Nearby, an old mare, clearly exhausted and perilously thin, swayed as though any moment her limbs might give way. Tek lashed her tail furiously, scarcely able to contain herself.

“Uppermost in our minds ought to be not who among us worships most fervently,” she hissed, “but how many fillies and foals will see this killing winter through!”

Yet save for a few stamps and uncertain glances among the crowd, most still remained attentive to the king. She caught sight of one haggard stallion murmuring accord. The shivering mare beside him nodded. About the foot of the rise, the seasoned warriors who were to act as the king’s runners cavaled restlessly, snorting and tossing their heads in agreement.

The pied mare half shied. Truly alarmed now, she searched the faces of those flanking Korr upon the rise. With relief, she noted again the fierce, if unvoiced, disapproval of Ses, and her heart went out to Lell, cold and miserable, shuddering against her mother’s side. Behind them, Tek saw her own father, Teki, standing silent, his expression profoundly saddened. Tas, however, stood nodding calmly, as did his mate. Tek felt another surge of indignation. Were the pair of them so blind in their loyalty to the king that they actually supported this folly?

“In following my son,” Korr proclaimed, “we have all become Ringbreakers and renegades. But no more! Thus I say to you in the name of my daughter, the princess Lell, that from this day forward, any who breach Alma’s sacred Law shall be banned.”

A ripple passed through the crowd. Tek saw warriors, half growns starting as though abruptly awakened.

“Banned?” Sa beside her gasped.

“But banishment in winter means death!” Dagg exclaimed.

The king’s dam shook her head, one cloven forehoof striking at the frozen ground, her tone quietly outraged. “The herd has never imposed exile, regardless of the crime, between first snowfall and spring. What ‘old tradition’ is this?”

At the foot of the rise, the king’s warriors circled. Tek suddenly froze. Korr no longer surveyed the entire assembly. His stare now fixed squarely on her.

“Be it known,” he thundered, “Alma tolerates not even the slightest infraction. Tread with caution, I charge you all—or be cast from the herd!”

Tek felt Sa’s astonished start, Dagg’s indrawn breath, and held herself rigid, refusing to quail. Though he had spoken no word directly to her, had not even called her by name, Korr’s meaning could not but be evident to all: let the healer’s daughter stumble in even the tiniest regard, and he would find a way—any excuse, or no excuse—to banish her. The crowd shifted, murmuring.

Tek felt her fury spark. Did the dark stallion truly believe fanatical devotion to Alma had power to alter weather, grow forage beneath the snow, and avert gryphon raids in spring? How neat it all was! Korr had but to declare himself the mouthpiece of Alma, and displeasing him became defiance of the goddess herself. Now he would have them all believe that the Law—indeed, even custom—was fixed immutably by the goddess’s behest. And was “tradition” to be anything the king now said it was, even if he had just this moment invented it? Angrily, she eyed the band of seasoned warriors who, at the king’s nod, had begun to ascend the rise.

“Behold my newly appointed Companions,” he cried to the herd. “They are Alma’s eyes and ears among you now!”

Gazing about, Tek noted alarm on the spare, hungry faces of many. One older mare looked badly shaken, the lean young half-grown beside her merely puzzled. The pied mare shivered. Yet one stallion she had noticed nodding earlier still evidenced rapt attention. A convert, she realized uneasily. A bitter taste came into her mouth. On the rise, the king’s warriors arranged themselves in a double phalanx. Sa snorted indignantly.

“ ‘Companions,’ indeed!” she mused beneath her breath. “More nearly a personal guard. What does my son intend them to protect him from—the truth?”

Tek shook her head. No king or queen in all the history of the unicorns had ever appointed—or needed—a personal guard. As by prearrangement, the king’s Companions started to stamp and cheer. Still none among the herd spoke out. Colts shrank against their mothers. Half-growns found their mates. Dawning throughout the crowd Tek glimpsed expression of anger, betrayal, and fear. Flanking the king, his guards whinnied and shouted enthusiastically, but few others joined them. How many, she wondered, while unwilling to risk voicing questions or protests aloud, nevertheless harbored grave doubts? How many had begun to share her own suspicions? The pied mare shivered uncontrollably.

“The king,” she whispered, so soft she herself scarcely heard, “is well and truly mad.”

“You have heard my will,” the dark stallion cried, “which is Alma’s. Remember it!”

Tek watched him vault from the rocky rise. The herd shrank back from him. Korr seemed imbued by a cold and desperate energy. His train followed more cautiously, picking their way down the icy, slippery stones. Trotting briskly, the king headed back through the ever-thickening snowfall toward his grotto across the Vale. His Companions remained behind on the council rise, necks arched, chests thrown forward, legs stiff. Slowly, as though stunned, the assembled unicorns began to disperse.

“He hasn’t any food to give us,” she heard Sa beside her murmur, “so he has fed us lies! Some of us have even swallowed them, and now feel full and well-fed, though in truth we are famished still.” She eyed the king’s guard upon the rise with open contempt. “When no food can be found to fill an aching belly, a scrap or two of arrogance contents some very well.”

Fidgeting, Dagg stood gazing after the king’s retreating train. “I can’t believe my sire and dam approve this,” he burst out. “I can’t believe anyone could!”

One of the Companions on the rise turned to gaze at Dagg. Tek hurriedly shushed him, but fuming still, the dappled halfgrown ignored her.

“And your father, Tek!” he cried. “The healer raised not a word of protest, though plainly he did not agree.”

A second Companion had joined the first, their heads together, now conferring.

“Has our king lost all reason—?”

“Peace; hold your tongue, you young foal!” Sa ordered suddenly, sharply.

Tek turned, startled. Beside her, Dagg fell silent, stared in confusion at the grey mare. She had spoken far louder than necessary. Above them, the two warriors watched. Abruptly, the grey mare wheeled.

“Come with me,” she commanded crisply, “both of you. I’ve a word to say regarding how fitly to comport yourselves in your loyalty to our king.”

Astonished, Tek followed as the king’s dam trotted away from the rise through the throng of dispersing unicorns. Dagg fell into step at her side, his expression baffled. As soon as they were out of earshot of the king’s Companions, Sa halted, turned.

“Pray forgive my shortness, Dagg,” she told him gently. “That was for show, to save my son’s pack-wolves the pleasure of correcting you. Take heed, for the wind has changed, and if you cannot scent it yet, you will.”

Dagg champed his teeth. “Aye, the wind has changed,” he managed gruffly. “It stinks.”

“Hist, lower your voice!” the grey mare cautioned, dropping her own to the merest whisper. “We dare not speak freely anymore—for some, no doubt, will seek favors from my son by reporting dissent.”

“Since when was dissent a crime among the unicorns?” Dagg hissed angrily, though taking care now that his voice did not carry. “Since when was speaking one’s mind to be feared?”

“Since now,” Tek spat. The vehemence in her words plainly surprised him. “It’s one of Korr’s new ‘old traditions.’ ‘Alma’s will’!”

She snorted, shaking her head. Her breath steamed, rising like dragons’ breath. She shifted, wincing, for her swollen belly pained her. She heard Dagg’s beside her growl. Shuddering, she longed for the wind-sheltered warmth of the grotto she shared with Sa—but she knew they had all best use what scant daylight remained to forage, else they would shiver the cold night through, unable to sleep for hunger. The grey mare nodded.