Tereza shook her head but didn't argue. She slipped the reins over the horse's neck and mounted her own horse, reins trailing between.

"Is she well enough to go?" Jonathan asked.

"No," Tereza said, "but she's going."

Konrad made some negative sound, but not too loud. Arguing with Tereza was a time-wasting thing. The outer doors opened, and the horses moved forward. Elaine felt the horse move under her, but the cloak had fallen forward, forming a dim cave round her face. She saw nothing but a small sliver of ground. She closed her eyes, and even that vanished.

The wind slapped against the heavy cloak. Tiny tendrils of frigid air snaked under the fur, icy fingers searching her clothing, seeking her skin. Elaine knew it wasn't that cold. Winter, yes, but not a blizzard, not a killing cold. Even so the cold touched her everywhere and her skin seemed to freeze. Tears froze on her cheeks. It was as if the vision had leeched away all warmth, all protection from the chill. The cold seemed to know and to be hungry for the touch of her skin. Each breath was a painful pull of air.

The horse's hooves shushed through the powdery snow, its swinging gait rolling underneath her. She clung to the warmth and movement as the cold sapped her with invisible mouths. There was nothing left in the world but the cold and the rhythm of the horse. In a small distant part of her mind Elaine wondered if she were freezing to death. No, she was so cold. Didn't you grow warm before you froze to death? The bones of her face and hands were more open to the air; they ached with cold.

She must have fallen asleep because the next she knew, they were struggling up a hillside. If they were in the hills, they had to be close. Elaine raised her head. She felt the wind smack her face, but it wasn't colder. She was already as cold as she could get. She couldn't open her eyes. She tried to raise a hand to touch them, but her hands seemed frozen to the mane. She settled for rubbing her eyelids against the back of her hands. Ice crystals had formed from the tears, gluing her eyelids together.

She blinked painfully into the winter dusk. They were in the forest. Bare, black-limbed trees surrounded them. The horses struggled through the blowing snow on what used to be a wagon track.

Elaine worked to sit up and found she could. The cloak blew backward, exposing one side of her body. It didn't seem to matter. She could see the great tree looming over the lesser trees. They were almost there.

A full, shimmering moon rode above the naked trees. The wind blew the snow in swirls and eddies across the road, and dry snow hissed against the boughs. The snow had stopped falling; only the wind kept it moving, hurrying it along on dry hissing bellies, to crawl through the trees.

Konrad's horse pushed forward, raising plumes of snow. He rode out of sight. If anyone had asked him to scout ahead, Elaine had not heard it. The only sounds were wind, snow, the creak of frozen limbs, the creak of the saddle under her.

Blaine was just ahead, close, so close. Elaine tried to form a prayer, but the cold had frozen her lips, slowed her mind. She couldn't think of a prayer. She couldn't think of anything. There was nothing but the cold. All the fear, the panic, had squeezed down inside her into a small, cold center. Elaine knew she was terrified of what they would find, but she couldn't feel it. There was nothing but the cold buried down inside her, shutting everything away.

A shout came over the snow, ringing, echoing. The horses began to jog as fast as they could in the dry, spilling whiteness. Elaine clung to the saddle horn with both hands. The mare was sluggish, not used to anything faster than a canter.

The great tree stood alone in a clearing it had made for itself. Its roots had choked the smaller trees, cleaning away the brush. Five grown men could link hands around the trunk. The branches that reached outward and moon ward were as big around as small trees.

Clouds closed over the moon, leaving the clearing in gloom. Only reflected light from the snow filled the clearing, making it murky. Something hung from one of the naked limbs. Elaine couldn't make sense of it at first. Her eyes refused to see.

The clouds slipped away, bathing the clearing in silver light. The thing on the tree was black and heavy against the moon, arms flung awkwardly outward, one leg dangling toward the snow. The other leg was missing. A large dark stain splattered the snow under the tree.

Elaine screamed.

Tereza had dropped the reins. Her voice came soft on the heels of the scream. "Summer save us."

Konrad stepped out from the undergrowth on the far side of the clearing. "It's not Blaine, or Thordin."

Elaine stared at him. "Who …?"

"They're back here. Hurt, but they'll be fine."

She didn't believe it. He was lying. If Blaine was alive, he'd come to her, hurt or not.

"Elaine, I'm all right." Blaine limped out of the bushes, leaning on Thordin's broad shoulders. He flashed his brilliant smile, the one that said everything was all right. The smile more than the words convinced Elaine.

She slid off the mare, falling to her knees in the snow. She tried to stand, to go to her brother, but the moonlit clearing whirled around her. Dark spots ate the moonlight. She fell forward into the snow. It clutched her face, filled her mouth and nose. Darkness swallowed her. And the darkness was cold.

«^»

THREE

Blaine, wrapped in a quilt, slumped in his seat. A pillow was shoved against the back of the chair. Strips of cloth showed at the split sleeve of his left arm, and his leg was propped up on a small embroidered footstool. It had been the worst injury. Konrad had sewn the wounds shut, using herbal salve and bandages to protect them. Even a small cut could turn septic and cost a person his arm. Blaine trusted Konrad's battlefield dressings more than those of most doctors. Tereza had tried to get Blaine to go to his own bed, but he'd refused. He wanted to be there when Elaine awakened.

Elaine was always weak after a vision, but Blaine had never realized how weak. Her skin had been colder than the snow, cold as death. Only the rise and fall of her breathing had let Blaine know she was alive. Though blood had dripped down his arm and seeped from his leg, though the tree branches had torn his leg and he couldn't walk without help, it was Elaine who had nearly died.

He gazed down at his sister. Her pale yellow hair spilled out over the pillow. Elaine's face was like a mirror of his own. The bones were slightly more delicate, the eyes greener than his own blue, but the twins were still like two sides of the same coin. Their parents had been killed when they were eight; from then on, it had been just the two of them. They had survived for two years before Jonathan took them in. Two years with only each other to trust, to depend on. Mo matter how grateful they were to Jonathan and Tereza, they were each other's family.

He slumped lower in the chair, blue eyes fluttering closed, then open. He struggled to sit a little straighter in the chair. A sharp, stabbing pain ran up his leg.

Elaine's warning had come in time. He and Thordin had dived for cover, but the stranger with them hadn't understood Elaine's yell. He had been a villager from Cortton seeking Jonathan's help. They had been his escort, his safety.

When the tree grabbed the man, they had tried to help. But the tree hadn't felt pain, and where was a vital spot on a tree? Mo heart, no head. . They had done their best, but the man was dead. He had screamed for a very long time before he died.

A small sound came from the bed-not a word, more a soft moan. Blaine straightened up. "Elaine?"

She moved under the heap of blankets, head shifting on the pillows.