’s essence breaking apart, scattering, turning to smoke and then to nothing, and still she kept stabbing. Again, and again. She wouldn’t stop until it was dead, until it was gone; until there was no chance, not one infinitesimal chance, of it ever returning to the world.

Indigo.

It was Grimya’s voice, careful and gentle in her mind. The knife’s descent arrested; abruptly the world came back into focus, and Indigo saw that there was nothing left to attack. The blade was wet with melted snow and its tip covered with soil; with a strength she hadn’t known was in her she’d driven it inches deep into the frozen ground, over and over. But the last traces of the demon were gone.

Indigo blinked, and the scene before her swam. She said helplessly, “Grimya… ?” and saw two blurred images, the tiger’s black and cream fur, Grimya’s brindled coat. Their eyes were lamps, far away in fog like a whirling snowstorm, receding, merging; she reached out towards them, then velvet darkness closed in, and she fainted.

Someone or something was trying to help her to her feet. She thought she could only have been unconscious for a minute or two, but it was impossible to be sure. And she ached. Every muscle, every tendon—every bone, or so it felt. Shaking her head to clear wet hair and melted ice, Indigo opened her eyes.

Grimya was close beside her, nudging her with a soft, anxious muzzle. You fainted, the she-wolf communicated. After the demon died, after the last of it was gone. A pause. Are you all right?

So the demon was dead. Indigo felt a giddying rush of relief; for a moment she’d thought she might have dreamed that part of it. But no: as her mind cleared, she remembered all that had happened. All of it.

Slowly, cautiously, she sat up—and saw the other two figures who waited a few paces away, watching her.

The snow tiger raised its head and whickered a soft greeting. The woman continued to gaze at Indigo for a moment longer, then, a little diffidently Indigo thought, approached her. Her form seemed ethereal; it might have been illusion, but for a moment Indigo thought that the daylight shone through her.

“We th-thought…” Her voice was low-pitched and sounded faint and distant, as though it came from a great way off. “When you fainted, we feared…”

Indigo understood what she was trying to say, and managed to smile a little. “No,” she said. “It’s dead; it’s gone. The curse is truly broken.”

The woman sighed; a strange and eerie sound that the trees answered with a faint rustling. “I am so glad,” she said, and the simple words conveyed far, far more. Then she turned away, and Indigo thought she was weeping.

Glad. Yes; she too was glad. Perhaps the word was hopelessly inadequate; but as yet Indigo felt too weary and too numb for anything but the shallowest emotion to be capable of reaching her. She turned her head from the quietly crying woman, not wanting to intrude, and looked about her. Five paces away, face down on the ground, Kinter lay where the snow tiger’s single blow had felled him; but of the demon’s remains there was no sign; only some scars in the patch of ground where she had driven her knife home in her final frenzy of loathing. And behind her…

The axe and the shield lay half-hidden in a tangle of frosted and dying vegetation. They didn’t look like silver now: they were simply old, tarnished metal, almost black with age and neglect. Only a few brown, dried stains on the axe-blade betrayed the havoc they, and the thing that had dwelt in them, had wrought.

A little unsteadily Indigo got to her feet and moved towards the discarded weapons—then stopped. Could she be certain? If she touched them now, would she feel merely the uneven contours of ancient iron and wood; or did something still lurk there, something unfinished, awaiting the awakening contact of a foolhardy hand?

Grimya said gently, No, Indigo: there’s nothing there now. The tiger showed me. Look. And she walked to where the shield lay, and placed one forepaw on it.

Indigo gazed down at the weapons, then reached out and stirred the axe with her left foot. It shifted sluggishly; but there was no other sensation. They were dead artifacts; nothing more.

She sensed a presence beside her, and the woman spoke quietly to her. “Let them lie here,” she said. “The snow will cover them in time, and after the snow there’ll be new spring growth to finish the task. Let them rot away and be forgotten, as they should have been many centuries ago.”

Indigo looked up, and their gazes met. The blue of the revenant’s eyes had faded from sapphire to the thin, pale shade of a summer morning sky, and the hand she held out—the hand Indigo knew she couldn’t clasp—was translucent and barely visible.

“You have released me,” she said. “I don’t know if such things as memories exist in the place where I’m now free to go. But if they do, I shall remember you. And my gratitude will never die.”

Behind them, the tiger uttered a strange, sad cry. The woman turned, and her eyes filled with affection.

“The tiger has been a good friend to me,” she said. “It remembered the old totems, and the old bonds between my family and its kind, which the rest of the world had forgotten. Now it, too, is free of its last obligation.” She walked slowly towards the cat, then knelt down before it and held out her arms. The tiger pushed its muzzle towards her, and her hands, a ghost’s hands, caressed its head and stroked over it and through it, and a shiver racked the cat as again it uttered its small cry of grief.

The woman rose to her feet—and then her head flicked round, turning towards the deeper forest, the movement so quick that it seemed she must have heard and reacted to something inaudible to other ears. For an instant she stood motionless, poised. Then she turned back to the tiger and gazed at it for a long, lingering moment.

“Goodbye, proud and brave one. Thank you for all you did.” Her eyes lifted to Indigo and Grimya. “And goodbye to you, dear friends. May you find your own peace more quickly than I have found mine!”

