An old memory came back to him as he patted his horse's neck and led the animal toward the stables. He could hear the snick-snick of the weaver's shuttle, as constant a sound in his boyhood home as the clang of blacksmiths'

hammers. An image of his mother came to mind, weaving a shawl of the finest yarns. Soft, light, and delicate, it showed the best of her craft. He remembered watching as his mother carefully wrapped the shawl in another piece of cloth, tying it closed with yarn. Then she placed the package on the doorstep in the snow, along with cakes and a cup of ale. "For the elder-Goddess," she had said when he questioned. He'd never connected that patron of weavers to the fearsome dark Crone of the Nargi. Now, on the Crone's Eve, the two images warred in his memory. Which' was right? And could even Tris know for certain?

He led his horse into its stall and took off the saddle. None of the grooms was in sight, so he hung up the tack himself and looked for a blanket to cover his horse. Only one of the lamps burned in the stable, casting the rest of the barn in deep shadow. Without warning, the shadows struck. The figure tackled him from behind. Jonmarc reacted on instinct, driving his elbow back hard. His elbow connected, but the attacker showed no pain. Arms clenched around his chest like iron bands, and for a few seconds, Jonmarc could not breathe. Then the attacker threw him forward and Jonmarc stumbled, gasping for breath and reaching for his sword. In the half light of the lantern, he glimpsed his opponent, dressed in black, with a black hood and mask. Only eyes showed, and in them, Jonmarc read a challenge. Behind him in its stall, Jonmarc's horse shied in fear and banged against its gate.

Jonmarc drew his sword, but the attacker shot upward, out of reach. Jonmarc heard boot steps behind him as a powerful blow struck his hand, knocking his sword from his grip. He swung into an Eastmark kick, connecting with the shadowed attacker's chest and knocking his opponent backward, but it came at him again with impossible speed. The shadow fighter rushed at Jonmarc, pushing him backward so that he skidded half the length of the barn. He hit one of the support posts and it knocked the breath from him.

The attacker disappeared into the shadows, and Jonmarc climbed to his feet warily, every sense on alert. A rush of air was his only warning. The black-clad stranger struck from the side, knocking them into the middle of the empty barn. Jonmarc held on, landing blow after blow with his boots and knee. A human fighter would have been howling in rage and pain. The dark opponent remained eerily silent. Triumph glinting in his eyes, the attacker lifted Jonmarc by the throat with one hand, holding him high enough that Jonmarc's boots dangled a hand's-breadth above the floor. Jonmarc struggled, knowing that the hand that held him could easily crush his neck. The stranger stood no taller than himself, more slightly built; no human could heft him so casually. Pinpricks of light danced in front of him as he tore at the attacker's hand, trying to free himself. Just as he thought he might black out, the attacker threw him to the floor.

It was the opening Jonmarc needed. His sword lay beyond the lantern light, at the edge of the shadows. Jonmarc dived for his sword, wheeling on his opponent and sinking the blade deep into the attacker's belly. For an instant, the dark eyes behind the mask met his, and Jonmarc saw a hint of amusement. Run through, the attacker hegan to laugh, and flew backward, freeing itself from Jonmarc's blade and disappearing into the shadows.

Jonmarc heard a deep growl and a huge wolf sprang from the shadows, leaping past him and landing where his attacker had been just an instant before. Jonmarc recognized the gray-streaked fur of Yestin, and struggled for breath. "You're too late. I think it's gone." He looked at his sword. The blade was dark with an ichor that was not blood. His sword-stroke should have been a mortal wound, but the sawdust on the floor showed no blood at all.

The wolf-Yestin slowly circled the barn, growling as it peered into the shadows. The horses now sensed no threat, and watched the wolf curiously or went back to their feed. At the edge of the shadows, the wolf's outline blurred. The space where the wolf stood rippled and folded on itself, growing larger. Yestin straightened and stood. "It's a bit cold out here," he said. "Don't have any clothes hidden about. And I don't fancy frostbite!" Jonmarc tossed a horse blanket to him.

"Thanks for coming. But your timing's off."

"What happened?"

Yestin's frown grew deeper as Jonmarc recounted the attack. "I'm certain he was vayash moru," Jonmarc finished. "What I can't figure out is, why? He had the opportunity to kill me if that's what he wanted. But I had the sense that he was testing me. As if he wanted to know how I'd react, what I'd do in a fight."

"And how did you do?"

"The practice with Laisren is paying off. I'm faster than I've ever been. Couldn't get a clean shot to put my blade through his heart, but I ran him through."

"So there was a possibility that whoever attacked you might have been destroyed," Yestin mused. "Everyone knows you're good with a sword. Whether skill or luck, you might have taken off his head or run him through the heart. So your attacker is a gambler. Uri?"

Jonmarc shook his head, sheathing his blade. He threw a blanket over his horse and checked its feed and water. "Wrong build. Too tall. Too thin. The mask and hood covered both face and hair. I don't have any idea who it could have been."

Outside, the bells chimed the seventh hour. "Come on," Yestin said. "You've got official duties tonight. "We'll figure out what was behind this. I'll walk you in, and then we'll find Gabriel. He'll want to know what happened."

"Odd that all the grooms were gone. The stable's never empty."

Yestin raised an eyebrow. "It's early enough that the grooms would have been humans, not vayash moru. Want to bet they all felt some urgent 'need' to go somewhere right before you were attacked?"

They headed out of the stable together. Outside, the courtyard bustled with humans and vayash moru hurrying toward the night's festivities. "Whoever did this isn't worried about breaking the truce," Jonmarc said.

"Or he considers it already broken. A very bad sign indeed."

Jonmarc and Yestin headed for Gabriel's rooms in the lower level of the manor. They found Gabriel already awake, dressed for the evening's events. Jonmarc recounted for both men what he had seen in the village that morning, and what had transpired in the stable. From the set of Gabriel's jaw, Jonmarc knew that he was furious.

"Whoever did this—and I have to believe it's tied to Uri—intends to provoke.a war. If this were anywhere but Dark Haven, war would be upon us."

"Convene the Blood Council. They've got to rein in Uri," Jonmarc urged.

"They'll be here within two candlemarks. It's customary for them to attend this feast day. Whether Uri will come or not remains to be seen." Gabriel frowned. "This is aggressive for Uri, out of character. It may be that his brood has gone farther than he intended."

"Even Uri has to see the danger," Yestin said.

"For years, Uri has argued for our kind to take the upper hand. Nothing like this happened. Either something has changed within his brood, or someone else has a stake in beginning this war. Either way, if war comes, we all lose."

Carina opened the door from the sitting room almost immediately after Jonmarc entered his rooms.

"I thought I heard you in the hallway." She stopped and took in his dirt-streaked great coat, and the bruise from the fight beginning to darken on his cheek. "What happened?"

"Someone ambushed me in the stable. No idea who it was—but he wasn't mortal."