He made his way to the hearth and clapped his hands for attention. Gradually the rowdy group grew quiet and the musicians ended their tune.

"Good Winterstide!" Jonmarc was greeted with a roar of cheers and raised mugs. "Before we feast, Lord Gabriel tells me that we have some courtesies to see to. First, to our spirit guests, welcome!" In reply, a gust of wind flickered the candles and danced in the fire at the hearth. Gabriel poured a cup of cream and handed it to Jonmarc, who set it next to the porridge by the fire in tribute.

"And to the spirits of Dark Haven, good feast." The fire suddenly roared in the fireplace, sending sparks, dancing up through the chimney. "A toast to the Lady in all Her faces, for the bounty we enjoy," Jonmarc said, lifting his goblet high. The rich, strong mead was brewed especially for the feast. Even in Isen-croft, Carina knew that oaths made over a cup of the mead at Winterstide were considered binding, in this life and the next.

There was a stir at the far end of the room, near the outer doors. Two of the village men led in large boar. Harnessed securely, the boar followed the promise of a large turnip held out before it. The boar and its keepers passed through the partygoers, and they made way as if the large animal were an honored guest.

"What's going on?" Carina whispered to Lisette.

"By tradition, the Lord of the manor blesses the boar and makes a sacred oath. Then it's slaughtered. The blood is given to the vayash moru, a portion of the raw meat to the vyrkin, and the rest is cooked on a slow fire for the feast tomorrow, Sinhame, the Crone's Night."

The boar was led to the front of the common room, and Gabriel gave Jonmarc a goblet of mead. Carina had no idea how much coaching Gabriel must have given Jonmarc, but he moved through the ritual as if he had been doing it all his life. "The blessing of the Lady on you, and on us," Jonmarc said, pouring a few drops of the mead on the boar's head. Then Jonmarc raised the goblet, and met Carina's gaze.

"An oath, to my lady," Jonmarc said. "First, that I will always come for you. And second, that we'll have a proper ritual wedding, before the next moon is full." He dashed the goblet and its mead into the fire. The boar reared and squealed. Another turnip was produced from the pocket of one of the animal's tenders and the boar was led from the room. Amid the cheers of the guests, Jonmarc moved to meet Carina in the center of the great room. The musicians struck up another tune, and Carina smiled as Jonmarc took her in his arms and they began to dance. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"You did well up there," she murmured.

"Gabriel's a good teacher. We didn't exactly celebrate like this in the Borderlands." He touched the shevir at her wrist and it sparkled in the firelight. "I wanted to get through all the Winterstide celebrating before the wedding. I hope you don't mind."

Carina stretched up on tip toe and kissed his cheek. "As long as we're together, I don't mind at all."

The next day, Carina found that her misgivings about the number of patients awaiting her care was correct. Twice as many people waited for her. Jonmarc stopped in at lunch time to bring her a slab of fresh bread with cheese from the kitchen and a small crock of hot soup. "Thought you might like to eat, since dinner's late again tonight," he said. She tore off a chunk of bread and offered it to him, but he shook his head.

"Already ate. I've got more business to take care of in the village before the festival tonight. You've got a role in tonight's festivities, according to Gabriel."

"Oh?"

"As the Lady of the manor, you get to make an offering to the spirit of the big oak tree just outside the manor. And there's a procession from the village to the barrows tonight. Personally, I'm hoping that the whole festival remains calm and boring. I had enough excitement last year!" He kissed her and left her to finish her meal.

"Lord Vahanian!" Jonmarc had barely reached the stable when Rann, one of bis mortal guardsmen, came running up. Two more guardsmen were behind him.

"You're out early."

Rann shook his head. "I was just headed to the manor to find you. One oi the men from Haven village came in a panic this morning. There's been an attack."

"What kind of attack?"

"We were headed out to see. You'd best come with us, m'lord."

Jonmarc headed into the stables with the guardsmen. Four more of their fellows were already saddling up. "What warrants so many guards?"

"He said it was bad, m'lord. He called it a massacre."

On the road outside the village, they found a group of townsmen waiting for them. Their expressions extinguished the last hope Jonmarc had that the runner's story had been an exaggeration. In the distance, he could hear the wailing of mourners and the keening of the village women. "Where did it happen?" he asked the town's elder, a bearded man in the forefront of the group.

"Out of the far hills, sometime in the night, m'lord," the elder replied. "We've just been out, but I'll ride with you. Though I wish I never had to see such a thing again in my life." They rode half a candlemark. The wind whipped around them, making the snow rise from the ground in whirlwinds and driving it in gusts from where it lay heavily in the trees. When they reached the far hills, the elder reined in his horse, and Jonmarc looked out over the hillside.

Scattered across the hillside were the remains of sheep, torn limb from limb. The snow was dark with blood. Among the carcasses were the bodies of half a, dozen herders. "By the Whore!" Rann exclaimed as they neared the bodies. Other soldiers cursed in fear.

The men's throats showed two clear punctures; their bodies were pale as the snow. The corpses had been gutted, and then stuffed with hay and pebbles. Their entrails lay in a frozen mass beside them. Jonmarc fought the urg'e to retch. The tracks in the snow showed the herders' panic, running in vain as their attackers chased them. No tracks led to or from the site into the nearby woods. There were no tracks at all leading away, except by the trail they had followed.

"The herders that came out to relieve them found the bodies," the elder said. "They said that there were no tracks except their own. Only one boy survived, and he won't speak of what he saw. Whatever did this wasn't mortal, m'lord. They flew here and flew away. It didn't snow last night, and the wind hasn't been strong enough to cover the tracks completely. Crone take my soul! There are tales of the Wild Host doing such things, but that was long ago. What does it mean?"

"Someone's trying to start a war." Jonmarc paused. "Can you take me to the survivor?"

"He's with the hedge witch. Half-frozen and terrified near out of his wits."

The group rode in silence back to the village. As they neared the small grouping of houses and shops, the sound of bells and mourners grew louder.

The elder led them to a small house at the edge of town. The smell of herbs and poultices permeated the thatched-roof cottage. The hedge witch was a plump, stooped woman with short-cropped gray hair. Jonmarc could feel the accusation in her glare as he passed, and the unspoken charge that the Lord of the manor had failed in his vows.

Near the fireplace sat a boy about fifteen seasons old, huddled in a threadbare blanket. He did not look up when they entered.

"I've warmed him up, but he won't eat," the hedge witch said. "Not a mark on him. Don't know whether the Host did him a kindness or not, leaving him alive to tell the tale." She looked at Jonmarc. "His name is Kendry. His father and older brother were also with the herds."

Jonmarc remembered when he shared a similar fate. How long was it before I would tell Shanna's mother what happened to my family, my village, when the raiders came? Weeks? It was years before I stopped dreaming about it.