She turned again to face the forest. Her form was fading, Indigo realized suddenly; like a mirage, like mist under the autumn sun—she tried to call out to her, then remembered that she’d never even known her name.

The woman’s image flickered, became nothing more than an outline etched on the forest canopy. And she was gone.

Indigo pressed clenched knuckles to her mouth, unaware that she was biting through her glove, unaware of the tears that tried to force themselves from her eyes to freeze on her lashes and cheeks. She couldn’t even say why she wanted to weep: it was pointless, foolish, the woman had been nothing to her, and indeed she had indirectly and unwittingly been the architect of all the pain and grief that beset the Bray household. But for all that, Indigo felt her loss; felt it keenly as a knife-thrust, for, as the unhappy revenant had reminded her, they were, in many ways, so very alike.

Something touched her breast, just at her heart, and warm breath rose to tingle on her face. Startled out of her trance, Indigo looked down. The tiger had padded silently to her, and it gazed up at her with smouldering, golden eyes in which sadness and regret melded with a profound understanding. Indigo held out her hands. Her fear was an old, forgotten thing, for she knew now, and the knowledge burned like unquenchable fire, that this awesome and magnificent creature was a true friend. And the tiger pushed its head—the head whose fanged jaws could kill with a single bite—against her arms and body, and its huge, exhaling purr vibrated from its throat and into her and through her.

At her side she heard Grimya whine softly. The tiger blinked, and turned to regard the she-wolf, whom it dwarfed, with a wise gaze. Grimya’s tail wagged tentatively; then Indigo felt the eager, warm, and fearless rush of her affections as she raised her muzzle and licked the tiger’s face.

But suddenly, the great cat tensed. Its head came up sharply, and its ears flicked alertly forward as its eyes focused on a point beyond the clearing, towards the forest’s edge. And moments later, Indigo too heard it: the distant sound of dogs barking, and human shouts.

The searchers! Grimya spun round, every muscle rigid. They are here; they are coming this way!

Indigo’s mind was flung momentarily into confusion. Reif and the others—she’d completely forgotten them; she’d forgotten everything but the tight-focused and terrible encounter with the demon. Now though, the greater picture hit her like a tidal wave. Veness—pain and fear and a great upsurge of love swept on the heels of the first shock. How did Veness fare? Had the searchers found Moia and Earl Bray and Gordo; did they know anything of what had happened?

The tiger showed its fangs and snarled softly. Not a challenge; not a threat; the sound conveyed simply: these are not my kind. It backed two paces, then it turned fluidly and loped away.

“Wait!” Indigo called after it. “Don’t go—wait: stay, please—”

But the trees on the far side of the clearing quivered briefly as something swift and lithe disturbed their branches, and the tiger vanished.

“It’s gone…” Stupidly, Indigo stared at the place where the great cat had disappeared, and Grimya had to bite and pull at the hem of her coat before at last her mind jolted back to earth.

“In-digo, they are here!” In her eagerness, Grimya cried out aloud. “Reif! The other men! We must go to them—quickly, or we shall be 1—left behind!”

There was so much to tell Reif and Veness; such news to carry back to the steading—yet a part of Indigo didn’t want to leave this place. She felt an intense pang of regret at the tiger’s departure, and she still clung to a hope that it might return.

It won’t return. Grimya switched back to telepathic speech, and her voice in Indigo’s mind sounded sad. The world of men is intruding here, and that is not its world. The tiger feels it has no place among men, and so it has gone back to its own domain. We must accept that, however much it grieves us.

She was right; and all the regret on Earth wouldn’t persuade the tiger to come back. They must sever the links: their own world called to them, as the wild snow cat’s nature had drawn it back to its secretive existence in the forest. But Indigo wished that there had been time to say goodbye.

Grimya ran to the edge of the clearing. She looked back, and called, “We must go, Indigo. We must f… ind them.”

“Yes. Yes—I’m coming.” She stared once more towards the forest’s heart, but there was no disturbance among the crowding branches, no flicker of tawny-gold among the shadows. In her mind, silently, fervently, she whispered: thank you. And then she turned and ran to join Grimya and hasten with her out of the forest and away down the snow-covered hill to meet the search party.

Chapter XX

An hour later, the searchers’ dog-sleigh, with Indigo and Grimya aboard, arrived at the steading amid a welter of flying snow and excited yapping. As it slid to a halt in the deserted courtyard Indigo climbed out, more thankful than she’d imagined possible that the end of the journey had come at last. She was exhausted, light-headed with hunger, aching fiercely: she wanted nothing more than a hot bath, a hot meal, and the chance to rest.

Reif, to her surprise, hadn’t been among the search party when she and Grimya emerged from the forest to hail them. The party’s leader, a swarthy cattleman whom she didn’t know, had said that some small problem at the steading had needed Reif’s attention at the last minute and that he planned to follow them with a second party later in the day. He didn’t elaborate on that, but, having already found Earl Bray’s body and seen the grotesque sight of Moia’s remains tied to the stake, was far more anxious to hear Indigo’s story. She’d told him as much as she thought he would believe, and had taken him and his companions into the forest to see Kinter’s corpse for themselves: the rest of the tale, though, she would keep for Veness’s and Reif’s ears alone.

