The Windsingers Series: The Complete 4-Book Collection. Megan Lindholm

the center of the trail. Ki tried to think of it only as an easier way to get back to her wagon. She would think of it as an obstacle to her wagon when she had to face it. For now, she had Vandien to worry about. She reined her mind away from the Harpy images of the morning. They were dead, a long time dead, she reminded herself. Even Haftor – ugly, crazy Haftor. She could not change it. She forced her eyes to Vandien. Blood had reddened the bandages and was beginning to drip sluggishly from the side of his jaw. The tunic strips were saturated with it. His color was ghastly, his eyes too deep. Damn the man! Why had he chosen her to steal horses from?

      The light burdens of Ki and Vandien did not trouble the horses. They trudged willingly through the snow. Ki’s head still gave her a jab of pain whenever she moved too suddenly. She kept the grays to a walk, for Vandien’s sake as much as her own. They made good time. Vandien had been right about that. A person on horseback would have had little trouble with this pass. Ki smiled bitterly.

      A bend in the trail brought her wagon into view. Ki had never approached it from such a distance. The blue panes of the cuddy were sparkling with a layer of hoarfrost. The winds of the night had swept a light layer of snow over and around it. It looked as if it had been abandoned for centuries. As they drew nearer, she saw that the snow close to the wagon had been disturbed, and recently. A dim foreboding overshadowing her, she tried to think of ways to approach the wagon cautiously. But there was no shelter to take cover behind, no way to hide from the Sisters that loomed above them, or from whatever might be inside the wagon. A glance at Vandien made her want to hurry. He swayed visibly at every stride Sigmund made. Ki reined in her impatience. To hurry the horses now would only make it worse for him.

      He seemed to feel her eyes on him. He gave her a one-eyed glance. ‘It is only the pain, and the horror,’ he explained. ‘The wound itself is not that grievous.’

      Ki looked long at the red stain that began at Sigmund’s withers and crept partway down his dappled shoulder. Another slow drip fell, to deepen the color and enlarge the patch.

      A short distance from the wagon Ki halted and slid from Sigurd’s back. ‘Wait here,’ she commanded him needlessly. ‘I want to check the wagon first.’

      ‘It has stood long in the shadow of the Sisters,’ Vandien replied gravely.

      ‘I don’t think they made the tracks around it,’ Ki snorted and set off through the snow. The wind seemed more chill away from the moving warmth of the horse. She was awakened to how the huge body had warmed her legs and thighs, of how she had profited from his rising body heat. It was as if she had shed another cloak. She pulled her own cloak closer together where it had torn.

      The wagon was dead. The frost was thick on its panels. Swept snow had covered the singletree and heavy harness straps that were stretched out before it. The tops of the tall wheels were frosted with snow. Lines of snow clung to the wagon wherever it had found the tiniest purchase. Nothing alive waited in that wagon, Ki felt sure. She stopped by the first impressions in the snow and felt relief at her own foolishness. The Harpy had called here first, only to find his prey had fled. With a pang, Ki realized that but for the team’s presence the Harpy might easily have passed them by where they slept under the snow. She smiled hopelessly at the thought. It made as much sense to her as any other reaction.

      The cuddy door was frozen shut. Ki hammered it loose with repeated blows of her fist, until suddenly it slid a small distance, and then scraped all the way open. She whistled to the team, and the horses came on at their usual methodical pace, bringing Vandien only incidentally.

      She was rummaging within her cupboard for supplies when she felt the wagon give. Vandien’s bandaged face appeared at the cuddy door.

      ‘I didn’t think you could manage that alone,’ she greeted him.

      ‘It couldn’t be as bad as it looks,’ he replied. She took his arm as he climbed in, and he sat down on the straw mattress gratefully.

      He watched her tear a finely woven green gown into strips. ‘You may as well rest here for a few moments,’ she suggested, moving to the door. ‘I’m going to make a fire and melt some water. I have no salve or unguents to treat such a cut, but at least we can wash it out. A Harpy’s talons usually carry all sorts of filth. Those who survive the wound often die of an infection.’ Her hand went to the side of her own face as she remembered gratefully Rifa’s soothing oils and gentle hands. But her wounds had been scratches compared to Vandien’s slash. And Rifa and her healing powers were a dream and a memory away.

      Ki frowned at the dimming light as she emerged from the cuddy. The sky had remained clear, but somehow the snowy pass seemed darker to her now. A trick, perhaps, of the dark shiny rock looming over the wagon in startling contrast to the snow – or of eyes that had grown accustomed to the cuddy’s dim interior and now faced snow again.

      The fire was not easily kindled. The snow seemed to melt and quench it every time Ki thought she had it started. The wood itself seemed impregnated with ice crystals and loath to take the flame. But at last the orange flames blossomed freely, and Ki set her blackened kettle packed full of snow to heat.

      Vandien lay still as a dropped doll. Ki stood over the mattress, looking down on him. His face was small and lopsided under the red and brown bandage. ‘I’ll have to take this one off so we can do a better job.’

      He nodded. His eye was distant but clear. Her awkward knots had caked with moisture and blood. They were frozen. The damp bandage was a stiff mush of ice-blood on his jaw. Vandien twitched as Ki slid the blade of her knife carefully beneath the layers and sawed through the cloth. It parted raggedly before the sharp blade. Ki laid the parted bandages back gently from his face. The blood had smeared around the wound. The flesh had slipped, and the cut hung open. Ki set her teeth at the thought of touching it. She felt an echo of the anguish she had felt when she stood over the bodies of Sven and the children The closer she was to their pain, the hotter burned her own. Blood had leaked around the eye closest to the wound, to congeal there. The eye was caked shut with it. Vandien read her face as if it were a mirror, and went pale. He closed his other eye.

      The little fire burned valiantly. The kettle water was not boiling but was hot to Ki’s wary fingertip. She lifted it from the fire, to carry it cautiously to the wagon. The shadow of the Sisters loomed over her, darkening the trail. Ki noted with annoyance that the team had moved off and were farther from the wagon than she liked them to stray. It was no matter. A shake of grain upon the snow and a whistle would bring them back. But not just now. She had Vandien to tend to first, and she was weary. Every step she took seemed an effort. Her feet were weights at the ends of her legs. She thought longingly of sleep. Vandien would have to rest for a while after she had finished with him. She tried to tempt herself with the thought of hot tea and a kettle of soup. But it seemed a pallid attraction next to the sweet forgetfulness of sleep.

      One green rag she soaked in the warm water to gently sponge the blood away. His eye was revealed, closed but still sound in its socket. Washing the blood from his face did not make the slash look any less angry. Steeling herself to the necessity, Ki held the cut open as she trickled a little of the warm water into it. It seemed that as much blood as water washed out of it for her efforts. Vandien scowled and tried to lift his head from the wet bedding. He opened his eyes to look at the red puddle and promptly closed them again.

      ‘More water than blood,’ Ki assured him, hoping he would believe her. She wasn’t really certain of it. ‘And a free-bleeding wound cleanses itself. So the Romni teach.’

      ‘And the moon keeps track of our sins. They teach that, too,’ Vandien replied grumpily.

      Ki held the cut delicately closed, the skin lined up in its original place. The thinner cloth of the gown was a better bandage, easier to wrap firmly and tie in tighter knots.

      ‘The Romni would have shaved around the wound, too, but I have no tools for that.’

      ‘Don’t fret about it. I have no courage to let you try.’ Vandien started to sit up, but fell back heavily. ‘My head feels so heavy. All of me feels heavy.’

      ‘Loss of blood makes you weak. And killing another thinking being makes the soul sick inside you.