The foreboding that had gripped her earlier, she realized drowsily, portended not the stillbirth of her progeny, but only her own end and that of this aged and withered season, now passing with great gnashing and thundering away. Winter’s deathgrip was broken at last. By morning, the torrential rains would have battered months of snow and ice into muddy slush. Tomorrow would dawn the equinox, first day of the new and long-awaited spring.

The dark unicorn stood on a vast clifftop. Swept clean of snow, devoid of vegetation, the broad, flat expanse before him lay fetlock deep in straw, withered flowers, and the sweet-smelling shavings of spicewood. Behind, the chon’s great timber palace stood. All around, a sprawling press of two-foots stamped and swayed.

“Dai’chon!” they chanted. “Dai’chon!”

The daïcha stood to one side of the crowd, flanked by her female companions and her green-plumes. The great crescent of skystuff gleamed silver on her breast. Behind her, the sacred daya of the palace milled, coats brushed to gleaming, manes intricately braided. Tai-shan spotted Ryhenna among the rest, her color all coppery fire. She huddled, miserable-seeming.

“Dai’chon!” the crowd shouted. “Dai’chon!”

Tai-shan remembered the arrival of green-garbed keepers to the warm enclosure scarcely an hour before, hustling the daya and himself from stable to clifftop through the surging press of celebrants, many of whom had fallen to their knees at the sight of the dark unicorn. Tai-shan cavaled and shook himself as petals and wood shavings, seedpods, and whiskered ears of grain continued to rain down. Even here in the open, the thick, soft carpet of tindery stuff underhoof scarcely muffled the din. The noise on the clifftop was deafening.

“Dai’chon!” the crowd roared. “Dai’chon!”

Before the throng stretched an open space, empty save for a great dais of stone. Offerings heaped its base: provender of every kind, bolts of vivid falseskin, coffers of glinting river stones mixed with little disks of skystuff. Jars of oil and the dark, fragrant juice of crushed berries gave off a sharply aromatic scent. Beyond the platform stretched more open space until the clifftop dropped abruptly away.

“Dai’chon!” ranted the throng, stamping rhythmically. “Dai’chon!”

The chon’s purple-plumes held back the crush. Of the chon himself, the dark unicorn saw no sign. He stood trapped, purple-badged minions holding twin tethers to the silver halter imprisoning his head. An impassable sea of two-foots surged to one side of him. To the other lay only clifftop and empty air. Storm clouds roiled to the east at horizon’s edge, devouring the rising sun.

“Dai’chon!” the crowd thundered. “Dai’chon—”

Without warning, silence fell. The rhythmic stamping abruptly ceased. Two-foots stood panting, covered with sweat in the cool morning air. Tai-shan’s ears twitched. The stillness seemed to reverberate. Even the restless daya quieted. The only sound upon the clifftop now was that of seabirds and the foaming crash of unseen breakers dashing themselves to spume upon the rocks far, far below.

With one accord, the throng parted. A glittering raft, mounted on poles and borne upon the shoulders of eight brawny two-foots, emerged from the press. Hushed onlookers sank to their knees as it passed. Tai-shan recognized the conveyance as that which he had once seen carrying the chon—but the figure now seated upon it bore little resemblance to the firekeepers’ king. Drawing even with the dais, the raft’s bearers halted. Its occupant rose and stepped regally onto the high stone platform.

The dark unicorn stared at the creature now turning to face the crowd. Garbed all in black, it carried in one forepaw a vinelike flail, in the other a sharpened skewer. A white crescent moon emblazoned its breast. Yet though its body was that of a two-foot, the head resting upon those square, wide shoulders resembled a da’s, all black, with fierce, staring eyes and flared red nostrils. Black mane bristled down the arched and oddly foreshortened neck.

Before it, the great crowd of two-foots cowered. Across the open space from him, Tai-shan saw the coppery mare gazing at the dark figure in open terror. Yet despite its fierce appearance, the monster’s head seemed strangely stiff, the eyes shadowy hollows. The ears did not swivel. Its lips—pulled back to bare square, white teeth—appeared frozen. The dry, red tongue within the gaping mouth never moved. The neck remained rigid. To turn its head, the dark unicorn saw, the figure had to pivot its whole torso.

At a peremptory gesture from the black-clad figure on the platform, the daïcha rose and approached. Tai-shan watched as she collapsed to her knees, folded her forelimbs across her breast, and bowed her head. The glowering godking brandished its skewer and cracked its vine. Lifting her forelimbs, the lady called out to the da–headed thing. The dark unicorn could decipher only a few phrases: “Emwe, Dai’chon,” hail, godking. “Undan ptola,” by your will. She seemed to be reciting both a greeting and a pledge.

Dai’chon answered nothing, only nodded its stiff, ponderous head. With a low bow, the daïcha withdrew, gesturing to her green-garbed followers. One by one, they led the sacred daya before Dai’chon. Pulse hammering, the dark unicorn sidled. His breath came in restive snorts. He could not stand still. No opportunity for escape had yet presented itself: his only choices were plunging over cliff’s edge or trampling the kneeling crowd.

The parade of daya before the godking went on and on. Most passed by without a pause, but every so often, Dai’chon snapped its flail, and the keeper then before the dais halted, allowing Dai’chon to scrutinize that particular mare or stallion more closely. The watching crowd seemed to hold its breath.

Usually, the godking cracked its vine a second time; the da was returned to the daïcha, and the watchers heaved a heavy sigh. Sometimes, however, Dai’chon pointed toward the halted da with the skewer, and the kneeling throng murmured with delight as the daïcha’s minion then led his charge to the side of the stone platform nearest the cliff. The half dozen daya there pranced gaily, tossing their heads. Their keepers were hard-pressed to keep hold of the tethers. Tai-shan stared angrily, helplessly at the joyous daya: all blissfully unaware that they celebrated their own approaching death.

Ryhenna was among the last to pass before Dai’chon. The dark unicorn tensed, heart between his teeth, as the godking cracked its flail, signaling the keeper who held the coppery mare’s tether to halt. Ryhenna stood wild-eyed before the platform, so plainly terrified that the dark unicorn half expected her to bolt. But Dai’chon snapped its vine at last and allowed her to pass. Able to breathe again, Tai-shan sighed deep with relief as the coppery mare rejoined the other, unchosen daya.

The last of the sacred daya was led before Dai’chon. With a snort of surprise, Tai-shan recognized Ushuk, the former First Stallion, whom he had defeated upon their first encounter, months ago. The godking seemed barely to notice the umber stallion, remarking his passage without so much as a crack of the flail. Crestfallen, Ushuk faltered in his gait. The daïcha, too, seemed puzzled. Her companions glanced at one another.

With halting step, the umber stallion allowed his escort to draw him on, but he gazed back uncomprehendingly at Dai’chon, plainly unable to believe the god would pass him by. The dark figure on the dais gave him not so much as a second glance. Instead, Dai’chon turned toward Tai-shan. Fixing its strange, shadowy eyes on the dark unicorn, the godking snapped its whip.