The sleigh rocked as she climbed over the side. No one came out of the house to greet them, and the cattleman grunted with annoyance.

“Reif must’ve already left,” he said. “I’d hoped we’d be back in time to stop him.” He shouted at the dogs to be quiet, and moved to start unbuckling harness as their barking subsided. “You’d best go in and find out which direction he took—a horse can cope with the snow now; we’ll send a rider to find him.”

Indigo nodded and headed for the house with Grimya trotting at her side. The great door was barred, and she thumped on it with a fist, calling Livian’s name. For perhaps a minute there was no response, then at last she heard the sound of the bar moving, and the door swung open.

Livian stood in the shadows of the hall, and at first Indigo couldn’t see her face clearly. She stepped inside, saying, “Livian—Livian, has Reif left? We must go after him, we must tell him—” and she stopped.

Livian’s face was grey and drawn, and her eyes red-rimmed. She was clutching the door latch with hands clenched tight into white-knuckled fists, and as Indigo looked at her in chagrin, fresh tears began to stream down the older woman’s cheeks.

“Oh, sweet Mother…” Then her mind made the obvious connection, and with it came a pang of guilt and shame that she’d forgotten, hadn’t thought. “Livian, what’s happened? Is it Rimmi? Is she all right?”

Livian made a soft moan and covered her face. Indigo reached out towards her, but stopped as the door of the dwelling-hall opened.

Reif came out. And as soon as she looked at him, before he could speak, premonition struck like a hammerblow and Indigo knew.

Reif said: “Veness is dead.”

She stared at him. She couldn’t do anything else; couldn’t react, couldn’t utter a sound. She felt the shock-wave from Grimya’s mind, a surge of grief and pity, but it was meaningless. A voice deep down within her cried out, no, it isn’t true, I don’t believe it, he’s lying, it’s a joke, a mistake, I don’t want to believe it! But Reif wasn’t lying. His face told the truth. His white, dead, empty face.

A sound came from Indigo’s throat. Not a word, not even a cry; just a quiet, incongruous, inchoate noise that sounded flat in the hall’s sudden silence. She looked towards the staircase rising up into darkness. He must be up there, in his room—dead—lying there just as she’d last seen him—dead—before the tiger came for her, before the demon, before the fight… but he was dead. Veness was dead.

“But…” And she couldn’t finish it: there was nothing she could say that made any sense.

Reif spoke again, very quietly. “The wound was internal, Indigo. We didn’t know; there was no way we could have known without a physician to tell us.” Weeping softly, Livian began to walk away towards the kitchen, and Reif continued unsteadily. “He regained consciousness, but then three hours ago he started to cough blood. Livian did all she could,” he glanced towards the door through which Livian was disappearing, “but she couldn’t stop it. None of us could.”

A long pause, and though she said nothing, Indigo felt a new and terrible emotion beginning to rise inside her, as though someone were holding a smoldering taper to a great pile of dry brushwood. “He… called for you,” Reif went on at last. “Just before…” He stopped, swallowed, licked his lips. “I told him, Indigo. I told him what you said. And he understood; I know he did.”

Indigo nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Yes.” The brushwood was catching light, and now she knew the nature of the fire. Anger. No, more than that: rage. Searing, ravening rage. It was growing towards a blaze, and from a blaze to an inferno, eclipsing every other feeling under a solid wall of fury. Grief would come, misery and despair would come: but now, they were blocked out. Everything was blocked out. Everything but the rage.

She looked at Reif, and she said, quite clearly and calmly, “Where is Carlaze?”

Reif gazed at her. He knew what was in her mind; his eyes told her that he had read the unspoken message. And a sense of powerful and complete understanding passed between them; a kinship and an acknowledgement of a common cause.

Reif said: “She’s still in the cellar.”

“Bring her here, Reif. To the dwelling-hall.”

He nodded tersely, and moved towards the kitchen. As he went, Indigo suddenly called after him: “Reif—”

He turned.

“Kinter is dead,” she told him. “And… so is your father.” With a remote part of her mind, she wondered how she could be so sanguine. But she couldn’t feel anything except the rage: not yet. “I’m sorry.”

For another moment Reif hesitated. Then he nodded again, and walked on.

Indigo drew a slow, carefully controlled breath and looked at Grimya. The she-wolf’s face was filled with misery, but the thoughts that reached Indigo’s mind weren’t the thoughts she had expected. Grimya grieved, yes; but there was something else…

Indigo said, “Stay here, Grimya, if you want to. I’ll understand if—”

No. The response was instant and fierce, and Indigo realised abruptly that the wolf’s anger matched her own. I will come.

They entered the dwelling-hall together. Brws’s body had been carried away, and the great table was covered with a cloth. The fire was out. Indigo lit a single lantern, set it on the table and then took her knife from its sheath and cleaned it on the hem of her shirt before setting it beside the lamp. The blade gleamed sullenly in the light, and she stepped back. She felt desolate and bereft, and only the rage sustained her. /I only this could be a dream, she thought, if this could be a nightmare from which I’ll wake in good time, I would give anything I possess. But it wasn’t a dream. This was cold, harsh, bitter reality.

