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but on the seventh day of midwinter—having not eaten for several days—I realized the time had come to make my way north.
    I had no winter clothing and stole a blanket from my lodgings that I used as a cloak. I wrapped my hand harp in cloth, gathered my few possessions, and climbed from the window of my room, sliding down the roof and jumping into the yard.
    The snow was deep everywhere, and I was faint from hunger by the time I reached the northern gate. Three sentries, sitting around an iron brazier glowing with coals, were eating warmed slices from a large meat pie. The smell of beef and pastry made my head spin, and I asked them for a slice. Naturally they refused but, recognizing me for a bard and a magicker, told me they would give me food if I performed well. I asked them what kind of performance they required.
    They wanted the dancing girl and her partner, several partners, in fact.
    I learned then that principles rarely survive an empty belly, and for a large slice of meat pie I gave them what they required. No subtlety, no silken veils. A small orgy performed above a brazier of coals. Warmer and with a full belly, I walked out into the night, leaving the lights of Ziraccu behind me.
    When I reached the foothills, I turned for one last look at the city. Lanterns were glowing in the windows of the houses on the heights, and Ziraccu appeared as a jeweled crown. The moon hung above the highest hill of the city, and spectral light bathed the marble walls on the count’s palace. It was hard to believe in that moment that this was a country at war. The mountains loomed in the distance, proud and ageless, in what seemed a great circle around Ziraccu. It was a scene of great beauty.
    Two months later the city was conquered by Edmund and his general, Azrek.
    The slaughter was terrible.
    But on that night all was quiet, and I walked for upward of an hour toward the distant forest. The temperature had plummeted to well below freezing, but a magicker has no fears of the cold. I cast a small spell that warmed the air trapped within my clothing and strolled on.
    The night was clear, the stars bright. There was no breeze, and a wonderful silence lay upon the land. There is such beautyin night snow, it fills the soul with music. I had a need upon me to lose the images I had created for the guards, and only music could free me. I waited until I had reached the outskirts of the forest; then I found a hollow, cleared away a section of snow, and magicked a fire. There are some who can hold the fire spell for hours, never needing fuel. I could not achieve this, but I could maintain the flames for long enough to burn into gathered wood. I found several broken branches and added them to my flames. Soon I had a fine small blaze. I did not need the heat, but there is a comfort in fire, especially in lonely places. I did not fear trolls or demons, for they rarely came close to the habitats of man, and I was but two hours from Ziraccu and still on the trade route. But there were wolves and wild boar in the forest, and my fire, I hoped, would keep them from me.
    Unwrapping my harp, I tuned the strings and then played several melodies, tunes of the dance, light and rippling. But soon the unheard rhythms of the forest made themselves known to me, and I began to play the music the forest wished to hear.
    I was inspired then, my fingers dancing upon the strings, my heart pounding to the beat, my eyes streaming tears. Suddenly a voice cut through my thoughts, and my heart lurched inside my chest.
    “Very pretty,” said Jarek Mace. “It will bring every robber within miles to your fire!”
    His appearance had changed since last I had seen him. He had grown a thin mustache and a small beard shaped like an arrowhead; it gave him a rakish, sardonic look. His hair had been expertly cut, and he wore a headband of braided leather. His clothes were also different, a sheepskin cloak with a deep hood, a woolen shirt edged with leather, and a deerhide