She heard footfalls in the passage outside. Reif came in, pulling Carlaze with him. The fair girl saw Indigo and their gazes locked: for a moment Indigo thought that Carlaze would speak, make the mistake of voicing defiance or even a taunt, but if any such thought had been in Carlaze’s mind it died swiftly and she remained silent.

Reif closed the door. “The men have come in from the yard,” he said in a voice that sounded chillingly matter-of-fact. His gaze, too, met Indigo’s, and it burned. “I’ve told them. They won’t come in here unless they’re summoned.”

Indigo nodded. Looking at Carlaze now, she felt that she had gone beyond hatred for her, to a feeling that couldn’t rightly be termed an emotion at all. Fire had suddenly turned to ice.

She picked up her knife and stepped forward. Carlaze flinched instinctively; Indigo noted the reaction, but it gave her no pleasure. “Hold out your hands,” she said.

Carlaze hesitated: her wrists were bound before her and she thought she knew what Indigo meant to do, but couldn’t be sure. Reif pinched her upper arm, hard. “Do as you’re told.”

She obeyed. A muscle twitched spasmodically in her forearm. Indigo gripped her wrists to hold them steady, and cut the cords. Then she put the knife back on the table, clenched her fist, and punched Carlaze full in the face.

“Murderess,” Indigo said.

Carlaze fell against the table, blood streaming from her nose. She tried to grab the table top as she went down, but only succeeded in knocking the knife to the floor. She crumpled against one of the table legs, whimpering, and Indigo stepped towards her. “Whore,” she said.

Carlaze, her face now a bloody mask, stared up at her with wild hatred in her eyes—then suddenly made a spasmodic grab for the knife. Her hand closed on the hilt; she uttered a crazed and ugly grunt of triumph: and the sound changed to a scream, horribly distorted by the blood clogging her nasal passages, as Indigo stamped a booted heel down on her fingers.

Carlaze rolled over, hunching into a fetal position and clutching her fingers in agony. Indigo stared down at her with a cold-blooded indifference that she knew was more dangerous than any explosion of fury. And when Reif, without speaking a word, bent down and dragged her forcibly to her feet, Carlaze clearly knew it too.

“P… please…” She forced the word out through teeth clenched with pain and terror. “Don’t… please… I didn’t… oh Goddess, it w-wasn’t me, it wasn’t, it wasn’t—” A spasm racked her.

“But it was.” Indigo’s voice was remotely implacable. “You and Kinter. Kinter’s dead, by the way. The snow tiger killed him.”

“Nnnn…” Carlaze shut her eyes tightly.

“So,” Indigo continued, “that just leaves you to tell us the whole story, doesn’t it? Are you going to tell us, Carlaze? Are you?”

The girl’s eyes opened again, pain-blurred and watering. Her mouth worked and she tried to answer, but she was too shocked and frightened to be coherent.

“I can’t hear you, Carlaze.” Indigo stepped forward again, and the girl shrank back. “I said,”—and suddenly Indigo grabbed a hank of her loose fair hair, wrenched her forward and down, crashing her face-first on to the table—”I can’t hear you!”

Wailing, howling, Carlaze slid to the floor, then crawled about, holding out her hands to Reif in desperate supplication. “Reif—oh, Reif, stop her, please—don’t let her do this; I’ll say whatever you want, I’ll…” The words dissolved into loud sobs.

Reif looked back at her. Then, quite deliberately, he walked to the door and leaned against it.

“I’m sorry, Carlaze.” His gaze flicked briefly to Indigo’s face, and acknowledged what he saw in her expression. “This is nothing to do with me.” He folded his arms. “I’m merely a spectator.”

Carlaze’s sobbing renewed. “No!” she pleaded. “It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me, don’t you see that? It was Kinter—all of it; it was Kinter’s idea and Kinter’s scheme! Goddess help me, I didn’t want any part of this, I swear on my own mother’s life, I swearl” She clutched at the table leg, trying to drag herself as far away from Indigo as she could. “Please—you’ve got to believe me! Kinter wanted Earl Bray to die, and he wanted—he wanted—I tried to persuade him that it was wrong, evil; but he wouldn’t listen to me, and I was afraid of him, I was afraid of what he’d do to me if I didn’t help him, he said he’d kill me, he said he’d maim me and throw me out and… oh, I hated him. I hated him! But I couldn’t stop him!”

Grimya, who stood by the end of the table, looked at Indigo, and her eyes glowed crimson.

She is lying. Indigo had never heard such contempt in the wolf’s mental voice before. I can read her, Indigo; her fear has brought down the barriers in her mind. And she is lying. She will say anything, and betray anyone, if she believes it might save her. But she is the truly evil one: not Kinter.

Disgust welled up in Indigo like cold, deep water. Yes; Grimya had seen the extent of Carlaze’s greedy ambition, which knew no loyalty and no honor. Kinter, for all his evil actions, had been a fundamentally weak man; it was easy to see how a strong will like Carlaze’s could have manipulated him, driven him and pushed him into committing the atrocities that furthered her schemings, while keeping her own hands—at least physically—clean. Grimya had seen this, and had opened Indigo’s eyes. Now, she would have the real truth.

Slowly, Indigo turned and walked to the empty fireplace. In an alcove above the hearth, a number of tapers had been placed; she took one and brought it back, then lifted the glass chimney of the lantern and lit the taper from its flame. The taper flared like a small, winking eye. Indigo stared down at Carlaze.

“Now,” she said, “you will tell me your story again, Carlaze, but this time you will tell the truth. The truth about you, about Kinter, about everything you did. All of it.”

Carlaze whimpered. Belatedly, as Indigo approached her, she tried to struggle to her feet and stumble away, but the effort was too feeble and too late. Indigo took her jaw in a viselike grip, and twisted her head painfully around. In her other hand, the taper sizzled and smoked, and Carlaze’s eyes bulged with terror.

“Well, Carlaze?” Indigo said softly. “Where shall we begin?”

And the taper moved slowly, steadily, inexorably, towards Carlaze’s puckered lips.

Reif stared down at the shuddering and sobbing creature crouched in a corner of the dwelling-hall, and said, “So. Now we know.”

“Yes.” Indigo turned away, picked up her knife and sheathed it. She felt no sense of avengement or appeasement; no satisfaction at the bruising, blistering torment that Carlaze had suffered at her hands: it had been a means to an end, and retribution had had no part in it. No amount of punishment would bring Veness back to life.

But, for what it was worth to them now, they had had the truth from Carlaze. It hadn’t taken long, and much of it was as Indigo and Grimya—and probably Reif, too, in these last hours—had already surmised. An ugly tale of greed, covetous envy, and resentment. As the wife of Livian’s son, Carlaze had felt herself the poor relation of the Bray family; and when Livian, newly widowed, had accepted Earl Bray’s offer of a place in his household for herself and her close kin, Carlaze had loathed the idea that she was beholden to another’s charity. Earl Bray was wealthy, influential, titled. And she resented him, whilst coveting all that he had; all that she and her husband lacked.

But Earl Bray had three sons of his own: Kinter, fourth in line to the earldom, would not be his successor unless all three should die young and childless. And so Carlaze had begun to weave her scheme to bring about their deaths, and Kinter had become her pawn. Indigo had no doubts that, manipulated though he might have been by his cold-blooded and single-minded wife, Kinter himself had been willing enough to play his own part—the prize at stake was a temptation he’d been unable to resist.

Then, though, had come an unforeseen complication, in the form of Moia. And if Moia should bear the Earl another child, it, too, would need to be disposed of, and that might be hard indeed. But it hadn’t been long before Carlaze had discovered Moia’s dissatisfaction with her marriage, and her feelings for Olyn’s son Gordo: and from then on, the fruit had been ripe for plucking from the tree. Carlaze had connived with Moia, helping her to conduct her illicit affair behind Earl Bray’s back, yet secretly ensuring that enough clues were laid to arouse the earl’s suspicions. And on the night of the confrontation—with the letter she herself had stolen from Moia and planted where it was sure to be found—she had helped Moia to dress in traveling clothes and to escape from the house, where Kinter waited to give her safe escort to the forest and the trysting-place for her elopement with Gordo.

If she had had it in her heart at that moment to pity anyone, Indigo would have pitied Moia. Confused and desperate, afraid of the man whom she’d been forced to marry, deeply in love with another who might have made her truly happy, she had put her trust in Carlaze and Kinter, and so she and Gordo had become their first victims.

It was likely that Gordo had died first, his throat cut probably while Moia screamed in terror and bewilderment. Then it had been her turn, strangled with the love-token that Gordo himself had given her; and the two of them had gone to the last, eternal embrace of the grave. And the news that his wife had “fled,” and that she was nowhere to be found, had been the goad that Carlaze and Kinter needed to lure Earl Bray over the brink of sanity and towards the destruction of himself and his family through the reawakening of the ancient curse.

They had come so close to success: so close that, by the most terrible of ironies, had Kinter still been alive Reif alone would have stood between him and the earldom. And as she looked at Reif, Indigo suddenly saw him with sobering and total clarity. A man stripped of everything he had cherished; his father, his brothers, his happiness. All he had left was a new responsibility that weighed like granite on his shoulders. And though he might have the strength to fulfil what his life would now demand of him, he was utterly and desolately alone.

The dwelling-hall was silent but for Carlaze’s muffled sobs, weakening now as exhaustion overcame pain and shock. Indigo looked at the defeated girl for a long moment, then turned back to Reif. For the first time, there was sympathy in her eyes.

“I could kill her,” she said. “I could do it so easily, Reif, and I wouldn’t falter. I could do it for Veness, and for you. But I haven’t the right.”

Reif stared down at his hands, which were pressed flat on the table. “No,” he said. A long pause. “But I have.” He raised his head to meet her gaze, and his eyes were pure steel. Then he turned and walked to the door. Indigo heard him stride down the hall; moments later he returned, with two stone-faced men behind him.

“Bind her hands behind her.” He pointed to Carlaze as though she was decaying offal. The men moved to obey him, and Carlaze, bewildered, was pulled to her feet. Indigo regarded her face detach-edly, noting the burnt and bloodied mouth, the puffed eyes, the huge, purple bruise beginning to spread from the bridge of her nose and over her cheeks. No beauty now. Just a beaten and frightened woman who had grasped for power and failed to hold it.

She heard a metallic sound behind her, and turned. Reif had crossed to the far wall, and from it had taken down a double-handed sword that hung by the window. Indigo had seen the weapon before; it was old, and unlike the cursed axe and shield it had been carefully preserved and polished. An heirloom, she surmised. And one with a purpose.

Carlaze’s eyes widened in horror as Reif walked slowly back towards her, the sword balanced in his hands with the tip pointing downward. He stopped five feet from her, and looked steadily into her face.

“For many centuries it has been the prerogative and privilege of the earldom of Bray to administer justice in this region,” Reif said with chill formality. “Since the death of my father and my elder brother, the title and its consequent responsibilities have passed to me, and it is therefore my duty to see justice done according to the laws of this land.” He brought the sword up in a formal salute. “Carlaze, widow of Kinter, you are convicted with your husband of murder and treachery. Your confession has been heard and witnessed by two people here present in this room. I attest to the confession and your guilt.” He looked over his shoulder at Indigo, and she nodded.

“I, too, attest to it.”

“Thank you. There is no more to be said. I call on all who hear me to witness now that the prescribed sentence shall be carried out on Carlaze, widow of Kinter, without leave of appeal.”

Carlaze made an awful, animal sound at the back of her throat. She stared at Reif as though she couldn’t believe what she was seeing and hearing: but coherent words were beyond her.

Reif’s shoulders abruptly relaxed, and he lowered the sword. When he spoke again, the formality was gone; he sounded simply like an exhausted and deeply sad man.

He said: “Take her out to the courtyard.”

Indigo didn’t move as the two men gripped Carlaze’s arms and half-carried her—she was frozen, she couldn’t move, couldn’t react—to the door. Reif, holding the sword, walked behind them; at Indigo’s side Grimya growled softly, but Reif didn’t look round. His face was set, emotionless. Indigo had one last glimpse of Carlaze’s eyes, drowning in horror that she couldn’t express, but the girl was mute.

The door closed behind them.

The lamp hissed faintly, and now it was the only sound in the room. Indigo stood still for a long time. She was aware of Grimya’s presence, but couldn’t communicate with her, and the wolf, knowing it, stayed silent and thought her own thoughts.

Indigo’s world was collapsing. She knew it, though she couldn’t yet react to it, let alone express a thousandth part of the pain that only waited for the numbness to pass before it struck to the core of her being. Another quest was over; another demon had died. She had succeeded in what she’d set out to do. Succeeded. And if she’d been capable of laughter at that moment, Indigo would have laughed for the bitter, bitter irony that her success had carried with it. Oh, yes: the demon was dead. And so was the man who had loved her—and now, when it was too late, she believed that she had loved him in her turn. She recalled her last words to Reif as the snow tiger had led her and Grimya from the steading and away into the night before the last confrontation. Tell Veness I love him! She had meant it: her feelings then had been real. Veness hadn’t been Fenran. Not even a substitute for Fenran; she’d acknowledged that truth at last, and accepted it. But in learning, she had also discovered the strange miracle that told her she could love again, in a different way yet with the same passion and intensity that had been snatched away so many years ago, when Fenran was taken from her.

But suddenly a cold, cruel blade seemed to slide into Indigo’s heart, as a dreadful insight awoke in the deepest levels of her consciousness. Had she truly loved Veness in that way? In casting off the delusion that he was, or could become, Fenran in another guise, she had convinced herself that here was another love, a different love; a love that she could give and accept for what it was and not for what it seemed to represent. But was that true? Or had she been snared by a second and subtler delusion, awoken in her by her long years of yearning for all she had lost, which had urged her to seek solace from loneliness by pretending that Veness’s desires and dreams were also hers?

Suddenly, Indigo knew that she must see Veness. However much it hurt, she had to steel herself to look on his face one last time. Not to say goodbye: such small rituals could mean nothing to Veness now. But to answer that question. She had to answer that question.

Grimya knew what was in her thoughts, and when she moved towards the door, the wolf followed her silently. There was no sound in the hall; no sign of anyone. They climbed the stairs, and walked slowly along the landing to Veness’s bedchamber. For perhaps a minute Indigo stood still outside the door, listening to the steady, even, but strained rhythm of her own breathing. Then she laid a hand on the latch, opened the door and went in.

The curtains were drawn, but two lamps burned near the bedhead, their pools of soft light overlapping on the pillow. Veness’s hair had been combed and his face cleansed; but for the unnatural, waxen look of his skin, he might simply have been asleep.

Indigo moved to the bed and stood looking down at him. For an unnerving moment she half expected him to open his eyes and smile and greet her; but he remained motionless, silent. The expression on his face was solemn, but tranquil. And it was, she realized, the face of a man more dear to her than she had dared to acknowledge until it was too late.

Yes: she had loved him. He had been far more than her physical lover, and far more than her friend. He had reached out and touched a part of her soul. And only now, only when he was finally and irrevocably lost to her, did she know without any shadow of a doubt that she had been ready to reach out to him in her turn and return his love in full measure.

And then the worst thought of all crept into her mind like a worm in the bud of a flower. Had this been inevitable—and had she known, in some arcane, unreachable part of her being, that it must happen? She had learned the truth about her feelings for Veness at last: had he lived, then in acknowledging those feelings she would have been ready to cast aside the quest which had led her through forty years of travel and travail and embark on a new life with him. Could it be that Veness had had to die, to stop her from making that momentous decision?

Indigo turned away from the bed and stared blindly at the blank square of the window. If that were true—and she didn’t know the answer, she didn’t want to know the answer—then she was responsible for ending his life, as surely if she’d taken a knife and stabbed him to the heart. Years ago, when she had sailed away from the Southern Isles and her long quest had begun, she had believed in her naivety that she was nothing but a pawn in the hands of powers far greater than she. But the demon of Bruhome, and the Brabazon Fairplayers, had taught her that the picture was more clouded than that. And if Nemesis, her own demon, was a part of herself, then was not the force that drove her on, that fed her hopes and her fears and her guilts and her longing to make amends, also a part of her? The Earth Mother hadn’t snatched Veness from her: the great Goddess was not—not in that way—her judge. Had Veness lived, she would have abandoned her quest and taken the love he offered her. But that arcane Indigo, beyond the understanding of her conscious self, had said, no, I will not allow this to be. And if any power had sat in judgement on Veness and pronounced harsh sentence, that power had come from within her: for if she was a pawn, then she was also the player whose hand controlled the pawn’s every move.

Very slowly, Indigo turned her head to look down at the bed again. For a fleeting moment she wanted to lean down and kiss Veness’s forehead, a final farewell. But an inner voice forbade it and she drew back, acknowledging the accusation it implied. Let him be. Let him go. She had no right to touch him.

She turned round. As she did so, Grimya rose to her feet. How much of the turmoil in her mind the wolf had read, Indigo didn’t know; but Grimya gazed up at her, and her tail wagged tentatively.

“Indigo…” she said aloud, and very gently. “I c-annot bring him back to you. But I am still your fr… riend, and I always will be.”

“Oh, Grimya…” Dropping to a crouch, Indigo hugged her tightly, beyond further words. The wolf licked her face, licked the salty tears that had begun to trickle down her cheeks as the first of the barriers she’d created against pain and desolation began to break down. At last Indigo rose, sniffed, and wiped her eyes with the back of one hand. It had been a momentary lapse, no more. The rest would come in time: but she wanted to hold on to the respite for as long as she could.

She didn’t look back at Veness’s still, silent figure in the bed, but left the room with Grimya, quietly closing the door behind her. They walked along the landing to the bedchamber that Indigo had come to think of as her own. The room was as she’d left it, the bed unmade; the fire was out. Indigo stood on the threshold for a few moments, gazing around at the familiar yet alien furnishings. Then she crossed the floor and began to gather up her possessions.

THE ROAD TO MULL BARYA

Reif said: “You can’t hope to reach Mull Barya safely—not now, not with the snows…”

“I’ll reach it.” Indigo smiled gently at him, while the gelding stamped restlessly, the clatter echoing in the courtyard. “I’ll be all right, Reif.”

He made a helpless gesture and half turned away. “Please, Indigo.” Then he swung back, and there was pain in his eyes. “I know it isn’t easy for you: I know you loved Veness and I know how much his death has hurt you. But you’re one of us now. You’ve shared so much with us, and we owe you such a great debt. Please, stay.”

Indigo stared down at the ground. “Your family owes me nothing, Reif,” she said bitterly. “It might have been better for you all if I’d never set foot in the Redoubt.”

“That isn’t true. But for you, Kinter and Carlaze might have succeeded in what they were trying to do. And that would have been far worse. You know it would.”

Indigo couldn’t answer him. They’d been over the arguments time and time again through the long night, sitting together by the fire in the dwelling-hall when Indigo had finished telling Reif the whole of her story. Seeing Reif weep had upset her in ways she couldn’t quite assimilate; but weep he had, quietly and unashamedly, as he listened to the full tale of Earl Bray’s death, and the murder of Moia and Gordo, and the revenant woman who had stepped out of long-lost history. And when the story was done, Reif had asked her to make her home at the steading.

“We want you to stay,” he’d said. “Livian and Rimmi and I—we want you to stay, Indigo. You’re one of us.”

And again in the courtyard, at this last moment: you’re one of us. But she wasn’t, and never could be now. And all Reif’s arguments, all his reasoning, all his pleading, couldn’t sway her. This was their world, and she, like the snow tiger in the forest, had no place in it.

She looked at Reif again, and saw sadness in his eyes. He understood at last that she wouldn’t be persuaded, and he had accepted his defeat.

“You’ll take good care on the road?” he pleaded.

“Of course I will. And I’ll send you a message from Mull Barya.” She forced another smile that was almost a grin. “It may not reach you until the spring, but you’ll know then that we’re safe and on our way south.”

“If only you’d let me send men with you—”

“No. You need every available hand here now, to help you rebuild your own future. Grimya and I will come to no harm.” She reached out, and her gloved hands grasped his. “Believe that.”

He nodded, biting his lip and blinking. The gelding whickered, nudging at Indigo’s shoulder, and its breath steamed warmly in her face. In their kennels the dogs had begun to bark, as though they sensed what was happening, and Grimya turned her head to look in that direction.

They too are saying goodbye, in their own way, she said.

And she, too, must say her last farewell. Indigo stepped forward, and reached up to kiss Reif’s cheek.

“The Goddess go with you, Reif,” she said.

He hugged her, hard and briefly. “We won’t forget you, Indigo.”

Her face became wry. “You should. And I hope that one day you will.”

She swung up into the saddle, thrusting her feet into the stirrups and gathering the reins. Reif, hiding his expression, bent to stroke Grimya’s head and rub her ears. “Look after her for us, Grimya,” he said gruffly.

He couldn’t hear the wolf’s silent, answering, I shall, but Indigo did, and smiled.

“Kiss Livian and Rimmi for me when they wake.” The gelding side-stepped, eager to go. “Goodbye, Reif. Goodbye.”

He stood alone in the courtyard, watching as the horse moved away towards the arch and the dazzling winter morning beyond. Past the stable block; past the wood store, past the oddly isolated little heap of sawdust that, unbeknown to anyone but himself and two of his men, covered the place where he had struck Carlaze’s head from her shoulders. The gelding’s hoofs echoed; its tail swished, catching the sun and glinting dustily for a moment. Then the shadows of the arch swallowed it, the clatter was silenced as the horse moved on to softer snow, and Indigo and Grimya were gone.

They could hear the wind, a deep, singing voice blowing out of the west; but it was a pleasant sound, not the deadly moan of the huge, northerly Groaner. The morning was vivid, clean and invigorating; a good day to be riding, with the snow hard-packed and glittering like a million diamonds under the slowly climbing sun and the air sharp in their faces.

They hadn’t spoken since the dark, foursquare shape of the steading had fallen behind and vanished in the distance. There was nothing to be said that wouldn’t wait for a while, and Indigo in particular wanted to savor the snow and the wind and the sky, and let the atmosphere of this wild land reach into her bones with its own kind of cleansing power.

They were moving along the shores of the chain of lakes that lay south of the Bray lands, and Indigo’s heart quickened suddenly as she remembered another day, when Veness had driven her in the troika to see the ruins of the house that had once belonged to the family his ancestor had slaughtered. Yes: there was the familiar landmark ahead, the place where the forest reached out an isolated arm towards the frozen water. And in the snow, stark against the otherwise unbroken whiteness near the lake’s edge, was the outline of the ancient, crumbled wall.

The gelding slowed its pace as she pulled on the reins, and came to a halt. Grimya, who was a few paces ahead, also stopped, and looked back at her.

Would you rather that we skirted it, and perhaps went by on the other side of the lake? the wolf asked.

Indigo paused for a few seconds. Then: No, dear one. There’s nothing there now. Not even any ghosts.

She touched her heels lightly to the gelding’s sides, and it moved on. As they drew level with the old foundations, Grimya’s ears suddenly pricked and she looked towards the forest.

Indigo! Wonder and eagerness filled the call she projected. Look…

Indigo turned her head. Some fifty feet away, near the first of the trees, was the snow tiger. It had emerged from the forest, and stood utterly motionless, watching them, its breath misting in the cold air.

Indigo halted the gelding again, and her throat clogged with emotion. She had hoped for this, but hadn’t dreamed that it might happen, that the cat would come to make its own farewell. Her mount snorted, scenting something that it feared, but she held it back on a tight rein, gazing across the snow at the magnificent creature that had been such a true friend. Then suddenly Grimya raised her muzzle to the sky, and howled. It was an exuberant cry, full-blooded, joyous; a homage and a greeting. The tiger’s head came up as the howl sang out; then it opened its jaws and gave an answering roar that echoed over the lake and was borne away on the wind; and at the same moment Indigo felt once more the familiar warm, powerful surge of its mind touching hers in affectionate farewell. For one more moment it gazed at them—then it turned and sprang swiftly, gracefully, silently, away into the forest, and was gone.

Indigo didn’t know how long she sat unmoving in the saddle, looking at the place where the snow tiger had stood. She ignored the restless tossing of the gelding’s head, the jingling of the bridle, the shifting of its muscles beneath her as it stamped uneasily. Only when the tight, constricting sensation that still gripped her throat began at last to release its hold did she shiver as though starting from sleep, shake her head, and let her mount walk on.

She said nothing. But Grimya, padding quietly at the horse’s side, and cherishing her own memories of that last communion with the great snow cat, glanced up at her every now and again as they moved along the lakeside. And she saw and understood when, calmly, steadily, silently, like a long-awaited and welcomed release, tears began to stream down Indigo’s cheeks.

TROIKA

Indigo has lost all that she once held dear. Another family sits.on the throne of her kingdom. And her lover Fenran suffers the torments of the demonworld. More than a century has passed since she last fought the demons she herself set loose. Her cause seems futile, her quest all but hopeless.

One glimmer of hope remains, in the magical lodestone given to Indigo by Earth’s emissary. After long silence, it has given her a sign, pointing toward the cold and legendary North.

Indigo knows that she must follow the sign or else give up the struggle. But in the darkness of the North lie painful memories. The North is Fenran’s country, and there she and her wolfdog Grimya must confront that which she most fears.

Not only must immortal Indigo battle still another demon; to fight at all, she must confront the secrets of her heart.

Table of Contents

Prologue

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

chapter 11

chapter 12

chapter 13

chapter 14

chapter 15

chapter 16

chapter 17

chapter 18

chapter 19

chapter_20

Epilogue

Back Cover

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